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

by K. E. Saxon

  “Ankou!” her husband repeated. Then, in one movement, he looked down that gloomy, dark expanse, released her from his embrace, and took off between the buildings, the lightless chasm soon swallowing him up.

  She stumbled further into the courtyard, into the moonlight, for the moment, all thoughts of Modron forgotten.

  * * *

  The mute’s husband, looking right and left, darted past where the apprentice hid, huddled under his cloak in the corner and holding his breath, and on down the aisle between the two rows of long benches in the chapel. As the husband reached the alter, he slowed then stopped, arms akimbo, his lungs blowing hard in the exalted silence of the church. He looked all around, to each side, then forward and back.

  After another moment, the husband jogged back up the aisle and returned through the door leading to the outside passageway. The apprentice sucked in several deep breaths. He waited there for another quarter-hour, afraid to leave lest the husband sent guards out in search of him.

  * * *

  ‘Twas many long, terror-filled moments later before Robert jogged back to Morgana. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he studied her visage and murmured, “There was naught there, no one there.”

  She stared up at him. There was! There was! If only she could shout the words.

  Her frame aquiver with uncontrollable quakes, she collapsed into his arms, gripping tight to his back, fisting her hands in his linen shirt.

  “Fear not, you are safe. I’ll ne’er let anyone harm you, Morgana. I swear this on my very soul. Do you believe me?”

  She didn’t answer, too shaken was she, and needing first only the comfort and security of his strong embrace. Somehow, he sensed her need, and stood there with her, holding her tight for a sustained moment while her trembling waned.

  After another short time, he touched his fingertips to her cheek, touched his lips to hers, before slowly drawing away. “What was it brought you out here in the middle of the night?”

  Her heart tripped. She opened her mouth to explain, but then clamped it shut. Nay, she’d not betray Modron in that way, nor her own shamefully inquisitive doings either. After all, hadn’t Robert once told her he found such actions loathsome in her cousin, Vika? Nay, she’d reveal naught of her reasons for being here. So, she gave him a limp shrug.

  “You told me you saw Ankou earlier.”

  A shiver ran through her. She nodded.

  His brows slammed together. “Ankou. Aye, Ankou,” he said, and she heard a small thread of disbelief in his tone. “ ‘Twas but another of your dreams, Morgana.”

  A dream! She’d not dreamed him...surely? She glanced back into the black void again. Or...had she? She’d been frighted, she’d tingled with dread, had even recalled her reactions as a bairn to the dark. And then he’d appeared. Seemingly, out of nowhere. Added to that, were the events of the past days; the visions with regard to the necklace she’d found at the burn. She could no longer be sure. Mayhap, yet another of her illusions had forced itself into her waking life. And this time, she’d dreamt the creature had tried to carry her off, just as he did the dead woman in her recurring vision. This is some kind of madness. It must be….

  Her husband pressed his lips to her forehead. “ ‘Tis all right, Morgana. You are safe.” He turned them both in the direction of the front entry of the keep. After they’d taken several paces, arm in arm, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I have just the remedy for such night terrors. By the time I’m done with you, you shall be too weary to wander about in your sleep, or to dream either, for that matter.

  In spite of her remaining nervousness, in spite of her worry regarding her soundness of mind, in spite her growing fear that Robert’s patience with her would soon begin to thin, her pulse increased and anticipation took the place of all her dread thoughts and feelings. She smiled up at him and gave him an eager nod.

  * * *

  When all was quiet as a tomb for an extended time, the apprentice risked rising and going to crack the door open and peek out. The area was completely deserted. Awash with relief, he let himself heave an audible sigh, then slipped from the chapel, down the cobblestones, and, keeping to the shadows next to the wall, headed for the courtyard and postern gate.

  His partner would not be pleased at his lateness. No doubt, he’d been waiting on the mound for more than an hour by now. The apprentice had been hiding in the darkness, away from the night guards’ eyes, when first the old maid of the mute’s, and then the mute herself, had walked past him where he stood leaning against the stone wall of the keep. The maid’s wanderings he found curious, and may have followed her, had the mute not been the better prize. In truth, he’d not had a plan. He’d acted in the moment, wanting to frighten her, see if, with the addition of force, her memory, her voice would return. But, clearly, it had not.

