The Pledge Read Free Page B

chests, the Viking signal meaning death before dishonor
     that had come to them from the Icelandics who’d married into the clan. The warlike MacKays would never suffer perfidy. If
     Edward Baliol sought to betray them with the Welsh tart, he’d swallow revenge before the sun set.
    One more time the gong sounded. Hugh smiled at his cousin Toric and his men, patting his sword.
    They smiled back and followed him, many breaking away from the serpentine procession to the glen. Some melted into the throng,
     others disappeared through passageways. More than a few climbed to the battlements, while a complement went to the bailey
     and beyond.There’d be MacKay warriors to man the walls, though the king’s forces might not notice them. These were almost a match in
     number to those who already dotted the woods, and surrounding areas. A full contingent would mix with the wedding crowd. They’d
     be prepared for anything. The MacKay Clan hadn’t survived so many generations by being careless.

TWO
    A little thing indeed is a sweetly smelling sacrifice.
    Judith
    The dankness, dimness, and rank scent of the old rushings in the ancient castle mirrored Morrigan’s soul. She looked down
     into the vaulted entry, spying the royal at once.
    Edward Baliol was certainly not the romantic ideal of a king. His bandy-legged, narrow-chested form was cloaked with riches
     that didn’t hide the scanty frame nature had provided. His razor-sharp mind had kept him at the forefront of rule. His greed
     for power was far more imposing than his ill-shaped body.
    Morrigan took a breath and whispered the vow she’d made to Gwynneth. Then she rubbed the gold claddagh pinned to her bodice
     and fashioned for her by her maternal Hibernian grandsire. She descended the stairway carved from the turret wall so that
     ascending warriors would find it harder to wield a sword than those comingdown at them. At that moment she’d have felt more at home battling foes than descending to take the arm of the royal who’d
     escort her to her spouse.
    Keeping her chin elevated took grit when all she wanted to do was watch her footing on the treacherous stairway. The stone,
     the hue of blacksmith’s iron, had gone slippery from wear, and since she’d not wanted any of the ladies at her side, she had
     to pray for balance as she descended.
    With a waxy smile upon her face, she reached the bottom and crossed the hall. She bowed to Edward Baliol. Some said he should
     never have ruled Scotland. It was his ancestor who’d aided in the betrayal of Wallace as did many of the other greedy earls,
     including the king’s henchman, Monteith. “Your grace, I am—”
    “I know who you are, Lady Morrigan Llywelyn. Am I not your guardian and as such sworn to protect your person and all you possess?”
     His smile washed over her.
    She looked up at him, inclining her head. You bloated usurper! You’ll not get Trevelyan. “ ’Tis true I am a princess of Wales—”
    “Descendant of Dafydd ap Llywelyn, as is your bastard son, Rhys Llywelyn.”
    She fought the run of blood that washed from her heart at his words. For five changes of the sun she’d heard men’s scathing
     pronouncements against her. If the Llywelyn family hadn’t been so cohesive, so strong, so mightily resistant to all who’d
     dare to insult them, she might’ve been stoned for what they believed. She wasprotected by the bastion of her name and wealth. Power and gold! How they turned the world. She could not be ungrateful for
     the power that protected her. It was a vitriol in her innards that no man would be castigated for fathering a child out of
     wedlock. There was little justice.
    A hand reached for hers, drawing her up. “I ask your pardon for my usage.”
    “’Tis nothing I’ve not heard before, your grace.” How she hated the quick condemnation of herself, and a child.
    “Milady, I admire your sangfroid at my clumsiness. Do not think I’m unaware of your plight. Men cast their leavings