The Pledge (30 page)

With Morrigan it was different. She was his life. She’d brought him light and a wild serenity. He couldn’t explain it. Neither
could he live without it.

“Ho! So that’s the reason for the cheering,” Toric said, laughing. He’d ridden ahead of Hugh. Now he leaned back against his
cantle, his one leg up and curved in front of him. “A rare sight indeed,” he muttered, slanting a look at his chief as Hugh
came up beside him.

“What tickles that macabre sense of humor now, cousin?” Hugh walked his horse up the rise and reined in next to Toric, his
eyes scanning the practice field below him.

“See,” Toric goaded.

“Christ almighty!” Hugh said through his teeth. He would’ve spurred forward, had not Toric stayed his hand.

“Don’t distract them, Hugh. Those are practice weapons, but if handled poorly someone could get hurt.”

Hugh stared down at the tableau in the glen, at the clusters of cheering and gibing MacKays. His wife was dueling with Urdred,
one of his most able warriors! Damn her!

Morrigan was getting winded, but she also hadn’t had so much fun in a long time. She’d longed for the strong physical workouts
she’d had with her brothers when she’d lived in Wales. Califb hadn’t been home as much as Drcq, Cumhal, or her Hibernian cousin
Boyne, but she’d managed with them.

Though she panted, it cheered her to see that her ability to avoid hits from her adversary and to land some on him, had made
Urdred settle down into the mode of fighting. He was as good as Califb, the best of her brothers, at manus a manis. Perhaps
not as quick as she, but he was stronger, and knew how to use his weapon, both as sword and cudgel. More than once she’d had
to leap to one side or risk a spank on the thighs. She knew he had no intention of hurting her, as she had no wish to mark
him, but the strategy of the battle, the wit to know the adversary’s move before he
made it, spurred both of them. She’d always loved it and had begun at the age her brothers had because her father had insisted
she be well conditioned in the mind as well as the body.

Round and round they went, dancing in and out of the other’s reach, tapping, tipping, the crowd cheering and making wagers.

Morrigan noted a change in the sounds of the crowds, but she didn’t turn her attention from Urdred.

Figuring it was time to end it, she gambled on her memory. She had to be exact when it came to putting the right force in
the right spot. Only then would Urdred’s own power catapult himself end over end to slam backward on the ground.

Tumbling the formidable Urdred would take exquisite timing, placement, and energy. She counted and angled herself around for
the best place to enter his sphere of combat and do the routine. It would be faster than the eye could follow. One slipup
could tumble her under the warrior, or worse the leather on either weapon could slip and she could risk injury that way.

Hugh had moved up to the gathering, afoot. Many had noticed him, though he’d spoken to no one nor taken his eyes off his wife.

“Papa!” Rhys’s voice caroled through the cheers.

Hugh nodded to the three children who raced to him. He leaned over them, kissing each one on the top of the head. “Shh. We
must watch maman and learn.”

“You’re talking through your teeth,” Rhys said, in his matter-of-fact way. “Maman would tell you it will ruin them.”

“Would she?” Hugh ignored the titters circling near him, moving around the children and getting himself into position to interfere.
Enough of this! His wife instructing the entire clan in manus a manis? Under his ire was a burning pride in her agility, her
almost careless handling of the weapon. She’d been taught well.

Just as he was about to call a halt, he saw her gather herself and move under Urdred’s guard. Fury and fear nearly made him
bite through his tongue. She was going to try to tumble Urdred, a most capable wrestler.

Morrigan counted to five, then swung her body inside, seeing by Urdred’s widened gaze that he hadn’t expected it, that his
counteracting would come too late. She grabbed for his digits, twisting, turning, thrusting her body under his. She put every
bit of power she had into the move, knowing full well she’d never tumbled anyone so large as Urdred.

With an unholy yowl Urdred spun, his toes pointing downward until they left the ground. His body spun high for an instant,
then he crashed to the ground on his back with a huge whoosh of air, his own strength and momentum delivering the force.

The silence in the glen was total for several pulse beats. Then the roar began, growing like the thunder of the sea wind in
a wild storm. MacKays jumped up
and down, pummeling one another. Even the losers in the many wagers grinned, paid up, and shook their heads.

