The Pledge

by Helen Mittermeyer

  “Oh?” she interrupted. “Then why am I escorted by marauders?”

  Felim shifted in his saddle, setting his horse to sidling. “You were to be safe, brought to me by safe escort.”

  “My escort from Castle MacKay was set upon and dispatched.”.

  Felim grimaced. “I had wished to avoid that, but the Scots were ever warlike.” He whirled his steed, cantering back the way he’d come.

  Morrigan stared after him. “Wait! ’Twas not Scots—”

  “We’ll speak of this anon,” he called back over his shoulder.

  Morrigan seethed. What went on in that convoluted head? He was no scholar; he didn’t have the wit for intrigue. Like the puppeteers of Venice there was someone manipulating Felim’s strings. Who would it be? What was the plan? Wasn’t she here to help Goll? Damn her cousin! He’d answer all her questions.

  He’d taken the news of the attack too well. It was unlike her mercurial relative not to spit fire over the smallest affront. He’d not been fazed by the news. This had been an assault on his family. Was she not the highest-ranking Llywelyn outside of Califb? Had her ham-handed cousin planned the action against the Scots? It seemed well nigh impossible. He’d never been known for his intricate thinking. Blunt words, clumsy actions were more his style. Did someone else devise the attack? Who held Felim in such thrall?

  Felim turned in his saddle. “Come along. There’s a chill in the air, cousin. There’ll be warm ale by the fire.”

  Morrigan kicked her horse into the canter that carried her through the barbican to the bailey. When some of the people called out to her, she paused.

  “How goes it, good Drulla, Ham?”

  The attendants skated their eyes around her, then fixed on her again.

  “Things have changed, highness,” Ham said through his teeth. “Our farms have suffered.”

  As though they felt the approach of some of the horsemen, they bowed and backed away.

  “Thank you for your greetings, good people of Wales,” Morrigan said to the gathering, her slight nod at Ham and Drulla signaling her understanding.

  “Blessings to you, good princess,” came from a chorus of voices.

  Even as she watched, Ham and Drulla faded back from the horsemen into the throng. They were fearful! What was going on in Cardiff? Much of the land farmed around Cardiff had been deeded to her by her father, so she could have the independence all Welsh women wish. It wasn’t a large holding by most standards, but it produced, and allowed a good living for her tenants. She looked long and hard into the faces about her, anger building. If Felim had transgressed on her holding, if he’d shown high-handedness to her serfs, she’d have his eyes. First she’d have an accounting. If it didn’t balance she’d empty his coffers to do the job.

  Wheeling her horse, she all but rammed the horsemen behind her. “Remove yourself from my path, you encroaching fool,” Morrigan demanded in her most imperious voice. “You crowd the people of Cardiff who belong here, who pay their respects to a royal. Methinks you don’t have a place here. They do.” Her voice carried as she intended. For a moment there were smiles.

  Startled, the men who’d convoyed her to Cardiff stared at her, uncertainty in every line.

  “Have you lost your hearing, dolts? Move!” She glowered at the man and his companions, then galloped through their midst, not looking back.

  She was helped to dismount by another unknown, then attendants bracketed her as she marched into the castle, then to the great room that was jammed with people, most of whom seemed to be arguing with Felim. As always her relative was relying on roaring over reason.

  “Cousin.”

  Startled, Morrigan looked to the left. “Cumhal, how did you—?”

  “Shh. I’m here. Say no more. I’m here,” he said, struggling to speak from the side of his mouth.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Seeking Goll’s hiding place and trying to discover who is enemy and who is friend.”

  “And have you?”

  “No. I tell you this, cousin, I fear we are in a den of knaves. I’ve had this feeling since we were set upon.”

  “I’ve had the same misgivings in this Llywelyn holding,” Morrigan whispered back. She looked around her, finding many eyes riveted to them. If Cumhal was attempting to be unobtrusive it wasn’t working. “I’m glad to see you,” she said, smiling. “I’m sure the Scottish riffraff have been dispatched.”

  He watched her for a moment before nodding. “Back to their hell, I should think,” he muttered, beginning to scan the room. “A nightmare, is it not? If Felim could learn but the rudiments of leadership we might have had a chance.”

