Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) (38 page)

“She will revive, regain her vigor in time,
worry not. But, aye, I cannot think of giving her yet another blow
while she is in such a fragile state. We must continue to do this
work in privy.”

“ ‘Tis only in her sleep that she seems to
turn to me for comfort, but, I confess, ‘tis too great a temptation
then for me to do more with her, and I cannot risk getting her with
child again when there are men who would see her dead.”

“Aye, you do the right thing, for restraint
is the only true means of preventing such.”

Aye, as Vika’s childing
has borne out.
He almost spoke the thought
aloud, but thought better of it. Best to keep to the problem at
hand. Taking in a deep breath, Robert nodded and turned back to
Gwynlyan, saying instead, “What of Vika? I’ve yet to give her any
warning of the peril caused by her own father that we find
ourselves in. ‘Tis truth, I cannot decide whether ‘tis best to send
her back to her manor, or to keep her close, in case I am wrong in
my reasoning, and ‘twas no mistake made that day she was pushed
down the stairs.”

“I will tell her. Once she knows ‘tis me,
her aunt, she will believe me. And, nay, I do not think it wise to
send her back to her manor. ‘Twill be best to keep her close,
especially as the knock she took to her pate still brings an ache
in her head some days, tho’ the pain has lessened, so says Wife
Deirdre.”

* * *

While his mother-in-law was above stairs
speaking to Vika, Robert went in search of Morgunn. His
father-in-law was standing just under the wooden eave that extended
o’er the blacksmith’s wide doorway, speaking to the blacksmith and
his round, red-cheeked wife. ‘Twas clear immediately that, while
Morgunn spent this time in innocuous conversation, he had also
placed himself in a prime position with which to be privy to much
of the ebb and flow of all those that worked within the walls of
the keep. Specifically, Robert noted, the men who completed the
furbishing.

When Robert passed by the three, he gave
them a brief nod and greeting, meeting Morgunn’s eye and giving an
almost imperceptible jerk of his head in the direction of the
enclosed garden without e’er breaking stride. Hopefully, Morgunn
caught the gesture and would follow shortly.

He was not in the garden long before his
father-in-law slipped through the gate Robert had purposely left
open, then quickly, and quietly, shut it behind him before sweeping
the area with his gaze, moving with some speed to stand behind a
large oak in one corner of the garden, and summoning Robert over to
a bench that sat beneath its shaded boughs with a wave of his
hand.

When Robert was settled on the bench, he
heard Morgunn say, just above a whisper: “I’ve as yet not found any
who have the look of those who attacked our caravan, tho’ there are
still some I have yet to gain a good view of.”

Robert pounded his fist
against his thigh, answering harshly, but in the same low tone, “I
wish they would show themselves—fight like men, out in the open—but
this sly, crooked,
cowardly
stealth is driving me to madness.”

“Aye, but if we are to win this deathly
game, we must use reason and cunning ourselves—and ne’er reveal our
intent.”

“Gwynlyan is with Vika now. She tells her of
her father’s plot.”

There was a long, silent pause before Robert
heard his father-in-law speak again, saying, “Aye, ‘tis no longer
right to keep her from the truth of his deceit. And, knowing his
nature, as I do now, I will also say this: She must not remain here
while we attempt to bring his treachery to full light and justice,
else he will have little scruple in putting an end to her life as
well.”

“Except...she still suffers from the injury
to her head.”

“She will suf—A maid arrives!”

Robert leapt to his feet and walked a few
paces away, pretending interest in a large planting of some kind of
white flowers with yellow centers. After a moment, he looked o’er
his shoulder, saw that the maid had returned to the kitchens, and
went back to settle on the bench again, saying, “Vika still suffers
injuries from her fall. She cannot make a journey now.”

“She must,” Morgunn replied, “for she’ll
suffer more, should she be an inconvenience to her father’s plot.
Nay, she must go. And soon.”

Robert let out a heavy
sigh. “Aye, I will find a way.”
But
how?
He rose from the bench and stretched
his arms over his head, emitting a loud yawn, as he took a last
look around the garden, as if he were finished with some
much-needed rest, and said, “I will meet you here again before the
chimes of midnight. I hope by then you will have found the devil’s
disciple of Donnach’s that ‘bides within these walls.” He strode
out of the garden, knowing Morgunn would creep out later, when no
eyes would see.

