by K. E. Saxon
Resting her palm o’er the small mound of her belly, she sighed. No more fretting.
* * *
That night, well after the compline bell, Gwynlyan trod the path to her, and now Morgunn’s, secret haven. She was close enough to the burn to hear the rush of water as it slammed against rock, the splash of nighttime creatures as they searched for food or mates in their aquatic home, smell the wet ground, the must of the damp green moss, that during the day would nearly blind the eye with its bright green color, but now, in the dark and dim of the nighttime forest, would appear as shades of gray, black, and deep, deep green upon the rocks and stones along the burn’s edge. As she continued to walk, she enjoyed, as well, the sharp tang that wafted up to her of young fern leaves and other new-grown plant life crushed beneath her feet.
Morgunn would not be pleased with what she would tell him, but there was naught else she could do. Until that afternoon, when she’d hidden behind the trunk of the large oak near the northwest corner of the garden, and listened to her son-in-law speak so frankly about Morgana’s plight, she’d had no notion of the extent of her daughter’s distress, nor Robert’s increasing worry for her and their babe because of it. ‘Twas time to reveal themselves to her, to help her mend with the knowledge that her family had not been slain, but had survived the attack, to enfold her in the warm refuge of their love once more.
Coming to the area near the burn where the land sharply sloped, she grabbed hold of the low-lying branch she used for leverage each eve, and carefully began her descent. She’d managed to get a foothold with her first initial step down, but when she placed her other foot, the right one, down ahead of the first and attempted to lift her left, ‘twould not give way, as a bundle of unearthed roots had somehow snarled around her ankle. In seconds, she’d lost her balance and begun to fall, her mind already whirling with images of the torch fire taking flame to her and the forest around her. A scream formed in her throat, but was muffled before she had time to think how, by a scarred and calloused hand across her mouth, as, at the same time, a long, muscular, familiar arm enveloped her from behind and pulled her up against a chest as hard, but with much more heat, as the symbol stone of the ancients that stood proud on the heath near Aerariae secturae.
“To lose you now,” warm and charged with desire, a smoky whisper puffed against her ear, “when I’ve only just found you again...nay, lass that will ne’er do.” He stepped back and brought her with him, not releasing his hold on her until he was sure she had her footing once more.
After a silent moment, in which they both stood drinking the other in, Morgunn wrapped his long fingers around her fist, then slowly slid the torch from her hand, in a bold, sensual reminder of more intimate past caresses. Her fingers trembled. Still, she managed to say with some modicum of poise, “Hardly a lass.”
The soft kiss he bestowed upon her ash-toned lips stunned her more than his words that followed.
“To me, in my heart, you will always be a lass, my lass.”
And you will always be my brave warrior husband. “I have tidings,” she said briskly to cover her desire for him.
With a nod, he took her by the hand and led her to higher, yet still secluded, ground, edged as it was by the dense crop of heavily-leaved trees. Once he had the torch secured by soil and rock in the ground, had her settled upon his mantle beneath the canopy and resting against the trunk of a birch, he said, “Tell me of what you have learned.”
“Our daughter suffers, is preyed upon by images from the ambush, tho’ I know not what images they might be.” Of the hours Alaric rutted ‘tween my ungiving thighs? She prayed not.
Morgunn swung around, pummeled his fist into the trunk of a tree, bowed his head. “He shall pay for all he has done to us. He shall!
“Vika, as we believed, knows little of the details surrounding the assault on us, so in the end, did little to aid our daughter’s memory of her past.” Or, mayhap, ‘twas of shivering in a dark corner of that devil’s cot singing with her ears covered to the violent sounds? “She was able to give Morgana some information about her life prior to the ambush, and I saw later that Morgana was soothed by this knowledge.”
“Then how is it now that you believe she is tormented by memories of the assault?”
“I followed Robert and Vika into the herb garden after the nooning meal, hid from sight, and watched for others who might have followed as well—there was no one.”
“Good.”