Rhys and the twins yelled and screamed, delighted with the event though they weren’t quite sure what had happened. Had their
mother bested Urdred, the grand warrior? It could not be. Yet it seemed so.

Hugh shook off Toric’s restraining hand, not sharing his laughter.

“Hugh! Come back. She’s won the day. She deserves the accolades.”

Hugh ground to a stop, glaring at his cousin over his shoulder. “She’s been very ill. Do you think this could be good for
her?”

Toric laughed. “Ask Urdred, cousin.”

“Hush your whisht,” Hugh growled in Gaelic.

Toric laughed all the harder.

A dazed but grinning Urdred looked up at Lady MacKay, shaking his head, his eyes glinting with admiration. “You would teach
me thus?”

Morrigan nodded. “I would.”

Urdred’s mirth burst forth. “Methinks I’d be invincible.”

“No doubt.” Morrigan laughed with him.

“Milady, you are…” His voice faded. He looked past her, his smile going sour.

Morrigan knew without looking who was coming. Little by little talk ceased, mutterings grew. Hilarity was smothered by excited
whispers. She turned, her
chin up. “I’ll not let you blame Urdred, a most fine warrior,” she told Hugh. “He’s a most valiant MacKay, and I shall show
him the way of tossing that we do in Wales.”

“Brought to you by the Vikings,” Hugh murmured.

“Mostly by the Celts if truth be told.”

“Are you all right?”

Standing in front of her, chest heaving, was her beloved husband. Morrigan could see Hugh was caught in an amalgam of angst
boiled in anger, frustration, and primarily fear. She also glimpsed his pride that had her own swelling. She knew he didn’t
know how to express his myriad emotions.

“Tell me, Morrigan.”

She put her fists on her hips, pleased with herself, her head cocked up at him. “I’m just fine. Never better.”

He reached out and lifted her into his arms, kissing her on the lips long and hard.

The cheers of the MacKays rose to a crescendo.

Morrigan tore her mouth from his, her feet still dangling above the ground. “Watch yourself… MacKay. I… I might… do the same…
to you as I did to Urdred,” she told him, out of breath.

Her words blew through the crowd like a storm. Laughter rose like the clouds.

“Or I to you,” Hugh whispered for her ears alone.

She scowled at him, her face reddening, her own mirth rising to meet the crowd’s. “Say you’re not angry.”

“I’m not. I was afraid,” he admitted. “And I didn’t like it. You draw my blood with your antics, wife.”

“Have no fear,” she whispered, her hand lifting to stroke his cheek.

“Maman! Do the same to Papa,” Rhys shouted, his thunderous child’s voice piercing the mirth.

He ran over to them, thrusting his arms up to Hugh, the twins at his heels.

Hugh had to put her down to scoop up the three, who giggled and waved to those around them. “It’s time to go back to chores.”

“No!” Rhys stuck out his lip. “I want maman to do that to you. Tip you over.”

Hugh stared at his son. “You will be a great leader I’m thinking. By wiping out your father, ’twould seem.”

The jest shot around the throng, the MacKays chuckling. What a wondrous thing it would be to watch their lord and lady tussling
in the Welsh manner. Ballads would be sung for generations!

“No, I will not engage your mother in such. She has just come from a sickbed. I would not have her ailing afresh.”

Morrigan was sure Rhys would argue, but he nodded along with the twins. When her gaze fell on the crestfallen Urdred, she
sidled toward him, touching his arm. “Stay, my friend.”

“Milady, I would not have hurt you… I wasn’t thinking when I agreed… I cannot tell you how sorry I am.”

“No! Don’t think that. I’m very well. The laird cossets me too much,” she said, being more blunt than usual. “I would not
have you think anything but the best of our encounter. And I shall teach you the tumble that—”

“Do you include me in that?” Hugh interrupted.

Morrigan looked around him for the children.

“Eamon and Toric have taken them to the castle for a nuncheon.” Hugh eyed the rigid Urdred. “You’ll learn this tumble, as
will the rest of us.”

“I shall teach them,” Morrigan interjected.

Hugh opened his mouth to retort, when Urdred touched his arm. “What?”

“I take full blame, laird. I should not have let our lady risk—”

“Hah!” Hugh snorted. “When you learn how to tame this wild Welsh woman, you must, indeed, inform your laird. For I don’t know
the secret.”

