Morganna (The Brocade Collection, Book 4) (15 page)

“’T
is a
skean dhu
known as the dragon blade. ’Tis said it possesses magical powers.
I doona’ ken any of that. It’s verra old. Very valuable. It bears my family
crest, the dragon.”

The blade was stiletto-length, and polished to a slick-water surface shine.
There were two dragons molded into a hilt, their mouths open and appearing to
spew forth the blade, while their tails intertwined to form a mysterious, beautiful,
and wicked-looking handle. At the crest of the hilt was a heart-shaped, blood-red ruby. Morgan’s eyes were as wide as her mouth as she looked at it.

“
Take it,” he said, holding it out.

“I canna’,” she replied.

“I understand.” He placed the knife on the floor between them. “I canna’
touch you either. Things happen. ’Tis a curse. ’Tis also wondrous, if you ken my meaning.”

She nodded slightly. “I ken
,” she whispered.

“I give you this with one condition, Morgan
.”

She looked across at him and waited. The dragon knife’s ruby was
winking at her from the floor, drawing what light it could in order to tempt her to
touch it, embrace it, caress it, and own it.

“Yes
?” she asked.

“You are to use it on me the very next time I cann
a’ control myself. You
are not to miss. You miss, and I will kill you with my bare hands. You ken?”

Morgan gasped. He smiled sadly at her.
“Put your mind to
rest, for I doona’ expect you ever to use it.”

“You d
oona’?” she asked.

“I dinna
’ ask for this, Morgan, my love, but I will na’ give you up. I canna’! I will
wed my black-haired lass, and I will slake my lust on her. That should give me
enough control of whatever we have between us that I can be with you. I will give her my lust, but I will never give her my love. I canna’. It belongs to you.”

Morgan closed her eyes. She couldn’t take the sight of Zander FitzHugh
baring his heart for another blood-spilling moment.

“Such a love is not sanctioned by God. I canna’ change that. Neither can
you. That is where the dragon blade comes in. I will na’ give up my hope of
heaven. Nor yours.”

Her innards twisted and she opened her mouth to tell him. She no longer
cared about anything like revenge, or honor, or the little black-haired lass he was
going to give himself to. She only wanted the torment over with. The door
flying open was what stopped her. Morgan had the blade tucked into her belt,
behind the kilt band, in almost the same motion she used to rise, and she stood beside Zander to glare across at Plato and Martin.

“
He moves!” Martin expelled, with a whoosh of air, probably brought
about by the shock.

“I was fairly certain he would be, by now. What have you two been up
to, anyway?” Plato looked from Zander to Morgan and back, and he had a frown
etched into place when he finished.

“
Nothing of interest,” Zander replied.

“The
earl requests the duel to start immediately. He has tripe scheduled
for sup. He wishes the blood-letting over with by then, and expects a swift end.
Come along. We were sent to fetch you.”

“Have the conditions been met?” Zander asked.

Plato looked right at her. “Aye,” he answered.

“Good. Go along now. We’ll be at your heels. At least I will be. I’ve
got some words of encouragement for my champion.”

The door shut behind them. Zander waited, without saying a word. He didn’t have to. Morgan knew what he was saying.

It was time. They both knew it.

She turned her head and nodded, at the same moment that he did at her. She’d never seen anything so beautiful in her life as the look in those midnight
-
blue eyes. She hoped she would recall it when she was given her death-blow.
She’d like it to be her last recollection of this life.

He strode to the door, opened it and went out first. “Come along then,
S
quire. We’ve a Sassenach to best, and tripe to eat. Damn the man and his taste
for that delicacy. I prefer haggis.”

He was still bemoaning the
earl’s menu as he led her through the
corridors and down one flight of steps after another, Morgan keeping pace with only a slight limp.
Then, they were out on a parade ground, surrounded by gray, stone walls, and
filled with humanity. Morgan kept her eyes on the light-blue, satin-jacketed man
she was supposed to fence against. He was wearing a strange looking outfit,
completely showing his legs, and leaving not a muscle hidden beneath the dark
blue-colored tights he had on.

He was also standing in front of a platform that held a petite,
black-haired lass with a heart-shaped face and a bow mouth. She recognized
Morgan, and her face broke into a smile. Morgan didn’t return it. She couldn’t.
She turned away.

“
You can still halt this,” Zander said at her shoulder.

“You already know it’s too late. D
oona’ speak of it again.”

Her words sounded strange and slurred and Zander narrowed his eye at
her. That’s what came from a bitten tongue, swelled with the cuts. Morgan’s
lips twitched at the thought. She sounded more like she’d been drinking.

