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

by K. E. Saxon

  * * *

  Hearing the lady’s foot treads coming e’er closer, the apprentice hunched further into the dark corner of the landing and, with hands up and ready, he held his breath.

  * * *

  Absently humming a bawdy tune Grímr had taught her years before, Vika thought, At least, at the nooning meal, I shall have a bit of respite from my boredom, as she lifted both her skirts and her foot to descend the first step.

  Something—someone?—yanked on the back of her skirts. “A-a-a-a-a...!” she screamed. Her other foot left the ground and her body projected forward, anchorless for mere seconds before she dropped, crashed, hurtled, rolled, and bumped against wood plank and iron railing, each board crunching and bruising another portion of her frame. This time, her shoulder, the next, her hip, the next her shin, the next her spine, and finally her head against cold, ungiving iron. The babe!

  The world spun. Black mist crept along the edges of her vision. Her hands went to her womb. Morpheus brought oblivion.

  * * *

  Horror filled the apprentice’s breast, cutting off his wind, as he gazed down at his victim and saw hair as black as a raven’s wing poking from the wimple on her head.

  He’d murdered the wrong lady! ‘Twas Donnach’s daughter he’d sent to her grave. And now, he’d be a dead man for sure. The thought put wing to his feet and he leapt down the stairs, across the prone form, and o’er the threshold of the door. A trickle of sweat fell into his eye and he rubbed the sting viciously with the soiled and calloused palm of his hand as he looked first right, then left, scouting the area. His breath blew harsh and loud in his ears as, finding that all was quiet and still, he headed back to the site under construction. With luck, he’d be back among the others with ne’er a one having noticed his absence.

  Aye, that be the best way to go about this. For, ‘twould be as good as a confession were he to scurry off now, and a roasting for sure when he was caught. Aye, ‘twas a good plan. For, with no witnesses, neither his partners in this scheme they brewed, nor Robert MacVie, would suspect ‘twas more than an accidental misstep on the lady’s part as she came down the stairs of that abandoned and broken relic.

  Approaching the bailey a bit to the side of the entry allowed him visual access to the company of men working on the repairs and renovations to the fortress. None faced his direction, and all seemed concentrated on their own task. He could not see the ingeniator, nor the master mason, however. So, skirting even further to the side of the entryway, he pressed himself against the stone wall and, with heart pounding and palms sweating, he took in a deep breath and peeked around the edge of the opening.

  A sigh of unutterable relief gushed from his lungs when he saw that the two had moved even further afield than they’d been when he’d left here not more than a quarter-hour past. Their heads were still bent together, discussing some aspect or other of the drawing the ingeniator held of the planned changes to be instituted to the stronghold.

  Not daring to hover there another moment gawping at the assembly, he walked through the entry with a purposefulness to his mien and step, glanced to his side, found a barrow of crushed stone, grabbed it up by its handles and pushed it o’er to the area that needed it. When one of the men only barely lifted his gaze to him and said, “Aye, ‘tis good. Bring us another, will ye? I think ‘twill take two loads for this portion,” he knew for a fact that no one had realized his absence.

  But the question still remained: How to end the other’s life so he could return to his own?

  * * *

  His wife pressed her palms to the back of Robert’s tunic and pushed him forward. She’d been near to frantic by the time he’d arrived in the great hall for their repast a quarter-hour ago and, after quite a flurry of hand and mouth movements, he’d at last discovered that she’d been in search of her cousin for the past half-hour, after discovering that Vika had, in fact, been in search of her that morn as well, and now Morgana could not find her.

  He had little doubt that Vika had simply strayed off to meddle and pry into things that were of no business of her own, as was her way and, ‘twas almost certain, out of her own boredom. He’d wager she was even now not far from where they stood. However, Morgana would not be eased, as she evidently believed it a much too rare occurrence for Vika to not at least return from her wanderings to join them for the meal.

