The Pledge (26 page)

Hugh cursed, looking around the room. When he spied the decanter, he went to it.

“I can bring you nourishment if you like,” Cumhal offered.

Hugh shook his head, sniffing. “This has an elusive fragrance. Would it be the same poison that downed my men?”

Cumhal frowned. “There was no poison. They were wounded. I was there. I saw the rabble that attacked us.” His mouth soured.
“ ’Twould seem they ached to slay me as well. ’Twas Morrigan who saved my hide, for they didn’t want to kill me in front of
her.” At Hugh’s speculative look he curled up his fists. “I give you my word I sensed infamy at the time, but didn’t see it
directed at your men or Morrigan. I thought I was the target.”

“Why?”

“Among those who attacked us… I thought at first one belonged to a member of my family who holds me in antipathy.” He lifted
his hands. “I’m sure now I was mistaken.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t see him, or his likeness, again while
we fought or after that. Nor did I see him when I came to Cardiff and I looked.” He hesitated. “How did you save the men if
they were so afflicted?”

“You sent them to Diodura.”

“I did.” Cumhal nodded. “She would’ve recognized the symptoms.”

“She did. I’m in your debt for that. Had she not succored them they would’ve died soon after reaching Castle MacKay.” He glared.
“She told me that the tincture was refined to cause the delayed death. She told us if they had begun to lose the use of their
limbs they would’ve been beyond saving.”

“What devil’s brew was this?”

“She called it tincture of hellebore that’d been on the swords of the opponents.”

“Hellebore? How would the rabble I saw know about such concoctions? Only the wisest of witches can brew poisons to react as
they wish. Surely…”

The noise at the entrance pulled Hugh’s gaze. “Speak!” he demanded of Seamus, one of his men.

“An old one who makes basket from the reeds on the edge of the sea”—Seamus sputtered each word, out of breath—“approached
me, saying he saw men from the castle come out as though from the wall, carrying something to the river.”

“Whence?”

“He knew not the exact time or place, Hugh. It might’ve been a day or more past. More importantly he
did say there was an old castle on the river, abandoned by the Llywelyns many—”

“Druida Castle!” Cumhal yelled. “I know it.”

“Horses!” Hugh bellowed. Then he turned to Cumhal. “You’d better remain here. Your brother may need you—”

“And you think I might take my sword to you when you attack my relatives. Is that it?”

Hugh shrugged. “I’ve no time to argue.”

“Neither have I. I’ll set attendants on Felim.” His smile was grim. “I didn’t think to question if my brother had been given
a potion and this is what makes him sleep. I’d thought it was the lump on his head that held him in thrall. I’ll talk to the
attendant who minds him, then I’m coming with you. Morrigan was set upon. She’s your wife, but my cousin. Llywelyns don’t
take to backstabbing.”

Hugh inhaled. “’Twould seem there’s a question about some.”

Cumhal reddened but said nothing. He left the chamber on the run but was back in moments. He listened as the Laird MacKay
rallied his men, then he followed him as he entered the narrow tunnel behind the fireplace.

Morrigan knew she ailed. If she could keep her scattered wits in place she might be able to factor why, and how to neutralize.
She had skills! Use them. Her foggy thoughts couldn’t seem to bring energy into play. When she lifted her head the world spun.
Hugh! Come to me.

In a sudden misty memory she recalled their lovemaking. At once there was a quickening of her blood. How her chest hurt with
desire.

She could feel his hands going over her, his mouth following the hands, carrying her into ecstasy. Her arms reached up to
enfold him, to bring him closer. She closed her eyes, feeling his kiss—

“What think you? Can we take her down and have her sign the papers?”

“She must.”

The chamber door shut.

Morrigan didn’t open her eyes. Her wits, though not sharp, told her she was safer pretending to be sleeping and listening
than trying to convince Tarquin and Goll to release her. Tarquin had talked of bedding her! Exchanging vows with her! He was
mad. She’d not allow him to touch her. Only Hugh could. As cloudy as her mind was, she would’ve known had Tarquin or any other
man touched her. If any tried, she’d do all she could to kill them.

Why? Why had they set upon her? What did she have they could want? Trevelyan? Edward Baliol wouldn’t allow it. Nor would she
allow anyone to touch Rhys’s legacy.

“Once she signs the holding over to you, we’ll be done with her,” Goll said.

