Morganna (The Brocade Collection, Book 4)

by Jackie Ivie

  Every KilCreggar that had died before was with her, their blood singing through her veins alongside her own blood, their pain adding to hers, until her heart was one large ache. She told herself to wait. All she needed was to wait, and hold it to her, and not interfere, and it would come to pass. If she stopped it, she would be admitting to the one thing she didn’t dare believe.

  She’d have to admit that there was love in the world, and it was stronger than vows, it was stronger even than death. If she opened this door, there would be no going back. She knew that. She knew that Plato expected it of her. He expected her to whore for him, to get him what he wanted, what Zander wanted...what she wanted.

  Morgan sighed and pushed away from the door. She wasn’t going to whore for anyone, but she couldn’t deny her heart, either. Love was too strong. She was going to have to stop Zander some other way, and there was only one way she could think of...by telling him the truth.

  She opened the door.

  Zander was lying on his bed, the dragon blade in his fingers, and he was turning it this way and that, just watching it. Morgan shut the door behind her softly, and lowered the newly constructed bolt into place.

  “Have you come to say good-bye?” he asked.

  “Nay,” she said. “I have come for my blade.”

  “Why?”

  “Give me the blade, Zander. We’ll talk.”

  Zander looked over at her. He hadn’t wiped one bit of mud from himself before gaining his bed. She knew it was because he didn’t care. She knew what he had planned. The same thing she would be doing in his stead.

  “You may take the blade from my dead hand, Morgan, and not before. You ken?”

  He raised it. Morgan opened her mouth and started talking.

  “I am not Morgan of no-name and no-clan, Zander. I come from a family of four sons and two daughters. My father was the laird. It was na’ a large clan, nor was it a rich clan. I had uncles, cousins…all older. We did na’ have a castle like this one, nor were we poor crofters. We had a stone house, very sturdy, with a loft. I knew love, too. I was surrounded by it. I remember it perfectly, although it was lost to us when I was verra small.”

  Nothing. The blade was still hovering over his chest. Morgan choked and kept stumbling over the words.

  “My oldest sister is named Elspeth. She is a score-and-one older than me. She looked like me once. Same long, black hair, same eyes, same face. We took after our mother. My sister had a man of her own, too, one bairn, with another on the way. I had that, Zander. I knew love. I knew life. Then, it was taken. I was four years old.”

  The blade glinted. She didn’t know what that meant. She didn’t dare stop long enough to ask.

  “The reavers came in the earliest of morn. All the menfolk were gone. There was just my sister, my ma, and the bairn home with me. I still remember the colors they wore. I have never forgotten it. I never will.” She looked down at the identical colors and shivered before she could stop it.

  “My ma was taken first, and I did na’ know what they did to her, over and over while she screamed and bled all over the table. I watched from the loft, and then Elspeth was with me. She gave me her plan. She was going to drop me from the loft. It was a long drop, Zander, especially to a four-year-old in the earliest of dawn.

  “I remember Elspeth calling to me, making certain I was all right. Then, she asked me to catch her bairn. His name was Samuel. He was a bright boy, although only a year in age. He was healthy. He was beautiful. He was perfect. I held up my arms.”

  The blade wasn’t hovering above him anymore, but Morgan didn’t see it, anyway. She was seeing that morning again.

  “The house was starting to catch fire, but I knew none of that. I was concentrating. I was ready. I planted my feet to catch him, and the explosion knocked me flat. I dinna’ know houses could do such a thing. I still canna’ explain it. I only know I was na’ there to catch my nephew because of it. He was already on the ground. He looked up at me with his big, trusting eyes and then was still. I was trying to awaken him, when Elspeth landed beside me, clutching her swollen belly and screaming about my clumsiness. Her screams brought the rest of the reavers.”

  “What did you do then?” Zander asked quietly.

  “I hid. I did na’ know what else to do. The house was burning, smoke was everywhere and Elspeth screamed and kept screaming. I dinna’ know then, why.”

  “Do you know who did the deed?” he asked.

