The Pledge (25 page)

Felim floundered. “And have you a plan?”

Morrigan took deep breaths. “I thought we might put our heads together on this,” she said, spacing her words, struggling to
keep her ire in check.

“We can do that.”

Counting backward didn’t salve her temper. “First we must study what could occur if we take certain steps.”

“What would that be?”

Reining in the retort that rose to her lips, she swallowed. “If we pay the blackmail, as requested, how will we know Goll
is all right? What guarantee do we have that Goll is well at this moment? Have you inquired about his health at the present
from those who importune you for ill-gotten gains?”

Felim glanced at her, scowling. “That might be dangerous.”

It hadn’t occurred to him, Morrigan translated. Why had they handed the keys of the eastern limb of the family over to Felim
instead of Cumhal? True, Felim was older than the twins, Cumhal and Goll. Felim didn’t even resemble his brothers that much.

Cumhal and Goll were taller, more muscular. Both the twins had the head to handle the many branches of business the family
had. Cumhal, at least, was more caring about Llywelyns. Goll might’ve been more casual, but he wouldn’t have allowed the family
manse to decay in such a way.

Felim was worse than she recalled. He seemed to decide through his conceit, rather than using facts and figures to come to
a conclusion. What was good for him should be good for the family seemed to be his credo. Feeding into that ego was the best
way to control him. She was almost sure someone had.

“Where is he being held?”

Felim wrinkled up his nose. “Not sure. Maybe in Ireland.”

“We should know that, and his condition before we entrust persons or money into a foe’s encampment.”

Felim got to his feet, striding up and down in the shabby great room. Once, in her father’s day, it’d been a grand castle,
all accoutrements of the best. The armor had glistened with care, there’d been no tapestries in shreds. It would seem Felim
either had little gold for housekeeping, or it was being put to poor use.

Morrigan looked around for the maîtresse d’hôtel. As usual she wasn’t there. No doubt steeping herself in some of the homemade
ale in the cookery.

Stepping down from the dais, she went to the fire and swung the steaming kettle toward her. She tipped the boiling water into
the pot she held, swirled it around, and tipped the water at the edge of the fire to a runoff through the bricks. Then she
measured leaves into the pot and poured more boiling water over the whole.

“Perhaps you’d best make me some. My head aches,” Felim complained.

Not from thinking, she was certain. The words ground in her mind the same way she ground more leaves with the mortar and pestle
before adding them to the brew, along with more water. Arguing with Felim had had poor results over the last days. No matter
how skewed his viewpoint, he’d only dug in his heels and
found a number of foolish reasons to stick to his way of doing things.

She brought the kettle and mugs to the trencher and poured for both of them. “We have so much more able help in Scotland,”
she observed, hoping to find a chink in her cousin’s armor.

“You’re richer up there. The reivers are more agile.” Felim laughed at his joke.

“Mayhap they are. I know I don’t have to wait on myself because my help are in the kitchen downing the church wine.”

“Are they?” Felim looked more surprised than displeased. “Oh well, the priest doesn’t come until Sunday.”

Morrigan closed her eyes and counted backward again, hoping it would calm her. It didn’t. “That was a jest, cousin.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

He frowned at her. “Do you know, Morrigan, I think you’ve become addled from living in the north. The mad Scots have made
you one of them.”

Frustrated, she was about to throw back a stinging retort when there was a flurry at the door.

Felim looked up from his sassafras tea. He blinked. “Well, by the gods, look who it is, cousin. Your favorite, I’ll be bound.”

Morrigan put down her cup and rose to her feet, eyeing her longtime friend. It seemed another age when she
pondered being his wife. Relief that it hadn’t happened almost made her smile. What would Hugh have to say if he knew that
she preferred him to all others in Wales or Scotland? She missed him sorely, quite sure he would’ve made short work of Felim’s
evasions. She had to get home to her husband and to Rhys. She moved toward him, her hands held out in greeting.

“Tarquin! How good of you to come. I’ve been visiting Felim as you can see.”

Tarquin approached, bending over her hands, his mouth lingering there.

Felim grinned. “Easy to see where your interest lies, eh, Tarquin?”

Morrigan looked over her shoulder at her cousin. “Since I’m now Lady MacKay, that shouldn’t be a concern.”

“That can be changed.” Felim chuckled.

Morrigan frowned. “What does that mean?”

