Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) (17 page)

As had become her habit these past days
since discovering her childing state, she rose from the bed and
quickly dressed before hastening out the door to meet Robert by the
latest portion of the fortress to be repaired.

He’d changed since that day two moons prior
when she’d revealed her deepest desire to him, and even more so,
since discovering he’d successfully bestowed it to her.

Morgana’s hand flew up to cover the big grin
that spread across her countenance. This past night, he’d even used
the words
enjoy you
when he’d tossed her gown and chemise
o’er her head and onto the floor; tho’ the words had seemed to
stumble out, as if they were much too large for his mouth. She
stopped short, staring across the bailey, her eyes wide with
wonder, for she’d only just realized that she’d not heard him say
the other, lewder, term in at least a
fortnight!

She shook her head and resumed her buoyant
stride. He’d been so gentle with her, too. As if he’d break her, or
hurt their babe, if he moved too quickly, went too deep. And he was
always resting his palm o’er her belly now. Measuring each day the
growth of his son—aye, he was sure ‘twas a son he’d started inside
her!

One time, a few days past, she’d awakened to
hear him whispering, his lips nearly touching the small mound. It
had taken her a moment to realize he was talking to their babe.
Promising their wee one that he’d ne’er do what his own father had
done. That he’d leave this world knowing that the legacy he left to
him was intact.

That had broken her heart. When she’d
stroked her hand through his mussed hair, he’d jerked, but then
he’d lifted up, taken her into his arms, and kissed her. The kiss
had been almost desperate, as if what he needed, only she could
provide. And when she’d wrapped her legs high around his waist,
urging him to enter her, it had quietened his demons, allowing him
to find his rest afterward.

As she turned the corner, she saw him
standing with the master mason. His brows were like angry
thunderclouds shadowing gray-lightning eyes. Mayhap ‘twas not the
best time to interrupt him. She’d just taken a step back, was about
to turn around, when he looked up, directly into her vision. The
storm clouds vanished and in their place a small smile and a
definite twinkle took their place. He lifted his arm and waved her
over to him, but then, as if he couldn’t wait for her to reach him,
he began to move in her direction as well.

He’d left the master mason in the middle of
his speech. The man flapped his arms like a goose throwing off
water and stalked away, shaking his head and muttering under his
breath. Morgana grinned.

The closer they came to each other, the
longer Robert’s strides grew, until he was directly in front of
her. Then, he did the most wonderful thing! He hugged her and gave
her a quick kiss on the lips. Just as she’d hoped he’d do, but had
begun to doubt he e’er would.

“How is my son?” he asked, drawing back
slightly. Not waiting for her answer, he splayed his hand o’er her
belly. “Same size as earlier this morn.” There was actually
disappointment
in his voice!

She rolled her eyes at him, but she nodded
and smiled to take the sting out of the gesture.

He looked behind him and studied the
progress of the work being done a silent moment, before turning
back to her and saying, “The master mason wants to tear down that
portion of the wall”—he pointed toward the northeast side—” and
extend the bailey by a hundred feet. ‘Twill mean extending the
mound, building it up as well. I will need to use some of the
monies intended for the additions to our living quarters. Dugan
says that we’ve needed that extra training area for a few years
now.” He lifted his hand and stroked it up and down her arm.
“But...if you say me nay, I shall tell him we will keep the bailey
as it is.”

Morgana was stunned. So stunned, in fact,
all she could do for several heartbeats was stare, her mouth agape,
into her husband’s steel gray eyes.

That familiar shadow-smile touched his lips
and he brought his hand up to her chin, gently pressing it up so
that her mouth shut as he stroked his thumb at its corner. “What
say you?” he prompted.

Morgana took in a deep breath to still her
pounding heart before shaking her head. Then, motioning and
mouthing the words, she told him that the fortifications must take
priority o’er the dwelling.