  Morgan swallowed on the enormous lump in her throat to answer. “I do now.” she answered with a rasp of voice. “Back then, I only knew the clan. I told my father when he got there, too. He, and my brothers, and my uncles and cousins, and Elspeth’s man, although I doona’ even recollect his name. I thought Elspeth was dying. She was covered with blood, and screaming about how I’d killed her bairn, and then she delivered a still-birthed one there on the grass.”

  “Oh my God.” Zander’s voice was exhibiting the same horror she was seeing. Morgan shut her eyes.

  “Elspeth went mad. She still is, I think. I call her the hag, when I call her anything. She still calls me the bairn killer. Always has. Always will.”

  “But you were four at the time!”

  She opened her eyes and met his. “Four is not too young to learn life, nor death, Zander. I can attest to it. I must have learned it well, too. You have remarked how I am about it.”

  “I dinna’ know.”

  “No one does. ’Tis no matter, anyway. ’Tis past. It canna’ be changed.”

  “Your clan swore vengeance?”

  “Aye. And spent six years trying to get it. I spent those years learning about it, too. Learning killing. Seeing killing. Burying our dead. Sneering at theirs. I became my father’s shadow. Wherever he was, I was in the shadows. If anyone chanced across the homeless clan we had become, they would have seen a waif, in the shadows behind them. My father was very learned with weapons, although not as quick and accurate as I am. I learned knives first. You probably guessed that much.”

  “Go on,” he said.

  Morgan swallowed around the dryness. “Every season we lost clan, but we made them pay, too. My clan had sworn to gain blood-vengeance. The killing went on and on. We could na’ stop until it was done. Then came the end.”

  “The end?”

  Morgan couldn’t see anything except that night. She didn’t hear Zander’s question, either. All she could hear was the screams, then the groans, then the silence. “I was ten at the time, and I was na’ allowed to join the battle, so I was in the shadows watching. I watched as my clan was wiped out. All of them. There were thirty-seven men killed that night, and a score of them were mine. All I had. Every cousin, every uncle, everyone.”

  “What did you do, then?”

  “What do you think I did? I buried them. It took me eight days and I had to hide from them when they came for their dead. I was na’ very adept at digging, and who was I going to ask for help, the hag? She could na’ stand the sight of me. No one could. I took the sett from some of the smaller bodies to keep for myself, and then when I got too weak from lack of food, I went back. I dug up and purloined every weapon they had from their graves. They are walking the earth still, looking for their sett and their dirks, to this day. I know it. I feel them, sometimes.”

  “They would na’ do that, Morgan. They would have understood. They would ha’ wanted nothing less,” he said softly.

  “What do you know of it?” she spat. “Safe and secure in your clan and surrounded by all your brothers, and with all your kin? Well? You doona’ know what it’s like to have no one, save yourself. You doona’ know what it’s like to watch your mother raped and burned. You doona’ ken the torment of knowing you killed your sister’s bairn. You doona’ know what it’s like to have ancestors walking the earth looking for you because you robbed from their graves! You know nothing of that, Zander, nothing.”

  “You’re right, Morgan. I don’t. I’m beginning to understand a little, though.”

&n
bsp; “I vowed I would finish it. I was na’ afraid to die once it was done. I expected it. I needed it. I would gain vengeance and then I die. Then, maybe the corpses of my clan will rest in peace and leave me be.”

  “Your dreams?” Zander whispered.

  Morgan nodded, and brought her gaze back to his chamber. He was dangling the dragon blade by two fingers about the handle, but he still had it.

  “Then, I met you, Zander FitzHugh. Or rather, I was taken by you. Is there a worse fate for me? Taken by a FitzHugh? One of the most arrogant, filthy rich, Sassenach-loving, Highland FitzHughs? Worse yet, I was taken by the youngest, prettiest, play-loving, strongest, most manly FitzHugh. You have no idea how much I have tried to hate you.”

  “I can guess,” he said.

  “You set about learning me, though, and I did na’ wish to learn! I knew what my purpose in life was. To seek vengeance and die. That was my sole purpose. That’s the reason behind everything I do, everything I’ve done, and then you had to go and force me to squire for you.”

