Surrender (7 page)

"Um. I canna promise twins. I will strive to
have Elyne swelling afore we reach Clibrick. 'Tis the one thing
that might make her obedient."

"Huh! Good luck on that."

"I would dispense with the common betrothal
vows, if ye dinna object."

"Ye dinna have the same custom in the
Highlands?"

"We do. Yet I require something more binding
from yer daughter."

He took in a slow, deep breath and stopped
himself from rubbing his stomach when a pain struck. He wished this
whole mess was speedily over afore he needed to run from the room.
He rocked forward on his toes when the chief slapped his back and
threw a heavy arm across his shoulders.

"Whatever ye need to get the girl bound to ye
and wed. If ye dinna, yer prick may not have shriveled off," he
paused then turned his head to fix his steely gaze on Graemme, "but
yer danglin' stones are still in danger."

"She will wed me. I'll see to it. But the
marriage ceremony will have to wait."

He told Elyne's father, afore he could wed,
he had a pressing duty to perform for his family. In one more day,
he would have to leave but would return in two months time. He
talked quickly, not wanting anyone else to overhear.

The sun's rays glinted on the gems embedded
in the cross above the small altar. Flashes of colorful lights
danced on the walls, giving the room a festive air. Until Elyne saw
the face of the man waiting across the crowded room. 'Twould be
more fitting if lightning danced across the sky and thunder rocked
the walls of the keep.

Her intended stood beside her Father, talking
earnestly to him. Where Graemme's face had been a sun-warmed bronze
at dawn, now its paleness accented the dark shadows of his beard
beneath. The skin on his cheekbones had pulled taut and his jaw
looked as if God had chiseled him from slate. His wide, sensual
lips were thin and pressed tight. Was he still in pain?

This morn he had worn a white shirt and
tasseled boots with his kilt. Now, his attire looked like a man
dressed for war. He had on a black tunic belted around with a
sturdy leather belt holding a heavy warrior's sword. His fingers
caressing the sword's hilt showed he itched to pull it free from
its scabbard.

The closer she came she realized the chest of
the tunic was gray. Embroidered in striking threads across the
gray, a black wolf leaped from a brown boulder. Recognizing the
wolf from her dreams, her knees near buckled. Why would her father
not believe her?

She saw Graemme's burnt almond eyes and read
the fury flashing there.

The devil of her nights had come to life.

Elyne's hand tightened on Sir Brian's
arm.

"Aye, Lady. You did yourself no favor when
you angered a Morgan of Clibrick. You have caused our motto of
'With a strong hand' to become 'With a hand of steel.'"

o0o

Graemme studied Elyne as she came into the
chapel. Watched as her eyes turned from defiant to regretful. Then
to something akin to fear when she studied the standard across his
tunic and met his eyes. She should have thought of not angering him
afore she dosed his food.

Strangely, her father didn't take exception
to his curt mood when Graemme insisted they dispense with the
normal betrothal vows. He looked around and noted the room had
filled with the knights and ladies of the keep. Fortunately, a cool
breeze drifted through the window openings, so they would not be
unduly warm. After Brian walked Elyne over to her father's side,
Graemme beckoned Brian and Colyne to stand behind him.

"Halt yer clack!"

Chief Broccin's voice boomed with such vigor
'twas a wonder the walls did not shake. Two women who had been
whispering behind their hands near fell off their bench.

"Ye lack-witted women are here to witness
betrothal vows between Sir Graemme of Clibrick Castle and Lady
Elyne, not to smirk and slabber o'er seeing his private parts last
eve."

Graemme steeled himself from flinching at the
reminder. The sooner they finished here the better. He could not be
too long away from privacy, for his gut sent up warnings of
impending doom. His teeth clenched together to keep from yelling
vile threats at his intended bride. He stepped forward to the
center of the altar. He studied Elyne like she was some strange
creature he wanted to crush.

She was lovely to look at with her curly
brown hair restrained with a silver circlet around her brow. It
left glossy curls streaked with auburn hanging to her waist. A
silver girdle made of circlets hugged her hips, accenting their
slimness. To look at her, a man would not guess this woman could be
so treacherous she'd near poison a man to keep from wedding him.
She would learn a Morgan didna run like some addled lowland Scot
with a backbone of sheep's wool!

