The Pledge

by Helen Mittermeyer

  Hugh took another hit, though it was a flat blow, not a slice; he castigated himself for losing his concentration. Bearing down, his arm feeling as though it weighed ten stone, he eyed his opponent and decided to gamble.

  Dropping his sword point, he fumbled for his dirk.

  The Welsh roared, seeing victory for Tarquin, who threw himself at the Scot, sword aimed at MacKay’s chest.

  Scots sighed, recognizing the ploy, frozen in place at the peril MacKay had put himself into to bring a quick end to the fray.

  Hugh, still turned, saw the point of the sword coming at him. In sudden reflex, he brought up his own, slashing hard at the other weapon, deflecting it. In the same motion he came inside the other’s guard, bringing up the dirk and jamming it into the chest of Tarquin of Cardiff.

  Tarquin struggled to say something. All he could manage was a gurgle. Then he fell forward on his face.

  EIGHTEEN

  Think to yourself that every day is your last; thehour to which you do not look forward will

  come as a welcome surprise.

  Horace

  Swaying, Hugh tried to look back at Morrigan, who raced to him, arms outstretched, calling his name. “Beloved,” he whispered, smiling, then he slipped to the ground.

  Urdred and Diuran lifted him.

  Morrigan grasped him, screaming. “Latura!”

  The hag shambled from the sidelines.

  A burly Scot swept her up into his arms, while the Welsh watched, mouths agape. He sprinted across the field and deposited her beside Morrigan.

  “Help my husband,” Morrigan pleaded.

  “Tut, tut, child of Trevelyan. Have faith.”

  Hugh opened his eyes. “She’s not Trevelyan,” he muttered. “She’s MacKay.” He passed out, wringing a cry from Morrigan.

  “We must get him home to Scotland,” Morrigan commanded.

  Latura shook her head. “Not as he is. We must assume that the arrow could be tainted. Nay, nay, fret not. I will give him herbs to counteract poisons. In a few days if he’s well, we’ll send him home. For now”—she looked up at the castle—“he must stay here. Are there enough Scots to take the holding?”

  The ayes bellowed over the glen.

  Morrigan shook her head, a tear trickling down her cheek. “Let me speak to the people here. I want no more killing. ’Tis time for peace.” Turning away from the MacKays, she walked toward the contingent of Welsh, stopping in front of them. “My people, this day I would’ve fought against Wales to protect my husband from my cousin. And I would do it again. I do not consider myself a traitor to my people. In all honor I ask a boon.” She let her eyes roam along the rows of Welsh. “That you let me take my husband within the holding so that he may be tended.”

  “I, too, wish it,” Cumhal said at her side.

  The silence stretched across the glen, a raven cawing overhead.

  As one the men moved back, forming a tunnel. As one they swept their hand over their chest. “Go forth, Princess, in peace,” one said.

  “Thank… thank you,” Morrigan managed from a throat choked with emotion. “I am so proud to be Welsh,” she told them. The leather head coverings were swept off as many bowed to her.

  Whirling, Morrigan glanced at Urdred, who’d been busy fashioning slings to carry Hugh in between two of the destriers. Although the large animals seemed to balk at such a demeaning task, they were brought to heel by the Scots.

  Soon the entourage was entering the castle. Latura’s shouted instructions were being heeded by attendants who appeared from everywhere to obey the barked commands.

  Morrigan saw nothing but her husband. As soon as he was settled in the upper chamber, she set about aiding Latura in her ministrations. “He must live.”

  “He will, milady, for many years to come.” Latura chuckled at Morrigan’s blinding smile.

  All through the rest of the day and into the night Morrigan and Latura labored, finally finishing with Hugh, bedding him down, then moving on to others, Welsh and Scot, who might need tending. Since there were far fewer to treat than there would’ve been had there been a full-scale battle, they were soon done and could take to their pallets.

  Morrigan was asleep as her head touched the tartan that covered her husband.

  In the morning her husband’s groans awakened her and she was quick to check his bandaging. His fever was light, his skin warm but not burning. There was moisture to it, but not the sweating that comes from infection.

  “I like it that you touch me, wife, but I could wish we were in our own chamber,” Hugh said, a faint smile on his lips.

