Morganna (The Brocade Collection, Book 4) (20 page)

The minstrel must have lost his audience to the parade grounds, for the
crowds about Zander and Plato swelled. Morgan had to get to her feet to
maintain her view. She didn’t want to watch, but was unable to take her eyes off
the battle even to blink. Rain slid off her hair into her eyes, into her mouth, into her ears, and she ignored it. Every time either of them stumbled, she was catching her breath on a silent prayer, and then winging thanks as the FitzHugh who had been down, rose and continued.

Then, it was finished, as harshly as it began. She watched Plato stumble
to his knees once too often, and bow his head in defeat. It didn’t stop Zander.
He hit his claymore into one of Morgan’s exhibition targets until
the wood splintered and came off the support. Then, he turned in a semi-circle and hollered with that great orator’s voice at everyone.

Morgan had to stop him. She was the only one
who could. She knew it. She approached from his right, but he turned on her. “Stay away from me!” he
ordered, the claymore pointed directly at her belly. “Never come near me again!
Never!”

“Aye,”
she replied. “I will na’. ’Tis finished, Zander.”

He slammed the claymore into the ground, and even though it was wet,
everyone gaped as he sank the sword to its hilt.

“Nay!” He turned on her, wiping the wet strands of hair from his
forehead. “’Tis not finished yet. I go now to finish it! Check my brother. He
does na’ deserve what I gave. You know who does.”

Morgan watched him go back to the castle, flinging anyone brave enough
to block him out of his path, and she waited until he disappeared behind the
door. Rain made the ground slick and the air hard to breathe. It also chased
every weak, English observer back into the warmth and dryness of the castle.

Morgan approached the mud-covered lump that was Plato. He had yet to
stand, and was clasping his claymore with shaking hands.

“You all right?” she asked when he just sat there, heaving for breath.

“You have created a monster, Morgan.”

“I have done nothing,” she replied.

“Of course you would say that. He is impossible to beat when he is
angered. That’s why he had the dragon blade. He can beat all of us, if we get
him angered. He won me because he had the emotion to do so, and I did na’. He was angered.”

“
He did not beat you because he was angered,” she said.

“You wish me to take more offense by such words?”

“Nay, only to set your mind at ease.”

“
He has the strength of ten when he is angered, and he is still so. I did
na’ tire him enough. Maybe if Ari were here, too, we could have done it. But by
myself? I dinna’ stand a chance.”

“
He would have won you without anger, Plato FitzHugh, and I doona’ say this lightly,” Morgan replied.

“
Now, you have offended me. For punishment, I sentence you to return
to that chamber of horrors you have created with him and deal with this anger
you say he does na’ possess.”

“I dinna’ say he was na’ angered. I said he beat you without the anger, and I still say it. He was using his left hand.” Her voice held the awe, too. She
had seen how perfect he was with it. She wondered if he realized he’d done so,
yet.

“His
left? Blast and damn him! He tricked me!”

“
Nay, he only used the one with the most power. I told him of it some
days past. I dinna’ think he listened, though.”

“Go to him, Morgan,” he said, trying to rise, by putting the claymore’s tip
in the sod and leaning on it. He fell back down.

Morgan watched him dispassionately for a moment.
“Where are my
clothes, Plato FitzHugh, and my dirks?”

“
Is that what all this is about? Tartan and knives?” he asked.

“
Nay, not only that. ’Tis more than that.”

“
He tried to claim you, and you used the dragon blade? Was that it?”

“I dinna’ use the dragon blade,” she whispered in reply.

“Then what angered him so?”

“That I dinna’ use it,” she replied.

The muddy lump sighed. “Go to him, Morgan. Show him what you are.
Let him claim you. Heal this.”

“
No man claims me! Ever! Especially not a FitzHugh.”

He shook his head. “You still d
oona’ understand, do you?”

“
Understand what?” she asked.

“
How much do you require?” Plato asked, startling her.

“I d
oona ken your meaning,” she replied.

“
How much do you require, to bring my little brother back?”

“You wish him back, after he just trounced you? You canna’ even lift your sword.”

“
I was na’ meaning that,” he spat, and blood came with it. Then, he
tested his jaw with a hand. “I mean, how much do you require? How much more do you
need?”

She pulled back, absolutely stung. “I will na’ whore for any man! Not
even for Zander FitzHugh.”

Plato shook his head wearily. “I dinna’ mean that. I meant how much
more do you ken he can stand? How much more of his anguish do you need to
satisfy yourself? How much more of this, when it is within your power to fix it?”

“I d
oona’ have that much power. I’m a lowly squire of no-name and
no-clan. I have no power.”

Plato stretched out his arm and gestured. “Look about you, Morgan,
what do you see?”

She looked. There were groups of men huddled about under
overhanging porches, some talking, some pointing. There was mud, a splintered
target, great gray stone walls, pouring rain. She said all of that as she observed
it.

He shook his head. “Do you know what I see?”

“You see more than that?”

