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

by K. E. Saxon

  “Get back!” Robert thundered at him, then slashed his sword in a heaving arc, quickly severing the archer’s head from his torso.

  In only moments, ‘twas completed. Twelve archers, total, lay dead on the ground, and by Robert’s reckoning, that was all of them. But to be sure, Robert and Guy, after taking a bow and quiver of arrows from four of the dead for each of them, went further into the cavernous blackness to look for stragglers, and found no sign of any more. Eventually, they turned back to the path.

  * * *

  “I am to blame,” Robert said to Guy later, when they broke through the copse of trees back onto the open path and stood stunned looking at the carnage the archers had left. “We should have destroyed them earlier, as was your plan.”

  Guy clamped his hand on Robert’s shoulder. “Nay, ’twas the right decision. We might have lost hours—lost your wife—if we’d spent that precious time in pursuit of the cowards instead of moving ahead to save the lady Morgana.” He inhaled a deep breath. “Donnach, the craven cur dog. He is to blame, no one else.”

  The stench of burning flesh and fresh blood invaded Robert’s nostrils and he bit back a roar of rage. Not a man nor beast was left standing, and at least two horses had arrows, still flaming, protruding from their eye sockets. Lit torches scattered the well-worn path where they’d been dropped to the ground. Only one lay close enough to the underbrush that it might catch the wood on fire, and Robert leapt off his mount and lifted it up, then doused the other flames using the dry earth of the path.

  As he walked back to his courser, he took stock of their situation. They were down to a force of four—three and a half, in Robert’s estimation, as the stripling was surely as green in experience as the flesh on his cheeks had been in the moment past when he’d hurled the contents of his stomach o’er the side of his mount and onto his boot.

  “There was not a sign of them, I swear, when I searched the area earlier, Laird MacVie,” the scout told him, breaking the silence.

  “Nay, there wouldn’t have been,” Robert replied. “The sniveling whoresons waited until we passed, then attacked from behind, like the puling cowards they are.”

  “And left us unscathed, yet again, while we watched the slaughter unfold,” Guy added, a thread of anger and disgust woven through his tone.

  “All right. We dally here no more,” Robert said. “Let us speed to the cot.” And kill Donnach Cambel.

  * * *

  Morgana, seated on a stool, leaned against the wall of the cot. Her wrists tied securely in her lap, her ankles bound, and her mouth muzzled, she allowed her gaze to follow the frantic movements of her uncle as he paced the twenty steps it took to go from one end of the chamber to the other, mumbling and gesticulating as he went.

  ‘Twas only in the past hour that he’d risen up from what e’er dark hole his thoughts had prisoned him and loosed her bindings again to allow her to move and rub her limbs long enough to work the cramping and tingling out, before he once again bound her with the rope.

  Her uncle swung toward her suddenly and paced to the window above her head. He’d done this many times in the last hours, but this instance was different. This instance showed more madness. More fever. More fire. More wrath.

  “He should have arrived by now.”

  By he she knew he was speaking of Morgunn, her father, not Robert, her husband.

  “If he does not come within the next hour... Let us just say, ‘twill not be well for you.” He blinked down at her with Vika’s dark-fringed amber eyes, and it set Morgana’s world off kilter. How can one so evil own such a comely gaze? Just as quickly, he turned his vision back to what e’er he was beholding outside, and she let her lids drop to force her world back to center.

  He turned and resumed his agitated pacing. After several passes to and fro, her heart settled back into a regular thud-thud-thud, but now her head pounded to the same rhythm, so she rested it back on the wall behind her.

  “You shall be my bait, niece,” he said into the rabid silence, and for the third time that day. Still pacing, he wiped the spittle off the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Aye...aye. He’ll not want that pretty neck of yours sliced, that I’d wager my earldom on—if ‘twas still mine to wager! Aye, you for him, that will be my demand.” His head bent, he began to mumble to himself once more, and Morgana only caught fragments of what he said. “...he’ll not have it...get what he deserves...not let him win...even tho’ I hang….”