Tarquin shook his head. “I think not. I would have the vows spoken between us and keep her as wife.” He frowned. “Even Felim
said I was to be wed to her two
days past. I will not wait on this.” He glared. “Had you not decided to eliminate Felim he would’ve put his arguments for
my marriage before Morrigan. She would’ve been easier to handle.”

“ ’Tis nonsense, man. Felim believed she was to be married to you at his castle. I fed him such to lever him to our side.
How could you have spoken vows with her? She’s been insensate since we took her, in and out, not able to speak most times.
We’ll put her signature on the papers and have done with it.”

“I would have her as wife. I would know what draws the Scot to her.”

“ ’Twould be foolish to keep her, she would know too much and might talk to the wrong person.”

“I want her.” He shrugged. “Maybe not for long. Who knows? She might bore me. I will try her. Besides, she will be the winning
roll of the ivories if the Scot declares war upon us.”

“Then make sure she’s neutralized.”

“Where do I keep her until I can inform MacKay that she’s no longer his wife? He’ll come at us hard and fast. His reputation
is bruited about all over Scotland and Wales. When he makes war, he wins.”

“Not this time. The plan calls for him to die as well.”

Morrigan was dizzy. She couldn’t have heard right. ’Twould bring about all-out war across Anglia, Wales, and Scotia to threaten
the Earl of MacKay. He was her husband. She was Lady MacKay, no other. Hugh! Come to me. Why were Tarquin and her cousin conspiring?
They had a good share of land to command. Why would they need hers or the Trevelyan holding? They couldn’t have either. They
didn’t need more. She’d have to speak to Califb and to Hugh. Did they say they would kill him? Never! She’d not let them.

“Trevelyan Castle is a most delightful place,” Tarquin mused. “I’ll not find it uncomfortable to reside there—”

“Not for long,” Goll interrupted. “I want that holding. It rightfully belongs to us.”

Tarquin’s eyes narrowed. “ ’Tis my wife who holds it.”

“Seek not to go over your station, Tarquin. You might marry a Llywelyn. You’ll never be one.”

Morrigan paid little attention to Tarquin’s cursing. She was more concerned with Goll’s treason. She struggled to argue him
down on that point. Nothing came out but a moan.

“Ah, she comes out of it. Let’s get her downstairs to the chapel.”

Tarquin drew back. “We must get the women to change her clothes. If the priest sees her in disarray there’ll be questions.”

Goll cursed. “All right. Hurry them. The quicker we get this done, the better I’ll feel.”

“Aye.” Tarquin went to the door to hail attendants.

Goll looked down at her. “Well, cousin, finally you’ll be of some use to me. With Felim and Cumhal out of the way, next will
be your brothers. Wales will be mine. I’ve worked long and hard for it.” His gaze seemed to leave
her. “Too hard to share it with anyone.” His laughter had an evil sound. “With the help of my friends even the wealth of MacKay
is open to me now.”

Morrigan fought against the fuzziness. Who was there to stop Goll if not her? She had to ask him questions. She had to tell
him about Rhys. No! She couldn’t do that. Hugh! Hugh! I need you. Who had put Goll up to this? Had he always been perfidious?
She’d thought him nasty at times, not treacherous. His thought processes were not that impressive. Could he have conspired
with English Edward?

It was as though she’d entered another world as the clothes were stripped from her body. Neither Goll nor Tarquin left the
chamber when this was happening. Neither did they turn their faces away when she was disrobed. Morrigan would’ve been horrified
if her muddled mind hadn’t been more ensnared by the danger these two could bring to Rhys and Hugh.

“She has a lovely form, to be sure,” Goll murmured, his eyes sliding to Tarquin. He smiled at the avidity on the other’s features.
“No doubt you’ll want more than a taste of her before she’s sent to her heavenly reward.” Goll chuckled.

“No doubt. I may want her for more than a taste, but I’ll control her so that she does not interfere with you.” Tarquin looked
at him. “Does it not bother you to ponder sentencing your childhood playmate to death?”

“Not a whit. And do your scruples decry her demise if she does not please you in bed?”

“No, but I fear ’twill not suit me to send her heavenward until she does cause me ennui. My lust overrides my need for Trevelyan.
I would keep her alive for a time. At least until I’m sated.” His gaze fastened to Morrigan once more. He didn’t see Goll’s
speculative gaze on him, the tightening of those lips that looked more feminine than masculine.