Robert gave her a brief nod, then turned and
strode over to the master mason. They spoke for a few minutes
before her husband returned to her side. “There is a place I liked
as a lad—a place in the wood where a burn flows. We dammed the
water and made a pool to swim in. Would you like to go there with
me now? Have a privy”—he leaned forward, rumbling the next two
words low in her ear—“more carnal feast to honor your day of
birth?” he finished as he straightened again. “Mayhap, take a bit
of food to enjoy afterward, as well?”

Morgana felt the heat rise in her cheeks,
but nodded in sheer delight, taking hold of his hand.

He looked back at the master mason and
raised his arm in farewell, then turned with her and strode with
her toward the keep to get the supplies they’d need.

* * *

Hours later, the two of them were settled by
the side of the burn. She, enjoying a bit of the wine Robert had
brought along, and he, still dozing in the dappled, fluttering
light of the sun trickling through the heavily-leaved tree branches
above their heads after the torrid loving they’d shared. Morgana
scanned her eye about the secluded area and her sight was dazzled
by some sparkling, waving thing attached to a fallen tree branch a
few paces away.

She rose to her feet and walked closer to
the object. ‘Twas a silver chain. When she unsnagged it from the
piece of dried wood and held it up high, she realized ‘twas a
necklace. And suspended from it was a cross of the ancients. In the
center, where the two stems of the cross joined was a strange
stone, green in color—as green and vibrant as the high grass of the
glen this time of year. There were emblems carved into the circle
surrounding the junction, emblems that caused her skin to crawl,
made her sweat, brought on a vision of fire and clashing swords, a
woman’s hysterical screams.
“Morgunn! No!”

There was only a vague realization that
she’d actually cried out the words herself, that she was crumpling
to the ground, before all went black.

* * *

Robert was jarred to full wakefulness by the
sound of his wife’s voice. A bit dazed with sleep, it took him a
moment to find her as he jolted into a sitting position and looked
around. When he saw her recumbent form splayed on the ground a bit
away, he bellowed, “Morgana!” then leapt to his feet and jogged
over to her.

As he knelt down next to her, he turned her
over onto her back so he could see her face, feel her cheeks and
brow. Her skin was cool, cooler than it should have been, and
clammy. White. White as hoarfrost on the heath in winter.
“Morgana,” he said near her ear. It took two more attempts, but
finally her eyelids fluttered and opened. Her brows came together
as she gazed up at him in confusion.

“You swooned. Is it the babe?” he said
anxiously, running his hand and eye down to her belly. “Are you in
pain?”

His wife shook her head and tried to sit up,
but Robert pressed his hand to her shoulder and forced her back
down. “Rest a moment longer.”

After retrieving the cup of wine she’d left
near the blanket they had been sitting on, he lifted her up only
far enough to drink some of it down. “Are you sure the babe is
well? That you are well?”

Morgana swallowed down the remainder of the
red liquid in the cup before answering him. As she pressed the
vessel back into his hand, she nodded her reassurance.

Robert helped her to her feet. “We should
return to the keep. I want you to lie down and rest for the
remainder of the afternoon. Just in case.”

She nodded and walked over to their pallet,
the necklace, which now lay half-hidden in the bracken, entirely
forgotten. She tried to fold the blanket, put away the remains of
their meal, but Robert would not allow it, instead simply
scrambling it all together in a ball and tying it to her mare’s
saddle. “You’ll ride back with me on my steed. My thighs can
cushion the ride a bit more for you.”

* * *

Gwynlyan waited until her daughter and
son-in-law were well away before scurrying from behind the oak.
When she’d learned the two were off together, that she would also
have some time to herself, she’d rushed here to retrieve her cross.
But, when she’d discovered the lovers here already, she’d turned
back with the intention of returning later that night. She hadn’t
gone far, however, before Robert’s cry had come to her, holding
such fear, that she’d hurried back. ‘Twas with no little amount of
relief that she’d found ‘twas naught dire, that her daughter had
only succumbed to a swoon quite common to those who were
breeding.

It took a bit of searching, but she at last
found what she’d come for. Somehow, this night past, the necklace
that she’d worn since she was a lass of twelve summers had slipped
from around her neck.

