The Pledge

by Helen Mittermeyer

“You are hurt by my words, Hugh.” She tugged the tartan up to her chin.

  Seeing the movement, eyes narrowing on her, he comprehended her restraint. “Beloved, we have lost a child. We will grieve. But we have three other children who give us joy. Never ponder I could not think you the most perfect of wives, the most beloved of mothers.” He edged back the tartan. “I see only a beautiful woman who shares my pain. Don’t shut me out of that.”

  “No,” Morrigan answered, a tear running down toward her ear.

  Hugh leaned down and caught it with his tongue. “Fret not, Morrigan. We have our two wonderful sons, Rhys and Conal. They’ll grow strong and tall, and bring us much joy. Our beautiful daughter Avis will be the warmth of our lives and make us proud.”

  “We could have more…” she began, then paused. “That angers you?”

  “Not at you, beloved. We’ll not speak of having other children. You are ailing. ’Tis not necessary to have another child. Three are more than enough.”

  “But…” Her words trailed when he lifted her sleeping raiment and loosened the soiled wrappings. She watched him as he washed her. “Your strokes are more than gentle, husband.”

  “I revere you, wife. To touch you is an honor.”

  “You warm me another way. Though I am fatigued, and my body sore and wrenched, my mind spent, my spirit wretched, my being responds to you as it had on first sighting you.”

  “Stop, wife, you’re seducing me.” He chuckled, though his hand tremored.

  “Good. You’ve enthralled me, husband. It seems ages since our wedding, though it was mere turns of the moon. Yet, in my heart, it’s as though I’ve always been with you, that we’ve traveled through many lives to be together.”

  Hugh had lifted his head, his hand poised over her. “Wife, you warm me.”

  “I… I have the feeling I’ve always known you.”

  Pleased, he grinned, taking the soiled wrappings to the fire and tossing them in there. He stared down at his hands, colored with her blood. Anger and sorrow shook him. “And so you have, beloved. Since you’ll be living with me for eons forward, we shall discuss it fully.” He looked over his shoulder. “For now, I shall get into bed, and we’ll nap together.” He used hot water and soap to lave himself.

  “What if I should want more?”

  “Though weakened from your ordeal, you cannot resist teasing me. For shame.”

  “I’m most happy to be home.”

  Hugh glowered at her. “You’ll not tempt me, woman. Behave yourself.” He slid in next to her, catching her close.

  Morrigan put her hand on his chest. “Mayhap I already have tempted you. I feel the thunder. Here.” She poked him.

  “Do you?” He let his mouth rove her face and hair. “To be truthful, you’re a sore trial to me.”

  She laughed and wound her arms around his neck, stifling a wince at the pull from her middle and lower body.

  Hugh kissed her over and over, trying to blot the anguish and fury from his mind. They had come at his Morrigan! For that they would pay dearly.

  Tarquin stared at Goll, his face mottled, ire and trepidation chasing across his features. He would like to be gone from Druida, but Goll wouldn’t hear of it. Since Morrigan’s disappearance he’d been like a madman. “How could it happen?”

  “Quiet! Do you think I’m not trying to figure it out?” Goll looked around the shabby great room draped in cobwebs, dirt everywhere. Then he strode to the front door, pushing it open, the grating sound of it abrading the ears as it cast off slivers of wood to the stone floor.

  “What bothers you?” Tarquin inquired, his tone pitched too high. “We should leave this place. By this time messengers will be on their way to Califb—”

  “He’s in Egypt.”

  “Well, Drcq and your brother Cumhal are not. If word goes out to your cousin Boyne of Hibernia, there could be a bloodbath. Morrigan is a favorite of his. Boyne is not patient. In fact he is ferocious.”

  Goll studied him. “You think I don’t know my cousin. I do. As for Califb and Drcq, I discount them. Neither cares for any woman, including their sister. One dreams of the Land of the Dead, the other only of war and glory.” Goll’s mouth twisted. “I’ll give both of them plenty of it when I take over Trevelyan.”

  Tarquin’s face seemed to swell. “I was to take over Trevelyan. She is my wife according to our writ.” He frowned. “What does it matter? She’s escaped.”

