Morganna (The Brocade Collection, Book 4) (32 page)

Morganna swatted at him.

“Hush!” William turned to hiss it.

Plato gave his brother a nod. Morganna watched him.

~ ~ ~

Near morn, they called a halt. Rain was threatening; Morganna could smell it in the air. William dismounted first, and then Caesar. The blond FitzHugh unstrapped a large bundle from his saddle and brought it to her.

’Tis raiment for the Lady KilCreggar-FitzHugh, my lady. Zander had it prepared. We’ll wait for you to change.”

“Why canna’ I stay as I am?” she asked.

It was Ari who answered. “’Tis too risky. The FitzHugh squire is well-known. ’Tis also known now that he is a KilCreggar. Sentiment runs deep here in the Highlands, my lady, almost as deep as the bottomless lochs. I canna’ change that. None of us can.”

“What Ari is trying to say is, we’ve tired of looking at each other, and being in the company of lads. A lovely lass will make the journey more pleasant, and the leagues pass quicker.”

“Plato,” Morganna said, using a warning tone.

“What?” he replied, innocently.

Ari answered. “Plato makes light of what isna’. You know the reason. We’ve four leagues left to travel. With a lass, we’ll stand a better change of arriving safely. I know my clan. I know the depth of their hatred. I know the risk. We all do. Zander, especially. That’s one of the reasons he prepared this bundle for you.”

Moisture was making Ari glitter as she looked across at him. She nodded.

“There is another reason, Morganna,” Plato said at her side.

“Is this another tease?” she asked, looking across at him.

“Nay, although I stand accused of that oft, this time what I speak is truth. My brother wishes all to know you are his lady wife. You are being clothed for that position. You doona’ understand. Zander is the wealthiest FitzHugh. ’Twas na’ fated that way. He seems to have been birthed with a mercenary streak we lack. He has challenged and conquered and competed and excelled at everything. The spoils at his house will amaze you. Truly. I doona’ tease you. Not this time, anyway.”

“He bargains well, too,” William piped up. “If you fancy anything he has, he makes you pay dearly for it. Even his brothers. Especially his brothers.”

“’Twill be morn soon,” Ari spoke again. “There will nae be a better time to change. Go. We will await you.”

Tears were threatening worse than rain as Morganna slid from her horse, took her bundle, and walked into the trees with it. The emotion wasn’t at their words. It wasn’t at the luxurious clothing she knew Zander had given her. It was at how she was going to feel. Morganna slowly unfastened her silver wristbands, caressing the clasps of each one, and watched them blur with moisture.
It felt like she was leaving it behind forever. She’d never again don a
feile-breacan
, toss dirks against a challenger, or best an opponent. She sighed, crossed her arms over her eyes to blot at them, and then set her shoulders. She was being ridiculous. Scotland wasn’t free yet, and Squire Morgan would be needed still. She was stupid to feel so maudlin over a change of clothing.

As she unwound the FitzHugh champion’s sett and folded it reverently, the feeling grew into certainty. Squire Morgan was disappearing and the Lady Morganna was going to replace him. It wasn’t a guess anymore. It was truth and destiny. It had been since she was born. She was a woman. She would always be a woman, and she knew she wasn’t going back. Zander and the bairn had changed her too much.

She unfastened her breast binding and peeled the KilCreggar square from it. Daily wear had taken its toll on the little piece of material, and all sides were fraying and losing strands of wool. It didn’t alter it much, actually. It was just as beloved. Morganna brought it to her lips reverently before replacing it on the binding.

T
hen, she bent too pull on the woven stockings. The dragon blade wasn’t going to stay safely in such a feminine item. As a
skean dhu
, the knife should have been tucked into a sock the entire time she’d owned it. She’d known its purpose, but she also knew its power. The dragon blade had too much to stay tucked into a sock. She tied her skean to her left thigh with her breast band, directly over the mesh-like stocking Zander had given her. It made her womanly curves look dangerous. She wondered what he’d think as he unwrapped her this time.

The shiver that ran through her body
wasn’t brought on by the damp, or the night, or even the chill. It was at the thought of Zander seeing what she was. She sighed heavily. She didn’t want to be Squire Morgan, after all.

