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

by K. E. Saxon

  * * *

  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.

  “Your body says otherwise, svanfríðr.”

  She stiffened in his embrace and folded her arms over her breasts. She would not let him do this to her! Not again. Never again. And she wasn’t going with him back to Leòdhas, either, tho’ ‘twas plain, by the grim look on Robert’s countenance and his arrogant stance where he stood near the cart Grímr unswervingly carried her toward that he’d not be a confederate to her in this. She must bear the humiliation until she was away from this keep and able to ply her wiles on either an unsuspecting guard or, mayhap, a village alewife somewhere along the journey before they reached the shore.

  Grímr settled her on the carter’s bench with his arm slung around her middle to keep her in place and turned to Robert, saying, “My thanks, friend, for the use of the cart, and for your generous hospitality as well.”

  Vika snorted and dug her nails into his arm.

  Robert’s gaze didn’t waver from Grímr’s countenance, which vexed her even more, so she said (even tho’ she was almost certain Grímr had revealed otherwise), “ ‘Tis no more than I’d expect from you, Robert MacVie, handing off your bastard to be raised by another man.”

  Robert did look at her then, but ‘twas more of a sweep of the eye with one brow lifted, before he turned his attention back on Grímr. “You are sure you do not need a carter?” he asked him.

  “Nay, I shall drive it myself. ‘Twill be...safer, I trow.”

  Vika narrowed her eyes at him. She knew all too well what he meant: Safer for his purposes, not hers. For, she’d not have the freedom to alight quite so easily with him sitting beside her.

  Or, so he thought.

  An intent look passed between the two warriors, which Vika took as more proof of their conspiracy against her, before Robert gave a nod and said, “Aye.”

  Grímr clamped his hand on Robert’s shoulder and Robert returned the gesture before Grímr hauled himself up on the seat beside her, took up the reins, whistled to the horses and signaled to the men with a lift of his hand that they should all begin moving toward the gate.

  A quarter-hour later, Vika, her heart thudding in her chest, twisted around with her hand unknowingly levered on Grímr’s hard thigh, and sent one long, last look in the direction of the MacVie holding as it grew smaller and smaller in her vision. Before God and all his angels, I say this true: I shall not again set so much as a foot down upon Leòdhas.

  PART FIVE

  A Madman’s Lair

  “Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,

  Charm ache with air and agony with words.”

  Much Ado About Nothing (Act V, scene i)

  “Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill.”

  Macbeth (Act III, scene ii)

  CHAPTER 16

  “WHY ARE YOU not inside the fortress, doing your day’s work?” Alaric growled at Symon, who stood in the doorway of the abandoned cot in a small wooded copse on the outer border of the de Burgh land that Alaric had been living in these past moons.

  “Because I’ve news that could not wait. The kitchen maid put her ear to the door this morn and has learned that Robert MacVie knows of the plot against his wife, and has the support of the King in doing what e’er is necessary to bring us to justice.”

  “God’s Bl—!”

  “Wait,” Symon said, lifting his hand, “there’s more. Donnach’s daughter has fled with that warrior from the far North who has been staying at the MacVie holding.”

  Alaric swung around and took two long strides to the hearth.

  Symon followed and shut the door behind him.

  “ ‘Tis too dangerous to remain here now, that much is clear,” Alaric said after a moment. “And Donnach would agree. We must abort this plot, as they’ve still no notion of who it is that aids him. We will wait a time, start again with another method.” He turned back to Symon. “But, we cannot allow his daughter to be taken away by that warrior. She is too valuable to her father. He’s been trying for another alliance which would benefit him as well as the one he made with the aged raider of that island.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “We must follow them and take her back with us. For, ‘tis truth, I fear Donnach’s wrath more even than I do the King’s.”

  “Aye, me as well. I confess, I foresaw such, and did what was needed before I departed.”

  Alaric’s eyes narrowed on Symon. “The maid?”

  “Aye. She is dead, so will tell no tales.”

  “And the body?”