“Aye, of that I am thankful. But as I watched, I listened,” Gwynlyan continued. “Robert revealed to Vika that Morgana has been haunted by sudden flashes of memory that make her panic and swoon. She sings in her sleep, which pleased him at first, as he believed she was recovering her voice, but now he worries ‘tis somehow connected to the violence and fright she suffered. He fears for his unborn babe.”
Morgunn growled, scrubbed his hands o’er his face, then strode over to her and collapsed down next to her with his back to the forest and his legs drawn up. Resting his arms on his knees, he said, “And what of you? You have stayed close to our daughter. Surely, if ‘twas so bad, you would have seen signs of it as well?”
Looking off in the distance, she said, “Aye, I have.” As she spoke, she absently touched her fingertips to the place above her breasts where the cross hung, beneath the coarse brown wool of her gown, and felt its imprint push into her flesh. “Near to a sennight past—‘twas the day after we first met here, in fact—she and Robert came to this very spot. I happened upon them when I returned to retrieve something I’d left the night before. When I discovered them, I turned, and started back toward the holding. I’d only taken a few steps when I heard Robert cry out her name. I rushed back, but discovered that she’d merely swooned.” Gwynlyan clasped her hands in her lap and brought her gaze back to Morgunn, saying, “I thought then ‘twas only due to her childing state. But now…. Now I believe ‘twas more than that.” Again, she lifted her fingertips to the cross hidden beneath her clothes, wondering how much she’d need to reveal in order to convince him to do this thing.
“Aye? What makes you believe such?”
Taking in a deep breath for courage, she tugged the chain and brought it out, exposing the ancient amulet.
Morgunn’s eyes widened. His gaze riveted upon the piece, he reached out and lifted the cross from its perch between her breasts. “I remember this…. ‘Twas my mother’s...and ‘twas my gift to you….” Bringing his gaze back to hers, he said, “How do you have this still? I cannot believe Alaric, or one of the others did not steal it.”
Nay. She could not tell him the whole of it. Not yet. So, she lied. “I hid it in the hem of my gown, and later, I found other places to hide it, so ‘twould not be taken.” The last part, at least was truth.
Smoothing the pad of his thumb o’er the emblems, he murmured, “This is the thing you came back to the burn for that day?”
“Aye. But...now, and especially after what I o’erheard this day, I believe that the viewing of it is what sent Morgana into a swoon. That she recalled holding tight to it, holding tight to me, while the sounds of the men attacking came from outside our covered cart.” Unable to bear the twin needs inside her to both crumple into his strong embrace and to cringe away at the same time, and knowing that he’d cringe away, as well, were he to fully learn the extent of her fall from honor, she slipped the amulet from his grasp and tucked it and the chain back behind the cloth of her white chemise and brown woolen gown. Feeling him settle back into his previous position as she did so, and keeping her eyes down, in a pretense of concentration on the task, she continued, “The day after, Morgana came here again, this time with me and a guard—,” she did look at him now, “—and I found this odd at the time, but dismissed it as mere chance—she dropped a ring at the exact place where I’d retrieved my necklace the day before, following her swoon. After she placed the ring back on her finger, and for the remainder of the day, she was somber, seeming thoughtful, even.” Gwynlyan clasped her hands together i
n her lap. “I am convinced now that her reserve was due to the fact that she did not find what she came back here to find: my amulet necklace. A link to her past, and possibly something that made her recall us, the ambush, and the violence of that day.” Her earlier unease forgotten with her newly revived sense of purpose, she grasped hold of his hand, squeezing tight. “She suffers, and ‘tis time for us to reveal ourselves to her, so that she may be calmed by the knowledge that all the terror that befell us did not result in our deaths, as she has been told...as all still believe.”
In the long, tense silence that followed, Morgunn dipped his head and studied the edge of the makeshift pallet they sat upon. Finally, he said, “Do you believe her babe is in danger from these flashes of memory?”