  “Had? What does this mean?”

  “I’ve heard talk of mounting a campaign. You and I know that Felim is not up to planning such.”

  Cumhal’s bitterness wasn’t lost on her. “That is not all he can’t comprehend. He doesn’t mention Goll, nor did he allow me to broach the subject. He’s either run mad or he does not care. Which?”

  “Both, mayhap,” Cumhal said through his teeth.

  “Wasn’t it incumbent on you to take over if he has proved so incompetent?”

  Cumhal shrugged. “Yes, if I had a standing army I might.”

  “He is so well protected then?”

  “I wouldn’t call it protection. More like congenial imprisonment, though my brother sees it not.” Cumhal looked around him. “We cannot speak of this. There’re ears everywhere.” He inhaled. “Tell me of Tarquin. He shows bitterness over your marriage?”

  “I shouldn’t think so. ’Twas not his wish to tie himself to a woman who had a lad without…” She hesitated.

  “Without nuptial words. I know of this. Why should it matter to him when it doesn’t to us? I would’ve been at your Scottish vows had I been able to return from our island properties in time.”

  “Thank you.” She lowered her eyes and her voice.

  “You’re welcome.” Cumhal bit his lip. “ ’Tis passing strange about Tarquin since rumor has it he feels bereft since your marriage. I cannot say I understand this.”

  “Nor do I. Tell me of this congenial imprisonment that you intimated.”

  “I can’t. ’Twould not be wise for us to speak of it here. Another time and another place, I would say. The walls listen here.”

  “Indeed, ’twould seem so.” She smiled, nodded, bowed. “Why have you not contacted my brothers?”

  “I’ve done that. They’ve talked to Felim and gotten nowhere. His stubbornness is only surpassed by his stupidity when it comes to trusting the wrong people.”

  “And they are?”

  Cumhal reddened. “I know not who directs him. That’s what flummoxes me.” He ground his teeth. “I would not lie to you, Morrigan.” He swallowed. “I didn’t think this when I summoned you, but… now…”

  “What?”

  “I think I’ve called you to hell. I like it not. There are so many here I know not. Why are mercenaries crowding this great room?”

  Morrigan took a deep breath when she saw Felim scan the room, then scowl at her. “Come, ’twould seem we’re wanted.”

  “Be careful, cousin. More and more I feel ’Tis a den of vipers we face. And I know not who they are, or when they’ll come upon us.” Cumhal shook his head. “ ’Twould seem I’ve been tricked as well as you.”

  Morrigan stiffened. “And did you not even suspect this before you arrived at Castle MacKay?”

  He flushed. “I have had a feeling something wasn’t right for some time. I couldn’t trace my fears to anything. More than once I called myself a fool for feeling such. I’ve tried to rid myself of thinking there could be a betrayal of family.” He inhaled and exhaled, ignoring his brother’s gesticulating. “Not until we were set upon did I come to the admittance that there is dread treason within our house.” His glance slid to Felim.

  Morrigan gasped. “Surely not. He has always been loyal. Besides, he isn’t… hasn’t—”

  “The think box for intrigue?
I agree. I can’t factor who’s behind this and how I can combat it.”

  “Cumhal!” Felim roared.

  Cumhal’s eyes closed for a moment. “He is ever discreet and unobtrusive.”

  Laughter bubbled through her ire. “Some things don’t change.” Her smile died. “ ’Twould be easy to fasten blame on Felim. I don’t think ’Tis to our best interest to underestimate him. Neither do I think we can be complacent about others, inside or outside the family, who could be proctoring a conspiracy.”

  “You were ever acute in your reasoning, cousin.”

  “Thank you.” And if Hugh were here we would have answers instead of conjectures.

  “The two of you, come,” Felim roared.

  “We’d better hurry before he blows the stones off the battlements,” Cumhal muttered.

  Morrigan chuckled. Underneath the surface mirth a worm of worry ate at her. It was so ridiculous to think of someone trying to undermine Llywelyn, one of the power families of Wales. Yet the certainty it was happening crawled through her innards. Hugh! I need you!