  And now, he’d been sent on the mission of finding her. He ground his teeth, but did as his wife bade, for he was more concerned for her and their babe’s health than he was worried for Vika and what e’er mischief she might brew by poking her nose where it didn’t belong. Let the meddling creature miss a meal for her misbehavior. ‘Twould serve her right. Especially after the mortifying lyrical affair she’d teased him into performing for his wife last eve. He felt a flame of humiliation spread from his gut to his cheeks. Aye, it had not been long into his awkward song and his wife’s dancing eyes and pursed, amused lips, that he’d known for sure he’d been deviled and tricked by his trouble-making ex-lover for her own wicked amusement.

  Although…. Now that he thought more on the matter, his wife had slept much more peacefully, with barely a stir against his side the remainder of the night, so ‘twas possible, he grudgingly supposed, that Vika had, in fact, given him good advice, even if ‘twas not her original intent.

  Robert blew out a gruff sigh and shook his head as his feet moved down the steps of the keep and into the courtyard. He scanned the perimeter, but all was quiet. Everyone else was having their meal.

  But not him.

  Nay. Not him.

  His stomach growled.

  Then he growled.

  Vexing woman!

  But. He loved his wife, and she was awaiting her meal as well. Which both spurred him onward, and angered him even more at Vika’s antics.

  Dark clouds had rolled in o’er the last minutes, hiding the sun, and turning the daylight to dusk, but again, he looked all about him, this time making a slow turn as well. The wind whipped at his face, and he felt the first drop of rain splash upon his cheek. He gave it a rough swipe and growled low in his throat. Where in the name of Christ the Lord and all his disciples would she have wandered away to? That was when his gaze snagged on the original keep his great-grandfather had built in, so the legend told, only a day, to stake his claim and fortify his position as King David’s proxy in this region.

  * * *

  Somewhere between dream and waking, Vika struggled to free herself from the torpor in her limbs and eyelids that held her, like leaden weight, unmoving and unseeing. She floated, yet she knew she touched the cool ground, for it pressed into her cheek, her hip, her thigh and knee. Trying to think around the ache in her head, and knowing in her very center that she must not stay much longer as she was if her babe had any hope of surviving—if she had any hope of surviving—she at last captured and clung to a word, a phrase: Help me!

  It took all the strength, the will, she had to form the words on her tongue, to force the sound from her throat, and after several tries, she was at last successful.

  Unfortunately, what erupted was no more than a mere whisper and moan.

  After lying silent, after forcing her muscles to relax, chiding her throat to do so as well, in another moment, she rallied her vigor once again and this time, her voice was much stronger. Now understanding what she must do, she relaxed again, built her strength again, and waited, again, to send up another cry for aid. Surely, ‘twould not be long now. Surely.

  * * *

  Robert almost didn’t find her. In fact, he’d made the decision as he trudged toward the scarred and crumbled opening to the old keep that this would be his last stop on this bootless errand his wife had sent him on. For Vika was a woman full grown and, if she wanted to skip a meal, so be it, but he would not. Nay, he would not. And neither would his breeding wife. So, after an irritated and perfunctory scan of the unlit, dusty interior in which only dank and dark met nose and eye, he’d swung back around and taken no more than a ste
p when his keen warrior’s hearing registered a distinctly distressed, yet nearly silent, moan.

  He skidded to a halt and listened. In the next moment, a strained, but recognizable cry for help emerged from the doorway behind him. A rush of alarm surged in his chest, tripped, like ice-cold fingers, up his spine and neck. He wheeled around, jogged through the door and, this time, looked more closely. “Vika! What hap—”

  “Ro—a-ow!”

  “Be still,” he said in a rush, hurrying to her and coming down on his haunches. “You fell down the stairs?”

  “Mmm? I-I know not...I-I remember not...” she said with little breath and winced with the effort.

  “Where are you hurt?” he asked, at the same time, running his hand o’er her limbs, her frame, looking for breaks. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

  “ ‘I—I’m so glad—” She sucked in a sharp breath, then, in a pained voice said, “My head. ‘Tis my head. It pounds so, and I feel wobbly, and quite sick.”

  Robert’s lips pressed together in worry. She’d clearly swooned from the injury, and with as many years of warrioring and tournaments as he’d had, Robert was quite versed in the dangers that might come from a sound strike to the noggin. “You’ve hit your head, and ‘tis no doubt jumbled your brain a bit. I’ll carry you to your chamber, then I’ll fetch the clan’s healer.”

