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

by K. E. Saxon

  * * *

  As Robert rushed toward the other doorway that led to the stairs, on his way to Morgana’s chamber, passing visitors and courtiers taking their meals at trestle tables in the great hall while he went, he was intercepted by a messenger holding a small scroll of vellum tied with a blue silk riband. Robert thanked him and unfurled the missive. Instantly, the familiar fresh floral scent of her, of Morgana, invaded his being, and his blood rushed. Quickly, he scanned the words. Meet me in the chapel in a half-hour, it read. Aye, ‘twas Morgana’s signature, Morgana’s seal. His heart danced. Mayhap she, too, regretted so rashly breaking ties. In which case, ‘twould make their reconciliation all the more simple.

  The weight of worry lifted, he strode out the doors and went in the direction of the chapel.

  ‘Twas not until he’d knelt in prayer that it struck him what had transpired after the last time he’d met her thus, and his hopes soared all the more. It also gave him an idea for how best to convince her to take him back as husband. And with that thought came a rare grin. Aye, before the sun was set, they’d again be where they belonged—together, and in bed.

  * * *

  “All is in readiness, you are certain?” Morgana asked as she stepped into the corridor and closed the door to her chamber behind her. She’d been granted leave by the King to remove from her chamber, as long as a guard gave her escort, but she could truly see no reason for such continued care. Donnach was not at court, and the men who’d worked for him were no longer a danger to her.

  “Aye, my lady,” one of Guy’s men-at-arms responded.

  “My thanks. And the others? They are within the chapel already?”

  “Aye, my lady, they are.”

  “And your liege lord? He is awaiting us near the cart?”

  “Aye, he is, my lady. I only just left him there to come for you.”

  “No need to escort me, I prefer to meet my husband alone.”

  “Please, my lady, I must take you as far as the chapel door, at least, else I am sure to be punished severely by my lord.”

  “Very well,” Morgana said with vexed resignation.

  They’d gone no more than ten steps down the curving stairway, when several men, masked in black cloth, and bearing daggers and short swords, o’ertook them from behind and front.

  “Nay!” she cried, twisting and kicking in a fruitless effort to free herself from the steel embrace of the one who’d captured her. She let out a blood-curdling scream, but before more than a note or two had been lifted into the air, a leather-gloved hand closed o’er her mouth and nose, stifling it, and cutting off her wind.

  Guy’s man-at-arms fought valiantly the blows and attempted blows of his assailants, and at one point, just before Morgana lost consciousness, he managed to use one of them as a shield, and the man was impaled on his own comrade’s sword. After that, all faded to black.

  * * *

  From just outside the heavy wooden doors of the chapel, came a violent commotion of sound and fury. Robert jerked around, leapt to his feet, ran toward the fray with sword at the ready, blood pounding in his veins. If the abbey was under attack, it meant a war against the King. He had to find Morgana, get her to safety.

  He was a scant yard from the entry when one of the doors flew open and a guard, wearing the de Burgh colors and with newly-let blood staining the front of his tunic, fell through the opening and landed face-down on the stone floor, leaving a freshly-slain hooded soldier in plain garb and bearing no cognizance sprawled on the ground behind him.

  Robert rushed to kneel beside him, turning him o’er onto his back as he did so. The man’s face was battered and bruised, his eyes, tho’ glazed, were open and his lips, split and swollen, moved as if he spoke, but Robert heard no words coming forth. He leaned down so that his ear was only a breath away from the man’s mouth.

  “Your lady, Morgana...attack...stair...taken...could...not...ss...ssstop….” The last trailed off as the man’s eyes closed and his head rolled to the side.

  Donnach! ‘Twas Donnach. Robert seethed. He should have been more insistent with the King this morn. He should have gone in pursuit of Donnach himself, instead of allowing others to do the deed, for he would not have failed. Robert quickly checked the guard’s pulse and found none, then sprang to his feet ready to rush to the stables to go in chase of Morgana and her captors before the trail grew cold. When he looked up, three more of Guy’s men stood before him, but within the chapel, not near the door. Fleetingly, he wondered how they’d gotten there, but said instead, “He is dead, and my lady Morgana has been captured. Where is your lord?”

