Morganna (The Brocade Collection, Book 4) (34 page)

She didn’t know what gave her away, or why Zander pivoted, but her
eyes widened with the horror as he caught the blade in his shield at the same moment his eyes met hers.

“Zander...n
ay!”

She was screaming it as Rob
b MacIlvray’s bow twanged, sending an arrow
behind the stone wall, where she couldn’t see. Phineas and Zander disappeared, and there wasn’t any sign of Robb anymore, either. Morganna panicked. H
er heart caught in her throat with fear, and her breath
came in great gulping gasps that hurt.

Then, she was running. She had to find the way to them, and the
passages weren’t any help. Morganna flew along them, scraping the soles of her feet in the women’s slippers, and slamming full-length
against each oaken door she came to, before taking the knob in both hands to twist it, and
opening the door so she could shove through it. And she was lost. No faceless servant women were guiding her, no unseen hands were opening and closing doors. Tears were f
ogging her eyes, burning at her lungs, and making her nose a mass of clogged
tissue. Still, she ran.

She came to a double-door
, the match to the entry one. That was ridiculous. Her mind disavowed it even as her eyes ran over it. She was not in
the great room with the banqueting tables, nor was she outside on the stoop. FitzHugh Castle must
have another door, identical to their front one. She grabbed a handle
and pulled. Nothing.

The door swung out, Morgan
na with it, and then Zander was there,
grabbing her to him before the force he’d yanked the door with, sent her to her
knees.

“Morganna!”

His orator’s voice hadn’t lost a note of stridency, but she didn’t care. She
was up in his arms, against his chest, her legs about his waist, as her hands ran all along his shoulders and back to check for the arrow shaft, and she was raining kisses on his face the entire time.

“Oh
Zander...oh love! Zander!”

She didn’t get another joy-filled note out
, as he had her mouth. Her
laughter was at odds with the tears streaming down her face as she checked
him over and found nothing. He wasn’t letting her get far enough from him to see and verify it, though. He had her arms linked atop his, his hands at the back
of her head, and was making certain she lived with every movement of his lips on
hers.

“I
really hate to intrude, but it is devilish weather outside, and you are blocking
the door, Lord Zander KilCreggar-FitzHugh. Oh. Pardon the intrusion. I see it’s your lady. We’ll just stand in the elements and await your reunion. Won’t we, lads?”

Robert the Bruce, is here
?
she wondered. Morganna giggled, and the
motion halted the vacuum of Zander’s lips to hers.

He raised his head. Midnight
-blue eyes searched for, and found what he was looking for. He started shuddering, and then he was burying his face in her neck, and he was barely keeping from sobbing. Morganna held to him, crooned to
him, and waited.

“D
ear God, Morganna...I feared I would na’ be in time.”

“You were in time,” she whispered back.

“Phineas...he is a devil. He takes—! And after all I promised you! After
the horror that was your childhood. I have never felt such fear as when my brothers entered camp without you.
Never.”

“I was na’ harmed, Zander
.”

He sucked in breath, and sniffed loudly with it. He wasn’t shuddering
anymore, but he was trembling. He lifted his head. Morganna waited for him.

“Truth?” he asked.

“Truth.” She tipped her head to one side.

“Thank God.” He had her to him again, and it was impossible to see
anything except the skin of his neck, then his ear.

“You are na’ hurt, either?” she asked.

He shook his head. His light brown hair brushed her face with the
motion.

“Then, how? Who? I saw the arrow fly—” she began, but she was
interrupted.

“’T
was Squire Morgan you saw, my lady! Squire Morgan gained justice
for the KilCreggar-FitzHugh clan! We all saw it! Dinna’ we, men?” The king was the one
interrupting her, using every timbre of his booming voice on the crowd behind him.

Zander pivoted at the same time that Morgan
na lifted her head from his shoulder. There was a sea of FitzHugh men on the walkway beyond the door,
and all patiently awaiting entry since she and Zander had been blocking it.
Morganna grinned and put her face back into Zander’s shoulder as the cheers grew.

“Aye
! ’Twas a great shot, too! From yon tower! Our Squire Morgan
stopped the
auld,
Sassenach-loving FitzHugh laird in his track, an arrow straight
through his neck. I have na’ seen the like! Isna’ that so, lads?”

There was the correct response to this, although the bellow of cheers
made it an indeterminate sound one way or the other. The king gestured with his
arm.

“Then there is the M
acIlvray man! We all heard of his guilt, too, did we
not? ’Twas just and fair that Squire Morgan got him, too! Why, he still lies,
face-down in the courtyard below us. That was a great shot, too. Who else,
save Squire Morgan, could have made such a toss? Why, Clansman MacIlvray has a blade with a hilt made of two dragons, deep in his own chest, and all know who
carries that blade! Squire Morgan! You see? He has not left us, my fellow
countrymen! He comes when needed. He will always come when needed!”