“As the challenger, you have first pick of blades, My Lord FitzHugh!”

“Go on, Morgan. Find the balanced one.”

Morgan stepped to the velvet-lined case, holding two swords. Both were made by a master smithy. That much was apparent instantly. They were also
used often, if the wear along the inner part of one’s hilt was any indication. They
had also been sharpened recently. Morgan picked up the heavily-used one, and
tested it.

It had perfect balance. Smooth. Easily moved. Light. She made a few
motions with it, and watched the English champion’s reaction to it. He was a
conceited prig, but his worry wasn’t hidden well enough. She put that sword
back in and picked up the second. The difference was slight, and only one
attuned to blades, like she was, could have noted it. The arc was not nearly as perfect, nor did the weight move as smoothly. In fact, the blade seemed to be a
hairs-breadth of time behind the slicing motion she made with it. Morgan smiled.

“I will take this one,” she said.

~ ~ ~

As duels go, it was a stunning sight, lasting past the perfect serving
temperature for the earl’s tripe supper, and well into the night. Torches were
brought and lit to make it more easily observed and enjoyed. Morgan had told
Zander what she liked least about fencing was all the dancing around, and here she was faced with a master of it.

She just wished he was good enough, that she could put her neck in his
path without it looking that way. He wasn’t. He was good, though, and she
spent what seemed hours trying to get him to take his shot. Time after time their
blades clanged against the other; sometimes he was gaining ground, backing
Morgan into a corner from whence it looked she’d falter for certain, and then
she’d be sending his next lunged blow to the ground, where his blade kicked up
grass and straw while she leaped to the side to torment him from another vantage. Other times, Morgan clearly had him, although all she’d do when
she had him cornered, was more fancy dancing with the blade while he
recuperated enough to attack again.

Sweat
poured off both of them,
and it trickled from beneath his wig, until he took the stupid thing off, and
then it gleamed off his shaved head. Morgan, on the other hand, hadn’t thought
to re-braid her hair, and it was flying about her from the opening parry, to every
move after that.

She was constantly having to toss it out of her way, and more than once
had her attention caught for a moment by Zander’s frown over it. He’d warned her what would happen if her hair got in the way during a battle.

The English champion wasn’t good enough to take her, and she wasn’t
humiliated enough to let him. She finally accepted the inevitable. No Scotsman
would allow themselves to be taken by such a pitiful specimen.

She started attacking with a vengeance, serving him blow after blow, until
one flick of her blade had his sword flying through the air, and right into her left
hand. Morgan stalked him with both, then, slipping a button here, and a stitch there, until his waistcoat popped open. Then, he was on his knees begging her.
Morgan raised both swords above her head.

“
Morgan, nay! The bargain was changed! Morgan!”

It was Zander yelling with that orator voice of his. She ignored him
and flung both swords through the material making up the open flaps of this English braggart’s doublet, the force of the blows and her accuracy, putting him
on his back in a knee-cracking arch, and pinning him to the turf, where the hilts
swayed on either side of his frightened torso. The crowd was making noise, but
it had been throughout the fight. She hadn’t heard it then, and she didn’t hear it
now.

Morgan lifted her head to the heavens and yelled her frustration, hatred, and pain, as loudly as she could. And it wasn’t directed at anyone except
herself.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“
Name your sum, friend FitzHugh! I will pay it. The lad is worth
anything. I offer half my horses and all my land for the lad.”

The
earl hiccoughed halfway through his offer. Morgan drained her
flagon of ale and set it on the table beside her. She giggled as it fell off, right
into Zander’s lap below her. She watched him immediately put his hands on his
manhood to protect it. That was even more funny, she decided.

“I thought you offered
all
your horses and
half
your land.” Plato guffawed from further down the table as he said it.

“Slight difference, FitzHugh, only slight. Verra well. I will give all my horses, all my land, and my wife, too.”

“Cease threatening me with your wife!” Zander complained, sitting up
long enough to groan, before falling back to the floor.

Morgan thought it was as hilarious as trying to get her tongue to work, right after the cuts were numbed by mead, and caressed by creamed beef. She
laughed so hard, the tears slid from her eyes. She wiped at them with her sleeve,
before motioning the serving wench to refill her tankard.

“I will give everything for a lad with his talent. Where is that FitzHugh?
He has yet to bargain. I will give him my in-laws, too.”

