Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) (39 page)

She’d had to be cunning because she did not
want any to follow her—if they would—until she was well away from
here, so that she’d have the best chance of making it to the abbey
and finding sanctuary there before her flight could be stopped.

While one of the pilgrims
she would be traveling with—the husband—made an exchange of a
slightly bent, heart-shaped pewter brooch for casks of both ale and
well water that the ale wife assured would last them the journey,
were they careful of it, Morgana gave a furtive look left and right
before tucking herself, unnoticed by any who knew her, under the
coarse blanket of heavy cloth that covered the bales of wool. The
bales were going as far as
Inverleith
, where the Holyrood Abbey
was to have a fair and Lammas day feast. Morgana had taken it as a
sign from the Almighty that ‘twas time to act. For, these pilgrims
arrived late last eve, begging for a place to lay their heads for
the night, and told Vika, whom they’d assumed to be the mistress of
the keep, that they were headed to the very port where Morgana had
arrived all those moons ago.

The loss of her place here, tho’ it pained
her still, was also a boon. For, because of the pilgrims’
misbelief, she was free to set forth with her plan with little
question or suspicion from them. And, as Robert had proven with his
e’er-growing distance these past days that she had become more a
hardship than a helpmeet, it seemed the quickest and cleanest way
of severing their bond.

She brought with her only the small pouch of
coin and the other larger and heavier one filled with meat, bread
and cheese to share with her hosts, who’d agreed to her request of
transport to the holy place, understanding that she hoped for
healing there.

The pilgrims—Cormac and Gruach—would be here
in another moment or two. She’d conveyed to them that she was
feeling a bit tired from her late night preparing for her
departure, and would take an hour’s rest in the wain with the bales
of wool.

* * *

Morgunn had come around
the corner of his own cart after hitching his ox to it, and was
about to leave on yet another search of the outlying land to see
what traces, if any, he might find with regard to where the minions
were hiding themselves when he saw a flash of pale hose-covered leg
and feminine-shoed foot sweep up under the blanket in the young
pilgrims’ wain. Prickles of alarm traveled up his spine.
A messenger for Donnach working within the
keep?
He’d follow them. Capturing her
would be the first step in bringing the entire plan to an abrupt
end. He was about to turn and go to the door to the nearby weavers’
chamber to find Gwynlyan, whom he’d taken to openly wooing these
past days, so that he might tell her of his discovery and that she
should find Robert and have him follow, when the pilgrim’s cart
began to move toward the gate. Immediately, his plan changed. He
swung up on the seat of the wain, took the reins, and trailed them
out. He soon discovered he’d be pushing his ox to keep up with
them, for the couple were not poor and had the means to afford two
oxen to pull their load.

In the hour that followed, with no sign of
the hider slipping from beneath her covering, Morgunn developed his
plan of action.

* * *

‘Twas nearing terce that same day when Grímr
at last returned from his journey.

As Robert stood in the courtyard waiting for
his guest to dismount and come toward him, he pondered all that had
been discovered since Grímr’s departure. There was much to be
decided between them, now that Robert knew of Vika’s father’s
connection to the attack on Morgana, her mother, and her father all
those years ago, as well as the current plot to destroy her. And,
as Morgunn had told him, and as he’d come to be e’er more convinced
of as well the longer he’d ruminated on it, Donnach would have
little pang in slaughtering his own flesh as well, should her
presence here, or even her mere existence, become inconvenient to
his purposes.

* * *

As Grímr came further into the courtyard and
saw that Robert awaited him, he could see by the dark cloud
shadowing the man’s countenance that he had something dire to
impart, and his pulse sped. Had he been wrong in his belief that
Vika pretended illness the last eve of his stay here? Had she
perished while he went about his plans to force her to his will?
‘Twas well known that injuries to the head could be strange in
their healing, hard to remedy.

Without waiting for his mount to halt, he
leapt from its back and all but ran to meet his host. When he was
still several feet from him, he called out. “Where is Vika—is she
dead?”