  “Yes. And I wonder about that, since she had a strong enough potion to kill her.”

  “What? I was to taste her first.”

  “Forget that,” Goll said, his face creased in thought. He thumped the brick closest to the window, grimacing as mortar powdered around him. “What bedchamber did she reside in here?”

  “At the top of the stairs. I don’t know which one. It was the least dirty, and spacious enough.” Tarquin shrugged. “What did it matter? She wasn’t going to remain there long if she hadn’t pleased me. I wouldn’t have needed to keep her long. Replacing her with another wouldn’t have been difficult. To gain the wealth of Trevelyan she would’ve made me a widower quite soon, I’ll be bound.” He looked thoughtful. “Unless of course she pleased me, as I’ve said. Then she would’ve lasted longer.”

  “True,” Goll said, hiding his disgust with his coconspirator.

  “What do we do now?”

  “We find another way to get Trevelyan. My other… friends have varying solutions to tangled problems. I’ll consult them this day.”

  “What of the others in this scheme? Why haven’t you discussed them with me?”

  “You didn’t ask, and the less prattle about something like this, the better.”

  “I don’t like to be kept in the dark.”

  Goll swallowed the sharp retort. No need to alienate the fool. He turned and left the room at a run, ignoring the screeches behind him as he mounted the stairs, two at a time. He threw open the door of the first chamber, going right to the fireplace. Nothing! Even as he heard Tarquin ascend, mouthing complaints, his hand found the indentation.

  When the narrow door swung open, he ground his teeth. He had the panel shut before Tarquin entered. One day he would seal the fate of his stupid collaborator.

  Hugh had his maps on the trencher board. More precious than gems to a strategist, they were papyri given to him by his Viking neighbors in the Orkneys. He pored over them for days, when he wasn’t up in the bedchamber with his bride. He’d let no one feed her, change her, dress her, since she’d begun recovering. He had the unholy sensation that if she was out of his sight for too long he could lose her. That was never going to happen.

  He pressed the papyrus flat, looking it over, pondering his moves as he’d been doing since finding Morrigan. None who’d plotted against her would survive. Nothing would save those who’d attacked his wife. They’d terrorized her, and tried to kill her. For that they’d forfeit their lives.

  “When think you?” Toric asked, leaning over the crackly parchment.

  “Soon,” Hugh said through his teeth. “I want to see Morrigan well first.”

  Toric smiled. “Methinks my lady does well. I heard her shout at you yesterday.”

  Hugh grinned. “She can make her feelings known.”

  Toric laughed. “The children thrive because she’s returned.”

  “They have.” So had he. He could eat and drink without it coming up in his throat as had happened when he hadn’t been able to find Morrigan.

  MacKay men and woman bustled about the great room, working at an assortment of tasks, some whistling and humming. Things had gone better with their lady back.

  “Hugh.”

  Everything in the great room went silent. Chattering, ale mugs clanking, shuffling of feet, laughter, ceased.

  There were gasps, the loudest coming from the laird when he turned and saw who stood there.

  “Morrigan! You must not be out of bed,” Hugh thundered, racing to her side and scooping her up in his arms. “You could catch a draft.” He t
urned his back on the wide open door of the castle, a cold wind blustering through it. His words were hardly spoken when the door was slammed shut.

  “I’m fine,” she told him, her arms around his neck.

  “You’re skin and bones,” Toric blurted, reddening when she smiled at him. “Forgive me, Morrigan.”

  “The weight will come back, too fast, I fear.”

  “You were never heavy,” Hugh whispered to her, cuddling her high against his chest and starting for the stairs.

  “Wait!”

  At her imperious command, Hugh halted. “What, beloved? You must go back to your upper chambers at once.”

  “Why the maps? You are going to seek revenge against those who held me, aren’t you?”

  Hugh wanted to lie. He couldn’t. He nodded.

  “You mustn’t,” Morrigan cried. “I’ll not have you among that den of trolls again. I don’t want it. I won’t have one MacKay hurt. I’ll not have you wounded. Hear me well.”

