The Pledge (23 page)

“Both, mayhap,” Cumhal said through his teeth.

“Wasn’t it incumbent on you to take over if he has proved so incompetent?”

Cumhal shrugged. “Yes, if I had a standing army I might.”

“He is so well protected then?”

“I wouldn’t call it protection. More like congenial imprisonment, though my brother sees it not.” Cumhal looked around him.
“We cannot speak of this. There’re
ears everywhere.” He inhaled. “Tell me of Tarquin. He shows bitterness over your marriage?”

“I shouldn’t think so. ’Twas not his wish to tie himself to a woman who had a lad without…” She hesitated.

“Without nuptial words. I know of this. Why should it matter to him when it doesn’t to us? I would’ve been at your Scottish
vows had I been able to return from our island properties in time.”

“Thank you.” She lowered her eyes and her voice.

“You’re welcome.” Cumhal bit his lip. “ ’Tis passing strange about Tarquin since rumor has it he feels bereft since your marriage.
I cannot say I understand this.”

“Nor do I. Tell me of this congenial imprisonment that you intimated.”

“I can’t. ’Twould not be wise for us to speak of it here. Another time and another place, I would say. The walls listen here.”

“Indeed, ’twould seem so.” She smiled, nodded, bowed. “Why have you not contacted my brothers?”

“I’ve done that. They’ve talked to Felim and gotten nowhere. His stubbornness is only surpassed by his stupidity when it comes
to trusting the wrong people.”

“And they are?”

Cumhal reddened. “I know not who directs him. That’s what flummoxes me.” He ground his teeth. “I would not lie to you, Morrigan.”
He swallowed. “I didn’t think this when I summoned you, but… now…”

“What?”

“I think I’ve called you to hell. I like it not. There are
so many here I know not. Why are mercenaries crowding this great room?”

Morrigan took a deep breath when she saw Felim scan the room, then scowl at her. “Come, ’twould seem we’re wanted.”

“Be careful, cousin. More and more I feel ’Tis a den of vipers we face. And I know not who they are, or when they’ll come
upon us.” Cumhal shook his head. “ ’Twould seem I’ve been tricked as well as you.”

Morrigan stiffened. “And did you not even suspect this before you arrived at Castle MacKay?”

He flushed. “I have had a feeling something wasn’t right for some time. I couldn’t trace my fears to anything. More than once
I called myself a fool for feeling such. I’ve tried to rid myself of thinking there could be a betrayal of family.” He inhaled
and exhaled, ignoring his brother’s gesticulating. “Not until we were set upon did I come to the admittance that there is
dread treason within our house.” His glance slid to Felim.

Morrigan gasped. “Surely not. He has always been loyal. Besides, he isn’t… hasn’t—”

“The think box for intrigue? I agree. I can’t factor who’s behind this and how I can combat it.”

“Cumhal!” Felim roared.

Cumhal’s eyes closed for a moment. “He is ever discreet and unobtrusive.”

Laughter bubbled through her ire. “Some things don’t change.” Her smile died. “ ’Twould be easy to fasten blame on Felim.
I don’t think ’Tis to our best interest to
underestimate him. Neither do I think we can be complacent about others, inside or outside the family, who could be proctoring
a conspiracy.”

“You were ever acute in your reasoning, cousin.”

“Thank you.” And if Hugh were here we would have answers instead of conjectures.

“The two of you, come,” Felim roared.

“We’d better hurry before he blows the stones off the battlements,” Cumhal muttered.

Morrigan chuckled. Underneath the surface mirth a worm of worry ate at her. It was so ridiculous to think of someone trying
to undermine Llywelyn, one of the power families of Wales. Yet the certainty it was happening crawled through her innards.
Hugh! I need you!

Cumhal’s mouth twisted upward as he led her through the squabbling throngs, the laughing, shouting hangers-on that crowded
Felim’s court. Not only didn’t Cumhal’s older brother mind the din, he encouraged it. Mandolin players who should’ve soothed,
played too loud. Some were discordant enough to make one cringe. Vendors moved among guests shouting their wares. It was like
a marketplace instead of a great room.

“ ’Tis chaos. My brother is a better sheepherder.”