  “Do not brag about your prowess in bed, now, good husband. It won’t stand you in good stead. You’ve been wounded, but you are on the mend.”

  “I know. ’Twas only a paltry thing.”

  “ ’Twasn’t! You could’ve died if Latura wasn’t here to succor—”

  The door burst open as she spoke. Instinctively Morrigan threw herself across Hugh. He struggled to get her free of him and get the dirk that was next to his pillow.

  Morrigan relaxed, sighing. “Latura, you gave me such a fright. Why have you come…” The words died on her lips at the witch’s pasty cast. “What’s wrong?”

  “I know not. I woke from the vision, mystified.” She leaned back against the chamber door. “There’re guards throughout the castle?”

  “MacKays are always on the watch. No one need instruct them.” She ignored her husband’s chuckle.

  “Then we must check the grounds,” the witch instructed. “I know not what it was, but I’m disturbed by it.”

  Morrigan nodded. “Can you not place the peril so we might take action?”

  “Shh, love. Diuran and Urdred are in charge. Naught can happen,” Hugh hastened to assure her, though his voice was weak.

  “Why are Toric and Carmody not with Keith and the others?” Morrigan smiled at Hugh, the smile freezing when he looked away from her. “Tell me.”

  “Carmody was blinded. Both Toric’s legs were broken.”

  “Dear God in Heaven!” When she gasped, placing her hand over her mouth, Latura approached the bed.

  “Grieve not, good lady of Trevelyan. The men are on their way to Scotland, and have safe conduct. I, myself, succored them.”

  Teary, Morrigan nodded her head. “Thank you, good friend.” Through her agitation Morrigan noticed how preoccupied Latura was, how she kept looking at the door. “You mustn’t worry. No MacKay would let trouble come to their laird. In a day or two he’ll be well, and we’ll be on our way back to Scotland.”

  Latura was wild-eyed. “I see danger, Morrigan of Trevelyan. I cannot place it, so the jeopardy for all is great.”

  “Why does she call you Trevelyan?” Hugh moved his head on the pallet. “Let me up. I want to talk to my men.”

  “No! I’ll bring them to you.” Morrigan shook her finger at him, ignoring his question. She would answer at another time. “Don’t you dare move, Hugh MacKay.”

  Latura cackled, though she didn’t cease her study of the room.

  “She’s a harpy is she not, Latura?”

  “You love her. She loves you. Aught else means little.”

  Hugh smiled, his gaze going back to Morrigan. “Too brave by half, my little beauty.”

  “So are you,” Latura riposted, then she went around a MacKay coming through the door and left the chamber.

  Morrigan stared after her, then gestured to the nearest MacKay.

  Diuran appeared at once, his face creased with concern. “Milady?”

  “All is well. The laird wishes to speak to the men. Since all can’t fit in this room, bring representatives, and he shall state his case.”

  “I will,” Diuran stated, slamming his hand across his chest. “I will follow any and all dicta you give me, also, milady, including battling at your side.” He turned and ran down the stone steps leading to the entry, calling out to Urdred to guard the chamber.

  Men seemed to erupt from the walls, surrounding her.
/>   Morrigan smiled at the MacKays. “You are a credit to your clan.”

  “Nay, milady,” Urdred informed her solemnly. “You are.”

  Shaken, she glanced at each one in turn. “Thank you.” She hesitated. “I should tell you that the witch, Latura, fears that all betrayal isn’t at an end. Even she doesn’t know whence it comes, or from whom. If ’twere anyone else, I might not give it credence. With her I do. I would ask you to be vigilant.” She gazed at them. “ ’Tis not my wish to think of my people, the Welsh, as disloyal to me, but some might feel I’ve betrayed—”

  The nays interrupted her.

  “Thank you, but I think we should ponder all avenues in which an assassin might appear. I beg you to question the smallest thing that seems strange to you.”

  Diuran went by with his group of MacKays, eyeing them in open curiosity.

  “I will talk to you later,” Urdred told him, his features tight.

  When Diuran disappeared into the chamber, and the door was closed, Urdred looked around him at the other MacKays. Without further words they drew their weapons and waited.

