Morganna (The Brocade Collection, Book 4)

by Jackie Ivie

“Call me by my given name, Robb and cease this. You’re delaying our escort.”

  “I ken what name you were christened with. I like my version better. And you’re in no position to argue much of anything, now are you. This the squire?”

  Morganna let her hand lie slack, atop the bulge from her blade as the man swiveled and looked down at her.

  “Unhand us, Robb. ’Tis nothing save an escort party.”

  The big man laughed again. “And I’m Father Time. She’s the squire. She’s a beauty, too. Looks just like her sister. Like she used to, anyhow. Fancy that.”

  Morganna patted the entwined dragon hilt before standing. She watched him watch her as she reached her full height. She didn’t like the look in his eye at all.

  “So…this is the FitzHugh squire.”

  “I am his sister,” she replied.

  “Oh. I don’t think so. I know exactly who you are, and I know what you are. Phineas knew, too. He knew the moment he saw you.”

  Morganna raised her chin.

  “I’ve also heard that you’re carrying a bairn. Is this true?”

  “Untie me, Robb, or by thunder—!”

  MacIlvray lifted a hand and Ari’s words were cut off. Morganna didn’t shift her eyes to see why. She was still sizing up her opponent.

  “Well? Is it?” he asked in the silence that followed.

  She nodded.

  “Excellent. I canna’ think of better tidings to take to the laird. Come, lads. Hoist the FitzHughs into Reaver Cave. Let them perish or free themselves. Either way, I’ve a prize to take to the laird. He’s awaiting it.”

  “If you touch a hair on her—!”

  The voice was Plato that time. Robb MacIlvray’s motion was the same, with the same result. Morgan gulped the extra moisture from her mouth and hoped the motion wasn’t spotted.

  “If yon FitzHughs wish to try shouting their way to freedom, they’d best start by holding their tongues now. There’s two more to gag…or leave free. You choice, lads.”

  He was speaking to Caesar and William, but his eyes didn’t move from her.

  “Besides, why would I wish to harm her? She’s much more valuable alive. Especially heavy with a bairn.”

  “Why?” Morganna whispered the word.

  “You doona’ guess?” He guffawed. It wasn’t for pleasure, but effect. “Laird Phineas is an outcast here in the Highlands. That does na’ sit well with a powerful laird. You made it so, but it will na’ always be. He’s no outcast in England. Why…down there, ’tis a good guess he’ll be lauded and feted, and even set upon a pedestal.” He paused. Nobody said a word. “Especially if he brings what the Sassenach king most desires.”

  “What do you mean?” Morganna asked, but she already knew the answer.

  “Why…Phineas is going to bring Edward Longshanks the means to ridicule his enemy. Phineas is going to have The Bruce’s own champion with him. Phineas is even thinking of staging a demonstration of his—I mean her talents. A woman. A mere wench. Heavy with child. The entire country is hiding behind a woman’s skirts. We all ken what will happen that, don’t we?”

  Morgan’s heart missed a beat as she realized what he meant to do. He was going to ruin everything Zander and Scotland’s king had gained. He was planning to demoralize the campaign before it had a good chance to start. “If…I refuse?” she asked quietly.

  “Then the blood from the owner of that tartan is on your hands, not mine.”

  He gestured to the dummy at his feet.

  “If you harm a hair on Zander’s head, it will be—!”

  The threat by William was cut off, too. Morgan watched it as dispassionately as she could.

  “I guess the FitzHugh lads doona’ wish the use of their voices to free themselves. Silly lot, would na’ you say?”

  She stared at him for a long moment, and then looked aside.

  “Put her back on a mount. Any mount. I’ve a notion good horseflesh won’t be turned away by Phineas, especially as it looks like it came from a FitzHugh stable in the first place.” He chuckled at his own joke.

  “Ungag them,” Morganna said.

  “You don’t give the orders, lassie. I do.”

  “And I have a terrible aim of a sudden,” she responded. “Perhaps ’tis the bairn. Perhaps na’. My skill comes and goes. It’s a pity, really.”

  He looked her over with a level look. She gave it right back.

  “There’s na’ much else I’ll need to find a berth in Hell, lassie. Killing a few disloyal FitzHughs would na’ make it worse, you ken?”