  Once again, he flung himself toward the window, this time leaning his palms on the sill, and stared out. Coming from directly above her as it was, his labored breathing sounded even louder, harsher, wetter. Glancing up, she saw the sheen of sweat on his brow, the beads of it that had collected above his mouth. Was it worry...or madness?

  “Where is that bastard brother of mine! The archers—”

  Morgana’s breath caught. Archers?

  “—should have weakened their convoy by now, and he and your libidinous husband should even now be straggling up the path.”

  Was Robert injured? Dead? Morgana had not allowed the thought to take root in these past hours, tho’ it had crept into her mind unannounced and unwanted every so often, but now she could not push it back. For the first time, she fully considered the fact that this day might truly be her last.

  Thus far, she’d not found a way to escape with her life. She’d had some small bit of opportunity to bash her uncle o’er the head earlier, but then she’d worried he’d recover and kill her then and there. Or, if her aim were true, she wouldn’t be able to get past the two guards at the door. For, even if they did not hear the sounds of the scuffle coming from within, one of them had been checking in with her uncle every hour or so, and she did not want to take the chance that they would fell her with no further thought, if they found that she’d slain her captor. Nay, she’d thought ‘twas best to take her chances that her uncle would do as he’d planned. That he would release her when her father came. That Robert and her father would vanquish her uncle and his minions. So, she’d determined ‘twas best to wait for some sign that Robert and her father were arrived before she joined the fray.

  All at once, her uncle pushed himself away from the window, startling her out of her thoughts. Pivoting and taking several steps toward the hearth, he continued raging to himself, saying, “Did the arrows fell them also? Or, is this some ploy to get me out in the open so that he might slay me before I can do the deed to him?”

  He whipped around again and stormed over to her, then yanked her from her stool onto her knees, saying, “Pray!” as he pulled the gag from her mouth. “Pray for my victory, and pray for your soul before ‘tis too late!”

  * * *

  When the four warriors drew near their destination, but still far enough out that the men guarding the dwelling could not hear or see their approach, Robert signaled ‘twas time to leave their horses behind and move into position so they might swiftly dispatch the guards in silence, with Donnach ne’er the wiser ‘til ‘twas too late.

  They tied their mounts to trees, doused the one torch they’d permitted themselves, took several precious moments to allow their vision to adjust to the pitch darkness, then took the bend in the path.

  When the cot came into view, Robert made the signal, and the scout, whom he’d learned was known by Hubert du Valognes, and his son Richard, the stripling, crouched low and, making a wide arc off the path and around either side of the cot, ran without sound to take up their bow target positions. When they were well in place, Guy made the sneezing sound, as planned, in hopes to draw one, or both, of the guards from his post and out into the darkness where they would eliminate him.

  The ploy worked. From where they stood, they could hear the low, rumbling voices of the two men, evidently deciding which of them would be the one to find the source of the noise, and in the next moment, the taller, stockier, of the two came striding with a lit torch into the dark toward them.

  As the guard approached, Robert moved into po
sition, and as he did so, he let his gaze track for a heartbeat to the light coming from the window of the lodge, to the shadowy figure that moved within, and sent up an unuttered prayer that Morgana was still alive, and unharmed.

  He waited until Guy was almost within the circle of light the torch provided, then he pounced from behind, covering the man’s mouth with his hand and rending his throat with his dagger at the same time, sending him to the bowels of hell before he could make a sound, before he could even ken his own demise. Quietly, Robert lowered him to the ground.

  Robert remained in that crouched position, using the sleeve of his foe’s shirt to rid the blood from his blade, as he gave a nod to Guy.

  Guy returned the nod, took the torch from him, then walked toward the cabin with his dagger drawn and the light away from his face so that the man guarding the door would believe ‘twas his confederate returning.

  In the meantime, Robert moved further into the shadows, then made his way as well closer to the cot. Blood pumping more with anticipation than dread for the coming conflict, it took all his will to keep from rushing the moment to its final conclusion.