  “Which leads you to what? Are you going to claim a new joy of living, a new reason for love? What Morgan? Say something to make this ungodly day make sense.”

  “I canna’ deny anymore that there is such a thing as love. I did na’ think it existed anymore, but you made me face it. Aye, there is still love in the world. There is still joy. There is still a reason to all of it. There is still a God who cares. There will still be bairns born and raised to become old men and old women. There will still be death. There will still be brutality. There will also be life. There is still love in the world.”

  He sighed. “I understand now, Morgan. I’m sorry. You dinna’ have to tell me this, but I understand. God help me, anyway. I understand what you’re saying and I understand why. With as much killing and death as this earth already holds, why would I add to it? That is what you’re saying, isna’ it?”

  “I could na’ bear to dig your grave, Zander. It pains me deeply to know I might have to. You must give me my blade now.”

  “Will you promise not to miss me next time I risk our hope of heaven by trying to claim you?”

  “I have no hope of heaven, Zander. Have na’ you been listening to me?”

  “Everything you have said to me was done when you were a child, Morgan! Little more than a bairn yourself! No God would be so unmerciful.”

  “I have just started believing in God again, Zander FitzHugh. Pray don’t take my belief too far, too fast. I knew what I was doing. I knew why. I have to finish this vow and I have to die. I know my clan will rest when I have satisfied both, and not before. You doona’ understand!”

  “I understand the vengeance, Morgan, but none have to die except this devil! He must die. Only tell me the name of the clan and I will help you. They deserve all you can do.”

  Morgan felt like she’d been tossed over a waterfall, and into the deepest loch, and was just breaking the surface for air. She sucked it in and it burned. “I canna’ ask your help, Zander. ’Tis my own curse, and my own vow. I am speaking now because I have made another vow. This is what I wanted you to know, and for it, I need your help.”

  “What is it?”

  “I am going to correct the wrongs I have done. Though they were not intentioned, they were still done. I will na’ be able to rest in my own grave if I doona’ correct it. I will need you alive to do so. After I have finished, you may seek death if you wish. I will join you. Now give me the blade, Zander.”

  “You must not miss again.”

  “I dinna’ miss before. I did what you said to do. I was aiming for a crack in the rock. I hit it.”

  He sat up and flung it toward her. Morgan was as astounded as he was when she moved in that direction and caught it. She held it up to the light and watched the ruby in the firelight.

  “Do you believe in magic, Zander?” she asked.

  “I believe in illusion,” he replied, with a ghost of a smile.

  She shrugged. “I will think on that instead. Seek sleep now. You are going to need it. I will be back in this room before the sun sets tomorrow.”

  ‘Where are you going? To who? If you seek out that harlot, Sally—”

  Morgan put her hands on her hips and lowered her eyebrows, and gave him another I-am-so-disappointed-in-you look. “Zander FitzHugh, I have told you more than any other soul on earth knows. Doona’ press me now.”

  “You will come to no harm?”

  “I am the FitzHugh champion of weapons. Harm? What fool would attempt it?”

  “Where will you be? How will I find you?”

  “I will not leave the castle. You have my word. Rest. Bathe yourself. Ask Plato for any assist. Find a feile-breacan befitting the most handsome of the FitzHughs, and dare to dream, Zander. I promise you magic. Not illusion. Magic. Until tomorrow.”

  She opened the door and slid out. Then, she went looking for Sheila and the Lady Gwynneth to make a woman out of her.

  ~ ~ ~

  The bath they filled for her was a pleasant experience, once she got over three women all assisting her. Sally Bess wasn’t going to be left out of the creation of Morganna, the mysterious one.

  Lady Gwynneth had been surprised and pleased at Morgan’s request, and Sheila had been open-mouthed and astounded, and giggling non-stop at what Morgan had done, and the lads she had bested. Sheila no longer wanted to be a fat, lazy whore, either. She wanted to be of service to Morganna, wherever that would be.