He stared into eyes the color of wet earth.
When he noted her swallow a gulp, he held up his right hand. With
one finger, he slowly crooked it, demanding she come forward. When
she hesitated, he narrowed his lids at her.

"Go!" Chief Broccin shoved her from the small
of her back.

She moved to face Graemme while her father
stationed himself facing them, his back to the altar.

"Sir Graemme wants his own betrothal vows and
I see no reason to deny him." He looked at Graemme and nodded, then
stepped back.

Graemme took Elyne's hands in a hard grip and
stared into her eyes.

"My family, the Morgans of Clibrick Castle,
have long held honor to be all important. A promise once given is
sacred. Our vows bind us one to another for all time. Once spoken,
it can never be broken—not by choice; only be death."

"I, Graemme, son to Angus, The Morgan of Lake
Naver, betroth Elyne, daughter to Chief Broccin of Raptor Castle,
to me forever in righteousness, in faithfulness," he stopped for
the length of a breath and his jaw hardened even more, "and with a
strong hand. Two months from this very day, we will wed.

"Ye will repeat after me: I, Elyne, daughter
of Chief Broccin of Raptor Castle, vow to wed Sir Graemme, son to
Angus, The Morgan of Lake Naver, and take him as my husband forever
in faithfulness, in obedience and forsaking all others two months
from this very day."

Elyne's clear voice mumbled over the words
vow and obedience.

"I didna hear ye. Ye will repeat it clearly
for everyone to hear." He squeezed her fingers to let her know he
meant what he said. She said the vows again, this time her voice
was stronger. For truth, it was with anger, but he cared not a
whit. He repeated the rest of the words he would have her
promise:

"I, Elyne, will not poison, cause to sicken
or injure in any way, my betrothed."

She gasped so loudly anyone with half a good
ear could hear her.

"I didna poison ye!"

"Heh. I suppose ye will say the crone did?
Dinna waste my time with such foolishness."

"I did not give ye poison. I canna help it if
ye have a
delicate
stomach for Cook's fare," she
muttered.

"Mayhap I should add lies to the vows? Repeat
the words. Now! I have no more time to linger."

Elyne near shouted the rest of the vows, her
face red with indignation. He cared not.

When they drew apart, he muttered to Colyne.
"See everyone leaves. I would have words with my delightful
bride-to-be."

As the whispering crowd filed from the room,
Graemme watched Colyne lead Elyne to stand alongside the window
opening. She glared a look of loathing at Graemme then stared down
on the practice field, her shoulders set stiff in defiance. He
waited until they were alone then stalked over to her, his fists
convulsing with tightly controlled rage.

"Come. Sit." He grasped her elbow and led her
to a bench facing the altar. A firm pressure on her shoulder forced
her to sit.

"How could I have poisoned ye?" she muttered.
"I merely gave ye something to rid yerself of yer ill humors. I
give Father the same thing each sennight."

"Hah. You rid me more of my
good
humors than aught else. I had thought to deal lightly with ye, to
treat ye kindly. After the way ye made a fool of me afore the whole
castle, I have changed my mind."

"I did not make a fool of ye. If naught else,
ye are more of a warrior than ever. The men think ye are a
gladiator from Roman times. The senseless women drool like Adonis
has come to life."

"Aye. An Adonis whose throne was a bucket in
a stall; his crown another bucket clutched tight to his chest!"

He burned with resentment at her having made
him a laughing stock with the warriors. The stable boys most likely
babbled to one and all about the hapless Highlander in the
stall.

Elyne looked at him strangely before
understanding dawned in her eyes. "Oh."

"I will speak slowly so ye canna misread my
intentions. Ye will be here. In this keep. Two months from this
day.
We will wed
. Once the ceremony is over, ye will
return with me to Clibrick Castle. Is that clear?" He waited for
her nod. She stared stonily at him, her mouth tightened into a
stubborn line. He bent down and grasped her chin between his right
thumb and forefinger and tilted her head upward.

"Is...that...clear?" The words hissed with
menace between near-clenched teeth. His eyes narrowed until he saw
naught but her brown eyes glaring at him. To show her he was out of
patience, he jerked at her chin.

