The Pledge

by Helen Mittermeyer

  Morrigan was dizzy. She couldn’t have heard right. ’Twould bring about all-out war across Anglia, Wales, and Scotia to threaten the Earl of MacKay. He was her husband. She was Lady MacKay, no other. Hugh! Come to me. Why were Tarquin and her cousin conspiring? They had a good share of land to command. Why would they need hers or the Trevelyan holding? They couldn’t have either. They didn’t need more. She’d have to speak to Califb and to Hugh. Did they say they would kill him? Never! She’d not let them.

  “Trevelyan Castle is a most delightful place,” Tarquin mused. “I’ll not find it uncomfortable to reside there—”

  “Not for long,” Goll interrupted. “I want that holding. It rightfully belongs to us.”

  Tarquin’s eyes narrowed. “ ’Tis my wife who holds it.”

  “Seek not to go over your station, Tarquin. You might marry a Llywelyn. You’ll never be one.”

  Morrigan paid little attention to Tarquin’s cursing. She was more concerned with Goll’s treason. She struggled to argue him down on that point. Nothing came out but a moan.

  “Ah, she comes out of it. Let’s get her downstairs to the chapel.”

  Tarquin drew back. “We must get the women to change her clothes. If the priest sees her in disarray there’ll be questions.”

  Goll cursed. “All right. Hurry them. The quicker we get this done, the better I’ll feel.”

  “Aye.” Tarquin went to the door to hail attendants.

  Goll looked down at her. “Well, cousin, finally you’ll be of some use to me. With Felim and Cumhal out of the way, next will be your brothers. Wales will be mine. I’ve worked long and hard for it.” His gaze seemed to leave her. “Too hard to share it with anyone.” His laughter had an evil sound. “With the help of my friends even the wealth of MacKay is open to me now.”

  Morrigan fought against the fuzziness. Who was there to stop Goll if not her? She had to ask him questions. She had to tell him about Rhys. No! She couldn’t do that. Hugh! Hugh! I need you. Who had put Goll up to this? Had he always been perfidious? She’d thought him nasty at times, not treacherous. His thought processes were not that impressive. Could he have conspired with English Edward?

  It was as though she’d entered another world as the clothes were stripped from her body. Neither Goll nor Tarquin left the chamber when this was happening. Neither did they turn their faces away when she was disrobed. Morrigan would’ve been horrified if her muddled mind hadn’t been more ensnared by the danger these two could bring to Rhys and Hugh.

  “She has a lovely form, to be sure,” Goll murmured, his eyes sliding to Tarquin. He smiled at the avidity on the other’s features. “No doubt you’ll want more than a taste of her before she’s sent to her heavenly reward.” Goll chuckled.

  “No doubt. I may want her for more than a taste, but I’ll control her so that she does not interfere with you.” Tarquin looked at him. “Does it not bother you to ponder sentencing your childhood playmate to death?”

  “Not a whit. And do your scruples decry her demise if she does not please you in bed?”

  “No, but I fear ’twill not suit me to send her heavenward until she does cause me ennui. My lust overrides my need for Trevelyan. I would keep her alive for a time. At least until I’m sated.” His gaze fastened to Morrigan once more. He didn’t see Goll’s speculative gaze on him, the tightening of those lips that looked more feminine than masculine.

  Goll touched his arm. “Mayhap we might both use her… together. What say you?”

  Tarquin frowned. “I’ve not done that. I would taste her first. If she is adequate you might be included,” Tarquin said, his manner lofty, his gaze going back to Morrigan almost at once.

  “How things stay the same,” Goll whispered. “When I was a lad, you, Felim and Cumhal were ever deciding what was right for me. How strange you would think it hadn’t changed.”

  “What?” Tarquin looked back at him as the last bit of clothing was shoved onto Morrigan.

  “Nothing,” Goll murmured. Then he glanced at Morrigan and scowled at the attendant. “Her hair, fool, brush it or something and get that headdress on her. Wait! Leave the necklace. She needs it not.” He put his hand out for the exquisite piece.

  “Morrigan’s father gave those to her mother.” Tarquin glared. “Those gems belong to me as her spouse.” He grabbed Goll’s wrist, twisting it. “You surprise me. For a narrow man you have much strength in your arms.”