Morgan’s eyes sought Zander’s.
“’Twas you who tossed the knife? You?” she repeated.

“You
are ever in doubt of your husband. I am a fair marksman. I toss.
Your dragon blade used to be mine, remember? Besides, I tossed
left-handed...under-handed.” He raised his eyebrows up and down several times.
“I’ve been practicing.”

“Lead us to the great-room, KilCreggar-FitzHugh. I fancy a sampling of
the
new laird’s mead! Better yet, get me Ari FitzHugh!”

“Ari?” Morgan whispered.

“Aye,” Zander replied. “All of them. They wasted no time getting back to us. ’Twas a good thing, too. They could na’ have taken the castle by themselves. It took a score of men just to hoist the ram used on the front gates.”

“Step forward and pledge yourself to your king and sovereign! I am blessed to have you at the head of the mighty FitzHugh clan! I accept your
allegiance to Scotland’s side, too. Where is the man?”

Ari was being shuttled through the crowd nearest the balcony. He was puffing with exertion when he strode through the door and went to one knee at The Bruce’s feet.

“As the new laird of the mighty FitzHugh clan, I pledge my loyalty, and
my clan, to my just and true king,” he said solemnly. Then he stood,
and turned to the crowd. “May it be recorded that Sassenach-loving FitzHughs are
no more. A FitzHugh clansman is a true Scotsman. Now, and forever!” There
was another wild cheer at the end of his speech.

“Come then, FitzHugh, show us your hospitality. Serve us
your mead, until we drain your supply. Roast us a sup! ’Twas a wild ride here,
and no time for foodstuffs. My men thirst! They hunger!”

The king put his arm around Ari’s shoulders, and they started the
procession through the halls. Zander wasn’t following, however. He stood
against the wall, held her to him, and before many men had passed by, there was a
semi-circle of Caesar, Plato and William in front of them, shielding their embrace.

Morgan
na didn’t even notice.

EPILOGUE

AD
1323

“Tell us the story of Squire Morgan again, Da. Please?”

“I told it once this sennight already. Ask your mum.”

“But ma does na’ have a voice like yours. She does na’ tell it right,
either. If she tells it, Squire Morgan is a
girl.
”
The disgust in their second born, Robert KilCreggar-FitzHugh’s voice was obvious.

Morganna had to bite her lip to still the giggle.

“And what would be wrong with that?” the beautiful, tall, black-haired lass asked, lifting her skirts with a graceful motion as she walked over to the
fireplace. “Women can toss a blade as well as any man. Why, I’ll wager mum
can out-toss any man, even Da.”

Zander raised his hands in defeat.
“No contest there, Aphrodite, my love.
Your mother always could best me. She has better hands.”

“She’s still a girl,” Robert complained.

“True enough, and I’m verra grateful for that.” Zander stopped and cleared his throat. “Have I ever told you the tale about how Squire Morgan helped me save your
mum from the evil, English-loving laird of the FitzHughs? Sit. I’ll tell you that one.”

“I’d rather hear about the Killoren-Mactarvat skirmish, where Squire
Morgan pegged arrows in every one of the warrior’s shields!”

Zander rolled his eyes and Morgan giggled. Then, she stilled as those
midnight-blue eyes caught and held hers.

“Oh no,” Robert complained. “There they go again. We’ll never get our
story.”

“Hush!” The lass nudged her brother. “They’re in love. I may find such
a love, some day.”

Zander shook himself and turned back to his eldest, and Morgan
na watched
his face soften. “Oh, you have my word, there’s a man out there for you, love.
He’s been fashioned just for you, too. Trust me. I know these things.”

“He’ll have to be verra tall,” Robert snickered.

“True enough,” Zander replied, “He’ll be tall and strong and
righteous. He’ll have to be a Scotsman, too.”

“
Doon
a’ forget handsome,” Morganna inserted.

“He’s going to have to be extra handsome, too, if he wants to
gain my
beauteous Aphrodite’s hand. That much is certain, too.”

Morgan
na watched their eldest blush at her father’s words. It made the girl
even more lovely. She was nearly thirteen, willow thin, and as tall as her mother. She also had perfect stitches in every one of her tapestries, a talent for paints, and
an excellent hand when it came to the running of the KilCreggar-FitzHugh
household.

“You’re not telling us about Squire Morgan,” Robert complained.

“I swear, Robert, you grow more like your mother when I first met her, with every passing day. Why, there was once a time when she never smiled. Not once. She was always serious, always thinking of one thing, and one thing only.
She was impossible to sway...well, almost.”

“What was that?” Their second son, Garrick, spoke up, lifting his head
from his ledgers.

“
Me, of course,” Zander replied.

“Zander...,” Morgan
na said, in a semi-threatening tone.

“Oh, verra well. She was bent on clan war. She hadn’t a bone of
softness in her. Why, she hadn’t even any notion that she’d met the man made
just for her, either. I had to show her. She was verra stubborn about it, too. Verra.”