“He means that your marriage is at this moment being absolved so that we might wed, beloved.” Tarquin bent to kiss her cheek.

Felim chuckled. “See, our ruse brought you, Morrigan, now you can be happy.”

Reeling, Morrigan grabbed at the kernel of disbelief that was mushrooming into horror. “Then Goll is not incarcerated?”

Felim nodded. “He is, but he’ll be freed when you marry Tarquin. Then the regent of Trevelyan will pass to
him and the gold will be given to Wales, as it should be.”

“This can’t be,” she whispered. “No marriage can be dissolved. Only the pope can do that, and only under special circumstances.
Generally the wife goes into the convent, or the man to the priesthood—”

“Not this time. ’Tis arranged. Your marriage to Tarquin will take place on the morrow, right here.”

Morrigan stared at her cousin, shaking her head. “It can’t be done. MacKay didn’t give his sanction to this. ’Tis infamous.”

“No, ’Tis right, beloved. You’ve wanted to be my wife, and I’ve wanted it as well. You’re overset, but nothing shall stop
our union.”

“You can’t.”

“Shh, you’re overset. I will get you something.”

“No! I have tea.”

“Good. I’ll bring it to you.”

Felim went to Morrigan, bending down to her. “You’ll see. All will be well.”

She shook her head. “Conspiracy! Can’t you see it? You and Tarquin have been fooled. This will bring war—”

“Here you are, Morrigan. Drink this. ’Twill help.”

She gulped the tea, feeling as though she was a hare in a snare. Swallowing the entire cup, she looked up at the two men.
“You must see that this is the wrong way…. Oh!” Dizziness assailed her. “I…I should sit down.”

Tarquin took her arm, leading her to the dais and the bench. He kept a hold on her, looking at Felim over her head. “ ’Tis
a tisane to quiet her. She is honor bound to MacKay, so she thinks. When she wakens all will be over and she’ll be wed to
me.”

Felim studied his cousin. “I think this is the right thing.” He frowned. “In some ways I think we should wait until she wakens.”

“No! It goes as planned.”

Felim glowered. “Don’t give me commands. This is my castle.” He looked down at Morrigan. “Strange. One would think she was
fond of the Scot.”

“Nonsense.”

Felim glowered. “Don’t gainsay me! I say she acted as though she loved him.” He leaned over Morrigan. “Are you sure she’s
all right? Her breathing seems shallow.”

“She’s fine.”

The door opened beside the fireplace so quietly, neither heard it, though one had been waiting for it.

The intruder moved up behind Felim with a truncheon, sapping him hard.

“Come, we’ll take her out this way.”

Hugh didn’t even pause when he was accosted at the gates of Cardiff. Sweeping through, his men at his back, he heard the shouts
and sighs of the populace.

“Invasion! Scots!”

He let Toric do the explaining. His eyes were on the castle. Morrigan was there! She had to be.

Galloping through the barbican, then to the bailey, he didn’t pull up until his steed, sides heaving, slid to a stop in front
of the ironbound wooden door to the castle. He slid off Orion, patting his neck, and gesturing to one of his warriors to take
the warhorse.

Men poured out of the door when the two parts of the castle door were pushed outward, swords at the ready.

Hugh glowered at the guardians who dared draw near. “Stand back, or feel my wrath. Put up your weapons or
be slain. I’ve come for my spouse, Lady MacKay, and none shall get in my way.”

The warriors hesitated, looking at one another.

“You can’t find her here. There’s nonesuch.” The one who spoke stepped back at the sudden flaring of fury in Laird MacKay’s
face. When those large hands balled into threats, the warrior could’ve bitten his tongue.

“What mean you?” Hugh’s query came on one angry breath.

“She… she was here. Not now. No one… has seen her. Some say… she was spirited away by demons. The same who smote our lord
into constant sleep.”

Hugh glared, digesting the halting, fragmented explanation. “Foolishness!”

“Nay, lord. ’Tis truth.”

Hugh took a deep breath. Men scattered from the front of him as he drew his sword. “I would see for myself.” He knew without
checking that MacKays would be at his back, that their weapons would be showing.

The men in front of him melted back like softened wax, allowing a path into the castle.

Hugh narrowed his eyes against the gloom and saw one figure in the great room, next to the fire. “You! You brought my wife
to this miserable hole. For that your life is forfeit. First, tell me where she is.”

