Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) (34 page)

“Why should you doubt me?” she rejoined.
“You accuse me, yet you have given no proof, nor even a reason as
to why you believe such.”

He swung around and strode to the hearth,
turned back to face her, positioned his body as before: Arms
crossed, feet spread, and said, “Then I shall tell you….”

As Gwynlyan listened to the accusations Wife
Deirdre had made against her, to her reasons for Robert’s believing
Gwynlyan the culprit in the crime, to Robert’s own suspicion that
Vika’s tumble down the stairs had been a push by someone at this
very keep, Gwynlyan realized two things: The first being that her
worst fears had come to pass, and her daughter was now a target to
Donnach and his minions; and the second being that if Gwynlyan held
any hope of surviving long enough to warn Morgunn, to save her
daughter’s life, and to possibly gain aid from Robert in that
pursuit as well, she must confess the truth of her identity to him
without delay.

Just then, a trump sounded, indicating a
visitor of some importance had arrived at the gate and Gwynlyan’s
heart leapt into her throat at the same time she leapt from her
stool, saying in a rush of words, “I am Gwynlyan of
Aerariae
secturae
. Morgana is my daughter. I love her more than my own
life. You must believe me, and you must help me protect her before
‘tis too late!”

* * *

Robert’s jaw dropped open. Everything within
him revolted, as he took in the grayed and ashen-faced woman before
him. In the seconds before his mind began functioning fully again,
he looked for any indication of the beauty that belonged to his
wife. Where his wife was of middle height, this woman was petite,
where Morgana owned eyes of the bluest hue, this woman’s eyes were
brown. This woman—this
Gwynlyan of Aerariae secturae
, if she
was to be believed—would have been nearing her middle years when
she went to childbed with Morgana. Yet—

The older woman took two steps toward him
and, wringing her hands, said, “I beg you, send the sheriff away,
and I will tell all. Morgana’s father lives, too, and this”—she
swept an arm in an arc—“danger she is in will not be eased with my
death.”

The decision was more a feeling than a
thought and he gave her a sharp nod, saying, “Go through the back
entrance. Return to the weavers’ chamber and I will come for you
later, after I have sent the sheriff on his way.”

Before the woman was at the doorway, his
steward arrived to tell him of the sheriff’s arrival. Quickly, he
set the man to follow the maid, realizing that she would no doubt
try to meet with her husband, if she were truly Gwynlyan of
Aerariae secturae
, or with her accomplices, if she were
truly a murderer, telling him that she was not to be detained
unless she tried to go further than the boundary to the MacVie
land.

* * *

Gwynlyan did not go to the weavers’ chamber,
as Robert bade her, instead scurrying with much stealth out the
back gate and then onward to the place where she and Morgunn met in
secret each fortnight. They’d decided ‘twas too dangerous to meet
more often, as, at any time, someone might grow suspicious and
follow her. So, they’d decided on a code of sorts. A means of
communicating when one of them had tidings, or needed to see the
other. This time, she would leave under the stone the copper ring
with the round ruby center he’d given her when they wed, which told
him something of dire import had occurred and to meet her that
night after the chimes of midnight.

She’d already determined, in the early hours
of the morn after their daughter lost her babe, to signal for him
to meet her this eve, but she’d planned to do it later in the day,
during the time that all were taking their evening meal, when there
was little likelihood of discovery. But now, worried that if she
waited, she might not get another chance to at least put Morgunn on
guard that all was not right here, and knowing with certainty that
her daughter was once again being targeted for murder by her uncle
and his cohorts, and also feeling even more pressure to reassure
herself of Morgunn’s continued safety, she would not delay.

Morgunn had told her that he usually
traveled past this place each day nearing compline on his way back
from the goatherd’s hut some five miles away, where he’d gotten
work.

Her heart thudded against her rib cage when
she thought of Morgunn’s reaction to her breaking her vow—breaking
her silence—and telling Robert of Morgunn’s existence as well. But
what else could she have done? If she had not revealed her relation
to Morgana, she would, even now, be on her way to the sheriff’s
gaol, where she’d eat her last portion of bread, swallow her last
drink of water before the dawn broke, and the noose tightened
around her throat, cutting off her breath, ending her life, taking
away any chance she had of saving her daughter’s life, and
curtailing all chance of e’er obtaining for herself, and her
family, that thing she wanted most: Justice.