  “You know…I’ve felt sickly lately, too,” Morganna replied. “I may na’ be able to hold a weapon without dropping it.”

  “Blasted woman!”

  “Ungag them, and then untie them,” Morganna replied evenly, to his rising agitation.

  “If I do that, I might as well free them!”

  Morgan waited, watching him without blinking.

  “I’ll na’ do it, lass. They’re FitzHughs on FitzHugh land!”

  “You already have me. You already have Zander. Untie them and let them go. What good are they to you?”

  “I doona’ bargain with lasses. I rarely spend this much time with one in speech.”

  “And I could fall from my horse and harm myself…and the bairn,” she replied.

  He swiveled and started barking orders. “Get the FitzHughs to the cave. Aye! Untie them! Take as many men as you need to guard them. I can handle the woman. I can handle any woman!”

  Morgan felt the minute sag between her shoulders as he did what she asked. She hadn’t truly believed he would. She waited until the brothers, and all but two of the clansmen left the clearing.

  “Now, fetch me that KilCreggar tartan you have used in such an ill fashion.”

  “I doona’ take orders from a lass.”

  “I’ll na’ mount and ride docilely without it.”

  “I’m about ready to take a fist to your noggin’, that’s what I’m about to do.”

  “And risk harming my aim?” she asked sweetly. “What king would waste his time looking over a plain, unskilled, Scottish lass, especially one heavy with child, such as you intend to present to him?”

  “Phineas will rue this morn, I fear. I doona’ think he knew that when he sent me. Taking orders from a lass? I’ll na’ live it down. I’d na’ have believed it, were I na’ here.”

  He was stripping the dummy of its feile-breacan as he spoke, tossing it this way and that as he unwrapped the black-and-gray plaid from it. He was still muttering about his sanity when he wadded the material into a large, unwieldy bundle and slung it at her. Morganna caught it deftly, wrapped her arms about it, and brought it to her nose to breathe deeply what scent she could.

  All she smelled was damp wool.

  ~ ~ ~

  What had started as a trip of five leagues, became a day-long ride through unforgiving country. Morganna held to her horses’ mane with one hand, and held the bundle of plaid with the other. Rain had started up before noon and she welcomed it every time the red-haired Robert MacIlvray cursed it.

  She heard him cursing the weather, the mud, the slick hillsides, the lunacy that had him leaving the FitzHugh brothers untied and most of all, he railed at her. Morganna was hard-put to hide her smile, if he chanced to look her way after a particularly vicious spate of words left his lips.

  She knew where he was taking her. The only place Phineas would still be safe. She was being taken to the FitzHugh stronghold, the black castle, itself. Castle FitzHugh had been the seat of the FitzHugh lairds since anyone could remember. She had seen it as a child. She had memorized it. She had prayed for the chance to be going exactly where she was. If it wouldn’t have spoiled everything, she’d have opened her mouth and thanked Robert MacIlvray for it, too.

  Zander had tried to change her. He had almost succeeded.

  Every part of her hurt when she thought of him. Morganna squelched every place it pained, one by one, until nothing remained except a burning sensat
ion just below her heart. Zander may have lost his KilCreggar plaid. It didn’t necessarily mean Phineas had him imprisoned, too. Phineas could have stolen this one. He could have had one made, too. There could be a hundred ways he had managed to get a KilCreggar plaid in his possession other than that he had Zander, too.

  In fact, Zander could still be at the king’s side, blissfully unaware that a plan of his had finally gone awry. The longer they rode, and the further they progressed, the more certain of that she became. The hurt eased from her and then she knew why.

  Something about the sett in her arms had unsettled her from the moment she received it. Something wasn’t right. Morganna finally realized what it was, and was dismayed that it had taken her so long.

  It wasn’t Zander’s plaid at all. It couldn’t be. The weave beneath her fingers was too rough. It wasn’t the same quality she had come to expect from a FitzHugh loom, although she’d have never admitted it before. If Morganna had her wits about her sooner, she’d have checked with her sight what she was suspecting from touch. This plaid hadn’t looked to contain any hint of blue and green, either, and Morganna knew Zander had his woven with such a distinction.