  Would he have killed her? Aye. No doubt. And ‘twas possible Donnach Cambel would not have been pleased. He rubbed the puncture wound she’d left in his skin and recalled that she’d dropped the brooch where they’d struggled. It took him only a moment or two to retrieve it, wipe it clean of his blood, and drop it nearer the end of the cobblestones just where the courtyard began.

  She’d gotten away from him, and he’d only followed a step or two, before deciding his best course would be to flee instead. But, he’d not, not right away. He’d lurked in the blackness, watching her exchange with her husband first. Tho’ ‘twas dangerous for him to do so, he wanted to know. Know for sure that she did not, would not, could not identify him as anything other than an unknown attacker. And his gamble had paid. For, she’d not recognized him from his work here on the fortress. She’d again thought he was phantasm—a harbinger of death. And mayhap he was.

  The wind was high this night, the moon full, as he trudged across the glen toward the mound. To keep the hood o’er his head, he held it on with his hand, and the hood flapped against his cheek.

  But there was still the question of the mute’s mother. Where had she gone after her escape from Alaric? If only she would show herself here! They could kill them both, and then this plan they’d hatched would be finished. And he’d be a wealthy man at last.

  That missive they’d received from Donnach several days past warned them of his worry that he is now under the King’s suspicion once again. A merchant that Donnach had dealings with told him that a proxy of the King’s had visited him, and had queried him about his connection to the earl. Donnach wrote again that he dared not be seen near this place, for fear, if death be the mute’s fate, that ‘twould cast an even greater shadow of doubt upon him with his liege once done. Tho’ truth told, the apprentice thought ‘twas more the earl’s religious fervor, and his belief that as long as blood was not directly upon his hands, that his sin was venial, not mortal, and he’d not be eternally damned.

  As he arrived at the base of the mound, a figure separated itself from the dark night and moved toward him.

  “You are late,” his partner said.

  “Aye.”

  “Why?”

  “I dozed, did not awaken until not long ago. My pardon,” he lied. The deed was done, and all was well. Why give his partner reason for fury toward him?

  * * *

  Robert shut the door behind him with a click and followed his wife, both with his eyes and with his feet, as she moved with grace further into the chamber. His heart was still beating faster than its normal meter, his worry for her not near to lessened. Even tho’ he’d found no evidence of there having been someone in the lee between the buildings, and even tho’ he was almost sure that what e’er had happened in the lee had been part of the night wandering dream she’d been having, still he’d have that area watched from this point forth. For this night, he’d sent one of the guards below stairs to stand watch there the rest of the night. He’d meant every word of what he’d vowed to her earlier. He’d not allow anyone to ever harm her. Not ever.

  His wife began to loose the ties on her gown, and the sight of Morgana’s bare fle
sh jerked him from his dour thoughts. He hurried to aid her, brushing her hands away. In the blink of an eye, he had her exactly as he liked her best: Bare from head to foot.

  Resting his hands lightly on her hips, he leaned down and opened his mouth o’er her nipple, suckling softly. Immediately, she began to tremble, grew e’er more pliant in his embrace. He used the tip of his tongue to torture the peak until it puckered to the exact degree he wanted, then he began to do the same to the other.

  The flesh above her breasts was a fiery flame. Her breath caught, then turned to pants as she dug her nails in his shoulders. When her fingers began ripping at his own clothes, he lifted his head and said, “Nay, not yet. Let me enjoy you first with my mouth. Then, aye…. Aye, then.”

  Her agreement was given with a jerky nod of her head and he swept her up into his arms and placed her on the stool she used when mending his clothes. His tarse grew another painful inch remembering how oft he’d watched her doing so, and how oft it led to him spending his passion ‘tween her thighs. But this night, he wanted to make her burn for him as well, as she balanced upon that stool, and again, and again, each time she sat upon it thereafter.

