Feiyan sat up on her elbows. “What?”
“I did seduce him.”
“The Highlander?” Feiyan almost strangled on the words. “But how? What…?”
Feiyan’s amazement was almost enough to lift Jenefer’s spirits.
“Too sleepy.” Jenefer yawned. “I’ll tell you in the morn.”
“The devil you will!” Feiyan replied, giving her shoulder a rousing shake. “I want the whole story. Now.”
“There’s nothing to tell. I just used my natural feminine wiles and…” She shrugged.
By Feiyan’s long silence, Jenefer could tell her cousin didn’t believe her.
“You actually swived him?”
“Aye.”
“I mean, you…you spread your legs for him.”
“Aye.”
“And you let him put his cod—”
“I know what swiving is, Feiyan.”
Feiyan let out a low whistle. Then she quietly cheered, “This is perfect! Now you’ll make him wed you. And then you can lay claim to Creagor.”
Jenefer sighed. It sounded so uncomplicated, the way she said it. That was how it had sounded to her as well. But that was before she’d fallen in love with Morgan. “Nay.”
“Nay?” Feiyan tossed back the covers and shot to her feet beside the bed. “What do you mean, nay?”
“I can’t do it.”
“What? Why? Didn’t you just surrender your maidenhood to him?”
“Aye.”
“It doesn’t grow back, you know.”
“I’m aware.”
“But I don’t understand. Why would you…”
“I just…I won’t do it.”
After a pensive moment, Feiyan gasped. “Because he’s a savage? Is that it?” Her manner abruptly changed to fierce protector. “Did he hurt you? I swear, Jen, if he so much as raised a hand to—”
“Nay. Nay. ’Twasn’t like that, only…”
“Only what?”
Jenefer could see she wasn’t going to get any sleep until she explained. “’Tis one thing to best a man in battle when both of you are fully armed and evenly matched. But to slay a man in his sleep…”
“Lucifer’s ballocks!” Feiyan quickly lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “Did you slay him, Jen?”
“What?” She blinked. “Nay.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
“He’s a good man, Feiy. Decent and kind and noble. He deserves better than to be forced to wed a maid against his will.”
“Surely you jest,” Feiyan scoffed. “After all, nobody was forcing him to swi-…” She reconsidered. “You didn’t swive him at the point of a dagger, did you?”
“Nay.” The word soured on Jenefer’s lips. Was it so hard for Feiyan to imagine a man actually desiring her?
“If he’s so decent,” Feiyan decided, “then he should be glad to marry you.”
“I don’t want him on those terms.”
“How can you say that? Wasn’t that your plan all along? What about all those sketches you made earlier? All the changes to the castle? Now you don’t want him to wed you?”
“Not by force, nay.”
“Yet you’re willing to take the castle by force.”
“Aye.” Jenefer didn’t have the words to explain to her cousin how that was different. But it was.
Feiyan threw up her hands in exasperation and flopped back into bed.
It was still dark, but nearing dawn when Morgan heard a rapid knocking on the nursery door, bringing him instantly awake. Assuming it was Cicilia coming to feed the bairn, he rose on his elbows and called out, “Come.”
But it was Bethac who stuck her head in with a candle. She looked as pale as linen. Her brow was creased with worry.
“Where is she?” she whispered.
“Who?”
“Jenefer.”
His heart dropped. Had the lass gone missing? Now that he’d decided to bare his heart and tie his fortunes to a woman, had she fled?
Bethac didn’t wait for an answer. “Perhaps she returned to your bedchamber?” she suggested.
His shoulders dropped in relief. Of course that was where she’d gone.
But how the devil did Bethac know the lass had been here with him? Sometimes it seemed like the old maid was a touch fey, the way she could winnow out the truth. And now that she’d hinted at his indiscretion, it seemed pointless to deny it.
“I suppose so, aye,” he said.
She nodded, then waved Cicilia into the nursery and shut the door behind them. The young maid rushed to the hearth to wake the bairn for his feeding.