The satin chemise and accompanying slip had pink-toned ribbons laced through them to gather the garments to her body. Morganna’s hands trembled as she tied the ribbons into a little bow beneath her breasts. She was having a bit of trouble with her breasts too…such a feeling! No wonder women wore ribbons and satins and bows, she thought. It felt delicious, free—and it felt wicked.

Zander had given her an ecru-shaded under-dress, woven of flax. It flowed to her ankles.
That had probably required a special order. She ran her hands along the material as it caressed her waist, before she held both hands to her hips and swayed slightly. The flax slid along her limbs like it was poured onto her. That was a strange feeling, but entirely too pleasant for her to want it ended, she decided.

There was a bit of pre-dawn light threading through the forest mist all about her. She was grateful for that bit of illumination as she lifted her dress.

Zander had gifted her with a velvet bliant, so dark blue it might as well have been black. Morganna knew it was close to the shade of his eyes. She didn’t doubt it for a moment. She caught her breath as she unfolded it and shook it out. The same cut-work embroidery style as his sheets at Argylle had been put to use on the edges of the velvet. She knew how spectacular it would look like before she donned it.

She wasn’t disappointed.

The velvet had a trellis design about the hem, following her outer line of her bodice and down the outer edge of each sleeve. The ecru-shaded flax of her under-dress filled the gaps. Morgan finished tying her sleeves on before picking up a silver filigree girdle for her waist that would clinch the dress against her form. Little, free-form flowers jointed her belt together, giving it flexibility as it wrapped. Zander had included a silver mirror and a comb. Morganna’s hands were shaking so badly she had a difficult time fastening her girdle and then undoing her braid. She had her hair combed out and rippling over her shoulders and down her back before she picked up the mirror.

Zander had called her the loveliest lass he’d ever seen. It just might be true. Morganna narrowed her eyes. They were gray, all right. They were also set off with black brows and lush lashes. She always thought Mother and Elspeth had been beautiful women. It was an absolute pleasure to realize she was, too.

Zander had gifted her with women’s slippers, too. Made of soft leather, and sewn with the stitching along the inside to keep out moisture, they looked as fragile and insubstantial as they felt. She almost put her boots over them, but stopped herself. Squire Morgan’s boots belonged on a male. The new leather slippers belonged on the new lady KilCreggar-FitzHugh. She sighed, and stood in her footwear, know she would feel each and every stone beneath her feet, and probably each blade of heather, too.

The last thing Zander had included was a lacy ring-stole, so named because it was so finely woven it would fit through a wedding ring when scrunched. Morgan shook it out and covered her head with it.

She had everything neatly tied back into the bundle when she approached where the FitzHughs sat, astride their horses, breathing mist into the morning air about them.

“Yon lady approaches. Finally. Plato lied about your swiftness, I fear,” Caesar teased.

“Na’ so,” Morganna replied. “I was simply making certain everything was on correctly. I am a novice, you know. So…is everything on correctly?”

The man at the front made a choking sound.

“What is it, Will?” Ari spoke up.

Morganna looked up and caught the amazement on William’s features. Despite the fact he was her brother-by-law, she blushed.

“I do believe you’ve made our brother speechless, Lady Morganna. That does na’ happen oft to a FitzHugh. Trust me.”

“I’m na’ without speech. I’m deciding the words to use.”

Plato smacked his forehead. “You’d best don the cloak, my lady. I fear my brother may need the rest.”

“From what?”

“From the beauty of your presence. I dinna’ lie earlier. You are a vision to make any journey that much quicker.”

Morganna colored more. She handed the bundle of Squire Morgan’s clothing to Caesar and approached her horse.

“Here. Allow me to assist you. My brothers have lost their tongue and their wits at the change in your appearance. I canna’ say I find it any less astounding, myself. ’Twill make the journey easier, as Plato says, although we may be accosted for another reason, now that I think on it.”

It was Ari putting his hands about her waist and lifting her. Morganna hadn’t even heard him move.

“If you doona’ halt this…all of you, I’ll put my
feile-breacan
back on,” Morganna said.

