The Pledge

by Helen Mittermeyer

  “How?” It rasped from his throat.

  “She pretended to finish us with… dirks.” His eyes closed. “She didn’t… know about… the poison.”

  “No, she’d not countenance it,” Diodura said, wiping Diuran’s forehead again. “There would’ve been no way she would’ve left you had she suspected.”

  Hugh could hardly get air. It hurt his chest to try. When he spoke, his voice was raw. “You’ll not return to Wales, woman. Some could discover how you’ve helped Clan MacKay. You’re one of us now. A new place will be prepared for you in the castle. You’ll never fetch your own firewood again.”

  The words bonding her to a safe haven startled Diodura. Her self-assurance seemed to melt on the spot.

  “Nay, good lord. ’Twould not be to your best interests to sponsor me,” she said, swallowing. “I hate the truth of it, to be sure—”

  “Then think no more of it. From this day hence, healer, you will run this room and save our people.”

  Swaying with emotion, she clasped bony hands in front of her. “ ’Tis not good of you to shatter a crone’s feelings toward men. You undermine me.” She bowed her head. “I thank thee.”

  “No!” He lifted her up. “I thank you for my men and to your god Taranus I give thanks as well.”

  She smiled. “You will do well, great chief.” She gasped, her eyes widening, her body growing rigid, swaying, her teeth gritted, her hands turning clawlike.

  Dilla moved to the laird’s side. “She has a vision, lord. Stay your hand,” she told him when Hugh moved to support Diodura.

  For long moments none moved in the healing chamber.

  Even the ailing men stilled, eyeing the crone. Those nursing them paused. No one commented, well aware it was dangerous and blasphemous to interrupt a sojourn of the spirit into the phantasmic world.

  Diodura seemed to travel back to them, though it was more a floating sensation than trodding. Her body shuddered, and she stared at each one in turn, then her gaze fixed on Hugh. “You must hurry, good lord. I see pain for her. My good child needs you.” One tear trembled down her cheek. “Great peril awaits you. You must not lose faith. I cannot find her exact locus, but I would look for Cumhal and Felim.”

  “Yes, yes,” Diuran groaned. “I’d forgotten. He ministered to us. He said he would go to Cardiff to help our lady.” He stared at the laird. “I’d not trusted Welshmen. This one has honor. He medicated us until we were strong enough to depart.”

  Hugh breathed more easily. Morrigan had an ally. “Rest, good friends. I leave you in her care.” Hugh nodded toward Diodura. “I go to Cardiff. The castle?”

  She shook her head. “My vision told me naught of that, but ’twould be my first choice.” She grimaced. “You must hurry. There was a blackness I couldn’t see through, but I felt the agony.”

  Diuran groaned. “You must save our lady, Hugh.”

  “I will,” Hugh said through his teeth. “You mind Diodura.”

  Diuran shook his head. “If she purges me again, I shall put my sword through her.”

  Hugh smiled for the first time in many days, though his heart thudded with trepidation. “Be stronger than she before you threaten her.” He left the room on the run, calling for his horse.

  Over and over Morrigan tried to bring up Goll’s disappearance. From the first moment of greeting that had been her focus. Felim had put her off every time, fraying her temper and nerves. Had there ever been a more rock-headed person?

  Morrigan found it a terrible strain. Felim was little help, always going back to the same theme: his course was the best course for the Llywelyn family. She tried every trick and wedge she knew to budge him from his course, to make him confide in her. If only Califb and Drcq were with her. They’d not tolerate Felim’s ill judgment. Why had not the runners located them? It made her uneasy. Where was Cumhal? It’d been two days since they’d spoken.

  “Felim, listen to me. I—”

  “I have heard you, Morrigan. But you are a woman and do not understand the intricacies of policies.”

  “I comprehend more than you think.”

  Felim waved his hand at her, called for ale.

  Morrigan exhaled an angry breath. If only she could break down his barriers they might be able to come upon a course that would free Goll, and allow her to get back to Castle MacKay. She wanted to sprint out the door that very moment, find a horse, and ride north as fast as she could. She missed Hugh with all her being. She wanted and needed his good sense, his strong hand in managing her cousin.

