Since his slow recovery she’d watched him. She was quite sure he didn’t remember their wedding night. She was torn between confessing and being forever silent. Now and then she caught his gaze upon her. More than once it’d seemed he would speak of something. He didn’t.
Not in her wildest dreams had she ever pictured such wild and wonderful doings between a man and woman. When she’d pictured herself with Tarquin it’d all been a sweetness of stolen kisses, squeezed hands, perhaps the daring of a hand at her waist. Never had she envisioned such a tempest as she’d had with Hugh MacKay, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, body to body. It had been beautiful. Her dreams since had been chaotic and hotter than she could’ve imagined. So many times she’d woken up, dampness between her thighs, a need, a want pulsating through her. It had taken all her resolve not to go to him, tell him of their wedding night and their loving. He knew of his sickness. He’d thanked her many times for her succoring. He had no knowledge of their coupling and she didn’t enlighten him.
It seemed it wasn’t to be. Not since her wedding night had she been with MacKay. Since their return to the main holding of MacKay, overlooking the North Sea, they’d not shared a bed. The castle was imposing, twice as large as the one where their vows were exchanged, with countless large sleeping chambers. She’d struggled to hide her disappointment that he’d not attempted to secure his marital right. Yet she also knew that for a lusty man like MacKay the weakness in his body wouldn’t allow him the strength he needed for conjugal visits. Did all women have such wondrous couplings? She suspected not. She’d put her frustration aside. He needed to recuperate, to come back to full health. Then he would approach her. Each day he was better, stronger, though sometimes she noted the white visage that spelled fatigue. She wouldn’t make explanations of their nuptial night unless he asked the question. Even then she’d hide from him her virginity in order to protect Rhys and his legacy. She sighed, knowing she was fortunate he didn’t know, but sad that he didn’t recall that wondrous night.
“Why are you staring at the castle, maman?”
“I… I like the look of it. Do you?”
He nodded. “I want to stay here. Eamon says I will because now I’m a MacKay.” His missing tooth gapped when he grinned. Then he frowned. “I think my steed has a stone.”
“I’ll check for—”
“No!” Rhys held up his hand. “Eamon says I must take care of my own steed.”
His “steed,” a robust Highland pony, its long hair almost touching the ground, was a sturdy beast, not much taller than Rhys with the stolid personality needed to cope with an exuberant five-year-old. She hadn’t wanted him to ride anything. Hugh had convinced her it was safer to give Rhys his own mount to protect against another occurrence of trying to ride the much larger and more unpredictable destriers.
Morrigan watched him struggle for a few minutes, then she looked toward the castle again, thinking of Hugh, who’d gone to look upon other portions of his vast holding.
The castle was very large, but it had charm. It was similar in design to the first castle, and to most in Scotland, England, or Wales. The similarity ended there. Roomier, with more amenities, it was built more solidly. With huge well-drawing fireplaces, it was not nearly as drafty as her own home in Wales had been. Almost every wall was covered with rich tapestries that kept out the dampness and gloom. The wood trim was glossy and came from the huge trees in the south.
Morrigan had found her new home a pleasant surprise. The enormous staff was congenial, well trained and independent. It seemed all MacKays were like that. They could argue among themselves, and none thought himself less or more than the other because of chore duties.
The rooms were well designed, spacious. The kitchen didn’t smoke into the great room. Even the upper rooms could be easily warmed. There was more than ample space to move about, for a boy to play and run. Clan MacKay had been kind to Rhys; each member who was in contact with him seemed to bend over backward for the adopted heir.
Morrigan had begun to enjoy her new home. If deep in her soul she longed for a repeat of the beauty of her wedding night, for the hot and wonderful joining that had made her a wife, she’d learned to be content with what she did have. There was heat in her husband’s eyes when he looked at her… and a question. Did he recall? Was that why he’d not joined her in bed? He thought her to be a slut because she’d enjoyed their lovemaking so much! Most women thought child making a duty. Perhaps it was wrong to like it.
She’d always been sure she would marry Tarquin one day. She was quite sure their coupling would not have been as it was with MacKay. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she was positive.
She looked at the landscape. A safe haven for Rhys and herself. Nothing could make her feel more secure than that. Perhaps one day when she and Hugh had been wed for many moons…
She forced her mind to other things, quite sure her secret longings should stay buried.
Now that Hugh was gaining in strength she had to wonder what their future as man and wife would be. Would they make a child together? Her body heated and froze just imagining it. To have a child in his image would be great joy.
She looked around at the cool, sunny day. Soon the weather would turn cold. The wind would turn to ice and frost. For now it was almost balmy. She’d not been led to believe that such weather existed in the cold north.
Morrigan inhaled the freshness of the breeze, closing her eyes in delight. Hugh’s had been a long, careful convalescence. His strong constitution had helped effect a relatively fast cure. He could’ve died. She knew that, as did other MacKays. After Hugh had demanded a full explanation from her and Diuran, her healing abilities had put her on call from other MacKays. They’d also offered their friendship and their respect. She’d been awed by their open affection.