The look of surprised confusion that passed
o’er Robert’s countenance told Grímr that his worry was misguided,
and his heart—his very soul—took flight even before he heard Robert
tell him nay. Finally able to begin breathing normally again, he
said, “What more dread tidings do you have for me, friend?”

Robert turned toward the
entrance to the keep, and Grímr followed. His host said naught
further as they walked, and Grímr kept his silence as well. ‘Twas
clear, what e’er he had to impart to him was for his ears alone,
and the worry, so fleetingly gone, returned. If Vika was not dead,
had her illness grown worse? Yet, if ‘twas the case—why the
secrecy? Nay. It must be some other dire thing.
Á vegginum Ásgarðr
. He prayed ‘twas
not Robert’s own wife who’d perished. Yet...it seemed more likely
the case, for he would not want to speak about his loss with so
many eyes and ears about.

Sverð af Óðinn!
He did not know what he would say to him, if his
fears proved right. And, Robert would no doubt be asking that Grímr
find other lodgings during this time of grief, as well. What would
he do then? He could not force himself upon an unwilling host. Yet.
He could not leave without Vika, either. His hands curled into
fists at his sides. Blast the woman! Well, if it came to that, then
he’d simply have to ferret his way back in someway and steal her
away, if Robert would not see reason and give her o’er to him
freely once he confessed his true purpose for having come
here.

‘Twas not until Robert had cleared the great
hall of everyone, leaving only the two of them seated by the hearth
that he again spoke directly to Grímr, saying, “Someone slipped
poison in my wife’s sleeping draught.”

Grímr’s head jerked back.

“ ‘Twas why she lost our babe. And, ‘tis
plain to me now, ‘twas my wife who was the true target that day on
the stairs in the old keep, not Vika, as first we thought.”

Grímr sat forward. “Who—”

“The earl. Vika’s father, Donnach
Cambel.”

Donnach Cambel!
His shoulders struck the back of the chair,
causing the air to leave his lungs in an audible
whoosh!
“Bqllr of
Óðinn!”
he murmured, blinking. After only
the briefest of moments, his gaze returned to Robert’s, and he sat
forward again. “What do you need from me, friend? I’ve fighting men
waiting at the docks on the coast. I will send for them.” He made
to rise, but Robert gripped his forearm, forestalling the
motion.

“I cannot reveal more, but know that I’ve
the King behind me, and have no need of your men. But...Vika cannot
remain at my holding. I know you’ve not concluded the dealings that
brought you here, but—”

“Aye, aye. I shall away with her
forthwith.”

Robert’s eyes narrowed on him. “Even tho’
she grows heavy with my bairn? You will protect it and keep it from
harm, as if ‘twere your very own?” He sat back with his elbows
resting on the arms of his chair and folded his hands together,
allowing them to settle o’er his solar plexus.

Grímr bit back a growl. As
he’d suspected would be the case, she’d not confessed her treachery
while he was away.
Vika! You will pay
dearly for this!
“The babe she carries is
mine. She lied to you to gain her own ends—and she alone knows what
they might be.”

* * *

Robert shot forward. He opened his mouth to
refute Grímr’s claim but closed it again, quashing his initial
impulse in favor of a more temperate response. He sat back slowly
and crossed his arms over his chest. “How know you that ‘tis not to
you she has lied?” Relief and sorrow dueled for prominence within
him as he studied his guest’s visage and awaited his answer. He did
not have long to wait.

Grímr sat forward, resting
his forearms on his thighs. He loosely twined his fingers in front
of him as he met Robert’s gaze with a penetrating pale-blue one of
his own. “A couple of reasons.” He began steepling the fingers of
each hand together as he rendered his list. “The foremost being
that the date of my
free
and
unhindered
encounter”—he paused and his look sharpened even
more in that instant it took Robert to nod his understanding—” is
in close accord with Vika’s adjudged date of conception.” He took
in a deep breath, continuing on the exhale, “And the second being
that, at least by Vika’s words, you and she had used more
care
and
had not
lain together in the sennight or so before, or after, the time she
conceived.”