Gwynlyan could be naught less than honest, tho’ she knew that her answer would no doubt decide it. She dropped her gaze from him, looked first at her twined hands, then lifted it up toward the break in the canopy, which allowed a moonlit view of the rushing burn, of the moss-covered stones and plant growth on the far bank. “I confess, I have not thought of much else since hearing our son-in-law’s words, but...,” she shook her head, brought her gaze back to Morgunn, “nay. I believe the babe is well-nested ‘neath Morgana’s heart, and will not loose itself so easily.”
His spine straightened. “Then—”
She gripped his forearm. “Yet, there is also the babe’s mood to be pondered. A mother’s mood affects the mood, the mind, of the babe she carries. ‘Tis well known.”
* * *
Morgunn leapt to his feet and thundered over to the slope in the terrain that led down to the burn. The same place, not an hour past, where he’d snared his long-lost bride and saved her from a terrible tumble down to the river rock that edged the burn below. His arms akimbo, he glared at naught, at the silver-shine on the water, at the moon-glisten on the back of a lone frog squatting on the bank, watching with bulging, round-eyed intent the flies buzzing o’er and ‘round the rotting center of a fallen tree.
He squeezed his eyes shut against the ache in his heart, forced the words past his lips that he knew could harm his grandbabe, would, no doubt, harm his wife’s new-kindled trust in him. “We cannot.”
Immediately from behind came the angry rustle of skirts, followed by the snap and crunch of twigs and forest floor debris as Gwynlyan rushed up to stand at his side. “Aye, we can, we must!” She yanked at his sleeve and he turned to face her, letting his arms fall to his sides. “Morgunn, did you not ken me before? Our daughter needs us! Her unborn bairn needs us!”
Looking into Gwynlyan’s large, lovely, dark eyes—eyes that now held panic—he lifted his hand toward her cheek, but halted the motion halfway, fearing, nay, knowing, that she’d not allow the touch now. “Aye, they do, but they need us not in the flesh. ‘Tis too soon to show ourselves—”
“But, Morg—”
“Nay, Gwynlyan. Forget not our purpose, for more lives are at stake than just the babe’s. We must strike first if we are to regain all we have lost, if we are to be safe from my brother’s deadly duplicity. Stealth is our best, mayhap, only weapon against our foes.”
Without thought, he took hold of her hand, then was pleased when she did not immediately pull it back. “ ‘Tis my final word. I beg you, argue with me no more on this, for we have other pressing concerns to discuss before this night begins to wane into morn.”
At first, he thought she’d ignore his request, as she slipped her hand from his and turned away. But when she only walked back to sit under the tree again, then patted the place beside her and smiled, he took in a long breath of relief and returned the gesture before joyfully doing as she’d bade.
PART THREE
A Bond Broken
“My son – and what's a son? A thing begot
Within a pair of minutes, thereabout: A lump bred up in darkness.”
The Spanish Tragedie (Act III, scene xi)
“What outcries pluck me from my naked bed
And chill my throbbing heart with trembling fear.”
The Spanish Tragedie (Act II, scene ii)
“He was my comfort and his mother’s joy,
the very arm that did hold up our house—
our hopes were stored up in him.”
The Spanish Tragedie (Act III, scene xi)
CHAPTER 10
‘TWAS WITH SOME consternation the next morn that Vika found herself alone in the great hall. All had already broken their fast, and were about their daily duties, leaving Vika to cast about in her own company. She tried for a time to search out her cousin, but at every end, she discovered she’d just missed meeting her, and Morgana had flitted off to her next destination.
It became apparent that Vika would do best to simply enjoy the quiet time, and content herself with seeing her cousin again at the nooning meal.