For many days she’d advised and medicated MacKays as well as their laird. It had confined her indoors. She’d been glad to leave the castle today, only because she needed exercise, fresh air. So she’d gone riding with Rhys. Though she thought that MacKay needed care, he’d raised such a ruckus about being kept in any longer that no one could’ve stopped him from going to inspect another holding some leagues away. He’d glared down any who looked as though they might gainsay him.
“No, I won’t rest anymore,” he’d told her, his chin jutting out much like Rhys’s when he was in a temper. “And if anyone tries to stop me, I’ll go over the top of them.”
Morrigan had wanted to laugh. Her husband was wild-eyed from being ill. He’d been a horrible patient, his bellowing heard throughout the castle; his threats to all and sundry who would dare try to medicate him were many, varied, and colorful.
“How gallant,” she’d murmured. “Threatening to throw Dilla, Ardis, and me down the steps, no doubt.” The women had stared bug-eyed at her when she smiled.
He’d rapped his fist on the bed table and glared. “I’ve done none such, and you know it.”
“Do I? Then why is the clan wagering that none of us will last the day?”
He’d glared first at her, then at the others. “They aren’t,” he’d muttered.
“Really?”
“Really,” he’d said in more chastened tone. “I’m going to check the eastern hectares. I won’t be long.” He’d hurried from the bedroom as though they’d try to stop him.
When Morrigan laughed, the two women had looked at her aghast, then their lips had quivered, too.
“He’s well enough, milady,” Dilla ventured.
Morrigan smiled. “I’ll find Rhys and take him riding. I’ve neglected him.”
“I shouldn’t worry,” Dilla observed dryly. “He has half the clan at his beck and call.”
Knowing how demanding he could be, Morrigan had winced. Then she’d left the women to find him.
She had seen to Rhys whenever she could in the last turn of the moon, but it’d always been in the confines of the castle. She’d sensed he’d not felt bereft by her absences, but she needed to see for herself th
at he was fine.
She had to smile. He had not been as glad to see his mother as she’d been to see him.
“One would think you weren’t overjoyed to have me with you,” Morrigan had mentioned when they’d gone to the stable. She’d tried to look woebegone. If truth were told she was delighted that he’d taken to the clan so fully. He was happy with his new status, and every day he sought out many members of the clan. The twins, Avis and Conal, were usually on his heels. It pleased her. In Wales he’d not been so forthcoming. Of course, then her own worries that his identity could be discovered might’ve made him imitative of her worry. Now he seemed to have thrown off any cares or concerns he’d had. His concentration on all things MacKay gave her a measure of security. That he could make a pest of himself she had no doubt. There were no end of keepers showing the youngster how to go on and how he should handle himself as an inheritor to MacKay. Morrigan was quite sure his self-worth had swelled along with his circle of friends.
She smiled as she recalled how her long face and question about being glad to see her had affected him.
Rhys squirmed. “You are not a boy, maman.”
“True.”
“Then you don’t have fun like us.”
“I see.”
He grinned. “So I can go with Eamon.”
“No. You’ll go with me.” She’d almost laughed aloud at how his expression had gone sheepish.
Now, as he remounted, she eyed him. “Do you enjoy your lessons?”
“Some. I’d rather play with the twins,” he told her as he turned his pony, then mounted with care, as though his steed were indeed a destrier.
“Oh?” She felt guilty that she’d had even less time for Conal and Avis, though Lilybet and Dilla had told her they slept across the corridor from Rhys, ate as he did, and had every care as well.
“I like them. They take lessons with me now. I like it better. They make learning Latin and Greek not so bad.”
She smothered a smile. “I see. That sounds good.”
“It would be better not to learn it at all.” He grimaced. “Avis thinks it’s stupid. Conal likes Latin and Greek.” He pursed his lips. “Eamon shows them everything he shows me. And they have horses, now, and they can ride.” He looked proud.
“And did you help to teach them about riding?” She was sure he had by his look. Now that MacKay was better they could be a family. Such thoughts made her dizzy with heat.
“I did.”
“I’m glad.” Morrigan nodded, feeling reassured that the two youngsters who’d been such outcasts were being cared for, even though she’d not had the time to tend them. Her husband had taken all her concentration. And it wasn’t just healing that filled her mind. Her thoughts always flew back to their wedding night. If only Hugh remembered… then again, that could be a bad idea. Dilla, who’d helped so much, had exclaimed about the blood on the sheets thinking that the laird had emitted it from his system. Morrigan hadn’t disabused her. What would she say if he ever quizzed her about that night? As his wife she was honor bound to be honest. As Rhys’s guardian, she’d made a vow to keep his identity hidden.
There were so many facets to her husband. Would she ever know all of them? He intrigued her, not just for his natural leadership, his caring for his clan, but for his intelligence, his interests in all levels of life. None of her family had ever been scholars though none had been unlearned. She’d been tutored in all aspects of leadership and learning. Her uncles had thought it useless. Her father had persevered.
It delighted Morrigan that her husband was as learned in script and parchment as she. He had an intense knowledge of many topics from the classics to agrarian management, and the running of the long-haired Highland cattle called stoats.
