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

by K. E. Saxon

  As they walked together across the courtyard toward the weavers’ chamber with Modron chatting pleasantly about tidings that the blacksmith’s son was to wed the alewife’s daughter, a sudden sharp pain in Morgana’s head together with her already churning stomach made her halt her steps.

  Modron made a fuss, trying to turn her about and walk them back to Morgana’s bedchamber, saying she should rest a while longer.

  But the initial flash of pain in her head had already settled into a bearable, dull ache, so she shook her head, and continued toward the weavers’ chamber.

  After only a small hesitation, Morgana was pleased to find Modron once more at her side, tho’ the woman insisted that Morgana at least try to eat a bit of something more than the stale bread she’d had earlier, as the babe was no doubt telling her ‘twas time to feed him something more substantial.

  * * *

  Robert, drenched with sweat from the morn’s training session, took several long swallows from the ladle of well water before picking up the bucket and pouring the remainder o’er his bare head and shoulders. Tho he’d still not found any evidence of malignant intent in regard to Vika’s tumble, he’d come to the decision that ‘twould be best to inform Grímr of his suspicions. For, tho’ the two had little liking for the other, Grímr was still her husband’s kin, and would be bound by honor to aid in her protection. In addition, and after much thought, he’d also decided ‘twas best for Grímr to know of Vika’s childing state, and that Robert was the sire. But, before he did so, he must verify all was well with his wife. Morgana would be about her duties now, so Robert headed toward the weavers’ chamber, did a search and scan of the exterior, peeked in on the women, saw that his wife and Modron had their heads together working on something or other, then turned back toward the keep, feeling much more settled now that he’d confirmed his wife’s safety.

  * * *

  A knock sounded on the door to Grímr’s bedchamber, and he hurriedly pulled his shirt the rest of the way down as he strode over and opened it. “Robert,” he said with some surprise, “is aught amiss?”

  “Aye, mayhap. But I see that you are readying to leave on your journey to the next shire, so I will ask that you and I have a bit of time to speak later this eve, after you’ve returned.”

  Surprise turned to alarm, and Grímr pulled the door open further as he took a step back, saying, “Nay, my business there is not pressing. Come inside, we shall speak now, if you will.”

  With a nod, his host strode through the doorway and, after a quick glance around, found a stool by the window and brought it over to place it next to the other by the hearth. After they were both seated, Robert said, “I have a suspicion that someone—I’ve yet to find out who—pushed Vika down those stairs.”

  Grímr’s stomach lurched. “How know you this?”

  “ ‘I’ve no proof as yet, only a suspicion stemming from the look in Vika’s eye, the loss of color in her countenance, the first time I asked her to tell me how she fell. ‘Twas as if a glimmer of memory passed within her, but ‘twas gone again before she could hold it.”

  “Could it not be merely a reaction to recalling the terror she must have felt as she tumbled?”

  “Aye, I have thought of that, but…. Nay, ‘tis something else, I’ve a feeling in my gut, tho’ she assures me ‘twas merely a badly placed foot on her part.”

  Grímr rose from his stool and walked several paces away. “I think….” He swung back to face his host. “I believe you. I confess, I’ve been wondering at the oddity of Vika’s fall since I’ve learned of it. She has always been so sure-footed. I’ve ne’er known her to trip, to take any misstep. She is pure grace when she moves.”

  Robert’s eyes narrowed on him, and he knew he’d said too much, revealed too much, with that last observation.

  “Aye.” Robert’s gaze continued to penetrate, and ‘twas all Grímr could do to remain stoic in the dark quiet that followed until his host at last broke his silence, saying, “There is something more. Vika bears my babe in her belly.”

  A shock of rage, of virulent jealousy seared Grímr’s gut. “You!” he bellowed, thundering toward Robert with hands outstretched, ready to throttle.

  Robert leapt up, but stood his ground, prepared to fight, but clearer thinking prevailed, and Grímr halted his motion, his lungs blowing. He would not care. He would not. She would not have that power o’er him e’er again. And besides, he’d not be thrown out before he could take her with him—back to their daughter.

