The Pledge (11 page)

Morrigan watched the children while they had their lessons with Father Monteith. She bit back a smile when Rhys rolled his
eyes at Avis, who labored as hard as he over the Greek words.

Her attention went to Conal, who seemed to eat up every word and thirst for more. She caught the eye of the priest, who gave
some directions to the children and then moved to her side. “’Twould seem we have a scholar, Father.”

He nodded, smiling. “Conal is eager for any knowledge and is able to digest a good mix. His language skills are excellent,
milady, and his curiosity is boundless.”

She smiled. “Both he and Avis have responded well to care.”

“You have shown them love, milady. They flower because of it.” He bowed to her. “And we owe you much
for the nurturing you’ve given the MacKay. As a man who has studied the medicaments, I know how dangerous and varied are the
poisons that surround us. You saved his life. Though he chafes at his slow recovery, I’ve told him many times he should be
grateful he can move about at all.”

Morrigan frowned. “He insists on riding over his holdings, yet I’m not sure his innards are in as good shape as they should
be.”

“A most headstrong man is the laird, milady. In another turn of the moon he should be in guid tid as the country people say,
if he does not undo all your nursing by being precipitous.”

“He’s most impatient.”

“Yes. Milady, I would ask a boon.”

“Of course. What is it?”

“If I have your permission I should like to take the twins to the monastery. Conal wishes to see the great books, and Avis
would accompany him.” His smile lurked. “Rhys has told me he’s seen such things.”

Morrigan chuckled. “Rhys is happiest in the stable, I think.”

“And with the dogs,” Father added. “I thank you for letting me take Avis and Conal.”

“Of course. The outing would be good for them. I’ll take Rhys for a ride on his new mount, though I’m quite sure he would
prefer working in the stable.”

The priest chuckled, then went back to his charges.

* * *

“Why do you have to go with me? Eamon will do that.”

Morrigan looked at Rhys, wanting to laugh when his chin jutted out, his eyes narrowed. He looked so much like her beloved
cousin Gwynneth at that moment. “You have run poor Eamon ragged. I’ve decided to spell him.”

“You’re tired. Dilla says you are. She says that you take care of MacKay all the time, and that wearies you. Then she laughs,”
Rhys told her. “So you should return to rest. I can watch myself.”

Morrigan was glad at that moment when he looked away. Her face flamed. Nay! Not just the visage, but all of her felt heat.
Some was embarrassment. Most was the heat that MacKay engendered though he wasn’t beside her.

He was improving every day, though there was still great weakness that was akin to such poisonings even if one was fortunate
enough to survive. Though he required little in the way of nursing, he wasn’t back to full health no matter how many times
he roared that he was. He didn’t need her ministrations. She wanted his, though she was sure he’d be too weak for the wild
loving he’d shown her. She couldn’t forget that wonderful night when he’d taught her how to be a woman, let her learn about
his passion. She wanted more. Sometimes she was emboldened to ask how soon he would like her to join him on the nuptial bed.
It was only a wispy wish. She couldn’t bring herself to query him so. Besides, she
didn’t want him to recall their night of love. What if he remembered the blood of her virgin wall and how he’d shattered it?
She didn’t want those questions, so unless they spoke of his health she didn’t initiate conversation with him. She was on
the horns of a dilemma, wanting him, yet not wanting him to discover the secret of Rhys’s birth. What a quandary!

Since his slow recovery she’d watched him. She was quite sure he didn’t remember their wedding night. She was torn between
confessing and being forever silent. Now and then she caught his gaze upon her. More than once it’d seemed he would speak
of something. He didn’t.

Not in her wildest dreams had she ever pictured such wild and wonderful doings between a man and woman. When she’d pictured
herself with Tarquin it’d all been a sweetness of stolen kisses, squeezed hands, perhaps the daring of a hand at her waist.
Never had she envisioned such a tempest as she’d had with Hugh MacKay, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, body to body. It had
been beautiful. Her dreams since had been chaotic and hotter than she could’ve imagined. So many times she’d woken up, dampness
between her thighs, a need, a want pulsating through her. It had taken all her resolve not to go to him, tell him of their
wedding night and their loving. He knew of his sickness. He’d thanked her many times for her succoring. He had no knowledge
of their coupling and she didn’t enlighten him.