  “ ’Tis a matter for a conference of the family. I’m thinking,” Morrigan broached the subject again. “Those who formed the plan to accost me and my entourage must be found and punished.”

  Felim frowned. “They only harmed Scots. What is that to me?”

  Morrigan kept her temper in check, though she itched to poke her cousin in his long quivering nose. “What of Cumhal? Is he not your brother?”

  Felim pondered that. “He’s more than equal to the task of caring for himself, Morrigan. Remember what a bully he was when he was a lad. Think no more on this.”

  Actually she recalled Felim as being troublesome, instigating mischief, then laying it on Cumhal when it didn’t work out. She held her tongue, not wanting to get into an uproar if she pointed that out to her mercurial relative. They’d been arguing since her tattered arrival, and she’d gotten nowhere. “If you persist in doing nothing, then I, as a royal of Wales, will institute my own search for the predators who dared to set upon me.” When Felim stared at her, blinking, alarm beginning to crease his features, she stared back.

  “Listen well to me, Felim. I call for vengeance against those who attacked my coterie and my allies. Those Scots were friends to me, sworn to protect me. They were attacked with no provocation. The perpetrators will be found and punishment will be exacted. That’s my covenant.”

  Felim waved his hand in the air. “Do not get discomposed over this. ’Tis of little importance.”

  “To me it’s paramount.” If Hugh were here, he’d override Felim’s stubbornness. She closed her eyes for a moment, seeing her husband in her mind’s eye. She wanted him here, putting Felim in his place, finding the ones who ambushed her Scots. Then she wanted him to take her in his arms, put her up before him on Orion and take her back to Scotland. “There could be war over this, Felim. Think on that.”

  A strange look shadowed his face, then it was gone.

  Alarmed, Morrigan stared at her cousin. “Felim, who is advising you?”

  Bellowing like a stung bull, he roared to his feet, stomping up and down the great room, scattering attendants like leaves in the wind. In moments the great room was empty, few wishing to risk the ire of their lord. “You dare accuse me of being led? I am the leader. None tell me how to go on, or how to manage my people.” He swung his arm to encompass the messy room with its stained rushes, fireplaces that belched more smoke than heat, tattered tapestries. “Look at my castle and tell me it could be better managed.”

  “I will, and it could be by anyone,” she shot back, anger spilling from her at last. “The lowest beggar in the land could’ve managed this better than you.”

  Dumbfounded, Felim stared at her, breathing in and out as though he’d run up a hillock. “I’ll excuse your unseemly behavior, your nasty words, this time, for I know how women run to ill humors. My Mathilde is the same. That’s why she rarely shows her face at this castle.” His unctuous smile went over Morrigan. “She knows her place.”

  “Does she? Or does she avoid your presence because of ennui?”

  Felim wrinkled his nose, his chin quivering. “No, no, that can’t be it. She knows my importance.”

  Rage made Morrigan’s mouth sour. She swallowed the wrath because she didn’t want to send her cousin into one of his long harangues about his position in life, and everyone else’s. “Perhaps we’re off the point.”

  “You might be. I never am,” Felim told her.

  At any other time she might’ve
laughed at his pomposity. Now it worried her. She knew something was in the wind, otherwise her cousin wouldn’t have had that arrested look on his face. If he’d been flummoxed by another, coaxed into an unwise move, she’d better know it. All of Wales could burst into flames while her cousin was ranting how important he was. He’d not see one tongue of fire even if it licked about his boots. Fool that he was. Risking his pique, she decided to toss a verbal lance.

  “I like it not if you’ve given over your powers to any other than Llywelyns.”

  Felim sputtered, reddened, blustered, enforcing the feeling that she’d struck the mark. “You speak with the tongue of a witch, Morrigan. All know my honor, my loyalty to the family.” He glowered. “My leadership is never in question.”