  They also exclaimed their dismay over the amazing wealth of muscle in Morgan’s abdomen, her back and her shoulders. Not to mention the thick cording of them at the backs of her thighs and her buttocks. While Lady Gwynneth clucked her tongue over muscles no woman should have, she discovered that Morgan’s legs weren’t any larger than her own, and her waist was much smaller.

  The last was a surprise to the Lady Gwynneth who had a length of heavy, black satin that was being formed into a dress for her. It hadn’t been hemmed yet, and it was pronounced just the thing Morgan should wear for her seduction of Zander FitzHugh. Then they set about oiling Morgan’s hair and skin, curling her tresses and even making her drink a concoction of herbs and spices guaranteed to calm her enough to sleep the afternoon away.

  When she was awakened, she strapped the dragon blade and kilt square to her thigh despite any arguments, was dressed in a frail, almost see-through shift they called a chemise, had woven stockings rolled into place up her thighs where they kept slipping, and was wrapped in the black satin. Sleeves were laced on. Black cording was crisscrossed about her ribs and the slimness of her stomach, and ribbons were woven through her hair. Then, she was finally pronounced ready, and escorted under heavy veiling to the chamber.

  That’s when her courage very nearly failed her. The ladies must have known, too, for they simply ripped the veil from her, opened the door and pushed her in, amid a great deal of giggling. Then there was complete and absolute silence.

  Zander was off his chair and across the floor and in front of her before Morgan could take a breath, and the one she managed when he stopped right in front of her, was more a gasp. Those midnight-blue eyes were large and shocked and stunned, and very, very pleased. She could tell.

  “Oh...dearest God,” he said, going to his knee before her. She watched him pick up her hem and hold it. She watched the hand shake. Then, his shoulders. “Tell me I am not dreaming. Please, God?”

  Morgan dropped her hand to the top of his head, running her fingers through his hair, until she had strands of hair where she usually kept dirks. “You are na’ dreaming, my lord FitzHugh. My father had two daughters. Elspeth, whom I told you of...and Morganna,” she whispered.

  “Oh Morgan, you wretch. You complete and total wretch. When I think of the nights, the images I’ve had, the—”

  “Would you waste time telling the floor of past frustrations, my lord?”

  “Oh Morgan, I canna’ believe you’re real.”

  Morgan pulled her hands from his hair and held them out, palms up. “
Zander, if you doona’ come off the floor, I’m going to search out Plato and ask him what else I’m supposed to do to make you believe! I am as female as any other. I always have been.”

  He stood, sucked in air and looked very carefully from the top of her head to the slight shadow between her breasts that he could see, down to the tips of her stocking feet, since Lady Gwynneth’s closets hadn’t any slippers of a sufficient size, and then he brought his gaze the same way back up. He was close enough to touch, but refraining from it. It didn’t matter. It had the same effect, she decided.

  “Oh. You will na’ get that far from me. And you will na’ search for Plato, or any other man again. Ever. I doona’ want another soul in this room. Not tonight,” he reached behind her to drop the bolt, and came back around. “Mayhap not even tomorrow.”

  “You are being wed tomorrow, Zander.”

  He frowned and looked her over. “Only if the bride is you,” he finally answered.

  “You canna’ break a betrothal, Zander.”

  “You come into my chamber, promising everything I’ve been afraid to envision and tell me to wed another? Jesu’ Morgan, make up your mind! I will na’ take you except upon promise to be my wife. I swear it.”

  Morgan’s eyes filled with tears. He was asking the impossible, but he didn’t know it. Only she did.

  “Besides, Plato told me the truth about them. He loves the lady Gwynneth, and she him. He will take my place. He told me I would na’ regret it. He was right. I doona’. I may even miss his wedding. Oh, Morgan, have you eaten?”

  He still wasn’t touching her, and Morgan kept the same distance he seemed to wish as he turned to show her the table. There were grapes, cheeses, wine, and a blood pudding on his table. There was also a fresh linen on his bed, and it was in deepest red. Her eyes widened. He watched where she was looking and smiled.