  “Forgive my ill reaction, ‘twill not happen again, I assure you.”

  His host gave him a short nod. After a brief, but weighted pause, he said, “So, ‘tis as I thought. You were lovers.”

  He hesitated, not sure if he should respond with truth or falsehood. “Aye,” he said finally. Turning, he moved several paces away and crossed his arms over his chest. “But, that was long ago, before she left Leòdhas.” And we’ve a bairn together as well. Nay, he’d not reveal it. Not yet. Mayhap, not ever. And certainly not until after he’d had another talk with Vika about the one she carried now.

  Robert sat down again. “Vika’s father must not learn that she is breeding.”

  Alarm ran down Grímr’s spine, his pulse increased. He walked over and settled on his stool once again as well. “Nay, he must not. ‘Twould not be good for Vika if he did.”

  “We’ve kept it a secret thus far, and believe we can continue to keep it from reaching her father’s ear, even after the fact of it can no longer be hidden.”

  “Fear not, I shall keep the secret as well.”

  Robert rose to his feet. “Good. And you will aid me in watching o’er Vika while I continue my search for the culprit behind her fall?”

  “Aye.” And ‘twould give him the excuse he needed to be seen studying the design and daily workings of the keep to find the best time and means of whisking her back to their daughter, when she was well enough to travel again...if, as he suspected, she would not go willingly.

  * * *

  ‘Twas not until Robert was back in the courtyard that he was struck with a sudden realization: ‘Twas Vika that Grímr had gone to court to retrieve all those moons ago. And, clearly, he’d not been successful, else she’d not be here with them now. Nay, she’d be off on that island, but still with Robert’s babe in her belly. A babe, he wondered now, if he’d e’er have learned of.

  He wondered as well, if Grímr’s reason for being here had more to do with Vika and less with any real duty he was bound to in the next shire. ‘Twas more than likely the case, and Robert would do well to watch closely the man’s actions in the coming days, for he’d not allow him to away with her before the babe was born. Tho’ by the waspish words she stung the man with when e’er they were within a foot of each other, he also believed he had very little to worry about on that score. For, Vika, ‘twas plain, would ne’er agree to return to that isle with Grímr, nor, either, e’er give him purchase ‘tween her thighs.

  * * *

  Grímr only waited long enough for Robert to get to the bottom of the stairs before taking them himself to Vika’s bedchamber below. He swung the door wide and strode in, but a shriek of indignation, and a flying pewter cup that grazed his temple and brow before landing with a crash against the doorframe, halted his forward motion. And, the sight of familiar passion-hued bare flesh spun the hot ire in his gut into a blaze of unwanted lust before he controlled the impulse, turned his back to her, and shut the door, giving both of them time to recover.

  “Leave!”

  “Where is your maid?”

  He heard a feminine growl, then the stomp of a foot. “LEAVE!”

  He turned to face her and was both relieved and dismayed to find she’d covered her nakedness in a crimson robe. “Where is your maid?”

  He could see her jaw working as she gritted her teeth before she gave her back to him and walked over to the table that held her comb. She pulled the tines through the dark locks several times before finally answering,
“I left her at my manor.”

  “And the healer?”

  She sighed and rolled her eyes, facing him once more. “She was needed in the village. What do you here, Grímr?”

  “Is the babe truly Robert MacVie’s?”

  * * *

  Vika’s breath caught, formed a mass of dread that constricted her throat. Robert, the vexing villain, had told him her secret (her lie)! She swung around and walked to the window, folding her arms over her chest as she gazed, unseeing, at the courtyard below. Aye! Aye! Aye! ‘Tis Robert’s! She opened her mouth, the words forming on her tongue, and said instead, “Nay, ‘tis yours. You are my babe’s father, Grímr.” She released a loud sigh and pressed her fingers to her lids to stem the tears that threatened to pour forth. “Again.”

  “He is certain ‘tis his, so I must ask: How do you know for certain that I am the sire?”