Most of this she’d learned from Diuran, Toric, and Dilla. She’d become even more informed by studying the personal library that he kept in his suite of rooms. The study of the stars marched with new methods of planting, along with the battle planning of Pericles and Alexander. His interests crossed the line between eastern mysticism, Christianity, and the study of the ancient beliefs, primarily the credos of the Druids and Vikings. He had all the Greek poets in their native tongue, as well as the Latin scholars. Most of the tomes were well thumbed. Not often was such found outside a monastery. Pondering her unusual husband, she let her horse follow Rhys’s pony.
When the going became arduous she called out to Rhys to stop, then she moved to his side, careful not to let her larger mount bump his. Not far beyond the land sloped down to the sea that boiled onto the rocky strand. Loud, wonderful, awesome they stared down at the cauldron.
“Let’s hurry, maman.”
“Wait! We must use every caution, Rhys. You must follow me closely, and carefully. ’Tis a most precipitous descent and we must be sure of our footing.” Morrigan wasn’t sure about the decline. Mayhap ’twould be better to keep him on the escarpment.
“I can get down there,” he insisted when she continued to hesitate.
“Good. You must still let me study the way first.”
“Eamon says down there beyond those rocks that stick into the sea be a place for swimming,” Rhys told her, his voice raised to be heard over the crashing waves.
“There is a place for swimming,” Morrigan corrected his usage, as she often did when she needed time to think. Should they go down to the strand? It was quite beautiful and very warm. They could walk barefoot at the water’s edge. “And have you gone into the waters with Eamon?”
Rhys shook his head, looking glum. “He catches me out even when I told him I know how to swim.”
Morrigan nodded, intending to thank Eamon when she saw him. She knew full well how set on an idea Rhys could be.
After looking at the two possible ways down to the strand, Morrigan decided against the descent. Though she was sure Rhys’s pony would be surefooted, she wasn’t that convinced that Rhys would be able to keep his seat in the steep places. When she was about to tell him they’d stay on top, he nudged his pony around her, cantering to the edge, then starting down the path. Stunned, she was frozen in place for precious seconds. If she hadn’t been fearful she’d startle him or his pony, she would’ve admonished him, and called him back. Any distraction could unseat him, or unbalance the animal under him. She dare not do anything but follow him.
Gritting her teeth, she kicked her horse into following the boy.
The descent in some places was almost clifflike. Leaning back in her saddle to equalize the weight, she kept her eyes on Rhys, her heart in her mouth, her attention nailed to the boy and animal in front of her.
Her body was pearled with dampness when they finally reached the strand. The unseasonably warm weather in Scotland had seemed like a blessing until that moment. Now her clothes stuck to her, her face was on fire, and she was damned mad at the boy.
“Wait right there,” she called to Rhys, trying to get her breath. She rode up next to him, breathing hard, from fear rather than exertion. “You… you are never to do that again.”
“What?”
“You know what I’m speaking of, young man, so don’t try to play dunce with me.” She glared at him, until his face fell. “I would’ve led the way ’ere we should descend. You knew that.”
Knowing full well he’d crossed over the line, he waited, chin thrust out, wariness in every line. “I din’t do nothin’.”
“Anything. And you did. You know you should’ve waited until I said it was all right to descend the cliff. It wasn’t safe, and I wasn’t about to risk it. You sensed that. Didn’t you?”
He nodded. “I wanted to be on the beach,” he muttered.
“Be that as it may, you were wrong.” She dismounted, letting her innards get back to rhythm, watching him as he got off his steed, biting back a smile, though she still felt shaky. He was as unruly as some of the destriers in MacKay’s stable. Enough said. They hadn’t been together in too many days. She wasn’t going to ruin their time by badgering, but later there would be another l
ecture in obeying. His discipline had been lacking. Among the MacKays he was more apt to get a chuckle than censure. Morrigan was going to set some new, firm rules. For now he was safe, and that was most important. “Promise me you’ll not do such a thing again.”
He nodded. “I won’t, maman.”
“Would you like to collect shells?” Morrigan pointed to the bits and pieces scattered on the strand.
He brightened. “Yes. First, I have to tie Caesar very carefully. That’s what Eamon said.”
Morrigan nodded, being as solemn as he was about the appointed task.
“Eamon says if you take care of your d’s’ter, he takes care of you.”
“Correct,” Morrigan said, eyeing his pony that was half the size of her horse, not even close to the dimensions of the warhorses used by the MacKays.
Following his lead, she tied her steed, then began to seek the lovely creamy and silver shells strewn on the strand. Over and over they exclaimed over a rare find. The net bag that’d been attached to Morrigan’s saddle began to bulge with beach treasures. Though they talked in sporadic sentences, they’d wander away from each other, then back together again. Morrigan was sure he was not far from her.
“What do you think of this one?” Her smile fled when she turned. “Rhys! Answer me.” Dropping the shell, she hiked up her riding costume, catching the long skirt between her legs, hooking it into the gem-covered belt around her middle. She ran up the beach, and around an outcropping of rock. “Rhys!” she shouted. Then she saw him, breath sobbing out of her. He was bobbing in the sea. “Rhys!”
The Pledge Page 9