* * *

Hours later, after sending the sheriff off,
Robert spoke with Wife Deirdre, not telling her what he’d learned,
but telling her that, after questioning Modron, he was convinced
she was not the one who’d filled the vial with the death draught,
and that Wife Deirdre was to keep his counsel, speak to no one but
himself about the incident until he’d routed the evildoer, else
they might flee. Robert then made his way back to the weavers’
chamber to gain the answers he needed from this maid, this
professed mother, of his wife. He’d still not been up to his
bedchamber to see Morgana. Even if time had allowed, which it had
not, he was not yet prepared to see the lingering heartache in her
eyes, to be the brave and sturdy one while inside himself, he felt
weak and impotent. Nor was he yet prepared to do as he must, and
keep this new malignance in their midst a secret until she had
recovered more from the devastation of the previous night.

With effort, he turned his thoughts back to
the task at hand. His steward had relayed to him that the maid had
not gone directly to where the weavers did their work, but,
instead, had fled to the dammed portion of the burn and left
something under a stone—he knew not what—then had scurried back to
the keep, and gone to o’ersee the weaving, where she’d been e’er
since.

He shook his head. Aye, and alas. Tho’ ‘twas
not settled as fact in his mind, still, and yet, he did not feel
that the woman had done the deed she’d been accused of, and if she
was who she claimed to be—and if ‘twas truth that Morgana’s father
had survived that attack as well—then the attempt on his wife’s
life, and on Vika’s, made much more sense to him.

Except.

‘Twas clear the maid had left a directive
for someone there at the burn. But for whom? An accomplice in this
death plot? Or, mayhap, this Morgunn, this supposed-dead, long-lost
father of his wife’s? Either way, he’d know by dawn. And justice
would be swift, if he found that the woman had lied to him.

However, he realized now, if ‘twere the case
that she had lied, ‘twas a boon he’d not sent her along with the
sheriff earlier, for he doubted not that the other player in this
scheme was a man, and thus, that man would not be given over to the
sheriff. Nay, he’d instead feel the sharp edge, the piercing weight
through his gut, of Robert’s steel.

* * *

‘Twas nearing the chimes of midnight when
Robert followed Gwynlyan at a slow distance on her trek to the burn
to meet with Morgunn.

Upon hearing the full of her tale earlier in
the day, he’d at last been convinced—almost—that she told the
truth. After all these moons, all his queries into Morgana’s past,
he’d finally gotten the answers he’d sought. At least, as many as
Gwynlyan herself knew, or had surmised o’er the years. The fact
that Donnach Cambel was behind this deadly scheme sent a rush of
blood lust through his veins. For, if Gwynlyan’s tale proved
true—and the final proof would be Morgunn Cambel—the
accident
in the old keep involving Vika was, in fact, a
botched first attempt on his wife’s life, not Donnach’s
daughter’s.

So, now, the plan was set: Gwynlyan, who had
left her wedding ring under the stone earlier in the day to give
Morgunn the cue that something was amiss, that he should wait for
her there tonight, would leave the keep first, and Robert would
follow not long after. This would give her time—not a lot—to tell
Morgunn all that had happened, and that he was now about to meet
his son-in-law, at which point, Robert would then show himself.

* * *

Morgunn tore off a chunk of day-old bread
with his teeth and began to chew before he took a long pull on the
skin of ale he’d purchased from the alewife on his way through the
small village that lay between this holding and the Norman’s, where
the herder’s plot was located and the goats Morgunn helped to tend
grazed. ‘Twas his first meal since noontime, and his insides yawned
with hunger, even at the same time they twisted with dread.

Why had she summoned him?

Something dire was in the offing, his gut
told him, tho’ he sent a silent prayer of thanks to God that his
wife was not whisked away from him again, or worse, dead.
But
what of Morgana?