  “In the courtya—”

  “—I am here,” Guy said, lungs heaving. His gaze dipped to his slain man-at-arms, and he swiftly, yet somberly, made the sign of the cross. Using his hand to leverage his weight against the door for balance as he caught his breath, he spoke, saying, “I know in which direction they are headed. Hurry, we must fly!”

  * * *

  When Morgana began to revive, she thought ‘twas night. ‘Twas only when she attempted to open her eyes, and realized a blind had been secured o’er them, that she knew it had not been so long since her capture on the stairs. For a fleet moment, hope sprang in her heart that ‘twas Robert turning her own plan for him ‘round about on her, but when she heard the all-too-familiar, all-too-distressing voice of her uncle, she knew her fate had turned utterly grim.

  Where does he take me? she thought, and on the tail of that: Why did he not simply kill me, as had been his plan? For some reason, the fact that he had not done so produced an even denser, more painful, burning knot of dread in her gut.

  For several long hours more, Morgana lay bound and blind on the hard bed of the wooden cart, as it bumped and creaked along an unknown path. Finally, she felt the cart shift, as if climbing higher, and she thought they might be on a mountain path. Could her uncle be taking her to that same hunter’s cot where he’d found her and Robert this winter past? The same cot where she’d planned only this morn for a privy—and amorous—renewal of her and Robert’s bonds?

  But for what purpose would her uncle sequester her there? Again, her gut clenched with the fire of dread. What could be her uncle’s plan? Was she a lure for her husband? Her father? What e’er it might be, she’d not make it easy for him to accomplish. If she could, and she prayed heartily she could, she would thwart him. But how?

  The cart came to a lurching stop, and Morgana rolled with great force, the weight of her movement casting her onto her face, jamming her nose and making it sting and throb, making her eyes water with tears.

  * * *

  Robert ripped the vellum sheet and ice-blue riband from the nail that attached it to the tree and, his hand trembling with repressed anger, the snorting and shifting of the score of men’s horses behind him a vague backdrop, scanned the script as he held the silk strand to his nose. As he’d feared, it held the scent of Morgana’s tresses.

  If you are reading this, you are on the wrong path, just as I had planned. Bring to me my half-brother at the place we two first met, and I will forfeit your bride. Else, I shall see you in hell.

  There was no salutation, no signature, no seal, yet the tremor in his gut told him he was not in error. The missive was meant for him, and Donnach Cambel was its author. ...the place we two first met... The hunter’s cot! Nithing! Caitiff! He would play Robert’s weakness against him.

  “What is writ there?” Guy asked from above him, still astride his mount.

  Robert crumpled the vellum in his fist. “Donnach. He’s got her at the hunter’s cot where we...where he first found Morgana and I together.”

  “I believe it not. Let me see.”

  Without looking up, Robert thrust the vellum at Guy.

  Guy kneed his mount foreword and took it. There was a tense silence while Guy read.

  “Blood of Christ! Tricked. The cur!” He looked up. “Morgunn will be on his way to court, even now. Do we wait, or do we ride?”

  Robert mounted
his courser, saying in a growl, “We ride.”

  Guy gave a sharp nod. “I’ll send one of my men back to inform the King we know where he’s lodged with your wife.”

  Wheeling his steed around, Robert said only, “Aye,” then moved to the head of the rank and wasted no more time there, simply spurred his mount into a canter down the road they’d just been traveling for nigh on three hours.

  Tho’ he knew that Morgunn would relish the chance to face his half-brother, Robert also knew that his wife would ne’er forgive him if her father was maimed or, worse, killed—a very likely outcome, in Robert’s opinion, as Morgunn was not young, and so would still be recovering from the injuries he sustained five days past.

  And there was also the fact that Robert held no doubt that Donnach lied, that he would kill Morgana—may already have done so—even were Robert to bring Morgunn to him. Which was why his gut was, and had been, telling him to hie himself to her side without delay. You are on the wrong path, just as I had planned. The words chafed, made spikes of bile that pierced the insides of his stomach. If he’s killed her, I shall kill him.