  It wasn’t Zander’s feile-breacan. Phineas didn’t have his youngest brother, at all. He’d been courting death, if he had Zander. He’d just earned certain death with the lapse. Morganna had the dragon blade still strapped to her thigh. She felt its power, its purpose, and knew finally why she’d been given it.

  She was going to kill Phineas with it.

  The storm hadn’t eased when they reached Castle FitzHugh’s gate. Morganna lifted her head and looked up at it through the blur of rain. She lifted her hands to hold the sodden cloak out from her head, shielding her eyes to see. All about her black rock rose from the bedrock it seemed to have been birthed from. The ground was sodden, and rain was bouncing when it landed, making a droplet-imbued mist at the horses’ hooves. She listened to each step, and then the horses were crossing the drawbridge, their hooves echoing in the silence.

  There wasn’t a soul in sight.

  Castle FitzHugh looked to be a three-story affair, with crenellations, guard towers, and curved archways at every sanctum they entered. They passed through a stable yard. It looked to be the size of Argyle’s but it was hard to tell. The elements, the night and the bedrock all blended together. It could actually be larger, she decided.

  They went through more gates. At each, a portcullis came up, and then dropped, lifted and put back into place by invisible hands. Morganna halted her own shivering.

  The keep was a formidable structure, seated behind the fortress walls. It looked to be three stories high and stood by itself in the inner bailey. It was made of black rock, although there had been an effort to make it more hospitable with wooden shutters mounted on the sides of long, narrow windows, and a blue and green banner hanging above the double-wide oaken doors. The horses came to a stop in front of those doors. Morganna waited. Robb MacIlvray dismounted with more of his cursing. Then he approached her. He didn’t ask if she needed assistance, he just reached up and plucked her off her horse.

  She was still swathed in the black wool, holding to her bundle of plaid, and her legs probably wouldn’t have held her upright at first, but his touch was abhorrent and unnerving. As was the deserted quality of the courtyard. It probably rivaled an Argylle courtyard in size, she surmised, but without a servant in sight, it looked bigger.

  He set her on her feet at the entry steps and stepped away. He didn’t move far. Morganna looked up at the recessed, oaken door, and shivered again. She told herself it was nothing, and meant less. The rain-soaked cloak wasn’t conducive to warmth, that was all. She tipped her head and looked up, untied the fur-lined cloak and let it fall to her feet. Robb MacIlvray didn’t stop her. All he did was watch her. She unfurled the KilCreggar sett without looking down and wrapped it about herself, warming the moment she did so. She ignored the man at her side, no longer caring that he watched. She was a KilCreggar. She was wrapped in KilCreggar gray and black, and she was at the enemy’s doorstep, ready to lay open his heart. She was fulfilling her purpose. It was a strengthening thought.

  The banner above them had one dragon on it. Morganna looked it over for another long moment before looking back down. The door opened inward, and not just one half of it, but both sides at once. She had the impression of space, lots of space, and then she was escorted up the steps and into the great room. Her elbow was gripped by MacIlvray, and he walked her up the steps and into the room.

  Morganna noticed there was a servant woman holding to each side of the door, although both looked tired, dirty, worn and wouldn’t look up. Morganna kept her face forward. The room was enormous. There were two long, banqueting tables intersecting it, with benches on both sides. There were torch sconces made from animal antlers all along the walls, each holding an unlit torch. There were huge chairs at the ends of each table, looking like thrones, with a headpiece of antler. There was a roaring fire on the opposite wall, making it too humid and hot next to the damp chill they’d just come from.

  Morganna watched the steam rise from her own damp clothing and tried to see the figures in the furthest chairs. Then, she knew who it was as Phineas FitzHugh stood slowly to face her, and at his side, he had her sister, the hag, Elspeth.

  Morganna sucked in on the shock, and then let it go. Elspeth looked sickly, but she’d always looked sickly. She had a paler tint to her skin than usual, and it looked like she’d lost the last bit of black color in the mass of matted, gray hair she had. It was hanging to her waist and looked like she might actually have made at effort at combing it. She looked as skeletal as usual, too. Elspeth was still vacant-eyed and haunted, and something else. She actually looked a little frightened. Morganna felt a nerve twinge in her cheek.

  “Hello, Morganna,” Phineas said finally.

  “Get her out of here,” Morganna spat the words.