"Aye! Are there any other orders? Mayhap ye
wish to demand what I wear, what I eat, what I think while ye are
gone, lord and master?"

"There is! Never again will ye pretend to be
a witch. I am surprised no one has sought to burn ye at the stake.
I canna have word of yer unholy doings reaching the Highlands. They
are not so forgiving."

"Why do ye insist I was the crone?"

"Oh, come now. Do ye think I have not eyes to
see?"

"Do I look..."

"Piss, woman! I saw yer near nekid body atop
me in the bailey. Yer wet smock was like a second skin. And when ye
stood in my bedchamber doorway, the light was behind ye." He
straightened and put his hands on his hips. "No supposed old hag
has the body of a nymph." When she opened her mouth to argue
further, he added, "And no ancient woman has lush hair guardin' her
private parts. Ye stood with yer legs spread, if ye remember?"

Thinking of the picture she had made, his
cock pulsed and began to swell. He did not try to control it. He
doubted she was an innocent lass, not with the way her eyes had
strayed to his cock last eve.

Shame spread heat over Elyne. He accused her
of making a fool of him, yet he had humiliated her by making her
repeat those horrid vows in front of the ladies and knights of the
entire castle.

"If ye are done ordering me around, mayhap ye
can go about yer business and get the Hades away from Raptor!"

"'Tis my intention to leave on the morrow's
first light." He started to whirl away, then turned back and
pointed a finger at her. "See to Squat. The poor beastie canna move
without farting and leaving a trail behind him."

As he was leaving through the doorway, he
heard her mutter, "Flea-bitten bastard." Had he not needed to seek
relief, he would have returned to swat her backside.

He regretted not having the time.

o0o

Graemme's favorite warhorse sidled and shook
his head, near upsetting the young groom off his feet as they
passed the middle stall. The chief's magnificent black warhorse,
Goliath, kicked at the walls and trumpeted, no doubt jealous the
stable master didn't lead him outside.

"What did you learn in the village this
morn?" Gramme asked Brian. He led his horse out the huge double
doors onto the cobblestones surrounding the stable. He spied Squat
in the grass, and from the looks of his position, he had shite to
spare. Poor, miserable little dog. He could smell him from ten
paces away.

"Older villagers were less at ease answering
questions, but the young lads were only too quick to tell about a
lovely girl found beside her dying horse, holding its head in her
lap."

"Aye," Colyne added. "Chief Broccin's other
son, the one named Moridac, found Muriele and brought her to the
keep."

"Ranald has a brother?"

"Dead now. Killed the day afore he was to
wed. 'Tis why Chief Broccin forced the monk home." Brian stared at
Squat and shook his head.

"Monk? What monk?"

"Ranald. Moridac's identical twin," Colyne
chimed in.

"Lucifer's piss! He was a monk?" Graemme's
mouth dropped open. No wonder the girl was a fey lass. Her father
was ready to cut off his ballocks, and he had called Graemme's
future brother-by-law a devil. Her family was even stranger than
his own.

"Aye. In Kelso Abbey. Has a terribly scarred
face and back. Father did it," Colyne said. He made a wide detour
around a foul looking mess on the ground.

"Near killed him then abandoned him for
fifteen years. When the other twin died, Chief Broccin took an army
to Kelso and forced the monk to return to the castle to sire
grandchildren," Brian said.

"Got a special paper from the Pope and all,"
Colyne added.

"Humph. No wonder he spits fire with his
eyes." Graemme shook his head. Poor bastard. "Did they say more
about the woman, other than her horse died and they brought her to
the castle? Where is she now?"

"She went with this Ranald and his wife
Catalin into Northumbria. She's part Saxon, part Norman. Word has
it he went to besiege his wife's castle. Her uncle had taken it
over." Brian adjusted his sword and scabbard and swung up into his
saddle.

Colyne settled his helmet on his head. "They
say the girl with hair the color of summer wheat didna return.
Could only be her. There is some talk about her disappearing into
thin air."

The stable boy tied a leather bag of supplies
behind Graemme's saddle then a second boy handed each man a leather
skin filled with enough water for the day.