  Cumhal’s mouth twisted upward as he led her through the squabbling throngs, the laughing, shouting hangers-on that crowded Felim’s court. Not only didn’t Cumhal’s older brother mind the din, he encouraged it. Mandolin players who should’ve soothed, played too loud. Some were discordant enough to make one cringe. Vendors moved among guests shouting their wares. It was like a marketplace instead of a great room.

  “ ’Tis chaos. My brother is a better sheepherder.”

  “Aye, I’d not question him on his abilities in animal husbandry.” She smiled and greeted many on the circuitous route to the fireplace where Felim was ensconced. She noted the many strangers who stared at her openly. There was no obeisance to her rank. Not that she cared, but tradition had always held that reverence would be shown her title, if not her person. She detected a thinly hidden insolence. “Cumhal, I think I sense what you’ve been feeling. There’s peril here, enmity. Contact my brother Drcq. Tell him to find Califb wherever he is. Make sure he knows there’s perfidy within our ranks. The name and House of Llywelyn is in jeopardy and we are assaulted by fools.”

  He nodded. “I will. First we’ll have to see to my squalling brother.”

  “She’s where she should be. The rest is up to you.”

  “I know. Do you think ’Tis wise to trust our fellow dice players in this big game?”

  “No. For now they’re useful. Once the preliminaries are in place we can eliminate the extraneous—”

  “Some of them wouldn’t look upon themselves as such.”

  The one shrugged. “To fashion such an operation, to put it to work, takes time and people. Once this begins the elimination of those who could cause trouble for us in the future makes sense.”

  “Aye, it does. It’s the delicacy ’twill take to make them disappear that eats at me. I’ll not call down trouble on me and mine. Remember that.”

  “The rewards are great, as you know. You cannot wish a share of the treasure without paying the price. The choice is yours.” He watched the other writhe with his greed, quite sure he’d finish him with his own good sharp dirk if the answer would be the wrong one.

  “I never said I wouldn’t take part.”

  He relaxed his hold on the blade. “Be patient. All will be as it should be.”

  “Let us not return to the others. Our presence is needed elsewhere.”

  “As you say.”

  The two smiled at each other, as though their minds were clear, one to the other. Their mistrust wouldn’t be verbalized. Each had the other’s destruction in mind. That could wait. The primary plan would go forward.

  TEN

  Submit to the present evil, lest a greater onebefall you.

  Phaedrus

  Hugh leaned over Diuran, trying to swallow his terror. It had been riding him for days that he wouldn’t get to Morrigan in time, that her survival was in jeopardy.

  Again and again riders had galloped into Castle MacKay with the same news. She’d been seen landing in Wales, even spotted on the outskirts of Cardiff. More than one guaranteed that she would be at Cardiff Castle. It made sense. No matter how he tried he’d been unable to get information out of the castle in Wales. He dare not make an open attack on Morrigan’s family. Anything that smacked of war would bring down the short-tempered Welsh upon his neck. By the time the smoke cleared his wife could be well and truly hidden, or worse. He didn’t want that.

  Nothing mattered but talking to her, getting to the bottom of the mysterious trip. All must be resolved between them. If she thought to leave him, he would convince her she was wrong, that her place was with him and Clan MacKay.

  It soured him sorely to imagine her trying to escape from him. He would’ve sworn she felt as strongly toward him as he did her. His skin felt raw when he pondered rejection, even as his heart and mind told him that such thinking was wrong. Still, he would tell her how she’d erred in not leaving him a clear message, how she’d made a mistake in causing him such concern.

  What if she died, was dead already?

  His life would be forfeit if he didn’t find her alive and well. No matter how long he strode the earth, he’d be dead to feeling. All the fire she’d given him would be snuffed out, and there’d be little to relish except his efforts for the clan, the twins Conal and Avis, and their son, Rhys. That would take all his waking hours. Sleep would elude him until the final sleep. He needed the wife he’d begun to love on first sighting. He knew that now. His heart twisted with the need to get to her, to bring her home to Castle MacKay.