Pressing the back of his hand to his mouth
as he took the last chew before swallowing it down, he looked up
through the canopy of trees, and into the night sky. The moon was
high in the heavens, and he knew the time for their meeting was
drawing nigh.

Just then, he heard the snap of a twig, the
whip of a leaved branch as it shot back in place, and suddenly, she
was there, standing before him, and even through the dim of night,
the silvered sheen of starlight, he could see that her bright amber
hair was still dulled with ash, her pale, pink skin, still dusted
with the stuff as well, and her frame, that he knew from his
unobserved viewing of her midnight bath in the burn was more woolen
padding than female form, still well-concealed. Aye, he’d seen the
scars as well, and knew what they meant, who had given them her,
and the thought of those marks ne’er ceased to buttress e’er more
his determination to destroy those that had perpetrated these vile
deeds upon his family. The corners of her lush mouth tipped in a
shy smile and his heart fluttered.
Someday….
Someday, he
would at last melt her reserve and they would once again lay
together as man and wife.
Someday….

Without realizing he was doing it, he rose
to his feet, facing her fully, and extended his hand.

She took the last two steps to him and
settled her palm o’er his, which he immediately secured in his
grasp with the curl of his long fingers around her own as he pulled
her into his embrace, opening his mouth o’er hers and tugging her
head back with his free hand gripping her plaited hair.

She remained rigid in his arms and,
squealing low in her throat, pushed against his chest until he
released his hold. Immediately, she sent a furtive look behind her,
into the darkness of the night forest, and said, “Nay, no more of
that.” Swinging her gaze back to his, she urged him further into
the light near the water’s edge. “I only have a moment or two to
tell you all.”

He gave a sharp nod of his head, indicating
both acquiescence and understanding, and then waited in silence for
her next words.

* * *

When Gwynlyan moved the man into the
moonlight, Robert bit back a gasp.
Morgana’s looks are his.
Even with the knowledge that he would be meeting her father this
night, it had still not prepared him for the strength of the
resemblance between the two. Any kernel of doubt he’d yet harbored
as to whether Gwynlyan was actually leading him to a foe, had now
been completely destroyed as well. And, he admitted also, that even
were the resemblance not so apparent, he’d already come to the same
conclusion regarding the identity of this man, upon witnessing the
strong passion he held for Morgana’s mother. It made Robert e’er
more curious to see the woman as she truly looked, completely
undisguised.

He waited another moment longer, waited
until the two heads, now bent together in murmured speech, lifted
once more, waited even one short moment longer for Gwynlyan to turn
her gaze in his direction, tho’ he had little doubt that she could
see him where he stood in this lightless nook of shrub and wood,
before he at last stepped from the shroud of darkness and into the
patch of starlight in front of him.

It boded well, Robert thought in that
instant, that when Morgunn saw the unknown intruder, his arm shot
around Gwynlyan’s waist, sending her behind his large frame.
However, with his next words, it also became clear that Robert had
not waited long enough to show himself.

“—Who goes there?” Morgunn said, sliding his
dirk from his belt.

“—Nay! ‘Tis Robert!” Gwynlyan said.

“—I am Robert MacVie, Morgana’s husband.”
The last hung in the air between them, weighted in the moment,
pregnant with portent.

Finally, the spell of stunned silence was
broken by Morgunn when he said to Gwynlyan, tho’ his sharp gaze
remained fully upon Robert, “You were not so unwitting of his
following you here, I trow, my love. Why is that? Did you break
your oath to me, then?”

Robert didn’t give Gwynlyan time to answer
him, instead saying, “The small hours are upon us. Our time to plan
is short. Let us leave the whys and wherefores for later. For now,
know only this: Morgana’s life is in peril, and, with the exception
of my trusted healer, and the men attempting the deed, we three are
the only ones who know it and can aid her.”

Gwynlyan gripped Morgunn’s shoulder, lifted
up on her toes and said close to his ear, tho’ loudly enough for
Robert to ken her words, “They slipped a death draught to our lass.
‘Tis why she lost her babe, I’m sure, and what I would have told
you next, except….”