  Guy rode up next to him then. Robert felt the weight of his stare, but refused to bend in this contest of wills.

  Finally, Guy said, “I know what you are thinking.”

  Robert shrugged.

  “The King’s warning to you in the bailey before we departed was clear: He wants Donnach brought to him alive.”

  Again, Robert shrugged.

  “You’ll hang.”

  Robert said naught. The silence thrummed between them. Finally, Guy shook his head and turned his gaze back to the road.

  * * *

  Several hours later, Robert, Guy, and his force were at last on the steady incline of the path that would lead them through the wood to the cot. All was quiet, except the sound of horses’ hooves clomping as they stepped and shifted up the slope. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. Robert scanned the area. Sunlight dappled the ground, gilded the trees in gold light, and from every direction came to him the lush scent of green leaves, earth, and woodland flowers. Fleetingly, Robert recalled the winter snow that had weighed upon the brown branches and blanketed the earth beneath on his last journey up to the cot, but swiftly forced his mind back to his purpose. ‘Twas too quiet, too still.

  Yet. He saw no one. Even so, he moved his hand to the hilt of his sword, saying to Guy sotto voce, “I full believe we shall find a contingent of Donnach’s mercenaries surrounding the cot. There may even be some that will meet us here on the path. I’ve a feeling in my gut. Warn your men.”

  CHAPTER 21

  GUY PIVOTED IN his saddle and lifted his arm, giving the signal to his soldiers to be on guard. Just as he was turning back around, the boughs of the trees came alive. Men with daggers raised fell from the skies onto them, dropping their shrubby shields as they went, and making short work of stabbing as many as they could in their eyes or throat when they came down on top of them, before fleeing with their victims’ mounts through the trees, like cowardly robbers.

  In little more time than ‘twould have taken to utter the Lord’s Prayer, ‘twas finished, and six of Guy’s men lay slain. Still more—by a quick count, four—lay moaning and writhing, blinded and bleeding.

  “Follow them!” Guy yelled to two of his soldiers nearest the place off the path the cowards had taken, but Robert gripped his arm and bellowed to them, “Nay! Stay where you are!” then to Guy, he said, “ ‘Tis what Donnach wants. To delay us, mayhap even to trap us with not enough men to fight. Did you not see that we two were left unscathed—were not the goal, in fact. He hopes to weaken our force before we e’er reach the cot.”

  With a nod, Guy tossed his reins to Robert and swung down from his steed, calling orders to those men closest to the injured to make haste to bind the maimed soldiers’ wounds, then drag them off the path to a more protected area while those remaining completed the operation.

  As Guy was o’erseeing that task, Robert walked his courser over to two other of the de Burgh guards and said, “We need a new scout, for ‘tis clear the first has been captured or killed.” Tho’ he spoke to both, his sights were fixed on the older, better thewed, and better tried of the two. As he expected, the knight did not hesitate, simply said, “Aye. I’ll go,” and kneed his mount into a trot down the path that would eventually end at the hunter’s cot.

  For the remainder of the journey, the men rode with swords drawn, but there were no more attacks, which put Robert even more on edge. Tho’ they had placed a guard to ride on either side of the path, about twenty feet into the wood, but still close enough to see and hear, so that they might spy for mercenary movement, the guards had found naught. However, something was not right, he could feel it in his gut, but he could not ken what it might be. And by the tick in Guy’s jaw, he could see that his neighbor was of much the same mind as he.

  * * *

  As the yellow-orange orb of the sun sank behind the trees, and the wood became naught more than dusky shadows, Robert scanned the perimeter for those who might be lying in wait for them. Restless and agitated that his gut was telling him what his eyes did not, he gripped the hilt of his sword tighter and looked behind him. All was as it should be—or so it seemed. The animals of the forest were preparing to settle in for the night, and all about them could be heard the rustling and snuffling sounds of the creatures as they made their beds or searched for their meals. In the far distance, the hoo-hoo-hoo of an owl on some towering tree branch announced his presence, as the pleasant chirp-chirp-chirping of the last rush of bird flocks found their perches in the dense profusion of leaves high above Robert’s head.