‘Twas more a verification of a question that
had niggled the back of his mind these past days, than any true
revelation, but still Robert allowed himself to mourn the second
loss a moment, tho’ he ne’er revealed such to Grímr as he said,
“Aye, you’ve proved your belief. I am assured.”

Robert did not miss the shadow of relief
that crossed o’er Grímr’s countenance before Grímr stood and said,
“I think it not best for us to delay even another night.”

Robert stood as well. “Aye, you are
right.”

“I must gather Vika and we must fly.”

“I will send a small contingent of guards
with you, but you must start in the direction of Vika’s manor, else
Donnach’s accomplices may grow suspicious,” Robert said as he
started toward the entrance to the great hall with Grímr in step
beside him.

“Aye, I see the verity in that. We shall do
as you say, fear not.”

“All is settled then. You shall find her
with the weavers.”

After arranging for Vika’s belongings to be
brought from her chamber and placed in a covered horse-drawn cart
so that she might travel with some comfort, Robert walked with
Grímr as far as the base of the steps outside the entrance to the
keep. For only a mere moment before he strode to the training field
on a mission to collect five of his best guards for the journey,
Robert watched Grímr go as far as the doorway to the weavers’
chambers. With good fortune, and continued good weather, they’d be
safely out of Donnach’s view and concern within a day’s time. And
then all of his efforts and attention could be applied to capturing
the miscreants and saving his wife’s life.

* * *

Grímr stepped out of the sunlight and into
the dimness of the interior to the large, cool, low-ceilinged
chamber where the women toiled busily with long skeins of colored
wool or silk on multiple wooden looms or long boards. The clack and
clatter of the devices along with the low buzz of the women’s
voices as they worked created a harmony of sound both pleasant and
calming. His eyes adjusted quickly and he found Vika near the other
open doorway, which led into yet another chamber and looked to be
populated with a group of spinners.

As if she felt his gaze upon her, she looked
in his direction. For a fleet moment their eyes locked and he saw a
glimmer of dread that was quickly replaced by ire before she
twirled around and headed into the other chamber.

He followed, and his strides were long. As
he moved past the women one-by-one, their looms went silent, and so
also did their mouths. He felt more than saw their curious stares
upon him, but his quarry was fast escaping toward yet another door
and he could not allow that. He picked up his speed and managed to
catch her ‘round the waist and drag her full against him before her
hand reached the handle. The assault of desire that the contact
caused made the air push from their lungs in unison. Although...he
was not so full of vanity that he could not admit that for her, at
least, it might have been the pressure from his arm on her middle
that caused her to respond in such a manner. He touched his lips to
the delicate shell of her ear and murmured, “ ‘Tis time,” knowing
from long experience that the fluttering caress would make her wet,
make her burn, make her easy to manage.

Except he was wrong.

Instead of going limp in his embrace, she
turned into a she-devil, kicking, clawing and even trying to bite
his arm, if she could have reached it.

He heaved her into his arms. ‘Twas the
safest way to deal with her, and even tho’ she continued fighting
him with her waspish tongue and with pounding fists to his
shoulders, he knew she’d not fight so hard that she’d cause harm to
their babe. As for his own injuries, tho’ his shin and toes burned,
as did the scratches on his arm, they were as naught compared to
any he’d received in battle, so he cleanly ignored them.

* * *

“I will ne’er be able to lift my eyes to
those women again! You have mortified me for the final time, Grímr!
I am not your property!” Vika said the last just before ripping a
satisfying fistful of pale yellow hair from Grímr’s scalp.
Unfortunately, the only response he gave was a low grunt and yet
another squeeze to her bent knees, which were positioned perfectly
in the crook of his beefy arm. The surprise came when he had the
brazen boldness to run his calloused thumb o’er the hardened (from
anger, not desire!) peak of her breast. Her body went slack, but
her pulse went wild.