  “We will keep to our posts, milady, and—”

  A commotion had him spinning about, weapon high and ready. Another pushed Morrigan to the middle of the group, so that she was surrounded by MacKays.

  “Let me up, you fools. I would see my cousin.”

  “And I would look upon my godchild.”

  Morrigan exhaled. “Rest easy, friends. ’Tis Father MacKenzie and Lady MacKenzie.”

  The men around her melted back, though they still hovered close.

  Maud MacKenzie came forward, hands outstretched. “However did you manage such a brilliant move, my dear? We are all in your debt that you saved our Hugh. We’ve come to see him.”

  Morrigan smiled. “You are in truth an archimage, dear lady. How else could you’ve come this far and this rapidly?”

  Lady Maud waved a hand before embracing Morrigan. “Nay, I think not. Would that I could speak their hocus-pocus, though. ’Twould be a fine talent, I’m thinking. As for Kieran and myself, we’ve not come a great distance. A friend’s holding is just beyond this one and across the border.”

  “Dunsinane? Has he come around to Hugh’s way of thinking, then?”

  “He has. But let us not talk of mundane matters when I would see Hugh for myself.”

  “Of course. This way. How are you, Father?”

  “Kieran, please, Morrigan. We are family.”

  Morrigan smiled and opened the door. “There he is. Hugh, you have company.”

  Hugh opened his eyes, studying the newcomers, bidding them welcome.

  “Hugh!” Lady Maud sailed across the room, bending to embrace her godchild, kissing him many times on the mouth.

  “Maud, Maud, I’m not dying.” Hugh smiled.

  Morrigan saw his tiredness, but she was loath to send Hugh’s family away. When she saw Kieran with his unguents, she went to him. “Surely he doesn’t need the last rites. He’s getting better.”

  Kieran smiled. “I know. I would give him the blessing for the ill, to speed his recovery, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  Morrigan shook her head. “He needs all the blessings he can get.”

  “Wife, how can you speak so?” Hugh’s gibe had mirth, though his voice was raspy and not as strong as it should be.

  She laughed. “ ’Tis my duty to keep you holy.”

  Everyone laughed, especially the MacKays who’d lingered in the room after the new arrivals.

  Morrigan noticed how Maud was frowning as she looked about her. She moved close to her. “Something upsets you, milady?”

  “Methinks there are too many persons in this room, taking up the good air needed by the laird,” Maud chided, scowling at the MacKays’ jocularity. “Tsk, tsk, this is a sickroom. You must go, good sirs,” she said as she chased the attendants from the room.

  “There, that’s better. We can move about more freely, and you”—Maud pointed to Hugh—“can get your rest.”

  “And I can get on with this,” Kieran said, smiling.

  Content to stay out of the way, Morrigan backed toward the tapestry-covered walls. Now that Hugh was safe, she felt a lassitude, a numbing relief that her husband would recover, that they would return to Scotland. She wanted a peaceful life with Hugh and the children. The thought warmed her. Morrigan watched and listened to the banter between Kieran and her husband.

  Idly she studied Maud, who’d moved back to the bedside, her eyes pinned to Hugh. Pale sunlight streaked through the window, making her rich headdress glitter.

  As though all of life went into limbo, Morrigan went still, alarms going off in her being. A sense of peril seemed to crawl up her spine. She watched Kieran prepare his unguents and oils for a blessing of the sick, saw his mother hover over the bed to aid him. A revelation flowered at the same time. She recalled the battlements, the sun hitting what she’d thought had been armor. She looked at the gem-encrusted headdress.

  “Wait!” Morrigan shouted, her hand going to the short sword at her side. “I’ve changed my mind. You will not put any of your oils upon his lips or anywhere on his person.” She felt rather than saw Hugh stiffen, for she kept her eyes on the MacKenzies. She drew her sword. “Back away from the bed, Kieran MacKenzie, hands high if you please, and away from my husband.”

  “Hugh!” Maud raised her voice. “Your wife has run mad!”

  “Has she?” In slow slides up the pillows, Hugh poised, then reached for the weapon on the side table.

  “Don’t!” Kieran hissed, throwing down the oils and grasping his own sword.