Phineas was looking everyone over with a cold, light
-blue gaze. Drink
wasn’t improving his temperament, Morgan noticed, and she wrinkled her nose at
him. She decided it would have felt better to stick her tongue out at him, then
she just did it, although the moment it was out of her mouth, she had to tuck it back in with her fingers. That was even funnier than having it large and plump-feeling, and it was in the way no matter what she tried to eat or drink.

“Is he still here
?” The earl was eyeing the vacant spot next to
Morgan. She thought that was just as hilarious, especially since his wig was
awry and hanging from one ear.

“I’m here
.” Zander was attempting to get himself off the floor and
looking like it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. He made it to his stool
where he teetered for a moment and fell back down. “And the lad is not for sale.
Ever. Cease this topic.”

“But he handles a blade better than anyone
!”

“You should see him with a bow...as long as the arrows are included
!”
Zander choked on the laughter and Morgan put her foot on his belly to make him
pay. She shouldn’t have. The next moment she was flat on her back, and Zander was atop her, pinning her easily. He had a lobe of her ear in his teeth, too and
was nibbling.

Morgan literally cooed at the sensation.

“Now stop that, young Zander. That’s na’ a woman! If ’tis a woman you’re wanting, take my Sally Bess to your chamber. She’s lass enough for
you.” The earl offered it amid a spate of belching.

“I’ll not take a lass, unless you give one to my champion!
’Tis he that
deserves one. What say you, Morgan? You ready for your first tumble?”

Morgan shoved at him, but he wasn’t moving, and she was too dizzy to
get out from under him without his cooperation. She started doing push-ups with him, and after about thirty, he started getting the idea. Then, he had his
hands on her shoulders and was doing his own push-ups.

Their eyes locked.
This is terrible,
Morgan thought. Then she giggled.
It wasn’t remotely terrible.

“If we can do two-hundred separately, we should be able to do four
hundred this way, no?”

“’T
isn’t fair. You’re heavier than me.” she complained.

“So...I actually do best you at push-ups
?” He was grinning and lowering
his mouth toward hers and Morgan barely missed the contact as he collapsed
onto her.

“Get him off
me!” She complained, trying to roll away.

“My brother’s tastes appear to be wider than I thought
,” Phineas
remarked, lifting Zander by the belt long enough for Morgan to crawl out from
beneath him.

She would have thanked him, then she saw who it was. She slapped his
helping hand away and stood on her own, although everything was bobbing and
weaving about once she got to her feet.

“
Sally Bess! Take the young champion to a chamber. Make a man of him!”

A huge woman came striding over, taking up her entire view
, and
Morgan’s eyes widened. She turned to run, but wasn’t a wobbly step into it
before she was pulled atop this woman’s shoulder and carried away like a prize
of war.

She thought that was the most hilarious thing that could happen.

~ ~ ~

Morgan opened her eyes as slowly as possible and still the light was screaming into her head, making her retch with the throb. She was on her belly
and heaving before another moment passed. Then, she was held in a motherly
embrace against a wealth of bosom.

“You poor, wee lass. Have you no idea what the mead does to you?”

Lass?
Morgan wondered, falling back into the softness of the bed and holding to both sides of her head to keep it from exploding.

“Where...am
I?” she whispered, wondering why her teeth didn’t just fly
out of her mouth and save her the trouble of checking for them.

“In
my bed. Sally Bess at your side. World’s champion bedder. Pleased
to meet with you, I am, Morgan. Or…is it Morganna?”

“Oh God.” Morgan was on her belly, retching again, and the woman was there
, holding her over a pot, the entire time.

“There, lass, it’s all right. I would na’ tell a body your secret. I think it’s rather a grand thing, actually. A woman...besting that Lord Cantor’s
swordsman! And doing it in such a grand fashion, too. As I live and breathe,
makes me proud just to be one. It does.”

“Where…are my clothes?”
Morgan asked.

“The FitzHugh is having another
sett delivered. I told him to make it
sturdier than the last, since it tore.”

“It...tore?”

“Oh, my yes. As did my blouse. You’re an impatient devil when you
want to be.”

“Where...are my clothes?” Morgan tried again
, clenching her teeth. It wasn’t for emphasis, although it sounded it, but to keep them from chattering on each other and making more trauma for her.

“Well, let me see now. Most of them are scattered about the hall,
although I left a bit of your under-tunic on the steps. It was all ragged and only
half a garment, anyhow. And you had the strangest bit of gray plaid stuck to your chest.”

Morgan came off the bed and was shoved right back
down by Sally Bess. “Doona’ fash yourself. It’s safe. I figured you needed it. As a charm, or some-such. It’s right here.”