“Aye, I’d not question him on his abilities in animal husbandry.” She smiled and greeted many on the circuitous route to the
fireplace where Felim was ensconced. She noted the many strangers who stared at her openly. There was no obeisance to her
rank. Not that she cared, but tradition had always held that reverence
would be shown her title, if not her person. She detected a thinly hidden insolence. “Cumhal, I think I sense what you’ve
been feeling. There’s peril here, enmity. Contact my brother Drcq. Tell him to find Califb wherever he is. Make sure he knows
there’s perfidy within our ranks. The name and House of Llywelyn is in jeopardy and we are assaulted by fools.”

He nodded. “I will. First we’ll have to see to my squalling brother.”

“She’s where she should be. The rest is up to you.”

“I know. Do you think ’Tis wise to trust our fellow dice players in this big game?”

“No. For now they’re useful. Once the preliminaries are in place we can eliminate the extraneous—”

“Some of them wouldn’t look upon themselves as such.”

The one shrugged. “To fashion such an operation, to put it to work, takes time and people. Once this begins the elimination
of those who could cause trouble for us in the future makes sense.”

“Aye, it does. It’s the delicacy ’twill take to make them disappear that eats at me. I’ll not call down trouble on me and
mine. Remember that.”

“The rewards are great, as you know. You cannot wish a share of the treasure without paying the price. The choice is yours.”
He watched the other writhe with his greed, quite sure he’d finish him with his own good sharp dirk if the answer would be
the wrong one.

“I never said I wouldn’t take part.”

He relaxed his hold on the blade. “Be patient. All will be as it should be.”

“Let us not return to the others. Our presence is needed elsewhere.”

“As you say.”

The two smiled at each other, as though their minds were clear, one to the other. Their mistrust wouldn’t be verbalized. Each
had the other’s destruction in mind. That could wait. The primary plan would go forward.

Hugh leaned over Diuran, trying to swallow his terror. It had been riding him for days that he wouldn’t get to Morrigan in
time, that her survival was in jeopardy.

Again and again riders had galloped into Castle MacKay with the same news. She’d been seen landing in Wales, even spotted
on the outskirts of Cardiff. More than one guaranteed that she would be at Cardiff Castle. It made sense. No matter how he
tried he’d been unable to get information out of the castle in Wales. He dare not make an open attack on Morrigan’s family.
Anything that smacked of war would bring down the short-tempered Welsh upon his neck. By the time the smoke cleared his wife
could be well and truly hidden, or worse. He didn’t want that.

Nothing mattered but talking to her, getting to the bottom of the mysterious trip. All must be resolved between
them. If she thought to leave him, he would convince her she was wrong, that her place was with him and Clan MacKay.

It soured him sorely to imagine her trying to escape from him. He would’ve sworn she felt as strongly toward him as he did
her. His skin felt raw when he pondered rejection, even as his heart and mind told him that such thinking was wrong. Still,
he would tell her how she’d erred in not leaving him a clear message, how she’d made a mistake in causing him such concern.

What if she died, was dead already?

His life would be forfeit if he didn’t find her alive and well. No matter how long he strode the earth, he’d be dead to feeling.
All the fire she’d given him would be snuffed out, and there’d be little to relish except his efforts for the clan, the twins
Conal and Avis, and their son, Rhys. That would take all his waking hours. Sleep would elude him until the final sleep. He
needed the wife he’d begun to love on first sighting. He knew that now. His heart twisted with the need to get to her, to
bring her home to Castle MacKay.

Anger that she could have abandoned him mixed with the fear, the amalgam building to a helpless rage.

“Is Diuran dead, then, like maman?”

Hugh lifted his face from his hands, staring down at the boy next to him. He scooped him up into his arms. “Your maman is
not dead. I love her, too, and wouldn’t let her die.”

Rhys couldn’t answer. He buried his face in Hugh’s neck, sighs shuddering through him.

Despite all his importunings, and distractions, their son Rhys became more listless each day. No matter how many times he
told him he’d bring his mother back to him, the boy was losing faith. He didn’t eat as he should. And though the twins longed
for their mother, they worried about Rhys, as well. They hovered over him, more loving than any brother and sister could be.
Still the boy grieved.

“Milord, forgive me. I know you fret,” Diuran said from his cot, his voice weak. He tried to smile at Rhys. “I’m… alive… so
is your maman.”