  “So? What’s this?” Hugh watched his cousin, in lazy scrutiny, settling his hands back on the coverlet. “What say you, wife? A viper among us?”

  “More than one, I’m thinking,” Morrigan answered in Gaelic. “ ’Twas your virulent gaze I felt on the day of our nuptials, was it not?”

  “ ’Twas, you insolent Welsh slut.”

  “You poisoned the wine on our nuptial day, I would swear. And then you saw to it that Hugh was ambushed and captured. You concocted that story that the king knew of Hugh’s death. Evil!” Fury filled her when Maud’s mouth twisted.

  “Curse you for not joining Hugh in the drink of death,” Maud said through her teeth. “I watched you fawn over those crippled spawn of Satan, and knew you must die. You bring such filth to the clan. You and Hugh cannot have this clan. It belongs to Kieran.”

  “Don’t malign ours. They are our children. And this clan is Hugh’s.”

  “No!” Maud screamed.

  “Hugh, I’m sure they didn’t just arrive.” She hauled in a deep breath, swallowing. “They’ve been here all the time.” That was conjecture, but Kieran’s glare assured her she was right. Did Maud bare her teeth just then? How was it she’d missed the agate hardness of those eyes? Morrigan shook with fury. “Guests of Goll’s were you? You needn’t deny it. Have you been in league with him these many moons? Did you not conspire to take from my husband, from me?”

  Maud glared. “The MacKay treasures belong to me.”

  Morrigan was taken aback, though she masked her thoughts. “You’re not a MacKay.”

  “Hugh was to marry me. It was decreed—”

  “A lie,” Hugh said in a calm voice.

  “No! I gave years to your mother. I was not much older than you. When I went to your father and mother and suggested that I should become your wife in time, they smiled. Then, soon after they arranged my wedding with MacKenzie, your cousin. It was wrong. When I had my own son, I… we devised a plan to wrest what was rightfully mine from our enemy.” Maud gritted her teeth when Hugh laughed. Then she glowered at Morrigan. “How could you know about us? We made no mistakes.”

  “The truth of it is I might not have. ’Twas Latura had a vision of an evil presence. Then you appeared. Perhaps had I not been so warned, nothing would’ve come of my wonderings.” She stared at Maud, anger rivering through her. “There was another incident. I saw the sun hitti
ng your headdress as you stood upon the battlements yesterday. As you leaned over my husband just now, the sun shone upon you again. Your penchant for jewels has brought you down, milady.”

  Maud ground her teeth. “You Welsh spoiler! ’Twas not you who was to wed the laird. I was. I had talked to many of the earls. They’d promised to press my suit before Edward. Before ’twas done, the compact was signed.”

  Stunned, Morrigan stared. Then her glance went to her husband, who hadn’t taken his eyes from Kieran. “Hugh, do you hear?”

  “I hear. Not an interdict from the pope himself would’ve made me do it.”

  “Liar! You loved me,” Maud said through her teeth, sidling to the chamber door and throwing the bar across it. “You think you can spurn me, Hugh MacKay, as your parents did? My son shall inherit your title and your holdings. All MacKays shall be under our heels.”

  “Why such venom, milady? Have you not been fed and clothed by them, lo these many years.? My mother took pity on you. My father bestowed upon you your only legacy. How foolish we were to hug vermin to our tartans.”

  “How dare you!” Maud drew a short sword.

  “Was it not my clan that tutored you, even in using a weapon? Ungrateful tart,” Hugh taunted.

  “Never speak to my mother in such a way,” Kieran bleated, swinging his sword at Hugh, even as MacKay took the bolster behind him and tossed it in his cousin’s face.

  Maud screamed and made a rush at Hugh.

  Morrigan was there with her own sword. “Don’t, madam. ’Twould not take much for me to kill you. You have threatened my husband, our clan—”

  “Your clan? Hah! You’re not a Scot. I am.” The two women faced each other.

  “You lied about the king’s runners that day when you came to commiserate with me, did you not?”

  “I was enraged that the two of you weren’t beneath the ground,” Maud spat. “You were meant to die with him.”

  “Instead we live.” Morrigan couldn’t look toward Hugh, though she feared for him. He was too weak to fight his cousin, even if MacKenzie was a poor swordsman.