* * *

“My father? My father was behind…?” Knees
atremble, Vika reached blindly beside her for the stool and,
finding it, settled upon it. “I-I believe it not…. I knew he was….
But, this...?” She gave a slow shake of her head. “Surely
not….”

Her mind whirred. She
barely noticed when Gwynlyan took the stool next to hers and
covered Vika’s hand with her own. “Your father wanted what he
believed to be his birthright—
Aerariae
secturae
—both the holding, and the copper
mined there.”

Vika blinked at her, trying to focus on her
words, to see past the disguise to the woman she’d known long ago.
Finally, she said, “All these years...believing you dead…. ‘Tis
more than I can comprehend.”

Gwynlyan patted her hand. “I fear there’s
yet another blow I must give to you.” She straightened, took in a
deep breath then said, “Your tumble, my daughter’s loss of her
unborn babe, were in fact attempts on my daughter’s life.” Vika
opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say a word, her
aunt rose, stood gazing down at her with a stern expression upon
her countenance, and continued, “Or, ‘tis what we believe, as we
can find no good reason for your father to want to end your
life—unless…. You are sure he has no knowledge of the babe you
carry?”

Her heart thudded against her breastbone.
She had to swallow before she could answer, tho’ there was little
moisture that remained, as her mouth had grown parched. “I—” She
blinked and looked around blindly, stood up without realizing she
was doing so, took a step toward the hearth, twisted the onyx ring
on her finger Grímr had given her on the day their daughter was
born.

“I can see no way he could have learned of
such. I told no one, not even my maid. Tho’...I suppose ‘tis
possible she might have guessed….” Vika shook her head, turned, and
rested her gaze once more on Gwynlyan. “But even if she had, she
would ne’er reveal such to my father, unless forced to do so. And,
unless my father had some suspicion himself beforehand, he would
ne’er visit the manor, nor think to question my maid.” Having thus
worked this out in her mind, and flooded with relief, Vika was able
to once again take in a long breath.

Gwynlyan inhaled visibly, clasped her hands
before her and, with a renewed look of purpose gracing her
countenance, said, “Then ‘tis as we believed: ‘Tis only my
daughter’s life they mean to end.”

Y
ET ANOTHER NIGHT had passed with Morgana fretting and unable
to sleep. She’d hoped to await the response from the nunnery where
she’d been raised as to whether they would allow a visit, but had
decided ‘twas better to simply arrive, beg entrance, and
well-entrench herself behind the safety and sanctity of the holy
place prior to petitioning the King for aid in ending her marriage
to Robert.

For, she felt sure that if the King did not
(or, even if he did) agree with her desires, he’d inform Robert of
Morgana’s wishes and plans and, even tho’ Robert might secretly
desire the same conclusion to this alliance, he would feel
honor-bound to keep his vows with her, would more easily foil the
proceedings, and that would simply not do.

She had a bit more than
another sennight remaining to this forced
rest
as Robert called it, and with
little to keep her hands and mind occupied, and with Robert growing
e’er more distant—e’er more irritable—when e’er he came to their
chamber at night, keeping to a small portion of his side of the
bed, or striding out to, she feared, share Vika’s bed—or mayhap
even some other’s—Morgana was near to tearing out her hair by its
roots to stop the somber thoughts and worries from invading. For,
even if he was not sharing another’s bed now, his withholding of
his affection, his passion, from her did not,
could
not bode well for their
union.

With a soft sigh, she tossed the woolen
blanket off her lap and rose from the chair Robert’s cousin had
placed by the window for her a few days ago.

And this last eve, Robert had discontinued
even pretending he’d abide beside her in their bed and had merely
walked with her to their bedchamber after supper to wish her a good
rest before departing again. There was much strain around his eyes
and mouth, and she could only surmise ‘twas due to the added burden
she presented, now that she’d proven to him with her midnight
visions and tearful fits that he’d bound himself with a woman who
was not well in the head. Morgana pushed her fingers against her
eyelids to stem the flow of tears that were e’er on the verge of
gushing forth these days and took in a deep, ragged breath. After a
moment, she regained a modicum of composure and was able to lift
her head.