  “Yes. Hunting is helpful.” Though his mouth smiled, and he handed the necklace to Tarquin, his eyes were cold. He looked around at the attendant who’d dragged a coarse iron comb through Morrigan’s hair, snapping her head up and down in ruthless determination to be done. “Get her on her feet. We’ll drag her between us.”

  “Be discreet,” Tarquin warned. “We can’t let the priest think she is anything but shy.”

  Goll nodded.

  Down the stairs they went, all but dragging Morrigan until they reached the bottom.

  Hugh sat forward on his saddle, staring at the dank, dark-looking pile of stones. “We can’t make a mistake on this,” he said through his teeth. “I don’t have a good feeling.”

  Cumhal stared at him, wondering if those who defied this man ever lived very long. “ ’Tisn’t easy to enter this enclave without being seen. It’s been well placed on that spit of land that juts past the river to the sea. Water on two sides, open space on the third.”

  Hugh eyed him. “Would it seem strange if the ancient who built this had the same idea of entry as the one who built Cardiff Castle?”

  Toric grinned at his laird, his smile touching Cumhal. “I ask to check this out, Hugh.”

  Hugh shook his head. “No time. We go forward, one at a time, lookouts as usual.” He sucked in air. “We assume ’Tis the same, and we hurry.”

  Toric’s smile faded at the hoarse urgency in his laird’s voice. He turned, gave the hand signals, and they went forward at a gallop, following Hugh without question.

  Cumhal was right behind Toric, his horse almost touching the hindquarters of the one in front of him.

  Hugh went through the heavy copse of trees fronting the river, then let his steed drop down into the water, letting it swim to the side of the battlements. He didn’t even look up to see if there was a spotter. His bowmen would take care of that. In speedy inspection he checked the walls, guessing at the placement of the great room.

  He almost shouted for joy when he saw the clumps of brush, heavier, thicker in one spot. He went to it as fast as he could, then was off Orion before the horse had halted. The steed was taken from him at once by a MacKay.

  Hugh gave no orders, assuming, and rightly, that his MacKays would disperse into battle strategy.

  Pushing, shoving, testing, barely reining in his urgency, Hugh worked without pausing over the crumbly stonework. Then there was a godawful squeak and squawk of raw stonework abrading mortar. It sounded clarion clear and strong even through the roar of the wind howling off the sea.

  Hugh held his breath, expecting an outcry, but he didn’t stop trying to make the opening wider. Before he could request it, Toric put a flint and flambeaux into his hand. Stretching into the opening, he lit the torch, noting it was covered with mold and webs.

  Plunging into it, he led his men in the circuitous tunnel that led upward in shallow and steep rises. Small piles of rock impeded them, crumbling about them as they moved. Hugh didn’t halt his forward thrusts.

  When he heard voices he paused, his men stilling as soon as he did.

  Words came in shadowy echoes through the walls.

  “I fear your new bride has wedding-day nerves, Sir Tarquin.” The speaker paused. “I wish I felt more sure about the papyrus stating the annulment.”

  “You can be sure it’s authentic. Priests from your monastery sanctioned it, as did the bishop. You saw the signatures.”

  “I did. Annulment is such a rare thing. I did not know it could go forth so quickly. Of course the MacKay is a powerful man and his wishes would be
catered to by the Church.”

  “Just so,” Tarquin murmured.

  “I did not know that the MacKay preferred men to women and would put her aside because of it.”

  “Yes, ’Tis passing strange. Her cousin and I thought it important that we speed this nuptial to spare her lacerated nerves. She suffered much being married to MacKay.”

  “Yes, she must have. I was glad to see her retire to bed. ’Tis sad for a woman when she’s not wanted.”

  “Yes,” Tarquin answered. “How kind of you to allow her to retreat to her bedchamber, Monseigneur. I’m sure when I take her to wife her nerves will settle. Mayhap we may have a child this year.”

  “Ah, that would be good for her.”

  “I think so. Do have more wine. We are quite proud of this vintage.”

  “Ah, thank you. Llywelyns and Trevelyans have vineyards across the sea, do they not? How kind of them to let you use them.”