  * * *

  Positioned as she was below the window, Morgana could hear the infrequent murmurings of the two men that guarded the door. The one speaking now sounded uneasy. She strained to discern the words...something...something about a noise they’d heard. Her pulse pounded. Could it be Robert, here at last? Had he brought with him her father, as per her uncle’s orders? ‘Twas truth, she knew not which she hoped for more: That he’d obeyed his demand, or defied it.

  She’d prayed aloud, as her uncle had demanded, for she’d had no choice, tho’ asking for his victory in this had been a bitter tincture on her tongue, and she could only find solace in the knowledge that the Heavenly Father knew what was truly held in her heart, no matter the words spoken.

  Everything went deathly quiet outside.

  Her uncle stopped his pacing and looked toward the window.

  He took a step toward it.

  Morgana screamed.

  The door flew open.

  Robert burst through the door, sword raised.

  Her uncle’s steel flashed, sang when he freed it from its sheath, but still he staggered back.

  A tumult of men’s horses came from outside the cot.

  Robert maneuvered, slowly, deliberately, to the side so that he still faced her uncle, but had the view through the opened doorway in his sights as well.

  Her father barreled through the door.

  “How—?” Robert said.

  Her father’s eye ne’er leaving her uncle, he said, “We were summoned to court. We met the King and his men on the road. He told me all.” He took a menacing step toward her uncle. “Get her out of here, I’ll handle my brother.”

  Robert hesitated, but only briefly, then stepped over to Morgana, lifted her from her stool into his arms.

  “Nay!” her uncle bellowed. “This was not how ‘twas to be!” He moved with menace toward Robert, but her father stepped into his path.

  Her uncle raised his sword as if to strike, but Morgana saw the terror in his eyes, and realized that he would only do so if pressed for his life.

  Robert swung her around and strode from the cot. Briefly, and only from the corner of her eye, she saw the dark, crumpled shape of one of the guards, on his haunches, slumped against the exterior wall with his head forward, as if asleep. Morgana knew otherwise. He was dead. Dead as her uncle would surely be in the next moment or so. She also knew, that if ‘twas not night, she’d see the blood that soaked the guard’s skin and clothing as well. A shudder ran through her, and she turned her head into Robert’s neck, pressing her lids into the stubbled skin under his chin. His arms tightened around her back and knees, his hand gripped tighter her arm, but still he said naught, only moved inexorably down the path toward the shadowed group in the distance.

  Someone ran up to them and when he spoke, she recognized the voice.

  “She lives?” Guy said.

  “Aye.”

  “Praise be. The King insists Donnach Cambel be brought to him alive. Where is Morgunn?”

  “Battling him even now, I expect,” Robert replied, and with little concern in his voice.

  “Will you stop him, or will I?”

  “I hope the deed’s done.”

  Morgana heard Guy’s retreating footsteps as he pounded up the path toward the cot. Robert continued his journey forward.

  * * *

  Guy skidded to a halt in the doorway of the cot. Morgunn had Donnach pinned on the floor, the point of his sword pressing into the man’s tunic, directly o’er his heart. A pace from Donnach’s hand lay a dirk, and by the scatter of hunting blades fallen to the floor, ‘twas evident that there had been an abortive struggle for one of them. There was blood running from Donnach’s ear and nose, a consequence of a beating got from the broad side of Morgunn’s blade, as the streaks and dabs of wet, vivid red upon it proved.

  “This.... This, you puling, fetid coward, is for letting that Armoric swine rape and scar my wife!” In the blink of an eye, he hefted the sword with the intent to impale.

  “Nay!” Guy shouted, and flew forward, crashing into Morgunn, making Morgunn lose his balance and his aim on his victim’s frame.

  Morgunn turned a feral gaze on Guy. “Stay!” he bellowed, pressing the weight of his booted foot down on Donnach when Donnach tried to roll out of range. Tho’ his eyes remained on Guy, Guy knew the words were meant for Donnach. Morgunn’s next words, however, were clearly for him. “There is no mercy to be found here. Leave me to it, or I swear by my sword, I will cut you down as well.”