Morrigan laughed with the other MacKays near them, patting Urdred’s arm to reassure him.

The obvious adoration of the huge MacKay warrior had Hugh closing his eyes and stifling a groan.

Whipping Morrigan up into his arms again, he whirled around and strode to Orion.

“Hugh, I don’t think the laird of MacKay is supposed to carry his wife about the place.”

“Well, I’m sure as hell not letting anyone else do it.”

Morrigan chuckled, feeling happy, content. If a little sadness touched her heart when she thought of their lost
babe, she didn’t dwell on it. She would pray to carry another MacKay and God and the goddesses of Boudicca would safeguard
the we’en.

Hugh placed her on his saddle, one soft word quieting the destrier. Then he popped up behind her, encircling her with his
tartan, arranging it around her back and legs.

She smiled. “I’m not cold.”

“I’ll not take a chance you’ll catch a chill.”

She cuddled close to him. “Then you must keep me warm.” She saw the hot look in his eyes, and knew the look reflected her
own.

“I intend to keep you safe, always,” Hugh said into her hair.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. I’ve trusted you since the first day.” She looked up at him, troubled that there were still things she must tell him
about Rhys and herself. Her worry now was not so much about Rhys and the stewardship of Trevelyan, but that Hugh might put
a force of MacKays to war to ensure Rhys’s rights. She’d not have one MacKay embroiled in such. What a coil! Would all troubles
be settled one day so that she could confide her innermost secret to the man she loved more than her life?

“Perhaps I should put you to bed now,” Hugh murmured.

“That might be wise.” The thundering of her heart almost blotted out his low chuckle. She would tell him her secrets later.
Now she wanted to be loved.

Morrigan watched him dress, loving that scarred body, and the feel of it under her. Even knowing that the scarring was old,
she couldn’t quite stem all her fear.

“If you keep looking at me that way, wife, I’ll be back with you.”

She laughed. “I would not hate that.”

Hugh whipped around, strode to the bed, and lifted her up to him. “Do you know how beautiful you are, Morrigan MacKay?”

She loved being suspended in his arms. “If I am, you have made me so.” She could feel his body hardening.

Hugh shook his head, eyeing her up and down. “No, my love, you’ve been beauteous since the womb. No one could change that.”
He grinned and brought her to him, rubbing his mouth over hers. “Perhaps I will take credit for the glint in your glance,
the heat that I love.”

She brought her hands up to clasp his hips. “Hugh, I would talk with you, if you please.”

“It will always please me, love.” He sank down next to her, taking her into his arms. “I find I’d prefer to talk a little
later.”

“Hugh!” Reluctant humor bubbled up in her as his mouth went to her breast. “We always do this.”

“How wise we are,” he said, his mouth stroking her skin.

“I—”

The pounding on the door jarred her upward, Hugh’s low cursing an accompaniment.

“What?” Hugh growled.

“Messenger!” Toric called through the heavy door.

“Handle it.”

“I did. It says that there is trouble, that a scroll comes from the king brought by your godmother.”

“Devil take the lot of them,” Hugh growled.

A muffled laugh was heard from Toric.

Disappointed, Morrigan moved away from him. “You must go.”

“You wished to talk to me. You’re more important.”

“No. The clan must come first,” she said, making a moue. “I like it not that you leave, but I’ll not let you stay, good Hugh.”

“Beloved, I command you not to seduce me with those wondrous eyes. Is it not enough that you have brought my clan under your
spell?” He rose from their bed.

Morrigan looked her husband over from head to toe,
feeling possessive of that strong body, that great mind, his wondrous caring. “As long as I’ve captured you.” She’d not thought
to dare make such an open, flirtatious remark to him. Even now her temerity stunned her. Yet that sinewed body wooed her as
words could never have done. She wanted him. She loved him. Now had been her time to speak of the deceptions and need to hide
Rhys’s background behind lies and restraint. When she’d wanted to keep him with her to confess all, it couldn’t be done. Soon,
there’d be time enough for explanations. Their love was so secure now, she no longer feared his rejection.

“You have succeeded,” he whispered.

Wrung from her reverie by his honeyed tone, she cast back in her mind to recall what she’d said. The memory shook her. The
words had spilled out on their own, not to be called back. She touched his cheek. “Then I’ve won much.”