  “Yes,” Tarquin replied, eyeing the impatient Goll. “Perhaps you will allow me to show you our vineyards one day.”

  “How kind. I have a love affair with Provence. Our monastery is there, you see.”

  Goll moved away from the wall, but Tarquin waved him back.

  It’d taken all Hugh’s strength not to push through the wall and slay the three who occupied the room. Morrigan wasn’t there! She was his first order of importance. The fool thought he would touch her, take her to wife. For thinking such he’d die.

  The scurrying of rats and other vermin that seemed to fill the tunnel halted him not one whit. The torch had flickered more than once, but kept on burning. Wind whistled down the tunnel from the many openings caused by decay and neglect.

  Then he stopped. He was at the top of the tunnel. Taking a deep breath, muttering a prayer to all the gods of yore, and to the Savior, he pushed hard with his shoulder. Nothing!

  “Try one of the bricks on either side of you, about head high. I recall this in one of my uncle’s holdings, though I’d never expected it in Felim’s castle.”

  Hugh recognized the voice as Cumhal’s. Though he still had his suspicions of Morrigan’s relative, he obeyed.

  Again there was a very raucous, tooth-grinding squeaking, and a narrow door pushed open.

  Hugh drew his dirk, having no room to pull his sword, and pushed into the room. Rolling to his feet, he whirled, gauging the peril. No one—

  “Hugh…”

  The moan spun him toward the bed. She’d called him! When he was closer he saw that she’d made a sound, called to him, but her eyes were closed. She was so very weak. “Morrigan! Look at me.”

  She turned her head with great effort. She had to struggle to open her eyes. “Hugh! Am… I… dreaming… again?”

  “No, love. I’m here.”

  She tried to lift her hand. It fell back. “I… die.”

  Hugh’s heart nearly burst in his chest. She’d been poisoned as his men had been? Could he get her to Diodura in time?

  He turned to his men. “We don’t fight this day. We must get your lady to safety.”

  Cumhal glanced at Morrigan, then at Hugh’s face. “I like it not. She won’t—”

  “She will,” Hugh said through his teeth. “We must pass her down the tunnel. Get the horses. We ride for the sea.”

  Cumhal hesitated, then went back into the tunnel.

  Hugh looked around the room, noting the chalice near the bed. No doubt it carried the poison.

  “God help me. She must be saved,” he muttered, then dove into the tunnel cuddling Morrigan. He didn’t want any to touch her, but for speed, he had to pass her downward to his men. One MacKay remained to make sure the door was safely shut behind them.

  TWELVE

  Give me where to stand, and I will movethe earth.

  Archimedes

  Hugh hovered over her, each night sleeping with her held tight in his arms. Each day he rarely left her room, except to wash and clothe himself.

  Only once did he show himself down in the great room and only long enough to give instructions to Toric. Then he’d leave at once and go back to his wife.

  Cumhal had returned with them to Castle MacKay. He strode up and down the room, glancing at Hugh’s chief lieutenant. “What plans do you make, Toric?”

  Toric looked at Cumhal. “You expect too much if you wish our trust. Our lady could have died in that rubble called Castle Druida. There were none to help her. Now you quiz me on what we’ll do.”

  Cumhal flushed. “I can’t expect you to trust me, but I will stay here, and follow you into battle if I must. What was done to Morrigan was done to me. If Califb was at home where he should be, he would be summoning armies to right this wrong.”

  “But he isn’t, is he?” Toric shot back. “Our lady has two brothers, Drcq and Califb. Neither protected her from the vermin. Had she died we would have burned all of Wales, Cumhal. Believe that.”

  Cumhal nodded, not trying to hide his bitterness. “I would’ve helped you, Toric MacKay.”

  Toric nodded, though his visage didn’t lighten.

  In the upper chamber, Hugh hovered as Dilla and Diodura changed her clothing again as they’d been doing on and off since he’d brought her home three turns of the sun past. They’d risked heavy seas, and nearly killed their horses to get her back. Now they would wait.

  He leaned over the bed.

  Diodura glared at him. “Move back, gomeril. You’re in the way.”