Cumhal moved away from the fire, his hands at his side, his sword in the scabbard. “I would if I could. I’ve searched these
two turns of the day for her, and find no trace.” He grimaced at the angry mutters coming from
the MacKays. “I’ve been gone since the day after she arrived. When I reached the castle after leaving your men with Diodura,
I rode here as fast as I could. Following Morrigan’s instructions to find her brothers, I left again, almost at once. I should’ve
been back sooner. I know she would’ve waited for my response had she been able.” Cumhal paused. “Finally one of my runners
found Drcq. Califb is in the Land of the Pharaohs. My cousin will be riding full speed this way.”

Growling, Hugh moved forward, dropping his sword. “I’ll not wait for any other. I want my wife now, bastard. Speak now or
I’ll tear the answer from your throat.”

Cumhal put up his hands to defend himself, but didn’t try to draw a weapon. “And I tell you I don’t know.”

Hugh would’ve flung himself upon Morrigan’s cousin, but Toric was there, holding him back.

“Stop! Hugh, listen.” Toric had both arms around his straining relative. Though he put every effort into it, Hugh was bearing
him toward Cumhal. “Listen! I’ve questioned the staff, so have the men. She was here. Now she can’t be found. Runners have
gone out all over the land. They can’t find her.” Toric eyed Cumhal in baleful study. “ ’Twould seem her cousin is telling
the truth.”

Hugh stopped, almost toppling Toric to the floor. He looked only at Cumhal. “When did you last see her?”

“When I arrived the first time. We tried to talk to my brother. He was impossible. That’s when she sent me to search out her
brothers. I did. Your men—”

“They told me,” Hugh interrupted, his tone harsh.

Cumhal nodded. “I’m glad they made it back to your holding.” He paused. “Morrigan and I couldn’t convince Felim to our way
of thinking. We tried to get Felim to contact those who’d kidnapped my other brother, Goll—”

“So? Get on with it.” Hugh strode up and down the great room.

Cumhal’s glance slid to Toric, who grimaced and shrugged.

“Hugh MacKay knows you tried to help his men. ’Tis his worry for Morrigan that makes him rash,” Toric whispered.

Cumhal nodded. “I, too, fear for her. This is Castle Llywelyn. This should be the safest place on earth for her.” He watched
Laird MacKay examine the lancets, then the fireplace, his hands pressing and thumping.

“Except for Castle MacKay,” Toric muttered.

Cumhal glared at him, then looked back at MacKay. “What does he do?”

“He looks for—”

Hugh’s growl of triumph sliced through the words.

“What is it, Hugh?”

“This is a way unknown to you?” Hugh turned his head, though he continued to press on the bricks nearest the tapestries.

“What?” Cumhal expostulated. “I don’t understand…” Stunned, he watched the wall next to the fireplace
swing open. “I…I never knew of this.” He shook his head.

Hugh put his head inside, then went to the fire, pulling out a burning faggot, holding it high so that it shone into what
appeared to be a narrow tunnel. “It seems someone has restored an old escape route.”

Cumhal rushed to his side. He went down on his hands and knees and started to crawl inside.

Hugh’s hand stopped him. “Where do you go?”

“To the end,” Cumhal told him, his mouth grim. “ ’Twould seem there have been plans at Castle Llywelyn that are unknown to
me.” He leaned into the tunnel again, and brought out a small piece of fabric, frayed as though it’d been torn. “I’m not sure,
but this could be a scrap from Morrigan’s raiment.”

Hugh snatched it from him, staring down at it. Then he looked up at Toric. “I want runners, going to every section of this
holding. Get more men if you must. Send messages to the border. The Ferguson, Johnston, and Douglas clans will have spotters
there. I want every hillock in Wales combed until I find her.”

Toric nodded, speeding from the room.

Cumhal stared at Hugh. “I cannot ask your forgiveness for leading your wife here. I truly thought it was to help my brother.
Felim couldn’t have known anything about this—”

“I want to speak to him now,” Hugh snapped.

Cumhal shook his head. “My brother is upstairs, waiting to die. He’s not been sensate since the day I found
my cousin gone. He doesn’t open his eyes, nor does he speak. His breathing is shallow. Only a little water has he had in three
days because the women force it down his throat.” Cumhal swallowed. “I’m afraid the blow he suffered has rendered him at death’s
door. I’m sure ’twas then that Morrigan was taken.”