  “Now why would I go and do such an inhospitable thing?”

  “Get her out of here, or we have no bargaining to do. You ken?”

  “Mor…ganna?”

  Elspeth’s voice trembled on the name, making it a strange sound. Perhaps it only seemed that way since she hadn’t heard it from the hag’s lips in so long. Morganna’s lips set and she sneered.

  “We have nothing to say to each other, hag. Less. Get out.”

  “You are Morganna, aren’t you?”

  Morganna stiffened. “You kept this sett. You kept our father’s ceremonial feile-breacan, didn’t you? You let me raid the dead for a sett to wear when all the time you had this one.”

  Elspeth nodded vigorously. “It was a secret. From Da. He promised me…I canna’ recollect what he promised. He’ll return for it, though. He told me so.”

  “And you let this monster have it?” Morganna’s voice rose, despite any control she was putting on it. She narrowed her eyes. It was to hide any further hint of emotion.

  “Monster? Nay, Morganna. He gives me things. See?” Elspeth held up a bony arm where a silver bracelet dangled. It looked incongruous on her bony arm, and next to the frayed sleeve.

  “You’re mad,” Morganna said it without a hint of inflection.

  “Am I?” Elspeth’s voice trembled, then stilled. Morganna didn’t move.

  “Sisters, sisters…please.” Phineas clucked his tongue to make a chastising sound. If Morganna could have stiffened beyond what she was already, she would have. “I dinna’ bring you here for a family reunion, although it will prove entertaining, once I do allow it. We’ve a journey to prepare for. We haven’t much time.”

  “We’ve less than you think,” Robb MacIlvray spoke up from beside Morganna.

  “What does that mean?” Phineas asked.

  “She was under escort by your brothers.”

  “Which ones?” Phineas’ voice was sharp as he asked it.

  “All of them.”

  “All?”

  Save Zander. He resides still at The Bruce’s camp.”

/>   “My brothers show naught in loyalty.” Phineas sighed. “You ken the feeling, surely?” He addressed his question to no one in particular. Morganna knew it was for her. She flexed the nerve in her cheek again.

  “I had your brothers untied when I left them.”

  “What? Why?”

  “They’re guarded.”

  “My brothers are a force singly. United, they’ll be almost unstoppable. I wanted no FitzHugh blood spilled. None. You knew the rule.”

  “Aye.”

  “Then why did you leave them untied?”

  “She’s a verra persuasive lass, my lord. Verra.”

  Phineas eyed her with that cold blue stare of his. Morgan returned it. “She must be,” he replied finally.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “Get fresh horses saddled, Robb. See it done. Now. If you had any lead on my brothers, you lost it traveling here with a lass.”

  “She’s na’ just any lass, my lord, and if I lost time, ’twas due to weather. Your brothers will have the same issue.”

  Phineas continued to eye her. “Na’ true Robb. She’s a lass. A gifted one, but just a lass. You’ll see. She’s weak…and she’s dense.”

  Morganna lifted her eyebrows but said nothing.

  “’Tis true, you know,” he continued. “A strong lass would na’ be here. She ha’ died rather than accept bondage. As for dense? Why, a smart lass would na’ have left The Bruce’s encampment with a guard of but four men. You’re on FitzHugh land. I still command FitzHugh strength and loyalty. I repeat myself so you’ll make no mistake. You’re weak, and you’ve na’ much in wits. It appears to be a family trait.”

  Morganna didn’t say a word. She let her silence answer for her. He snarled at her, and then looked over his shoulder.

  “Go saddle horses, Robb. Prepare foodstuffs. Get my loyal clansmen from the rooms they’ve hidden in. We leave the moment we can. We’ve a gift to get to the Sassenach king…as much as I hate the bastard.

  Morganna refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction as MacIlvray left the room, going back the way they’d come.

  “You thought I kneeled to the English bastard because he deserves it, dinna’ you? Well, join the ranks of the disloyal FitzHugh with their talk and their guessing. I ken which side has the power and the might. Every man knows. They ken the penalty, too. Death. It isna’ pretty. It isna’ civil. I’ve seen it firsthand and I’ve made my choice.” He lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “I choose English rule for a reason. I doona’ want to die. I choose life over death”