  Of course it is, fool, she said to herself. You just never see anyone’s point of view but your own. Countless Llywelyns and others know of your inability to lead, your predilection for confiding in the wrong people. Her mind boiled over with argument. It took every bit of strength she had to hold back. “Perhaps we should speak of other things… and come back to this.” She’d never get too much out of him with a frontal attack. Her head ached with the need to have done with Welsh intrigue. Find Goll, get him freed, then get back to Scotland. Why had she bothered to come on this fruitless quest?

  Slightly mollified, he nodded. “I think we needn’t come back to it. I’m satisfied all is well.”

  “What of Goll?”

  Felim blinked again, his face reddening. Then he looked away from her. “He’s… fine. Don’t worry.”

  Alarms went off in her head. A sense of danger seemed to dance around the room. It hit her with such force, she gazed around her. “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  “We have to find him. Isn’t what why I’m here?”

  “There’s another reason.”

  Suspicion sharpened in her. “Am I wrong in thinking that there’s nothing wrong with Goll? That I was brought here under a pretext?”

  “Certainly not.”

  His bluster made her shake her head. “You never lied well, though you tried.” She slapped her hand on the trencher board. “Tell me the truth.”

  Felim stepped back, looking affronted. “I have.”

  “No, I fear not. Listen to me. I’d rather be back in Scotland. It angers me that my time was wasted in coming here.”

  “You’re wrong,” Felim blustered.

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve struck the mark when I say your evasions are foolish and they waste my time.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll have no more of it. If I find you’ve conspired against me and mine, I will gather my brothers and get you out of power.”

  “You can’t,” Felim wheezed.

  “You know I can.”

  “What more did you want to say, Morrigan?” His smile wobbled on being congenial, though he couldn’t hide his grim and fearful acceptance of what she’d said.

  “The invasion of Trevelyan holdings. As regent, I cannot think it honorable.”

  “Then give over the guardianship to me.” Felim smiled. “That’s the best thing to do.”

  “Since that was Edward Baiiol’s choice, not yours, and since he chose me, I think you should take that up with him,” she riposted, knowing full well her cousin wouldn’t seek out the King of Scotland. He’d never been to the “country of barbarians” as he called it, nor would he. No doubt he feared the monarch as many other Welsh did.

  “Then make out an order to free up the gold to release our brother, Goll. You will be killing him, lest you do.”

  Morrigan had the distinct impression her cousin was repeating some directive. “No, I think you are killing him if you don’t mount a campaign to look for him and punish the miscreants who dared such an affront to our family.”

  His startled anger let her know he hadn’t expected nor wanted a reprimand. “Think you I’ve not done all I should?” His surly tone rang around the room.

  “If all has been done as should be, we should know where Goll is by now. Mayhap he would be back with us.” She held her breath, well aware of Felim’s unpredictability. If only she’d waited for Hugh, brought him with her, he would’ve handled Felim, the fool.

  “That is true,” he muttered, his brow wrinkled in deep thought. “Things would work better if I had more control. Some say ’twould be better if I were the only leader of Llywelyns.”

  Who had drummed such a thing into Felim’s thinking? Once more it would seem he repeated a well-worn theme. Who had filled his head with such? She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them, forcing a smile. “Is not my brother Califb leader of the Llywelyns?”

  Felim glowered at her. “He’s always away on one quest or another. He’s a spiritless whelp who shouldn’t be ministering the estates.”

  “ ’Tis his right as chief.” Morrigan had to agree that her sweet-natured brother didn’t monitor his family holdings as he should. He was far more comfortable in the Land of the Pharaohs studying the ancient languages, digging around for artifacts that others considered useless. “If truth be told I needn’t wait for Califb. Since Drcq is his lieutenant, and named to act in his absence, he can act. If you’ve displeased him, or betrayed the good offices bestowed upon you, he can and will bring down troubles on your house, cousin.”

  Felim swallowed. “I’m a loyal Llywelyn.” He lifted his chin. “It is Califb who is in question. Did not one of the family confessors accuse him of being in league with the dead Pharaohs?”