“Aye. I see lads taking to a different form of slingshot because a lad
named Morgan showed them how. I see knives getting tossed differently, and with greater accuracy because of a lad named Morgan. I see Scotsmen glowing
with pride and jostling each other every time a Sassenach was sent away from the
field, his dignity in tatters, all because of a lad named Morgan. I see young
clansmen all clamoring for the chance to squire, so they can be like a lad named
Morgan. I see a warrior like my brother, a score and eight in years, hardened by
exercise, and faultless in battle, yet changing his attacking arm, all because of a lad
named Morgan. You see any of that?”

Morgan squinted her eyes against the rain and considered him. Her legs
felt a little wobbly, and it wasn’t the rain doing it. It was what he was saying.

“I did all that?” she asked.

Plato grinned, his teeth white in his mud-splattered face, although the rain
was washing off some of the muck. “That and more, Morgan. There is a dark side of this power you wield, too. Doona’ think there isna’. Doona’ ken that Zander is
the only one suffering with it, either, for he isna’.”

“I’
m suffering, too,” Morgan replied, “And none among you knows my reasons!”

“I d
oona’ care what your reasons are, anymore!”

“I’ll not stay and listen to another—
” Morgan turned her back on him, but
he interrupted her.

“D
o you know where the lass, Sheila, is, Morgan?”

She stopped. “Sheila is not my concern
.”

“Oh, that is where you’re wrong. I happen to know where the lass is, and
it will na’ be what she expects.”

Morgan turned back around.
“Where is she?” she asked.

“In my bed.”

Morgan gasped. “But, I thought you loved the beauteous lass,
Gwynneth,” she protested.

“Love and lust are two differing things, Morgan. That is where you have
confused them. My brother is also confused. He thinks he can place his lust on
the woman I love, and keep his love for the woman I am starting to detest.”

“Now, wait. I had nothing to do with—”

“Do you not even wish to know why Sheila is in my bed?”

“You will tell me, even if I d
oona’ wish to hear it. Go on then, Plato, tell
me.”

“She is learning how to be a whore.”

“What?” Morgan’s knees were definitely wobbly. She rocked. “B
ut, why? There is nae need for such a life. She has my protection! Everyone know it.”

“That’s
just it, lass. She has the great Scot’s champion, Squire Morgan’s
protection, but he does na’ want her for himself. Oh nay. He wants to slake his
lust on a fat, old whore named Sally Bess with a big mouth and ceaseless
tormenting words about it.”

“I dinna’ know,” Morgan whispered.

“So, if her protector wants a fat, used, whore, then Sheila will do her
best, because she wants what Sally Bess has.”

“Sally Bess does na’ have anything of the kind!”

“You go tell them of it,” Plato said.

“I dinna’ know. You say I am responsible, then help me! How can I
change it? How? I dinna’ know it was happening. I dinna’ mean it to happen. I
dinna’ mean any of this to happen.”

“It gets worse,” Plato said softly.

“It...does?” Her voice wasn’t even audible, but he heard it.

“Aye,” he answered.

Morgan’s knees gave and she went to them on the wet grass beside him.
“How?” she whispered.

“You want Sheila
?” He asked, glancing sideways at where she sat. “You
want to take her to your bed?”

“That’s disgusting!” she blurted out. “And you know it is!”

“Do I?” he asked.

“I d
oona’ want anything of the sort!”

“You d
oona know how it feels to rolls a teat around in your teeth, then?
You doona’ ken how they tighten into a knot just made for sucking on?”

“Stop!” Morgan screamed it, slamming a hand to her mouth to stay the
sickness.

“
How about her moist womanness? You wish to feel that about yourself?
Have you considered that? Her moistness pressed to yours? Well?”

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” Morgan screamed it until her voice cracked, and
sobs filled the gap. She slammed her hands to her ears and still seemed to hear
him, see the images, feel the bile churn warningly. “Stop! I canna’ take it! I
canna’ listen! I canna’ think! I hate the images you give to me! Stop! I beg
you, stop!”

He didn’t say anything while Morgan moved her hands to her belly,
clasped them about herself and rocked with the feeling of revulsion.

“
Why are you doing
this to me? Why? Why, Plato, why? I dinna’ want to
know. I dinna’ want to hear. I would rather die than think this through. Why do
you do it?” She lifted her head and looked at him,
and all she could still see was the horror he’d described.

“So you will see what you’ve done to my brother
,” he said finally.

Morgan’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “Oh my God,” she
whimpered, and then she was running back the way Zander had gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Morgan stood outside Zander’s chamber, put her forehead to the door and tried to convince herself
not to interfere. She had the length of
her flight to reach here, and realize that Plato was getting her to do his bidding, not the KilCreggars’. He was making her forget that everything the KilCreggars
had vowed for was within her ability to grant, right here and right now. She could
not only wreak blood-vengeance from the FitzHugh clan, by taking one of theirs
from them, but she was actually doing it without her having to spill a drop of
blood.

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.”

“B
ut 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.”

“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.”