“Na’ possible, my lady. I’m in possession of it,” Caesar pointed out.

“I’m going to make him pay for this, I think,” William muttered.

“What?” someone asked.

Morganna was sitting astride her horse, and she shifted about, placing her skirts as close to her ankles as she could. She was wearing much more material than she had been, but it felt different. She didn’t dare look at any of them when she finished, and kept her eyes steadily on her hands.

“Well. My brother Will is for wishing he’d seen
you first, and that he was a sight bigger,” Plato remarked. “I can vouch for it, lass. Come. We’ve some distance still to go, it’s threatening rain, and my brother has become a half-wit at sight of your beauty.”

“I am na’ a half-wit,” William replied.

The brothers chuckled and Morganna blushed even more.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The attack came as they entered a small glade just large enough for all five horses.

Morganna had begun to doze when the horse beneath her startled, sending her off the side before she could react. Then she knew the slippers were useless for anything other than standing about in a carpeted room. Rocks and lumps of ground scraped at her insoles as she lowered to a crouch and moved her hand beneath her skirt for her blade.

Morgan wasn’t the lone one on the ground. The four FitzHugh
s were all either lying, standing, or in the process of getting there in order to check the body that had been dropped into their midst. Morganna had time to see it was covered in KilCreggar plaid, and to catch her breath in horror, before blue-and-green, tartan-covered forms started raining from the bowers above. If they made sound, it wasn’t heard over what mist was covering the ground, and the ringing in her own ears. Morganna watched as Zander’s brothers were swarmed, overpowered, and then captured, without one cry coming from anyone.

It was over as silently and quickly as it had started, and aside from a small trickle of blood fro
m beneath Caesar’s scalp, the ambush had been without incident. The FitzHugh brothers were trussed and suspended by their hands and feet, from long poles. Morganna ignored them to kneel beside the body they’d used as their projectile.

Everything about her numbed. Even the bairn within her belly quieted, as she forced herself to hear little, see less and feel absolutely nothing. There was only one KilCreggar plaid in existence that she knew of. He’d worn it to his own wedding. She knew it. The brothers must know it, too, for there wasn’t a movement aside from her own as she peeled back the tartan.

It was a straw-filled dummy.

Relief came as tears, and Morganna shoved them as far back as she could, ignoring the ripples of emotion that flowed over her again and again. Her hands were visibly shaking as she lowered the sett into place, covering the form.

“It isna’ him?”

Morgan suspected it was Ari asking it. She didn’t look. She was still exhibiting too much emotion. She shook her head.

“Thank God.”

“Nay. Thank you host. Robert MacIlvray. That’s who you must be for thankin’.”

The name shuddered through her consciousness as much as the slick tone of the words did. Morganna had it already decided who would receive her dragon blade first as he continued speaking.

“The holder of that sett would like to be seein’ the lass. I was sent with the invite. Powerful easy it was, too, I might add.”

Morganna slanted her head until she could see the owner of the voice. It wasn’t a comforting sight. Robb MacIlvray was as large as Zander, covered with muscle and meat, and possessed a flaming beard to match his hair. Her mother hadn’t stood a chance, she realized.

“I canna’ speak with my blood to my head. Unbind us.” It was Ari speaking again.

The large, flame-haired man laughed. “I’ve KilCreggar blood on my hands when I get to Hell, Aristotle FitzHugh. I’d as lief na’ add FitzHugh to it.

Aristotle?
Morgan wondered.

“Call
me by my given name, Robb and cease this. You’re delaying our escort.”

“I ken what name you were christened with. I like my version better. And you’re in no position to argue much o
f anything, now are you. This the squire?”

Morganna let her hand lie slack, atop the bulge from her blade as the man swiveled and looked down at her.

“Unhand us, Robb. ’Tis nothing save an escort party.”

The big man laughed again. “And I’m Father Time. She’s the squire. She’s a beauty, too. Looks just like her sister. Like she used to, anyhow. Fancy that.”

Morganna patted the entwined dragon hilt before standing. She watched him watch her as she reached her full height. She didn’t like the look in his eye at all.

“So…this is the FitzHugh squire.”

