The Pledge Read Free Page A

open lancet and tried not to shiver. Scotland with its gaunt and endless mountains seemed not a country
     at all, but a place of darkness and goblins.
    One of the ladies patted her. “I’m Lilybet, milady. Not a chatterin’ gomeril like some is,” the retainer said, jerking her
     head at the giggling ladies. “Time to go, ’tis.Dinna fret what ’awn say. ’Tis naught but the wind, ye ken. Aodh MacKay is a man of great wealth. Were he not to wed and bed
     you his lands would be forfeit since he fought against the earls who put Edward upon the throne. Since the king knows ’Tisn’t
     wise to battle the Norland lairds, that the Highlands are peopled with stalwarts he cannot afford to gainsay, he’s opted for
     compromise, ye ken. ’Tis proud you are to be the key to such.”
    The words fired Morrigan’s inner strength. Proud, is it? she fumed. To be a pawn makes no Welsh woman proud. Am I not Boudicca’s
     spawn who fought the Romans to their knees before their duplicity caused the great queen’s death? More fool Aodh MacKay if
     he thinks I will bend, that I will be grateful for his name. I am a princess of Wales. He’s naught but a barbarian from the
     north. Instead of voicing her fury, Morrigan smiled and nodded.
    “Were you not to procure an heir for MacKay, yon lad could lose his Welsh monies and holdings that come from you. Not so?”
    “Why do you say so?” She struggled to stay calm. Had Lilybet the power of vision? How could she know about Rhys?
    “Fret not. Yon boy will not do ill with MacKay. You’ll see. The we’en will not need your own monies. He’ll benefit from MacKay,
     and rightly so.”
    Not so! His wealth is Trevelyan! He will inherit! Her mind screamed it. Her mouth muttered ayes as shepassed the canny Lilybet, and preceded her ladies-in-waiting from the tower room.
    “Aodh! Ready yourself, the king comes.”
    “I’m ready, Toric.” He turned to look at his men gathered around him in the keep below the west turret. Looking upward, he
     scanned the battlements. It would not be impossible to storm the castle at the first sign of treachery. Though Edward had
     given his gauntlet, the sign of his honor, Scots were not fooled by such. Had not Wallace lost his life because of English
     infamy?
    “Toric, you, and the others”—he let his eyes rove his large complement of soldiers—“know what you must do. Protect our guidon,
     our tartan, our name.” A smile touched his mouth. “I’ll unbend a bit more and use my Anglo name. No more will I be called
     Aodh. The Gaelic gives way to the English Hugh.” He nodded once when some groaned a complaint. “Flinch not at small cost.
     The name, honor, and our wealth are in balance. Even if this comes off with the dreaded Welsh woman, naught changes for us.
     We are Scots and MacKays.” The expected roar to such a battle cry was greeted with the silence of wisdom. Not one word of
     their counterplan would be known to the royal. Nay, his very existence as monarch would hang in the balance until the moment
     when they would have their rightful heritage returned.
    Only to spare his people further death and pain had Hugh MacKay agreed to having a Welsh spouse. If EdwardBaliol thought him cowed by the pact he didn’t know his Scot.
    If the Welsh wanton sold herself to gain power among her people and his, she didn’t know MacKay. He’d bed her until she brought
     forth another son. The one she had now would inherit some of the MacKay holding, but no Welshman could ever command the land,
     name, and people. If she brought no heir, then he…
    His thoughts were jarred by the second striking of the gong. He sucked in a breath and looked at his men.
    Bratach Bhan Chlann Aoidh!
    The murmur grew until it was on all their lips.
    The White Banner of MacKay!
    Shields were brought forth with the bulrush painted on the white banner. Shoulder clips were touched with the same insignia.
     Man looked to man, standing straighter. Clenched fists slammed into