  “Let us simply say, ‘tis well within the keep’s walls.”

  Alaric turned, stroking the beginnings of a beard on his chin. “Good. But we must hasten from here, and hope that none follow.”

  “No one will.”

  Alaric swung ‘round to face Symon once more, his gaze sharp. “Tell me.”

  Simon grinned. “You will be pleased, I think, to learn that I’ve arranged a bit of a distraction, which will force all within the fortress—and without as well—to turn their full attention to. In fact, there may even be a chance that the mute will not survive it.”

  “You will tell me what you’ve done on the way. For now, we must flee.”

  * * *

  Morgunn didn’t have to wait more than another half-hour for the lass to show herself, and when she did, his heart shot into his throat. Morgana!

  In that moment, all his previous plans crumbled into dust and he acted without thought, leaping off the slow-moving wain and running forward. When Morgana’s head whipped around and her eyes went wide in what he saw to be terrible fear, he knew instantly he’d made a grave error. ‘Twas likely she recognized him from the keep, but clearly she thought he’d turned to freebooting by the manner in which he’d approached, and no doubt his eyepatch and look of worry, which Gwynlyan oft had told him was more grim than troubled, seemed sinister and even malignant.

  Morgunn skidded to a halt, holding up both hands to show them empty, and was about to yell to the occupants requesting they stay their cart a moment, but by this time, the young man driving it had heard the clomp of Morgunn’s boots and had turned around and seen him. The pilgrim pulled on the reins and, after a few more feet, the conveyance came to a stuttering stop .

  Fortunately, oxen were easily led and his was prone to idleness, so had already stalled his own motion and pulled to the side of the well-worn path that served as the road to graze on the vegetation growing there.

  “Know ya tha’ ya ‘ave the lady Morgana, Laird MacVie’s wife, on yer wain?”

  The pilgrim blinked twice then turned a perplexed gaze on Morgunn’s daughter. “Nay, she is not that lady. This is but a mute who hopes for healing at Holyrood Abbey.”

  Morgunn stepped closer. Close enough that he could see the pulse fluttering in his daughter’s neck. With his eye still on her as h
e continued to speak to the pilgrim, he said, “Aye, she be mute, but again, she be the wife o’ Robert MacVie. I think he wull like i’ no’ tha’ ya ‘ave hied her away wi’ ya, and ya wull surely find tha’ his gen’rosity o’ this nigh’ past wull turn more ta a gen’rous wielding o’ righ’ful joostice ‘pon discov’rin’ sech.”

  * * *

  “Are you in truth the MacVie chieftain’s wife?” the pilgrim, Cormac, said, at last dismounting from his seat and coming around to the back of the cart where Morgana sat wringing her hands. Morgana nodded.

  What dire misfortune was upon her that this man—this tinker—had chosen to depart behind them, to take the same path! Now she had no choice but to return to Robert’s holding. And if he has read the scroll already? What to do then? For, he’d know her plan and, with her still in place as his wife, she knew he’d think it his duty to keep her, to bring to an end any further attempt to step aside so that he might wed with her cousin.

  “We must turn this wain around then and take you back forthwith,” Cormac said before leveling his gaze once more on the other man. “Tinker, will you pull your cart off the path while I do such?”

  “Nay, no need. I had only joost discover’ tha’ I’d no’ loaded some o’ m’wares back on m’cart after doin’ a count o’ them las’ night when I saw the lady coom oop froom ‘neath th’ cov’rins. I wull be pleased ta return her ta her keep fer ya.” He came up to the wain then and offered his hand to her. “I feel sure the Laird wull no’ coom after ya, once his dear bride be back safe ‘neath his roof.”

  Seeing the keen spark of intelligence and determination in the tinker’s dark-fringed blue eye, a wave of something akin to recognition swept through her center, but ‘twas too brief to capture or study. So, having no other choice but to return from whence she’d so recently fled, and with a mental sigh of resignation, Morgana reluctantly took his rough, gloved hand and allowed him to aid her to the ground.