  Vika nodded, then rested back, closing her eyes.

  “Nay!” He tapped her cheek several times with the pads of his fingers. “You mustn’t sleep, else you may not waken again.”

  She took in a deep breath and gave him a slow nod. When her eyelids lifted more slowly than they had before, he knew she was struggling to comply, struggling to do what she must to survive.

  * * *

  “Nay, Wife Deirdre, there is no need, I tell you, to burden my hosts with this worry o’er my childing,” Vika pressed again, this time, grasping the old woman’s arm, keeping her beside the bed, where Vika reclined. ‘Twas nearing sext, almost a full day since the fall, and tho’ her head still pained her, she’d at last been allowed an uninterrupted night’s sleep, and was now only mildly sore, with no churning stomach to contend with any longer. “My babe is well! Even now, it moves within me.” She splayed the healing woman’s gnarled hand o’er her belly. “Do you not feel him kick?”

  “But m’lady, ye ‘ave ‘ad a very bad tumble, a hit ta th’ pate, an’ there’s still a danger ta yer babe. I mest tell me laird o’ yer condition, as was ‘is behest, and as is me duty ta ‘im.” She pulled free of Vika’s death grip on her hand and marched toward the door.

  “Bu—”

  “Rest, m’lady,” Wife Deirdre said o’er her shoulder as she pulled the door wide, “an’ I sh’ll return wi’ yer broth in no’ more’n a ‘alf-‘our’s time.”

  “B-Bu—” The door closed with a decided snap, and Vika fell back more fully against the pillows. Bedevil the woman! After seeing Robert’s tender care for Morgana, the way he doted on her, the way he puffed up like a cock in the roost at his coming fatherhood, Vika was sure now that once he learned of her condition, he would storm ‘round like an angry bull, and no doubt grind into a fine dust her will to keep the identity of the babe’s father to herself. And Morgana. Vika’s heart sank. Morgana, who would be the perfect mother—already was, as far as Vika could see—would ne’er understand Vika’s need to be free of any bond that would keep her under a man’s control, to give her babe away, into the gentle care of its fierce and loyal father.

  She rolled her head to the side and a sharp pain pierced her skull. Wincing and squeezing her eyes shut, she rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. She simply would not tell them that bit. Opening her eyes, she curled on her side and stared at the hearthfire. Aye, that would do. And all that would be left would be for her to dodge Robert’s (and no doubt Morgana’s) questions. For she knew, she knew that if Robert discovered her plan, he’d conspire with Grímr to hie her back to that damnable island inhabited by the bold, the possessive, the sometimes raging, the ofttimes brave and true, summer wanderers of the far north.

  * * *

  Smoothing her palm o’er Robert’s rigid, broad back as she climbed the stairs behind him in an effort to calm his temper, Morgana worried and wondered again what the healer had said to him regarding Vika that could have put him in such a fury.

  He’d slammed the door to the keep, stormed toward the stairs, and begun the climb, leaving the poor healer gawping on the front steps, and putting Morgana in such a shock as she’d watched his progress across the antechamber to the stairs, that it had taken her a moment to rush to follow him.

  The healer had inquired after Robert’s whereabouts near a quarter-hour past, and Modron had advised that he would be found on the training field this morn. Clearly, what e’er tidings she bore him were not good. Had Vika not been following the healer’s advice? If so, Morgana would stand firm with her husband, even in his anger.

  She had no time to wonder further, for in that instant, Robert came to Vika’s chamber door and nearly knocked it off its hinges flinging it open.

  Morgana scurried around him and positioned herself a bit to the side, and several paces from both Robert’s scowling countenance and Vika’s stunned, yet mutinous, one.

  “Is it mine?” he barked, arms akimbo and feet spread.

  Huh? Morgana’s brows drew together and she shifted her gaze to her cousin.