It seemed it wasn’t to be. Not since her wedding night had she been with MacKay. Since their return to the
main holding of MacKay, overlooking the North Sea, they’d not shared a bed. The castle was imposing, twice as large as the
one where their vows were exchanged, with countless large sleeping chambers. She’d struggled to hide her disappointment that
he’d not attempted to secure his marital right. Yet she also knew that for a lusty man like MacKay the weakness in his body
wouldn’t allow him the strength he needed for conjugal visits. Did all women have such wondrous couplings? She suspected not.
She’d put her frustration aside. He needed to recuperate, to come back to full health. Then he would approach her. Each day
he was better, stronger, though sometimes she noted the white visage that spelled fatigue. She wouldn’t make explanations
of their nuptial night unless he asked the question. Even then she’d hide from him her virginity in order to protect Rhys
and his legacy. She sighed, knowing she was fortunate he didn’t know, but sad that he didn’t recall that wondrous night.

“Why are you staring at the castle, maman?”

“I… I like the look of it. Do you?”

He nodded. “I want to stay here. Eamon says I will because now I’m a MacKay.” His missing tooth gapped when he grinned. Then
he frowned. “I think my steed has a stone.”

“I’ll check for—”

“No!” Rhys held up his hand. “Eamon says I must take care of my own steed.”

His “steed,” a robust Highland pony, its long hair almost touching the ground, was a sturdy beast, not much
taller than Rhys with the stolid personality needed to cope with an exuberant five-year-old. She hadn’t wanted him to ride
anything. Hugh had convinced her it was safer to give Rhys his own mount to protect against another occurrence of trying to
ride the much larger and more unpredictable destriers.

Morrigan watched him struggle for a few minutes, then she looked toward the castle again, thinking of Hugh, who’d gone to
look upon other portions of his vast holding.

The castle was very large, but it had charm. It was similar in design to the first castle, and to most in Scotland, England,
or Wales. The similarity ended there. Roomier, with more amenities, it was built more solidly. With huge well-drawing fireplaces,
it was not nearly as drafty as her own home in Wales had been. Almost every wall was covered with rich tapestries that kept
out the dampness and gloom. The wood trim was glossy and came from the huge trees in the south.

Morrigan had found her new home a pleasant surprise. The enormous staff was congenial, well trained and independent. It seemed
all MacKays were like that. They could argue among themselves, and none thought himself less or more than the other because
of chore duties.

The rooms were well designed, spacious. The kitchen didn’t smoke into the great room. Even the upper rooms could be easily
warmed. There was more than ample space to move about, for a boy to play and run. Clan MacKay had been kind to Rhys; each
member who was
in contact with him seemed to bend over backward for the adopted heir.

Morrigan had begun to enjoy her new home. If deep in her soul she longed for a repeat of the beauty of her wedding night,
for the hot and wonderful joining that had made her a wife, she’d learned to be content with what she did have. There was
heat in her husband’s eyes when he looked at her… and a question. Did he recall? Was that why he’d not joined her in bed?
He thought her to be a slut because she’d enjoyed their lovemaking so much! Most women thought child making a duty. Perhaps
it was wrong to like it.

She’d always been sure she would marry Tarquin one day. She was quite sure their coupling would not have been as it was with
MacKay. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she was positive.

She looked at the landscape. A safe haven for Rhys and herself. Nothing could make her feel more secure than that. Perhaps
one day when she and Hugh had been wed for many moons…

She forced her mind to other things, quite sure her secret longings should stay buried.

Now that Hugh was gaining in strength she had to wonder what their future as man and wife would be. Would they make a child
together? Her body heated and froze just imagining it. To have a child in his image would be great joy.

She looked around at the cool, sunny day. Soon the weather would turn cold. The wind would turn to ice
and frost. For now it was almost balmy. She’d not been led to believe that such weather existed in the cold north.

