Free Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) by K.E. Saxon

his family
had the ear of both King William, and through the Earl of Pembroke,
King John of England as well—a much too dangerous alliance for
Donnach’s ends. Nay, ‘twas the better, safer way for him to hie his
niece off to the almost destitute MacVie holding. For, if the lass
e’er did regain her memory, she could cause him a great deal of
trouble. Trouble Donnach had only barely been able to avoid with
the King thirteen years past when all eyes turned on him after the
attack on his brother and his family. An attack that ended in
bloodshed and death.
    Guy started to move up beside her, but
Morgana adamantly shook her head. The fear in her look and the way
her eyes shifted rapidly from her uncle, back to Guy, told Guy all
he needed to know. He halted and waited until the mounted party
were well up ahead before continuing on his journey.
    He had not gone more than a mile forward
before he reined his horse in and turned back. There was naught
left for him at King William’s court. He’d done well in the jousts
he’d competed in, as was his liege lord, Guillaume le Maréchal, the
Earl of Pembroke’s desire, but his own endeavor, his search for a
wife, had not been so successful. Mayhap he’d have more luck in
Cambria this next time.
    With that thought in mind, he kneed his
mount into a full gallop. If the weather held, he’d be at Cilgerran
Castle by the time of Pasche .
    * * *
    Morgana was dragged from her mount by her
uncle and shoved ahead of him. “Get you back to the dungeon. ‘Tis
clear the flogging you received this morn past did little to
cleanse your soul.”
    Morgana stumbled and nearly fell forward
when he shoved her again, this time with even greater strength
behind it. Her back was on fire from his rough handling and tears
of fear and shame formed in her eyes. Her limbs, her frame, were
quaking so badly, she could barely keep herself upright.
    ‘Twas in this manner that they continued on
until they were inside the dank, odorous cell once more. Her uncle
had said naught else during the forced march to her prison, but
once the door was slammed shut behind him, he settled the torch in
its hoop on the wall, picked up the crop, and said, “Bend over and
grasp your ankles.”
    Morgana shook her head, pleading with him
the best she could, with her expression, with her hands, not to
beat her again.
    “Do as I say, or ‘twill be twice the
punishment for you. I’ll not have a willful whore for family.”
    Tears of utter dread streaked down her face
but she turned and did as he’d bade.
    In the next second, her skirts were flung
o’er her head and the crop came down on the tender flesh of her
buttocks and thighs in swift, repetitive, searing, strokes.
    * * *
    Robert had just come out of the stables when
he’d seen Morgana’s uncle pushing his niece through the doorway of
the dungeon tower.
    He’d raced to catch up to them, but by the
time he’d made it into the tower, they were already nearing their
destination. He could hear the sound of their footsteps coming from
somewhere below him in the stairwell. While he was still descending
the stairs, he heard the echo of a door slamming. He continued on,
listening at first one door and then another, until he came to one
in which he heard the distinct thwack ing sound of
something—a crop, mayhap?—meeting flesh. He pushed on the door and
it opened.
    “Leave her be!” he roared. In the next
instant he was between the earl and Morgana. He took two of the
strokes to his shins before he was able to wrest the crop from the
earl’s hand.
    The earl, sweating and red-faced, his
shoulders heaving with each new breath, looked up at him. There was
a gleam in his eyes that caused the hairs on the back of Robert’s
neck to rise. ‘Twas clear, the man did not even see who was
standing before him, so thralled was he by his means of
punishment.
    Robert heard shuffling behind him but dared
not turn his back on the man. “Morgana, go back to your
chamber.”
    “You