  “Because, with...” ...with the others. Nay, she’d not test his anger with that confession. “...with Robert, there was something used to hinder childing. And...I had...” She sucked in a breath to bolster her courage. “I had not been with Robert—or anyone—for near to a fortnight, as I had my flowering. With you...with you there was no time,” she said the last with some bit of renewed fire. “There was no barrier. And after….” She swallowed and took in another deep breath to gain control of her trembling voice. “Well, after you, I did not again flower.” Her voice cracked on the last.

  “And you took no other to your bed?”

  Oh, how she craved to lie—to tell him there had been many others after that night—but ‘twould only make it impossible for her to give their babe o’er to him later, when ‘twas time, after its birth, for he’d ne’er believe her then. So, in answer, and because she found her throat too tight to make sound, she simply gave a shake of her head.

  “Vika….” There was such pain, such longing in his voice, and she tensed, shut her eyes against it. Then because he’d surely realized his folly, a low, angry growl erupted from him.

  After a moment, he said, “Why have you allowed him to believe the lie?”

  She heard the disgust in his voice, which always managed to work on her desire to please him—as well as her conscience—and whirled around, allowing him to see the tears she could no longer keep in check, and wailed, “B-Because I’m a vile, wicked woman! ‘Tis what you believe, is it not?!” She swung back around and dropped her face in her hands. “And I am! I am all the things you said I was before I left Leòdhas.”

  She heard him take a step toward her, then halt just as quickly.

  “What I said that day...I said in anger and frustration that I could not change your mind.”

  “Well, they are true.”

  “Nay, I think they are not. And, now you must tell Robert the truth about the babe.”

  She couldn’t form sound, her throat was too clogged with tears, so she simply nodded as she swiped them from her cheek with the back of her hand.

  He strode up to her and placed his large, protective hand on her arm, saying firmly, but gently, too, “And there will be no further resistance. You will return with me, once you are healed enough to make the journey.”

  She would not, but, ‘twould only taunt him into taking her away by force, if she did not give her assent, so she said in a grudging voice (tho’ she did not lift her gaze to him), “Aye. I will.”

  * * *

  Morgana was still suffering with a dull ache in her head, and her stomach had still not settled, by the time she came down for supper later that day, even after the rest she’d had at Modron’s insistence after the nooning meal. But, she was determined to be a good hostess to her guests (and, besides, she had come to enjoy the sharp, and witty, exchange of words between Vika and the handsome warrior), so she took in several deep breaths, positioned a smile upon her lips, and took Robert’s outstretched hand, so that he might lead her to her place at the table.

  Unfortunately, her evening’s entertainment was not to be. Vika had sent word down that her head was aching again, and she would take her meals in her chamber for a day or two. Morgana had little doubt that the true reason for her cousin’s sudden aching head had more to do with the blond warrior knight, and less to do with the fall she’d taken. But, Morgana was still worried about her, so determined that she would visit her on the morrow, and see if there was aught she might do to ease her suffering.

  As Robert and Grímr spoke of manly things of mutual interest, Morgana fought her own need to rest. She only managed to nibble at her meal, and, later as they ascended the stairs to their chamber, Robert asked her whether she was well, whether he should call for the healer, but she felt sure all she truly needed was a good night’s rest, so she shook her head and pressed her lips to his cheek until she felt him relax. He nodded his head and smiled down at her, settling his hand o’er her belly, as he so oft wanted to do.

  With a sigh of contentment that almost cured her aches, she closed her eyes with a smile and settled her head on his arm, climbing the stair from memory as she allowed him to blindly lead her where e’er he would go.

  * * *

  “Oh, God, oh, God!”

  “Wha—?” Robert jerked upright late that night, jarred from sleep by his wife’s cry. His heart leapt into his throat when he realized she was tossing from side to side with both hands on her belly. “What is wrong? Is it the babe?”

  She didn’t respond, but guttural moans burst from her throat. Then he noticed a clammy dampness seeping o’er the mattress under his thigh. Christ’s Bones! He leapt from the bed and hurriedly lit a taper.