Morgan tipped an eye to the frayi
ng square of KilCreggar plaid the woman was holding. She watched her own had tremble s she reached for it, and wished she could blame it all on the mead. She’d almost lost it! She didn’t care that Sally Bess was watching as she brought it to her lips.

“I knew it was a talisman
! I knew it!” The woman’s glee carried too much thumping with it. Morgan put both hands to her temples to stay it.

“Forgive me, lass
. It’s the excitement.”

“What excitement?”

“Why…knowing what I do of the FitzHugh champion, and having said champion in my very own bed, and best yet, having everyone else know of it!”

“Where…did you say my clothing was, again?” Morgan was choking, and it wasn’t on any bile
.

“Well
. Your boots are in the hall. There’s a sock on the stairs. Your belt’s at the door, along with your knives, and I’m wearing this.”

“In...the
hall? The stairs?”

“You had a very wild night, you did.”

“I...did?” Morgan whispered the question.

“Oh, my
yes. And quite an animal you are. Had me shaking and
shivering and screaming until dawn arrived. You should have heard the noises I
made.”

Morgan opened her eyes again. The light was just as hellish, the woman
just as broad, but the amusement on her face was a thing of beauty. Morgan’s
grin was wide enough to split her cheeks.

“You’ve got the whole day off to rest, too. I’ve told them you’ll need it. You’re young, but I managed to wear you out. You’re completely exhausted
and sleeping with the broadest smile on your face. The last is no lie, by-the-by.
You were. The greatest smile. Of course I let that Zander fellow see it, too.”

“He...what?” Morgan tried to put all her aggravation into it, but the
combination of her aching head and her enlarged tongue made it sound like a
small child talking.

“
He had to make certain where you were, and that you weren’t harmed. I
showed him you were na’ coming to any harm in Sally Bess’s bed, and I was properly angered, too, at him thinking you might be.”

“He was in here?”

“Aye. First thing this morn. Probably when he sobered up enough to notice
you was missing. That’s a fine man you’ve got for your master. You should na’ have let him betroth the lass, Gwynneth, though. She’s na’ woman enough for
him. You are.”

Morgan’s entire body was blushing beneath the sheets.
“What did he
see?”

“Who?”

“My master, Zander FitzHugh,” she replied.

“
Oh. Well. I had it so you’d look a bit...you know.”

“Sally Bess
,” Morgan began, using a threatening tone good enough to
attribute to Zander.

“Oh, very well. I had you on your front, hair all about, and you’ve
shoulders more befitting a lad than a lass, anyway. You had one foot off this side
of the bed, and another down the end. Then, I made certain I was na’ wearing
much. In fact,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “I had nothing save your kilt
wrapped about me.”

Morgan started laughing and had to halt it as her teeth complained about
the effort. Then, her head joined in. She clenched her mouth shut and held to
her head at the same time to get the ache in the same rhythm.

“It was perfect! You were even snoring!”

“I do na’ snore! Ouch!” Morgan held her head tighter.

“You do. Well, not loudly, but you had that great grin on your face, and
a bit of a rumble to your breath, and it was perfect! You should have seen the look on his face! It was priceless!”

The bed was shaking with Sally Bess’
s amusement. Morgan lay in the
midst of it and tried to keep her eyeballs from aching as much as her tongue.

Zander FitzHugh was as good as his word, and not only was a fresh outfit
delivered, but the Earl of Argylle had food delivered four times that day, instead of three, and a warmed bath sent up, too. He was also offering a pick of his stallions to Morgan, should she stay and favor them with an exhibition of skean-throwing. Morgan sat in her hipbath and considered it.

She’d never had luxury of any kind, and Sally Bess had washed and pinned her hair atop her head and even scrubbed her back. The woman had also
had the audacity to stage more graphic rounds of physical lust. Morgan had to
put her hands over her ears to shut it out as the woman hollered and moaned and
jumped on the mattress to make the proper sounds for what seemed like hours that
evening, and thrice more through the night.

Now, it was morning
again, and time to face everyone. Morgan waited until Sally Bess finished her braid, tucked it along her back and gave her nod of
approval to Morgan’s entire outfit. Then, she opened her chamber door and
proceeded to announce to the world that she needed some time off.

There was an audience all down the hall, and more on the steps, and
Morgan swaggered as much as possible through all the whistles and applause. She even managed to keep her face from flaming.

Zander had a look of murder about him when she saw him, and he wasn’t
even looking for her. Actually she knew he was looking for her, but doing his
best to act like he wasn’t. Morgan sauntered across the parade ground to join
him.