  Morrigan laughed. “That didn’t displease Califb. He told anyone who would listen about it. He was delighted.” In many ways her brother was impossible, Morrigan had to admit that. When it came to the good of his people he was openhanded and most generous. There were no slaves among the Llywelyns, and even those in the lowliest jobs drew pay and could be independent. Califb was loved by the people. Yet he tended to handle things, then be gone for long periods. Morrigan had the feeling her brother was sorely neglecting his tasks.

  Felim threw out his chest, most of which had sunk to his middle. “I’m the man for the job. I consult good people and know what’s good for the family.”

  “Then if you are as informed as you say”—she felt his hard stare—“and I’m sure you are, you must know ’twould be dishonoring our family if we invaded another estate’s coffers. The Llywelyn name is too proud to—”

  “You needn’t tell me about family pride. I carry the banner of Llywelyn high and none can gainsay me on that.” Felim discoursed for a few moments on his many virtues.

  Even if his liabilities were pointed out to him, Felim would be the last person to accept he had them. Morrigan closed her eyes and prayed for patience.

  The more needful Morrigan became to return to Castle MacKay, the more impatient she’d become with her stubborn cousin. “Nothing will be done with the Trevelyan trust. I decree it.”

  “You can’t do that,” Felim protested, looking fearful.

  “I can and have. Now to the problem of Goll.”

  “I’m… I’m handling it.”

  “You’re not. I’ve said over and over, Felim, that we have to have a plan, that we need to send out runners who will locate Goll so we might free him.”

  “You repeat yourself,” Felim adjured.

  “Because you don’t listen,” she riposted, her voice rising in spite of her determination to keep a cool head.

  Felim floundered. “And have you a plan?”

  Morrigan took deep breaths. “I thought we might put our heads together on this,” she said, spacing her words, struggling to keep her ire in check.

  “We can do that.”

  Counting backward didn’t salve her temper. “First we must study what could occur if we take certain steps.”

  “What would that be?”

  Reining in the retort that rose to her lips, she swallowed. “If we pay the blackmail, as requested, how will we know Goll is all right? What guarantee do we have that Goll is well at this moment? Have you inquire
d about his health at the present from those who importune you for ill-gotten gains?”

  Felim glanced at her, scowling. “That might be dangerous.”

  It hadn’t occurred to him, Morrigan translated. Why had they handed the keys of the eastern limb of the family over to Felim instead of Cumhal? True, Felim was older than the twins, Cumhal and Goll. Felim didn’t even resemble his brothers that much.

  Cumhal and Goll were taller, more muscular. Both the twins had the head to handle the many branches of business the family had. Cumhal, at least, was more caring about Llywelyns. Goll might’ve been more casual, but he wouldn’t have allowed the family manse to decay in such a way.

  Felim was worse than she recalled. He seemed to decide through his conceit, rather than using facts and figures to come to a conclusion. What was good for him should be good for the family seemed to be his credo. Feeding into that ego was the best way to control him. She was almost sure someone had.

  “Where is he being held?”

  Felim wrinkled up his nose. “Not sure. Maybe in Ireland.”

  “We should know that, and his condition before we entrust persons or money into a foe’s encampment.”

  Felim got to his feet, striding up and down in the shabby great room. Once, in her father’s day, it’d been a grand castle, all accoutrements of the best. The armor had glistened with care, there’d been no tapestries in shreds. It would seem Felim either had little gold for housekeeping, or it was being put to poor use.

  Morrigan looked around for the maîtresse d’hôtel. As usual she wasn’t there. No doubt steeping herself in some of the homemade ale in the cookery.

  Stepping down from the dais, she went to the fire and swung the steaming kettle toward her. She tipped the boiling water into the pot she held, swirled it around, and tipped the water at the edge of the fire to a runoff through the bricks. Then she measured leaves into the pot and poured more boiling water over the whole.

  “Perhaps you’d best make me some. My head aches,” Felim complained.

  Not from thinking, she was certain. The words ground in her mind the same way she ground more leaves with the mortar and pestle before adding them to the brew, along with more water. Arguing with Felim had had poor results over the last days. No matter how skewed his viewpoint, he’d only dug in his heels and found a number of foolish reasons to stick to his way of doing things.