Somehow
. Nay, not
somehow
. She
knew exactly
how
. She bit down so hard on her lip that she
tasted the iron-ore flavor of blood on her tongue.

Morgunn
. She’d nearly allowed him to
enjoy her the night before. When she’d felt the long-remembered,
long-missed comfort of his embrace, realized her love had not died,
but had grown stronger, she’d been in such a daze of wonder that
she’d not recalled the scars. Not, at least, until he’d nearly had
her completely unclothed again. Not until she’d seen his own
reminders of their shattered dream, broken trust, slashed across
his chest in a raised white stripe.

Then she’d remembered her own, and could not
let him see her thus. He’d always thought her beautiful, perfect.
As so many young swains had when she was a lass. Why, even tho’ she
had been happily wed, during those years at William’s court, she’d
had troubadours sing of her beauty. And it had been a heady thing,
to know that she was so alluring to so many.

But, no longer. And, ‘twas her intent, that
Morgunn, tho’ she loved him, would ne’er see, ne’er know, of the
scars that marred her back, nor the years she’d spent as her
twisted captor’s concubine.

She was a grotesque and defiled version of
her former self, and no man, most of all her husband, should e’er
be expected to want her again.

* * *

‘Twas just past the chimes of midnight, when
Robert was once again brought from a deep slumber by Morgana’s
beautiful song, that he recalled her words before her swoon. When
she lay back down and rolled onto her side, he wrapped himself
around her and began to try to slowly awaken her by brushing her
hair away from her face and kissing first her brow, then her cheek,
and then her neck. The ploy worked and she stirred.

“Who is Morgunn?”

Her eyes flew open and she tried to
disengage, tried to rise from the bed. But he wouldn’t let her go.
Held tight to her, not ungently, but in a manner from which she
could not get loose.

“Who is Morgunn?” he asked again.

This time, she answered him. She rolled her
head on the pillow and met his gaze.
Father
. She mouthed the
word. She didn’t know
how
she knew it, but she did. The
Morgunn the woman had plead for had been Morgana’s father. And the
voice Morgana had heard crying out his name must have been that of
her mother. A tear trickled out of the corner of her eye, tickling
her temple.

Robert brushed it away with his thumb, doing
the same to the next, and the next. He pushed the fear—the
restless, need to run, fear—that her tears caused him down deep and
leaned forward. He kissed her then. As gently as he was able.

This was new to him, this
lovelonging
thing. But he was determined to do it right. Treat her the way he
thought he was supposed to treat her. Blood of Christ!
Talk
more.

“Did you recall something of what happened
that day? To your father?”

Morgana’s tears went dry. Her muscles
tensed. Her heartbeat doubled. Her skin grew clammy.

She knew not. She knew
not!
All she
could do was shake her head and hide her face in the pillow.

Robert’s own heartbeat increased. “Be you at
peace, Morgana,” he said, then leaned down and pressed his lips to
her pate. “All is well. I’ll not press you any further.” But ‘twas
clear he’d need to redouble his efforts to find the key to her
past, for her hauntings were coming more often and with more force,
and that could not be good for their unborn son.

He caressed her arm, then turned her onto
her back and was relieved to feel her become pliant under his
touch. “All is well,” he repeated.

As he stroked her hair and nibbled at her
lower lip, he recalled again the magical sound of his lovely wife’s
voice. Mayhap, if fortune shined upon him, she would regain her
voice one day, and for e’er more; she’d say his name—tell him she
loved him—before they were aged and gray.

At that last thought, his heart began to
thud with a warm joy inside his chest. Without realizing it, his
hand splayed o’er the mound of her belly where his son grew. When
he felt the soft comfort of her own settle o’er his, he was shocked
to feel a bit of moisture gather behind his lids.

In answer to that perturbing experience, he
opened his lips wide and plundered her mouth with his tongue,
changing the tender kiss into a torrid one in seconds. What he
needed was a good fu—damn!—
coupling
to exorcize his
unease.

* * *

“The cousin comes,” the man said. “She shall
arrive here shortly from Perth. Do you think she knows who devised
the destruction of Morgunn and his family?”