Robert sighed loudly. “When are we going to hear about Squire
Morgan?” he asked.

Zander laughed and cleared his throat. Morgan
na watched him, and
couldn’t prevent the smile. The one thing he loved was talking with that great orator’s voice of his. She bent back to the parchment she was sanding, prior to
sending it off.

She twirled the large ring, which hung from a chain about her
neck. She tipped her candle and poured a little wax. Then, she blew until it was
the right consistency to hold the intertwined dragon symbol into it. She would call for a messenger later. They had news. The baby she carried wasn’t going to
wait another fortnight to be born, and Zander’s mother wouldn’t wish to miss it.

That woman had Morgan
na’s promise that she got to name all the lasses.
Morganna shook her head. Zander’s mother always seemed to get her way, and it
wasn’t by anything more than a sweet smile, a constant stream of soft words, and
a loving embrace.

“Gather round, children. I’ve a story to tell, and it’s one of blood, pain,
war and victory. It’s one they’ll be telling for all time. It’s the story of Squire
Morgan.”

Garrick put down his quill, Robert leaned forward in his chair, Aphrodite
picked up her sewing hoop and sat beside her father, and even the baby, Rory,
started crawling toward them. Morganna watched Zander scoop the tot up and put
him on his lap before regaining his seat. He was in his element.

“It was a mist-filled night, back before any of you were born. Back a-fore
Scotland was even its own country. We were under the English, then. It was a
time of darkness. A time of suffering. Why, there wasn’t a clansman on the
earth that hadn’t been toiling for years under the yoke of the Sassenach tyranny.”

“
What’s tyranny?” Garrick asked.

“Hush!” Robert replied.

“
English laws and rules. Why, they dinna’ even allow us to carry a
weapon. I know why, too.”

“Why?” Garrick asked again.

“They were afraid of us. A good Scotsman with a bow is worth ten
Englishmen. A Scotsmen with a dirk is worth six with a sword. They knew it,
so they kept us without. They kept us poor. They even had laws against the wearing of our colors. They had us pay taxes to support them. They took our lasses. They put us under an English king’s rule. It was more than any good
Scotsman should have to bear.”

“So, what happened on the misty night?’ Robert asked.

Zander blew the sigh, and Morganna smiled again. Robert was very like her in temperament, although he looked exactly like his father probably had at that age. He was also deadly with whatever weapon they put in his hands. He always
had been. Better yet, he had already matched his sister in height, and was going
to meet, or exceed Zander’s. It was enough to make any mother’s heart proud.

Morgan
na thought hers might burst with it.

“That lad has as much patience as a rutting elk,” Elspeth spoke up from her position in a rocking chair. She had a shawl about her thin shoulders and was nursing a cup of broth in her hands. Morganna smiled across at her. Elspeth wasn’t up to moving much anymore, but she had a bit of age on her, and that was expected. “He’s been spoiled.”

“And who might be the party responsible for that, I ask?” Zander asked from amid his children.

Elspeth’s lips twitched. Morganna had to look aside. All knew the lad had his aunt’s completely adoration. It had been that way since he was birthed. Elspeth doted on each in turn, however, and told Morganna she couldn’t wait for another bairn to hold.

“I ’fess up, Zander KilCreggar-FitzHugh. I spoiled him. I held him when he cried, and I held him when he slept. I’d do it now if he was na’ so large. You doona’ understand how healing it is.”

“Aye, we do, sister. We do.”

Elspeth and Morganna smiled at each other, and it was in complete communication and acceptance.

Zander cleared his throat. “Now
…where was I?”

“The misty night, the battle, the wound!” Robert replied.

“Yes, w
ell...I had taken a sword blow, and had nothing left to do in this life
but watch my blood stain the soil, when out of the mist strolled a lad, as bold as
you can be, and as strong. He pulled the sword from me, stopping the bleeding,
and then he turned on the English with the most horrid yell. He had a dragon
blade in his other hand, the mate to the one your mother has mounted up on the wall, beside her square of KilCreggar plaid, over yon.”

They all looked to where Zander pointed. He waited for the effect. Morganna’s lips twitched again. When it came to telling a story, Zander had no equal.

“Then, Squire Morgan took his blade, he turned on the Sassenach, and he routed them.
All of them. I never saw the like.”

“Zander.” Morgan
na interrupted, and everyone looked over at her, except Rory. He was already nodding off in his father’s arms.

“The king tells the same story,” he replied, defensively.

“Doona’ embroider it too much.”

He smiled, and although he lamented the gray streaked in his hair, and the lines about those midnight
-blue eyes, her heart swelled the same as always.
Zander KilCreggar-FitzHugh was still a very handsome man. He always would
be.

“There is nothing I can say that would do so, love.”

Morganna’s gaze was caught and held. She recognized the sensation, and
she was blushing worse than her daughter had, before Robert complained again with the same tone of disgust.

“There they go again,” he said.