With that thought in mind, she decided to explore her surroundings a bit more. After a quick return to her chamber to replace the pale rose-colored silk veil and silver filet she wore o’er her hair with a plain white wimple, and the matching gown with a plain brown woolen one for her excursion, she made her way to the courtyard. ‘Twas a bright day, with ne’er a cloud in the sky, she was pleased to find, and feeling a new surge of excitement as she gazed about her, she smiled. Robert’s fortress was not a large one, not the size by half of her father’s demesne. But this one was rife with possibilities, and she could see immediately the improvements upon the old structure, even envision how the final outcome would look. ‘Twas clear that Robert was replacing much of the original earthwork, timber, and thatched roof portions with stone, as well as expanding the walls and furbishing the barbican. The keep, that held the great hall and the living quarters, was a stone tower with the chapel attached on one side and the kitchens on the other. If any furbishing had been done to it, ‘twas not visible to Vika’s eye.
Not far from the kitchens, and through a tall wooden gate, lay the herb garden that she and Robert had meandered about in this day past. For a brief moment, she contemplated taking another stroll around it, but the exercise held little interest, so she abandoned the notion in favor of a newer adventure, in pursuit of which, she sauntered out of the courtyard, through the arched opening in the stone wall, and into the outer bailey.
As she eagerly took in her surroundings, she first heard the sound of iron against stone and the muffled, low tones of men’s voices, then saw the collection of master carpenters and masons, along with their journeymen and apprentices, against the north wall. Several of the men looked up and saw her, then bent their heads back to their tasks. Naught for me here. With a sigh, she turned back and entered the courtyard once again.
Wandering around the side of the kitchens, she was surprised to spy a battered, somewhat tumbledown section. ‘Twas attached to the back side of the keep, but clearly part of a much older section. Curious, and with naught else to occupy her time as she burned away the last hour until the nooning meal, she shrugged, smiled, and sallied forth, intent on a bit of exploration before dinner.
* * *
The apprentice looked o’er his shoulder a third time and, seeing the master mason still occupied with the ingeniator, moved through the gate leading into the courtyard. He’d managed to make his way over here in time to learn the direction in which the lady had gone, and was determined now to see an end to this.
He’d ne’er been one to miss an easy opportunity, especially one that seemed to have been handed to him from the Fates themselves. Nay, he’d not spit in those ladies’ faces, he’d not. He’d long grown weary of this watching and waiting. He wanted action, swift and sure. And if Morgunn and Gwynlyan were alive and e’er drifted out of their hiding holes, then he’d hasten to do the same to them. Donnach had grown soft in his old age, but he’d not. Nay, he’d not.
The ancient wood plank door with black iron braces had been left ajar and the apprentice silently stepped across the portal of the timeworn timber, wattle and daub structure into the dim, cool entry. Across a ten-foot
expanse, a stone hearth, long dead and cold, gaped like an open maw in the wall. Cobwebs hung down, sheer as moth wings, in every corner and crevice, and the smell of dirt and rotted wood came to his nostrils, nearly bringing on a sneeze before he clamped his fingers to his nose, holding his breath a beat until the urge to do so passed. Midway, and to his right lay a staircase made of heavy splintered wood and iron. From above, he heard the shuffle of footsteps, the creak of old boards, and, with what little light the open doorway afforded, caught sight of a fall of dust and earth floating down from above with the movement. The sound spurred him into action. At the base of the stair, he looked up and found that it made its first turn some fourteen steps up. He’d hide in the black cove of that landing above and when she descended, he’d have her.
With his plan set, he softly placed his foot on the first step.
* * *
Vika clapped the dust from her hands and perched them on her hips. The light from the three paneless windows brightened the chamber and streamed across the wood plank floor. It illuminated the dust floating in the air about her as well and a sneeze caught her by surprise. ‘Twas time to depart this hovel, for she’d found naught but an empty broken chest, cobwebs and forsaken vermin nests on this ill-conceived adventure. Clearly, all items of interest had long since been hauled from here into the newer portions of the keep. She wondered why Robert hadn’t torn this section down, since ‘twas clearly long left vacant, and at this point, more of a hazard for fire than aught else.
With a sigh of disappointment, she stepped over to the windows, closed and locked their shutters again, then ambled back to the doorway leading to the stairs.