  For several stunned moments, all he could do was stand there, frozen with dread and disbelief, blinking rapidly at the sight before him. There was a red stain, growing e’er larger, under his wife, as more of the blood flowed from between her thighs. With effort, he tore his eyes from the spot and settled them on Morgana’s face. Tears ran in rivulets o’er her flushed cheeks. “I must call for Wife Deirdre,” he told her numbly. Before he turned, he bent down and placed a kiss on her heated brow. “I’m sorry.”

  Please, he prayed, do not take her from me.

  CHAPTER 13

  MAYHAP, THE BABE was still in her belly. Robert prayed that ‘twas the case as he paced by the hearthfire a while later. After learning that he would not lose Morgana, he had turned his thoughts fully to his unborn son. Modron and Wife Deirdre were bathing Morgana now and speaking to her in hushed tones. Too hushed for him to understand. But what e’er they said soothed her, for her whimpers lessened by a small degree.

  In the first minutes, as the healer examined his wife, Modron had explained to him what she believed was happening, assuring him that Morgana’s life was not likely in danger. The older woman had even revealed to him then that she, herself, had lost a few wee ones as a young wife; that, although it wrenched at the heart, losing a babe this early in childing rarely threatened the mother’s life. But, she also gave him a bit of hope, saying that sometimes there could be bleeding, where the babe was not lost.

  There was a helplessness in him, a restless need to take action, do something, but what he could possibly do for his wife, he had no clear notion of. He crossed his arms over his chest and paced toward the window. After staring blankly out into the darkened courtyard a moment, he swerved around and headed back to his place by the hearth. When his foot caught on the leg of a stool, he flung it away with an angry kick. It skidded across the wood planked floor and made a rather satisfying crash! against the stone wall, splintering the wood and knocking off a leg.

  * * *

  Jarred by a clamorous clatter behind her, Gwynlyan whipped her head around and saw Robert’s pained visage, his tensed stance, his chest rise and fall with each harsh new breath. Patting and soothing her distressed daughter’s hand, she realized she’d best get her son-in-law out of here before she gave him the news. He was already behaving like a caged animal, and there was no telling what he would do once she told him the babe had flushed from Morgana’s womb.

>   But when she tried to disengage from her daughter’s grasp, Morgana tugged her back, refusing to release her. Gwynlyan turned and looked at her then. Morgana was adamant. She wanted to give her husband the sad tidings herself. She wanted the two women to leave her and Robert alone for a time so that she could do just that.

  Gwynlyan looked to the healer to gauge her stance on this notion. The aged woman nodded her head. Before Gwynlyan realized what she was doing, she bent down and kissed Morgana’s damp brow. The look of surprise on her daughter’s face brought her up short. She must take more care in future, if she was to continue on with the guise she’d been living under these past moons. But then Morgana took her hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze and Gwynlyan relaxed. Thankfully, she’d not been offended by such an undue familiarity from one of her staff.

  * * *

  A time later, Robert sat on the edge of the bed beside Morgana. When his wife’s grief had turned into silent sobs, she’d rolled on her side, no longer facing him. And because Robert didn’t know what else to do, he stroked the back of her head, then patted her quaking shoulder and said, “Do not fret. ‘Tis a common enough occurrence, I’m told, and there will be other babes. I can give you another in not too many days’ time, so Wife Deirdre said.”

  Her frame quaked even harder as she grabbed a fistful of her hair and covered her face with it, then rotated even further away from him, causing his palm to fall to the mattress behind her, and buried her nose against the pillow. The dread and anguish that had been gripping his innards these past hours, shot up through his center and lodged in his throat. His vision blurred, and he blinked it away, then took a deep swallow before saying, “Aye, rest. I’ll find a bed in the great hall.”

  With that, he rose to his feet and strode to the door. He knew—he could feel—that Morgana still wept, and he would see that Modron and Wife Deirdre stayed with her the remainder of the night to keep her from becoming ill and to give his wife what e’er comfort she needed that he was clearly not providing.