“I am his sister,” she replied.

“Oh. I don’t think so. I know exactly who you are, and I know what you are. Phineas knew, too. He knew the moment he saw you.”

Morganna raised her chin.

“I’ve also heard that you’re carrying a bairn. Is this true?”

“Untie me, Robb, or by thunder—!”

MacIlvray lifted a hand and Ari’s words were cut off. Morganna didn’t shift her eyes to see why. She was still sizing up her opponent.

“Well? Is it?” he asked in the silence that followed.

She nodded.

“Excellent. I canna’ think of better tidings to take to the laird. Come, lads. Hoist the FitzHughs into Reaver Cave. Let them perish or free themselves. Either way, I’ve a prize to take to the laird. He’s awaiting it.”

“If you touch
a hair on her—!”

The voice was Plato that time. Robb MacIlvray’s motion was the same, with the same result. Morgan gulped the extra moisture from her mouth and hoped the motion wasn’t spotted.

“If yon FitzHughs wish to try shouting their way to freedom, they’d best start by holding their tongues now. There’s two more to gag…or leave free. You choice, lads.”

He was speaking to Caesar and William, but his eyes didn’t move from her.

“Besides, why would I wish to harm her? She’s much more valuable alive. Especially heavy with a bairn.”

“Why?” Morganna whispered the word.

“You doona’ guess?” He guffawed. It wasn’t for pleasure, but effect. “Laird Phineas is an outcast here in the Highlands. That does na’ sit well with a powerful laird. You made it so, but it will na’ always be. He’s no outcast in England. Why…down there, ’tis a good guess he’ll be lauded and feted, and even set upon a pedestal.” He paused. Nobody said a word. “Especially if he brings what the Sassenach king most desires.”

“What do you mean?” Morganna asked, but she already knew the answer.

“Why…Phineas is going to bring Edward Longshanks the means to ridicule his enemy. Phineas is going to have The Bruce’s own champion with him. Phineas is even thinking of staging a demonstration of his—I mean
her
talents. A woman. A mere wench. Heavy with child. The entire country is hiding behind a woman’s skirts. We all ken what will happen that, don’t we?”

Morgan’s heart missed a beat as she realized what he meant to do. He was going to ruin everything Zander and Scotland’s king had gained. He was planning to demoralize the campaign before it had a good chance to start. “If…I refuse?” she asked quietly.

“Then the blood from the owner of that tartan is on your hands, not mine.”

He gestured to the dummy at his feet.

“If you harm a hair on Zander’s head, it will be—!”

The threat by William was cut off, too. Morgan watched it as dispassionately as she could.

“I guess the FitzHugh lads doona’ wish the use of their voices to free themselves. Silly lot, would na’ you say?”

She stared at him for a long
moment, and then looked aside.

“Put her back on a mount. Any mount. I’ve a notion good horseflesh won’t be turned away by Phineas, especially as it looks like it came from a FitzHugh stable in the first place.” He chuckled at his own joke.

“Ungag them,” Morganna said.

“You don’t give the orders, lassie. I do.”

“And I have a terrible aim of a sudden,” she responded. “Perhaps ’tis the bairn. Perhaps na’. My skill comes and goes. It’s a pity, really.”

He looked her over with a level look. She gave it right back.

“There’s na’ much else I’ll need to find a berth in Hell, lassie. Killing a few disloyal FitzHughs would na’ make it worse, you ken?”

“You k
now…I’ve felt sickly lately, too,” Morganna replied. “I may na’ be able to hold a weapon without dropping it.”

“Blasted woman!”

“Ungag them, and then untie them,” Morganna replied evenly, to his rising agitation.

“If I do that, I might as well free them!”

Morgan waited, watching him without blinking.

“I’ll na’ do it, lass. They’re FitzHughs on FitzHugh land!”

“You already have me. You already have Zander. Untie them and let them go. What good are they to you?”

“I doona’ bargain with lasses. I rarely spend this much time with one in speech.”

“And I could fall from my horse and harm myself…and the bairn,” she replied.

He swiveled and started barking orders. “Get the FitzHughs to the cave. Aye! Untie them! Take as many men as you need to guard them. I can handle the woman. I can handle any woman!”