Tho’ ‘twas still more dark than dawn, Wife
Deirdre had departed the chamber not a quarter-hour past to care
for and redress a wound that one of Robert’s soldiers had acquired
on the training field the morn before, and Morgana felt restless.
Turning with her arms folded over her chest, she gazed down at the
courtyard, idly watching (and envying as well) the folk as they
hurried about, fulfilling their daily tasks for the clan and the
keep. One of the kitchen maids scurried across the courtyard toward
the well with an ewer in her hand and Morgana smiled when she saw
that one of the apprentices, a big man of some height and weight,
with hair the color of spring carrots, and a beard to match, was
already there, and clearly awaiting her arrival, for the maid’s
countenance brightened and her tread quickened when the man smiled
at her.

There was a young wedded pair of pilgrims
who’d arrived late this day past and were granted a place to lay
their heads for the night with the blacksmith’s family. They were
already preparing to depart, she noticed. O’er the last days, as
her body had grown stronger, Wife Deirdre and her daughter sat with
her less and less, only coming in to check on her a few times a day
to ask if she required a sleeping draught, or if she required them
to bring her meal to her or if she would be taking it with her
husband. This would make it easier for what she had planned.

Hurrying now, she rushed to the washstand
and took up the pot of ink and small painting brush she’d gathered
last eve on her way back up to her bedchamber after supper. Dipping
it in the dark liquid, she swirled it around until ‘twas drenched,
then brought it up to her hairline and began stroking it up and
o’er the white strands. It worked as she already knew ‘twould as
she’d tried it on the base of her braid this night past after
Robert left her alone in their chamber, turning her hair a deep
russet.

‘Twas a precaution, along
with the worn and ragged brown gown made of rough wool and the
plain dingy cotton chemise and
napron
she’d purloined from their
pegs in one of the small storage chambers off the kitchen and put
on after Wife Deirdre’s departure earlier.

As the ink almost immediately dried, she
secured her braid in a coronet around her head, then twined a drab
square of cloth o’er that, tying the ends and tucking them in.
Taking only another brief moment to study the results as best she
could in the silvered glass, she turned her head from side to side
and was pleased to see that the effect was as she’d hoped. If she
were very careful to hold her head down as she left the keep, she
believed no one would recognize her.

As quickly as she could, she stoppled the
pot of ink, wrapped it in a long, thick length of dark wool, then
tucked it inside a small pouch before tucking that into the woven
basket that held the coin she’d offer the pilgrims, the owner of
the vessel she’d travel o’er the water in, as well as to the nuns
when she arrived, with only a penny or two left for the unforeseen.
There was also a good amount of cheese, some bread, dried meat, and
for later in the journey, bannocks.

Afterward, she placed a scrolled parchment
on Robert’s pillow. ‘Twas a short, and she thought, plain
explanation to Robert for her departure, that was not marred by too
much feeling.

Then, with a last sweep of her gaze, she
took in the chamber that until recently had been the haven for the
most joyful moments of her life thus far. With a shaky sigh, she
turned and stared at the door. Now, to deal with Robert’s
cousin.

* * *

She’d had to cover her head with a dark veil
and slip one of her better gowns o’er her head before opening the
door to query her guard. It had not been easy to roust him from his
place by the door. She knew Robert kept him there for her use while
she was confined to her chamber, but she found it odd that he would
balk so oft at leaving her when Wife Deirdre, or her daughter, were
not in the chamber with her, and the fact that he was as a shadow
to her when e’er she took a turn out in the garden, or out of the
keep at all, had only made e’er more evident to her Robert’s worry
regarding her odd spells. So, she’d had to deceive him into
believing that Wife Deirdre’s daughter had spent the entire night
in her chamber and was now asleep next to the hearth. She’d placed
a fur there and made a pile of clothes, then covered it all with
one of the patterned woolen blankets Wife Deirdre had brought and
left on a stool for her and her daughter’s use. In order to
convince the man fully, Morgana had opened the door just enough for
him to peek around it and see the lump she’d made. The Fates were
with her, praise be, because her guard did not notice that there
were no loud snores coming from the lump, as would have been the
case were the woman truly slumbering within.