  Guy took a step back, put some distance between himself and Morgunn, but said, “The King demands Donnach be brought to him alive. You know this. You must.”

  Guy saw the doubt that flickered in Morgunn’s eyes, and he pressed on, saying, “ ‘Twill be a much better, a much more deserved punishment to have Donnach withstand the shame of being publicly tried and hanged for his crimes. Surely, you see I speak the truth.”

  Morgunn did not move. Guy could see the tension in the man, manifested in the pulse point in his jaw, in the flaring of his nostrils, in the flexing of his fist on the hilt of his sword, in the rapid movement of his chest and shoulders as he inhaled and exhaled.

  “What good is done if your daughter loses her father a second time—and to disgrace and dishonor as well?”

  Finally—and after such a prolonged moment that Guy had begun to believe he would have to battle Morgunn for his sword—Morgunn stepped away from his quarry. Guy went immediately into action. He bound Donnach’s wrists behind his back, bound his ankles as well, then called out the door for aid from one of his guard to get the man onto the cart. For he held little faith that Morgunn’s assent would hold if Guy solicited his help with their felon.

  He followed his men out, walking toward the gathering of soldiers, toward the King, and ‘twas not long before he heard the crunch of Morgunn Cambel’s bootsteps coming from behind him as well. Good. He would leave to him all explanations required by King William.

  As he stood with arms akimbo watching his men load the trussed Donnach Cambel onto the cart, the low rumble of Robert’s words to Morgana came to him from somewhere behind: “ ‘Tis done. At last, you are safe.”

  PART SIX

  A Song Well Sung

  “I like this place,

  And willingly could waste my time in it.”

  As You Like It (Act II, scene iv)

  “All's well that ends well, still the fine’s the Crowne;

  What ere the course, the end is the renowne.”

  All’s Well That Ends Well (Act IV, scene iv)

  CHAPTER 22

  AN HOUR LATER, with Morgana resting on the bed inside the cot, and with the contingent of soldiers, the King, and the cart that held his wife’s uncle gone back down the path, his father-in-law turned to Robert and said, “I crave to hold my wee lass in my arms again, to speak with her, but
‘tis not the time. I shall wait until she is back at the abbey, when both I and her mother can meet her together.”

  “ ‘Tis a good plan.”

  “You will tell her all then, in the next hours?”

  “Aye.”

  “Are you sure you will not make camp with us this night? If there are any of Donnach’s minions still about, they might strike once we are gone.”

  “Fret not. We vanquished them all, I am certain.”

  “But, if they were not, I—”

  “I will guard your daughter well.”

  Morgunn’s brow lifted and his gaze sharpened. “As you did five days past?”

  Robert swung ‘round and stalked several paces away, then turned back to his father-in-law with the letter she’d written him gripped in his fist. He moved back to stand near Morgunn and, so that the soldier guarding the cot would not hear, said in a gruff whisper, “She bolted. If she’d not done so, by my vow, she’d ne’er have been captured.”

  After a brief pause, his father-in-law gave a nod, saying, “Aye. Aye. I have no worry on that score.”

  “And this night, I will learn why, and turn what e’er is causing her desire to forsake me into naught.”

  Morgunn clamped his hand on Robert’s shoulder, saying, “I wish I could advise you on this, but I fear I ken as little of the workings of a woman’s mind as do you. All I will say is, have a care, and I wish you well.”

  * * *

  When Robert entered the cabin a time later, he found Morgana deep in slumber, lying on her side facing him, with her palm under her cheek. A sharp pang of tenderness pierced his heart, stopped his breath. In repose, in the firelight, with locks the color of starlight still damp and curling about her gentle countenance, and the bit of skin not covered by the linen sheet pink from the warmth of the bath (or fire, he knew not which), she looked as innocent as she had been the first time e’er he’d seen her. Her lithe, woman’s form moving in unison with her cousin’s as they’d entered the great hall of the abbey her first night at court.