  “It grows dark,” he said to Guy.

  “Aye,” Guy said, and Robert heard the same tension he, himself, was feeling echoed in his neighbor’s voice.

  “ ‘Tis time to light the torches.”

  “Aye.” Guy twisted around and called out the command.

  A guard—the same youth that had been traveling beside the more seasoned man that Robert had earlier commissioned to scout the path ahead—came forward bearing a torch to light the way for Robert and Guy. As he did so, the scout came trotting toward them from the area up ahead.

  “I’ve been as far as the cot, and have seen no sign of those who attacked us.” The scout’s mouth opened, but no words came forth. He shot a glance to his right, then settled his gaze once more on Robert and Guy. “John Gault, the first scout, is dead—hanged by his feet and gutted like a swine.”

  “Blood of Christ!” Guy growled. “ ‘Tis worse than I thought,” he said to Robert.

  Robert only gave a solemn nod, then asked the scout, “What else?”

  “There are two guards outside the cot, but I saw no others, which I thought odd.”

  Robert and Guy fired grim glances at each other, and Robert said, “Aye. Odd.”

  “But,” the guard said, “I will tell you that once, when the door was opened, I happened a glimpse of your wife. She lives.”

  The tight bands of dread that had been constricting his chest for all these hours loosened and Robert was at last able to take a full breath.

  “Praise be,” Guy said, expressing in words the same overwhelming relief that Robert was feeling.

  “He must have been told by now that you travel with another knight and believes that ‘tis Morgunn,” Guy said to Robert.

  “Aye. These men that ambushed us were mercenaries, felons not of his clan, so would not know your colors. But only two guards? What is his plan?”

  “I know not.” Guy scanned the trees, scanned the wood, tho’ the torchlight did not penetrate the dark by very far. “Another attack, no doubt.”

  “Aye. No doubt.” Robert scanned the wood as well, his fist yet again gripping the hilt of his sword. He growled low. “Argh! He plays us like pawns in his cheater’s game of chess! Nithing!”

  “Aye, that he is, and much more. Or is it less? Either way, I’ll be there to cheer when he hangs.”

&nbs
p; “Well, staying here doing naught is pointless, and I’ll not turn back—not now. For, no matter the current case, my wife is still in grave peril for her life.” He paused, but only briefly. “However, I shall feel no ill-will toward you if you and your men decide instead to go no further, to await the King’s contingent, when e’er they may at last arrive.”

  “Nay,” Guy said, “we continue on. For, as you say, your wife’s life is still in danger.”

  Robert gave a sharp nod. “On guard!” he barked to the men, then, with the scout, and the stripling soldier who held the torch, riding vanguard, the force, now down to ten men, set out once again for the cot.

  They had continued on up the path no more than another quarter-hour when a clamor of raised voices and neighing, panicked horses broke out at the back of the rank, followed on its heels by the shouted warning, “Attack! Fire!”

  Robert, Guy, and the two in their vanguard reeled around in time to see a barrage of flaming arrows fly from every direction—except one: Theirs.

  The shafts that did not topple the men from their mounts, landed at their horses’ feet, which sent the beasts up on their hind legs screaming in panic, stalling the men where they were, unable to move out of the line of fire.

  “I’m going to kill them with my bare hands!” Robert roared, then kneed his courser and charged into the wood to rout their unseen foes. Guy and the two guards followed instantly on his heels. In the next moment, they were upon them: A band of archers crouched on the ground, firing their flaming missiles with lightning speed and precision.

  But they were no match for raging steel. Within a mere whisper of time, Robert had toppled the heads of three of them before they had even turned to view him. Guy and the scout took their cues from Robert and began doing the same, making swift work of annihilating their attackers, while the young de Burgh guard sped up to Robert’s side, lifted his sword to an archer who had rolled to his back and lay screaming, “Nay! Nay!” with his arms o’er his face, and hesitated, unable to finish the deed.