Goll touched his arm. “Mayhap we might both use her… together. What say you?”

Tarquin frowned. “I’ve not done that. I would taste her first. If she is adequate you might be included,” Tarquin said, his
manner lofty, his gaze going back to Morrigan almost at once.

“How things stay the same,” Goll whispered. “When I was a lad, you, Felim and Cumhal were ever deciding what was right for
me. How strange you would think it hadn’t changed.”

“What?” Tarquin looked back at him as the last bit of clothing was shoved onto Morrigan.

“Nothing,” Goll murmured. Then he glanced at Morrigan and scowled at the attendant. “Her hair, fool, brush it or something
and get that headdress on her. Wait! Leave the necklace. She needs it not.” He put his hand out for the exquisite piece.

“Morrigan’s father gave those to her mother.” Tarquin glared. “Those gems belong to me as her spouse.” He grabbed Goll’s wrist,
twisting it. “You surprise me. For a narrow man you have much strength in your arms.”

“Yes. Hunting is helpful.” Though his mouth smiled, and he handed the necklace to Tarquin, his eyes were cold. He looked around
at the attendant who’d dragged a coarse iron comb through Morrigan’s hair, snapping her head up and down in ruthless determination
to be done. “Get her on her feet. We’ll drag her between us.”

“Be discreet,” Tarquin warned. “We can’t let the priest think she is anything but shy.”

Goll nodded.

Down the stairs they went, all but dragging Morrigan until they reached the bottom.

Hugh sat forward on his saddle, staring at the dank, dark-looking pile of stones. “We can’t make a mistake on this,” he said
through his teeth. “I don’t have a good feeling.”

Cumhal stared at him, wondering if those who defied this man ever lived very long. “ ’Tisn’t easy to enter this enclave without
being seen. It’s been well placed on that spit of land that juts past the river to the sea. Water on two sides, open space
on the third.”

Hugh eyed him. “Would it seem strange if the ancient who built this had the same idea of entry as the one who built Cardiff
Castle?”

Toric grinned at his laird, his smile touching Cumhal. “I ask to check this out, Hugh.”

Hugh shook his head. “No time. We go forward, one at a time, lookouts as usual.” He sucked in air. “We assume ’Tis the same,
and we hurry.”

Toric’s smile faded at the hoarse urgency in his laird’s voice. He turned, gave the hand signals, and they went forward at
a gallop, following Hugh without question.

Cumhal was right behind Toric, his horse almost touching the hindquarters of the one in front of him.

Hugh went through the heavy copse of trees fronting the river, then let his steed drop down into the water, letting it swim
to the side of the battlements. He didn’t even look up to see if there was a spotter. His bowmen would take care of that.
In speedy inspection he checked the walls, guessing at the placement of the great room.

He almost shouted for joy when he saw the clumps of brush, heavier, thicker in one spot. He went to it as fast as he could,
then was off Orion before the horse had halted. The steed was taken from him at once by a MacKay.

Hugh gave no orders, assuming, and rightly, that his MacKays would disperse into battle strategy.

Pushing, shoving, testing, barely reining in his urgency, Hugh worked without pausing over the crumbly stonework. Then there
was a godawful squeak and squawk of raw stonework abrading mortar. It sounded clarion clear and strong even through the roar
of the wind howling off the sea.

Hugh held his breath, expecting an outcry, but he didn’t stop trying to make the opening wider. Before he could request it,
Toric put a flint and flambeaux into his hand. Stretching into the opening, he lit the torch, noting it was covered with mold
and webs.

Plunging into it, he led his men in the circuitous tunnel that led upward in shallow and steep rises. Small piles of rock
impeded them, crumbling about them as they moved. Hugh didn’t halt his forward thrusts.

When he heard voices he paused, his men stilling as soon as he did.

Words came in shadowy echoes through the walls.

“I fear your new bride has wedding-day nerves, Sir Tarquin.” The speaker paused. “I wish I felt more sure about the papyrus
stating the annulment.”

“You can be sure it’s authentic. Priests from your monastery sanctioned it, as did the bishop. You saw the signatures.”

“I did. Annulment is such a rare thing. I did not know it could go forth so quickly. Of course the MacKay is a powerful man
and his wishes would be catered to by the Church.”

“Just so,” Tarquin murmured.