  Dilla shook her head. “The witch presumes,” she muttered.

  Norah, another MacKay, gasped. “None has ever called Hugh MacKay fool, in any language, including Gaelic.”

  Dilla glared. “ ’Tis of no import.”

  Norah winced, nodded, then went to gather the soiled linen.

  Hugh took it in stride. “She doesn’t change.”

  “She’s been poisoned, fool. What do you expect? Had not she the courage of Trevelyan and Llywelyn she would’ve died the first day.”

  Hugh had stopped wondering at the witch’s persistent mentionings of the family Trevelyan. As far as he knew his Morrigan wasn’t even related to the family and was regent because the holding marched with her own. “I want her well.”

  Dilla bit her lip. “I would comfort our laird in his anguish, but there are no words that could assuage.”

  Andra, who stood with her, put his arm about her. “He’s lost a stone of weight with worry, ye’ ken.” He kissed his trembling wife.

  As though she felt him calling to her, Morrigan whispered his name.

  Diodura cackled. “The herbs are working on her.”

  Hugh dropped to his knees, pressing his face to the covering near his wife’s face. He’d never cried in his life, not even when he’d once nearly been flogged to death by a captor as a young man. Now he could barely speak with the emotion that choked him. “I’m here, beloved.”

  Her eyes lifted as though they were weighted. She tried to smile. “I needed… you. Our babe—”

  “The children are fine. And I’m here.” He looked up at Diodura, who was rubbing her hands together, and to Dilla, who was holding her apron to her mouth, tears running from her eyes.

  “Hold… me…” Her words were barely out of her mouth when Hugh scrambled into the bed and caught her close.

  “You can never leave me again,” he told her, his voice torn with the worry that had weighed him down.

  “No.”

  Diodura backed away from the bed, turning to Dilla. “ ’Twill not be easy to speak to them of the babe, though I think Lady Morrigan knew she carried.”

  Dilla shook her head. “Have you told him?”

  Diodura shook her head. “Soon.”

  “God helped them before. He must now.”

  “He will.” Diodura frowned. “But there are rough waters ahead.”

  “How can that be? Our lady is back safe to us. We are protected here in Castle MacKay.”

  Diodura released a long shuddering sigh. “I trust your sight is stronger than mine.”

  Dill
a stared after the witch when she shuffled away, her brow furrowed. “Andra, we will go. I would pray for them.”

  Andra looked puzzled. “She is getting better.”

  “The witch says there’s trouble ahead.”

  “Och, no. They will prosper and have other bairns.”

  “I will pray ’Tis so.” She glanced once into the bedchamber heated by a roaring fire, then closed the door. She shivered, as though someone walked on her grave.

  Hugh muttered love words into her ears, his hands caressing her, warming her. Though he was totally aroused by holding her, his happiness was greater to have her safe in his arms again. It rocked him that even if they were never intimate again, he would want her, need her, keep her. “When you are well, love, I shall take you to a small hut on the cliffside. You’ll see the Orkneys and watch the wild water while I warm thee,” he said, in the ancient Icelandic tongue of his mother.

  When he leaned back to smile at her, her tears were there, though she was trying to fight them back. “Beloved! You’re in pain!”

  “No, no.” She clutched him when he would’ve risen from their bed. “Don’t leave me. I’m not in the kind of pain that demands Diodura or Dilla.” She inhaled a deep, ragged breath. “I need you.”

  He moved beside her, gathering her close. “Tell me what hurts you so.”

  “I think I lost our child when I was at Castle Druida. Dilla has not said, nor Diodura, but I sense it is so. What was given me in Druida loosened our spawn from my womb, I’m sure. I will ask Diodura.”

  Her breathy words speared him. Agony, such as he’d never known, filled him. More than once he’d been wounded in battle. No laceration or contusion had pained as this did. His arms tightened. “Do you need attending now, beloved?”

  She sighed. “I didn’t want you to leave me, but perhaps I need cleansing.” Since this was never done by any but women trained to be attendants, Morrigan thought nothing of it when he rose from the bed.

  Hugh went to the fire, pulling the pot toward him and pouring the steaming water into another flatter pot. Then he collected clean swaddlings, and turned toward his wife again.