  Anger that she could have abandoned him mixed with the fear, the amalgam building to a helpless rage.

  “Is Diuran dead, then, like maman?”

  Hugh lifted his face from his hands, staring down at the boy next to him. He scooped him up into his arms. “Your maman is not dead. I love her, too, and wouldn’t let her die.”

  Rhys couldn’t answer. He buried his face in Hugh’s neck, sighs shuddering through him.

  Despite all his importunings, and distractions, their son Rhys became more listless each day. No matter how many times he told him he’d bring his mother back to him, the boy was losing faith. He didn’t eat as he should. And though the twins longed for their mother, they worried about Rhys, as well. They hovered over him, more loving than any brother and sister could be. Still the boy grieved.

  “Milord, forgive me. I know you fret,” Diuran said from his cot, his voice weak. He tried to smile at Rhys. “I’m… alive… so is your maman.”

  Dilla moved next to Hugh and took Rhys. “You see? Diuran is MacKay. He wouldn’t lie to you.”

  Rhys blinked, then nodded, twining his arms about her neck. “She must come home soon. She needs me.”

  “Of course she does.”

  Hugh watched Dilla leave the chamber, then he leaned down and touched Diuran’s arm, noting that the fever had gone from it. “You worry that we fret. Nay, my friend, you brought Diodura to us. Had she not treated you, you and my men would’ve died.” He ground his teeth as he recalled his conversation with the crone when the men who’d accompanied Morrigan had sickened even more on their return to Castle MacKay.

  “I thought as much, good sir,” Diodura had told him in halting Gaelic.

  “What is it?” he’d said to her in Celtic, earning her gap-toothed smile. “That they’ve used poison on their weapons, I doubt not. Why did it take so long—?”

  “Not long, good sir,” Diodura had interrupted. “ ’Twas planned that if any lived, they might make it back to your side, to die after telling of the ambuscade. There’re herbs and plants that would do this. There’re mushrooms in our caves that can bring a euphoria that will induce instant obedience in the taker. Killings have been done by such, and wreaked havoc on families as a result.” She shrugged. “ ’Tis a Roman strategy, I’ll be bound. ’Twas brought down to us from the days of Boudicca.” She cackled when his gaze narrowed on her. “I was educated by the great House of Trevelya
n, as a healer and scholar. Long ago I was banished when the great Ruric the First was killed.” She frowned. “His son and grandson were destined to be in my care, but their lives were taken betimes.”

  “That’s how you know my spouse, by her connection to Trevelyan?”

  She shrugged again. “That and other ways.”

  Her cryptic responses had set his teeth on edge. He knew it was more the delays caused by the sickening of his men, the worry about his wife, that fueled his ire. If he hadn’t been so distracted he would’ve quizzed her. Since he owed a debt of gratitude to her, he restrained. His men would’ve died had it not been for the hag. There was a debt. He’d honor it.

  Nothing preceded his need to get to Morrigan. Instinct told him she was in peril even if she was in the heartland of her family. His fears had mounted with each turning of the glass. Nothing would be allowed to get in the way of finding her. But he couldn’t go crashing into Wales, even with a standing army, unless he was certain of her location. He had no wish to embroil his clan in a needless war. Nor did he want those who held his wife prisoner to be warned ahead. There were myriad ways she could be hidden from him. Death was one, but he couldn’t dwell on that. It would’ve driven him mad.

  Only if there was no other way would he commit his full complement of warriors. If it took that to get his wife back, he wouldn’t shirk from it. He had to get to her!

  Now, as he stared down at his almost helpless lieutenant, fury filled him. Time was passing. He knew so little. “Can you tell me aught of where she could be?”

  Diuran shook his head. “They… set upon us, milord. Planned, I would swear… though they were rabble. They were to… slay us.” Diuran closed his eyes as Diodura dabbed at the cold sweat on his face. “Milady… said… she… would do it.” Diuran’s smile wobbled. “Called… us… foul names.”

  If Hugh hadn’t been so furious he might’ve smiled with him. “So?”

  Diuran turned his head looking at the others lying in the healing room. “They… will… live”—he looked back at Hugh—“because of milady.”