  Stunned MacKays listened, mouths slack. No one ever told Hugh MacKay what he should do. English Edward tried. So had Edward Baliol. Neither had succeeded. Now a slip of a woman, who only came to his chin, who was Welsh no less, was telling him he couldn’t wage war.

  Mackays rattled their weapons, not sure what side they should take.

  Hugh didn’t hear. He was staring down at her fragile face, its stubborn set, the slight quivering in her chin. “Fret not, beloved. If you don’t wish it, I shall not do it.”

  Some warriors said later that they couldn’t believe their ears, that their knees went weak. Most smiled, poking one another. Their lady had become dear to them. That she could handle MacKay made her even more important.

  “What say you, Hugh?” Toric queried, laughing, knowing he risked a slamming into the wall later.

  Hugh looked at him. “My wife says no.” He glared when MacKays began laughing. “I’ll thrash the lot of you,” he growled, reading their minds.

  “You won’t do that either. They’re MacKays and I won’t let you hurt them,” Morrigan whispered.

  It was heard. MacKays doubled over in mirth, the words sweeping through the great room and out to the bailey, as one MacKay threw open the door and shouted it as he was running out, slamming the huge oak behind him.

  Hugh looked down at her, trying to frown. It didn’t come. He was so damned happy to see her moving about, he couldn’t push the smile away. “You’ll be running the clan, I’m thinking.”

  “Sooner than you think,” she shot back, making him roar with laughter. “I love to see you this way, warm, alive, happy. We have a joyous life, husband. We cannot risk it with a war upon miscreants. They won’t dare approach MacKay land, so we are well rid of them.”

  He sank down onto a bench, still holding her. “I like it not that you’re a good stone lighter than you should be.”

  She shook her head. “Not really. Besides, you’ve lost as well, Hugh.” She put her hand to his cheek. “Fret not. All will be well.” She paused, swallowing. “We’ll bear a child.”

  His hands clenched on her. “I’ll not want you bearing unless you’re well, beloved. I won’t be put through that again. When you were unwell ’twas too great a cost.”

  “Calm yourself,” she soothed. “I know a deep part of you won’t be calmed because of your fears. Be at peace, Hugh. Don’t think we won’t have a child. We can. I feel it.”

  He stared down at her, as though he didn’t comprehend. “ ’Tis not the babe that hurts me, though the loss of such is an agony.” He looked into her eyes. “Do you not know I couldn’t lose you? That is my greatest fear, beloved.” He marked her stunned expression. When she pressed her face to his chest, he embraced her. He felt her struggling with emotion, her breast heaving against his.

  She leaned back, staring at him. “I didn’t intend to love you.”

  He grinned. “I’m irresistible.”

  “Boor,” she chided.

  “I also love you.” He knew she loved their verbal jousting as much as he did. He wanted to kiss her, to love her, but she had to regain her strength.

  She glanced around the now-empty great room. “I do love it here.”

  Happiness rivered through him. “It’s a most wondrous place because you are.”

  She touched his cheek. “You overwhelm me with your words, Hugh.” She pulled his head down and whispered. “Take me to our chamber.”

  He recoiled. “I… can’t,” he said, his tone hoarse. “You need rest.”

  “I need you.”

  “Morrigan,” he breathed. “Don’t test me this way. I can’t hurt you.”

  “You can only hurt me by rejecting me.” She stroked his jaw.

  “Diodura—”

  Morrigan smiled. “She assured me I could resume my wifely duties.”

  “Duties?”

  “Her words, not mine.”

  Hugh surged to his feet. “I can’t gainsay a soothsayer, one who mended my men and told me you were alive.”

  When his voice shook at the last, Morrigan twined her arms around his neck. “I knew you’d come for me. I fought to live, knowing that.”

  Hugh kissed her, his mouth clinging to hers, his heart pounding against her. “My sweet, are you sure…?”

  “Very.”

  “Damn, I love it,” Hugh said, sounding like a gleeful boy.

  Morrigan laughed.

  He strode to the stairs, mounting them, three at a time, as though she were the merest feather he carried.

  She pressed her face into his neck.