  On his way, he lifted a pale silver veil from off the top of her clothing chest and tossed it o’er his shoulder, then settled her upon the stool. She gave him a look of such confusion, he had to bite back a grin. Coming down onto his knees, he spread her thighs wide and gazed at the glistening dark curls, at the lush red inner lips only slightly hidden now by the hair. Sweeping a hand around her head, he held it in his palm, leaned forward and kissed her hard on her mouth. She responded in like fervor, gripping the back of his head in both her hands as well. When he sent his tongue between her teeth, he sent two fingers inside her as well and she broke the kiss, arched back, opened wider for him, and began to undulate against him.

  “Hold on to me, Morgana,” he said, and slid his fingers from her. He made quick work of securing the long veil around his back and under his arms, then released first one and then the other of her hands from him and tied an end onto each wrist, showing her how he wanted her to also hold tight to the silk. The center of her eyes, black with desire, gazed at him with confusion, but trust shown there as well, and as he knew she would, she nodded her agreement.

  He brought her into his embrace for a quick hug, kissed her cheek, then pressed on her shoulders, making her tip back, as he said, “Now, you’ll ride my tongue until you shatter. Lean back further. Yes that’s right.” He began first with her breasts again, because their taut peaks beckoned him, taunted him. And as he did so, she dropped her head back and arched in to him.

  As he began to trail his lips and his tongue down her torso, spending an added moment kissing her belly, as it held his son as well, she gratified him by slowly leaning e’er further backwards. By the time his mouth and tongue found her scut, she was near to horizontal, and he used that advantage to press her thighs open wider still. Her arms trembled with the strain, but she took all that he offered, when first, he spread her lips and sent his tongue deep inside for a long drink of her, before sliding it out and using it to softly tickle the red scalloped folds.

  Her breathing grew ragged, her skin, the color of red berries, and it sparkled like the first dew of the morn upon them. Her visage was contorted with the pleasure he gave her—and the pleasure he withheld. She began to tug violently on the ends of the veil, and he knew if she had a voice, she’d be screaming for him to make her come.

  Finally, he gave her what she begged for. But not quickly. Not at first. Slowly, leisurely, until her head began to toss back and forth, until she began to yank e’er harder on the silk, until he at last gave her exactly what she craved.

  While his tongue danced and fluttered, he sent two fingers deep inside her, pumping them in and out, reveling in the cushiony, wet feel of her, the strong grip of her. The stool had grown slippery with the mist on her skin, with the flood of juices from her womb. He wrapped an arm around her back, just above her bottom, to keep her atop her seat.

  When she began to work and gyrate her hips, when the muscles in her thighs, in her belly, in her shoulders began to quake, he caressed just the right place inside her, allowing her to go o’er the edge at last.

  After the storm was over, he loosed her silken bonds, drew her to him, wrapped her limp, lung-heaving form in his embrace, then settled a soft kiss on the nape of her neck, tasting the clean flavor of salt and Morgana. In the same movement, he lifted her into his arms and rose to his feet, allowing the silver veil to drop to the floor, then strode to the bed, made quick work of undressing, then settled upon her, between her thighs, and deep inside her.

  A shudder of delight ran the length of him, and he let out a loud groan.

  He started to move, sliding, sliding, sliding in and out of her slick heat. Beginning to tremble himself, so ripe was he to spend, he pressed his fingers to her cheek, turned her head so that she faced him now, and said, “Open your eyes, Morgana. Take me to heaven.”

  Languid with spent passion, her lids fluttered open and she smiled. Tho’ her skin was flushed from their ardent exertion, still he knew that she blushed as well, and it made his heart expand in his chest. “Beautiful,” he said, and then she began to strain beneath him, to caress his back from hip to shoulder, to arch and open her thighs wider for him, and he knew she was as close as he to gaining rapture.

  Her canal convulsed around him and her head went back. “Robert!” she cried out, and he bucked and strained, ground out her name, then came along with her on a long shout.

  * * *

  Later, after they’d both cleansed themselves and stood next to the bed, Morgana yawned so long and so hard, that her whole frame quivered.

  “You’ll sleep well now, I’ll wager,” Robert said, and there was no mistaking the self-satisfied pride in his tone.