  Vika’s eyes widened, then narrowed on Robert before she relaxed back with a slight smile curving her lips, crossed her arms over her chest, lifted a brow, and returned Morgana’s gaze with a speculative one of her own. “Why my dear cousin-in-law, do you not think this a subject we two should discuss in privy first? I’m sure this is not the way you would have your breeding wife learn of your bastard bairn.”

  Morgana’s breath caught and would not release, her heart raced, her knees buckled, her head spun. As the wood-slatted floor sped toward her, darkness enveloped her.

  * * *

  Vika pulled the comb through her long, black tresses and gave a small defeated sigh. She felt very bad for Morgana. Truly, she did. ‘Twas rotten fortune all around that her childing state had been discovered, and rottener fortune still that she had been enticed to use Robert’s masculine conceit in his own virility against him.

  In spite of her sore conscience, she smiled.

  Aye, she should have known the man would immediately jump to that conclusion upon hearing she was breeding. In truth, the thought that he would do so had ne’er crossed her mind. Nay, she’d been much more fearful of either her father, or worse, Grímr, learning of this babe he put inside her before she could have it and ship it off to him, while keeping herself clear from both their clutches.

  But, now that the idea had been formed, it seemed the best and surest way of keeping Robert’s infernal, arrogant meddling at bay long enough for her to heal from her fall and get as far away from them all as possible.

  Recalling the crushed look on Morgana’s countenance in the brief moment before she fell into a swoon, the bellowing of Morgana’s name that burst from Robert’s lips as he rushed to catch her before she hit the unyielding surface, the soft thud that followed when he was not successful, the evil look he sent her as he lifted his wife in his arms, and the parting retort he made upon his swift departure, “This is not the end of it,” sent a spike of guilt into her belly and tingle of cold dread down her spine. No matter what he says, what he does, no matter the misery I’ve caused Morgana, I must not relent.

  * * *

  Robert leaned forward on his stool when Morgana’s lids fluttered and her lips parted e’er so slightly in her sleep. Her cheeks had more color now, which sent a sweep of relief through his veins and allowed the muscles in his aching shoulders to relax at last. Clearly, she was dreaming. He only hoped ‘twas a pleasant repose, and not filled with what e’er images, whether of the current circumstances they’d found themselves in, or her violent past, that would distress her and, therefore, their babe, even further. When sh
e’d roused from her swoon not long after he’d arrived with her in his arms and settled her on their marriage bed, and been anxious and upset to the point that Robert worried for her and his babe’s health, even after he’d assured her that all would be well, he’d bade the healer give her a sleeping draught.

  Now, he brushed a soft kiss o’er her warm brow, then, because he felt his own need for comfort as well, he settled a brief kiss on her parted lips also. After a prolonged moment, he rested his palm o’er her silken pate, moved his lips just above her ear, and began to gruffly sing again one of only two songs he’d e’er learned, and those o’er multitudinous cups of ale:

  “Nay, young rascal, fondle me not!

  Fer I’ll not share yer lowly cot

  Ye—”

  The sweet caress of Morgana’s breath blew against his neck and his heart melted. Without realizing he was going to do it, his voice, his words changed to a song he’d heard at court, but had no notion he’d learned, tho’ he altered them a bit to fit his lady:

  “O! Lovely wench,

  Methinks I am lightheaded from love;

  Thine locks, the color

  Of the silvered moon that shines

  O’er the glen,

  Doth beckon now my heart from

  Its dark, dire grave...”

  A small hand landed on his shoulder. He started.

  His heart plummeted into his stomach as mortification washed through him. Cheeks burning, he lurched upright and whipped his head around to stare, frozen, at Modron, Morgana’s gray-haired lady’s maid.

  “Aye?” he said gruffly.

  * * *

  “Be easy, Laird. Your lady and the babe she carries are well, you shall see,” Gwynlyan soothed. Even tho’ she seethed at his stupidity in allowing Vika to deliver such a blow to her daughter, she also saw well that her son-in-law was smitten to his core with Morgana, and would ne’er knowingly do anything that would cause harm to her feelings or her health. And that, she was determined, was what her mission this day would be: To give this fierce warrior, this brave knight, this noble leader of his clan, a bit of well-needed tutoring in proper behavior with regard to the gentler sex.