  “Fear not to hide your blush, love. Our peoples know I love you.”

  Myriad MacKays exited from chambers, then hustled back the way they came, giggling and chuckling behind their hands.

  “I have no shame. I want my husband.”

  “Not as much as I want you.”

  When the door shut behind them in the chamber, she pushed at him to let her down, so that she stood in front of him. “I have something to say to you, husband.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing matters at this moment in time, except you… and me.”

  “I agree.”

  She smiled. “I want your strength, the same intensity of purpose that discovered where I was and brought me to you. I have a hunger for you.”

  “As I have for you.”

  She moved closer, reaching up to slip her hands around his neck. She edged him closer to the thick tartan in front of the fire. She pulled him down so that they were kneeling, facing each other.

  Hugh muttered a blasphemy as his hand curved up under her breast. His hardness touched her and she arched into him. He hissed invective, the desperation behind it making their touching erotic, so sensual. When she rubbed against him, purring her pleasure, his mouth closed over hers again.

  He loosened her outer garments, only breaking contact when he had to slip it over her head.

  Morrigan was just as busy, pulling open his woolen jerkin and trying to slide it down his arms. She looked at his chest, the dark, russet hair, arrowing down to his belt. She tugged at that.

  Pushing her hands aside, he slid off the belt, pushing down so that his clothing left him naked just above his high chausses. He waited for her shock. It didn’t come.

  She looked her fill, then smiled up at him.

  He lifted off the rest of her raiment, staring at her in the sheerest of cloth of Cathay undergarments. When he closed his eyes and took deep breaths, her chuckle was short of air as well.

  “You tease me, wife.”

  “Yes.” Her airy giggle had a quiver to it that enticed him.

  “You are Helen and Circe in one, beloved.”

  “You don’t like it?” she whispered.

  “You know I do.” He caressed her bare thighs.

  “I had not thought to ever have this,” she murmured on a sigh when he kissed her breasts.

  “Neither did I,” he muttered, rubbing his lips from breast to breast as they rocked together.

  She moved ba
ck from him, lifting her silky garment over her head, watching as his face reddened, his breath quickened.

  “You are Circe.”

  “I want to be yours.”

  “No other.”

  With the last of her raiment discarded she melted down to the tartan, relaxed as a cat, a wanton pose, her hands free of her body, the fingers curled as though she’d reach to grasp him.

  Hugh gulped air, rising to his feet, his gaze fastened to her, as he threw off his chausses, his sword clanking to the stone floor.

  Flames outlined him, and she took his measure. “I want and need to fix in my mind how you look at this moment, Hugh.”

  He paused. “Do you?”

  “Yes. You make my heart thump, Lord MacKay.”

  “I’m scarred from shoulder to foot, beloved.”

  “I would kiss each one. I care for your form, Hugh. I did not think that I could ever look upon a man this way.” She smiled. “I must say I enjoy it.”

  He laughed. “Make sure it’s only mine. You can see what you do to me, beloved.”

  “All of you is hard, I would say.”

  He chuckled, feeling blood pump through his limbs because her eyes were on him. He dropped down beside her, taking her breast into his mouth, sucking there, then tantalizing the fullness with his tongue. When her body quivered against him, he had to fight down the need to take her. He lifted his head, his thumb pressing over the rosy nub. “I can’t stop watching you, beloved. You were made for me.”

  “As you were for me?”

  He nodded, bending to take the other nipple into his strong flexing jaw, so that he both sucked and blew on the surface. Her gasping sounds pushed his hands over her in softest caresses, each touch setting him on fire.

  Responding to the lightning in her body, she arched again, rubbing against him. “I feel your fire, Hugh MacKay. I’ve never wanted food or drink more. Mayhap you will drive me mad with wanting.”

  “Nay! I’ll be the one, to be sure.”

  “Don’t worry that I will break, husband. I won’t.”

  He eyed her. “I want not to hurt you, yet I would love you in every way.”

  “Do.”

  He leaned up from her, drawing her knees up, easing her back when she would’ve risen. He smiled at the instinct to cover herself, though she’d just encouraged him to love her all ways. He wanted nothing more.