  Tho’ she felt her face grow warm, Morgana could do naught but nod sleepily and tumble onto the bed. This time, she was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

  * * *

  Morgana washed and dressed quickly the next morn, with the pressing intent of going back to the lee between the keep and the chapel. She wanted to see for herself, in the light of day, where her real life and her dream life converged. She’d clearly used the brooch on something, whether imagined or real, she knew not, for ‘twas no longer attached to her cloak. And there was still some glimmer, some meager fraction of a glimmer of hope that she’d find definitive proof that she was not going mad, was not conjuring in her mind the events in the lee this night past.

  It took mere moments to retrace her steps of the night before and soon she was standing in the walk between the two buildings, gazing out at the cobblestoned area in front of her. A clansman stood guard halfway between the doors and the opening into the courtyard, she was surprised to note. The fact that Robert had clearly ordered him there meant he, too, had doubts that what she’d experienced had been merely a dream, and it went a long way toward easing some of the dread she was yet feeling that now Robert, as well, believed her going mad and truly would begin to regret his marriage to her.

  Tho’, truth be told, tho’ some still remained, the passion she and her husband had shared this night past went far in diminishing that dread, as well as diminishing the contempt she’d felt for herself and for the mad visions she’d had of Ankou. Just as he’d known it would. A flutter of love brushed o’er her heart, and in spite of all that had happened in the past days, she smiled.

  The lee was a peaceful, common-looking space, and at this early hour of the morn, still mostly shaded. Tho’ the west wall was receiving some light from the sun, the east wall was in shadow. She’d seen this area, of course, many times these past moons; she’d just ne’er taken much note of it until now.

  When the guard greeted her with a nod of his head, she replied in kind and took a step off the walk onto the cobblestones. Keeping her movements casual, she began to closely study every inch of the area, with particular regard to the section where she
believed she was at the time she first saw the creature. All looked in the common, expected way. There was no blood on the stones, and as yet, no sign of her brooch. Which was odd. Mayhap, she did not lose it here? Mayhap, she’d only dreamt she’d fought her attacker with the brooch. If he was naught more than illusion, why not the stabbing of him as well? Hmm. Mayhap, instead, it came away from her cloak in her mad dash toward the light this night past?

  She headed with more purpose toward the courtyard, intent on searching the ground where she’d stood waiting for Robert’s return, but continuing to scan the ground in between there and here as well. ‘Twas just past the corner of the keep that she found the brooch, tilted on its edge and cradled against a tuft of weeds that were growing against the front wall.

  Her pulse raced. With a shaking hand, she retrieved the jewelry, all the time praying that she’d find proof—Ankou’s blood—on the sharp pin of it. She looked closely, turning it o’er in her hand, first this way, then that, but ‘twas as clean as when she’d put it on this night past. The crushing weight of her disappointment made her collapse against the wall of the keep for a time. She’d lost it in her flight from a creature that was not there. A creature formed only in her mind. Why? Why would her mind play such horrid tricks on her? And when she was in such high spirits, planning a wedding, believing she was about to discover her maid’s true love? It made no sense. Why Lord? Why do you punish me so?

  She stood quiet and still, waiting, waiting, waiting, yet no answer came. Or…mayhap it did, for a thought struck: Could it be that ‘twas not a punishment but a trial He gave her? If so, then she must be up to the challenge. For Robert and her babe—and the promise of more to come—were worth all the fight she had in her to o’ercome these mad visions. And she would. She must.

  Even with her new resolve, it took some time more for Morgana to gather the strength to stand tall again, but at last she did, and, her movements purposeful, she drew the brooch through the cloth of her woolen cloak. There was still the matter of the necklace with which to deal. Would that prove fruitless as well? She prayed not. If fortune was with her, then she would find it in the exact place she’d seen it last, and know that ‘twas not yet another illusion come to haunt her waking hours, come to prove her frailty of mind. As well, ‘twas possible, if she did find the thing, the having of it would make known to her why it brought on such dreadful feelings, dreadful visions. Wouldn’t that aid her in her struggle to win against it?