Morgan felt the minute sag between her shoulders as he did what she asked. She hadn’t truly believed he would. She waited until the brothers, and all but two of the clansmen left the clearing.

“Now, fetch me that KilCreggar tartan you have used in such an ill fashion.”

“I doona’ take orders from a lass.”

“I’ll na’ mount and ride docilely without it.”

“I’m about ready to take a fist to your noggin’, that’s what I’m about to do.”

“And risk harming my aim?” she asked sweetly. “What king would waste his time looking over a plain, unskilled, Scottish lass, especially one heavy with child, such as you intend to present to him?”

“Phineas will rue this morn, I fear. I doona’ think he knew that when he sent me. Taking orders from a lass? I’ll na’ live it down. I’d na’ have believed it, were I na’ here.”

He was stripping the dummy of its
feile-breacan
as he spoke, tossing it this way and that as he unwrapped the black-and-gray plaid from it. He was still muttering about his sanity when he wadded the material into a large, unwieldy bundle and slung it at her. Morganna caught it deftly, wrapped her arms about it, and brought it to her nose to breathe deeply what scent she could.

All she smelled was damp wool.

~ ~ ~

What had started as a trip of five leagues, became a day-long ride through unforgiving country. Morganna held to her horses’ mane with one hand, and held the bundle of plaid with the other.
Rain had started up before noon and she welcomed it every time the red-haired Robert MacIlvray cursed it.

She heard him cursing the weather, the mud, the slick hillsides, the lunacy that had him leaving the FitzHugh brothers untied and most of all, he railed at her. Morganna was hard-put to hide her smile, if he c
hanced to look her way after a particularly vicious spate of words left his lips.

She knew where he was taking her. The only place Phineas would still be safe. She was being taken to the FitzHugh stronghold, the black castle, itself. Castle FitzHugh had been the seat of the FitzHugh lairds since anyone could remember. She had seen it as a child. She had memorized
it. She had prayed for the chance to be going exactly where she was. If it wouldn’t have spoiled everything, she’d have opened her mouth and thanked Robert MacIlvray for it, too.

Zander had tried to change her. He had almost succeeded.

Every part of her hurt when she thought of him. Morganna squelched every place it pained, one by one, until nothing remained except a burning sensation just below her heart. Zander may have lost his KilCreggar plaid. It didn’t necessarily mean Phineas had him imprisoned, too. Phineas could have stolen this one. He could have had one made, too. There could be a hundred ways he had managed to get a KilCreggar plaid in his possession other than that he had Zander, too.

In fact, Zander could still be at the king’s side, blissfully unaware that a plan of his had finally gone awry. The longer they rode, and the further they progressed, the more certain of that she became. The hurt eased from her and then she knew why.

Something about the sett in her arms had unsettled her from the moment she received it. Something wasn’t right. Morganna finally realized what it was, and was dismayed that it had taken her so long.

It wasn’t Zander’s plaid at all. It couldn’t be. The weave beneath her fingers was too rough. It wasn’t the same quality she had come to expect from a FitzHugh loom, although she’d have never admitted it before. If Morganna had her wits about her sooner, she’d have checked with her sight what she was suspecting from touch. This plaid hadn’t looked to contain any hint of blue and green, either, and Morganna knew Zander had his woven with such a distinction.

It wasn’t Zander’s
feile-breacan
. Phineas didn’t have his youngest brother, at all. He’d been courting death, if he had Zander. He’d just earned certain death with the lapse. Morganna had the dragon blade still strapped to her thigh. She felt its power, its purpose, and knew finally why she’d been given it.

She was going to kill Phineas with it.

The storm hadn’t eased when they reached Castle FitzHugh’s gate. Morganna lifted her head and looked up at it
through the blur of rain. She lifted her hands to hold the sodden cloak out from her head,
shielding her eyes to see. All about her black rock rose from the bedrock it seemed to have been birthed from. The ground was sodden, and rain was
bouncing when it landed, making a droplet-imbued mist at the horses’ hooves. She listened to each step, and then the horses were crossing the drawbridge, their hooves
echoing in the silence.