Dilla moved next to Hugh and took Rhys. “You see? Diuran is MacKay. He wouldn’t lie to you.”

Rhys blinked, then nodded, twining his arms about her neck. “She must come home soon. She needs me.”

“Of course she does.”

Hugh watched Dilla leave the chamber, then he leaned down and touched Diuran’s arm, noting that the fever had gone from it.
“You worry that we fret. Nay, my friend, you brought Diodura to us. Had she not treated you, you and my men would’ve died.”
He ground his teeth as he recalled his conversation with the crone when the men who’d accompanied Morrigan had sickened even
more on their return to Castle MacKay.

“I thought as much, good sir,” Diodura had told him in halting Gaelic.

“What is it?” he’d said to her in Celtic, earning her gap-toothed smile. “That they’ve used poison on their weapons, I doubt
not. Why did it take so long—?”

“Not long, good sir,” Diodura had interrupted. “ ’Twas planned that if any lived, they might make it back to your side, to
die after telling of the ambuscade. There’re herbs and plants that would do this. There’re mushrooms in our caves that can
bring a euphoria that will induce instant obedience in the taker. Killings have been done by such, and wreaked havoc on families
as a result.” She shrugged. “ ’Tis a Roman strategy, I’ll be bound. ’Twas brought down to us from the days of Boudicca.” She
cackled when his gaze narrowed on her. “I was educated by the great House of Trevelyan, as a healer and scholar. Long ago
I was banished when the great Ruric the First was killed.” She frowned. “His son and grandson were destined to be in my care,
but their lives were taken betimes.”

“That’s how you know my spouse, by her connection to Trevelyan?”

She shrugged again. “That and other ways.”

Her cryptic responses had set his teeth on edge. He knew it was more the delays caused by the sickening of his men, the worry
about his wife, that fueled his ire. If he hadn’t been so distracted he would’ve quizzed her. Since he owed a debt of gratitude
to her, he restrained. His men would’ve died had it not been for the hag. There was a debt. He’d honor it.

Nothing preceded his need to get to Morrigan. Instinct
told him she was in peril even if she was in the heartland of her family. His fears had mounted with each turning of the glass.
Nothing would be allowed to get in the way of finding her. But he couldn’t go crashing into Wales, even with a standing army,
unless he was certain of her location. He had no wish to embroil his clan in a needless war. Nor did he want those who held
his wife prisoner to be warned ahead. There were myriad ways she could be hidden from him. Death was one, but he couldn’t
dwell on that. It would’ve driven him mad.

Only if there was no other way would he commit his full complement of warriors. If it took that to get his wife back, he wouldn’t
shirk from it. He had to get to her!

Now, as he stared down at his almost helpless lieutenant, fury filled him. Time was passing. He knew so little. “Can you tell
me aught of where she could be?”

Diuran shook his head. “They… set upon us, milord. Planned, I would swear… though they were rabble. They were to… slay us.”
Diuran closed his eyes as Diodura dabbed at the cold sweat on his face. “Milady… said… she… would do it.” Diuran’s smile wobbled.
“Called… us… foul names.”

If Hugh hadn’t been so furious he might’ve smiled with him. “So?”

Diuran turned his head looking at the others lying in the healing room. “They… will… live”—he looked back at Hugh—“because
of milady.”

“How?” It rasped from his throat.

“She pretended to finish us with… dirks.” His eyes closed. “She didn’t… know about… the poison.”

“No, she’d not countenance it,” Diodura said, wiping Diuran’s forehead again. “There would’ve been no way she would’ve left
you had she suspected.”

Hugh could hardly get air. It hurt his chest to try. When he spoke, his voice was raw. “You’ll not return to Wales, woman.
Some could discover how you’ve helped Clan MacKay. You’re one of us now. A new place will be prepared for you in the castle.
You’ll never fetch your own firewood again.”

The words bonding her to a safe haven startled Diodura. Her self-assurance seemed to melt on the spot.

“Nay, good lord. ’Twould not be to your best interests to sponsor me,” she said, swallowing. “I hate the truth of it, to be
sure—”

“Then think no more of it. From this day hence, healer, you will run this room and save our people.”

Swaying with emotion, she clasped bony hands in front of her. “ ’Tis not good of you to shatter a crone’s feelings toward
men. You undermine me.” She bowed her head. “I thank thee.”