Morrigan inhaled the freshness of the breeze, closing her eyes in delight. Hugh’s had been a long, careful convalescence.
His strong constitution had helped effect a relatively fast cure. He could’ve died. She knew that, as did other MacKays. After
Hugh had demanded a full explanation from her and Diuran, her healing abilities had put her on call from other MacKays. They’d
also offered their friendship and their respect. She’d been awed by their open affection.

For many days she’d advised and medicated MacKays as well as their laird. It had confined her indoors. She’d been glad to
leave the castle today, only because she needed exercise, fresh air. So she’d gone riding with Rhys. Though she thought that
MacKay needed care, he’d raised such a ruckus about being kept in any longer that no one could’ve stopped him from going to
inspect another holding some leagues away. He’d glared down any who looked as though they might gainsay him.

“No, I won’t rest anymore,” he’d told her, his chin jutting out much like Rhys’s when he was in a temper. “And if anyone tries
to stop me, I’ll go over the top of them.”

Morrigan had wanted to laugh. Her husband was wild-eyed from being ill. He’d been a horrible patient, his bellowing heard
throughout the castle; his threats to
all and sundry who would dare try to medicate him were many, varied, and colorful.

“How gallant,” she’d murmured. “Threatening to throw Dilla, Ardis, and me down the steps, no doubt.” The women had stared
bug-eyed at her when she smiled.

He’d rapped his fist on the bed table and glared. “I’ve done none such, and you know it.”

“Do I? Then why is the clan wagering that none of us will last the day?”

He’d glared first at her, then at the others. “They aren’t,” he’d muttered.

“Really?”

“Really,” he’d said in more chastened tone. “I’m going to check the eastern hectares. I won’t be long.” He’d hurried from
the bedroom as though they’d try to stop him.

When Morrigan laughed, the two women had looked at her aghast, then their lips had quivered, too.

“He’s well enough, milady,” Dilla ventured.

Morrigan smiled. “I’ll find Rhys and take him riding. I’ve neglected him.”

“I shouldn’t worry,” Dilla observed dryly. “He has half the clan at his beck and call.”

Knowing how demanding he could be, Morrigan had winced. Then she’d left the women to find him.

She had seen to Rhys whenever she could in the last turn of the moon, but it’d always been in the confines of
the castle. She’d sensed he’d not felt bereft by her absences, but she needed to see for herself that he was fine.

She had to smile. He had not been as glad to see his mother as she’d been to see him.

“One would think you weren’t overjoyed to have me with you,” Morrigan had mentioned when they’d gone to the stable. She’d
tried to look woebegone. If truth were told she was delighted that he’d taken to the clan so fully. He was happy with his
new status, and every day he sought out many members of the clan. The twins, Avis and Conal, were usually on his heels. It
pleased her. In Wales he’d not been so forthcoming. Of course, then her own worries that his identity could be discovered
might’ve made him imitative of her worry. Now he seemed to have thrown off any cares or concerns he’d had. His concentration
on all things MacKay gave her a measure of security. That he could make a pest of himself she had no doubt. There were no
end of keepers showing the youngster how to go on and how he should handle himself as an inheritor to MacKay. Morrigan was
quite sure his self-worth had swelled along with his circle of friends.

She smiled as she recalled how her long face and question about being glad to see her had affected him.

Rhys squirmed. “You are not a boy, maman.”

“True.”

“Then you don’t have fun like us.”

“I see.”

He grinned. “So I can go with Eamon.”

“No. You’ll go with me.” She’d almost laughed aloud at how his expression had gone sheepish.

Now, as he remounted, she eyed him. “Do you enjoy your lessons?”

“Some. I’d rather play with the twins,” he told her as he turned his pony, then mounted with care, as though his steed were
indeed a destrier.

“Oh?” She felt guilty that she’d had even less time for Conal and Avis, though Lilybet and Dilla had told her they slept across
the corridor from Rhys, ate as he did, and had every care as well.

“I like them. They take lessons with me now. I like it better. They make learning Latin and Greek not so bad.”

She smothered a smile. “I see. That sounds good.”

“It would be better not to learn it at all.” He grimaced. “Avis thinks it’s stupid. Conal likes Latin and Greek.” He pursed
his lips. “Eamon shows them everything he shows me. And they have horses, now, and they can ride.” He looked proud.