Bethac set a bundle of Morgan’s clothes atop the bed. Her expression was impossible to read. She looked simultaneously fretful and sorrowful, aghast and confused.
“What’s amiss, Bethac?”
“Ye’re needed below,” she said urgently. “Please, m’laird, dress and come quickly.”
He lowered his brows. Bethac never made idle demands.
“Is it Rivenloch?” he guessed. Perhaps her uncle’s army had come to claim Jenefer after all.
“Nay.”
“Colban?”
Morgan would never forgive himself if something dire had happened to his right hand man.
“Nay. Only…hurry.”
With that vague directive, Bethac scurried out the door.
Morgan wasted no time. While Cicilia discreetly fed the bairn in one corner of the nursery, he threw on his clothes and hurtled down the stairs.
The clan was crowded into the great hall, most only half-dressed. A few guards held aloft flaming brands, illuminating something in their midst.
“There he is!” someone called out.
All heads swiveled to him. Their faces were full of wonder and nearly as pale as Bethac’s had been. They quickly separated to make a path for him.
By the light of the brands, Morgan could see Bethac crouched beside what appeared to be a cloaked body. Only when he ventured forward did he see the blood staining the wool.
He prayed it wasn’t the Rivenloch lass Colban had been tracking.
“’Tis a miracle, m’laird,” a woman gushed as he passed.
“God’s hand,” someone agreed.
“The stars must be smilin’ on ye,” a young lass said.
None of their comments registered. As he drew nearer to the cloaked form, Morgan felt chilling recognition shiver along his spine.
He knew this body.
Bethac’s baleful glance toward him confirmed it.
But his mind couldn’t fully comprehend what he saw. Until a soft moan came from the ground.
He froze in his tracks.
’Twasn’t possible.
He’d shoveled dirt over her grave himself.
And yet he’d wager his entire fortune that was Alicia.
Chapter 40
Morgan couldn’t speak.
He couldn’t breathe.
Alarm sucked the spit from him, leaving his mouth as dry and dusty as…as an empty grave.
The absurd thought almost made him laugh.
But laughing would have proved him mad. And he didn’t dare lose his grasp on the few wits he had left.
She groaned again.
He swayed, dizzy from shock. It was her.
Half grateful, half fearful, he crept forward, cautious lest his hopes be dashed. After all, she was obviously in pain, and all that blood…
The hall had fallen so silent by the time he reached her that he could have heard a spider reeling down to the flagstones.
“Alicia?” he managed to croak out.
At the sound of his voice, her pale arm flailed out, and she whispered, “Morgan? Is it you?”
The familiar voice, her subtle Catalonian accent, made him fall to his knees beside her.
“’Tis me, my love,” he whispered back. “But what trickery is this? How can this be? Are ye…?”
He meant to ask if she was hurt. But the sight of her face was answer enough. She looked as if she’d
dug herself out of her own grave. Perhaps she had. Perhaps she hadn’t been dead when…
The thought was too terrible to consider.
“I’m…alive,” she said, clutching at his sleeve and trying to smile.
Her black braid was matted. Her lip was crusted with blood. One eye was swollen shut. And there was an ugly lump on her brow.
“What…? How…?”
Bethac intervened. “There will be time to talk later, m’laird. The physician should be summoned. Her hurts need to be seen to.”
“Nay,” Alicia gasped out. “First, I need to tell you what happened. You deserve to know.”
It sickened him to see her like this—scraped, scabbed, her face bloated with her injuries. But she was alive. Alive. He couldn’t fathom how that could possibly be.
He bent down to her. The clan kept a respectful distance, their voices hushed. Every ear strained to hear the explanation of how Alicia had come back from the dead.
“I was taken,” she softly explained, “from childbed.”
“But the midwife said ye…ye died.”
She shook her head. “She deceived you.”
Morgan creased his brow. The midwife’s forlorn expression, delivering the sad news of Alicia’s death, flashed through his memory. Had she only been feigning sorrow?
“But I buried…”
“An empty box,” she told him.
Was it possible? Of course it was possible. The proof lay before him on the flagstones.
“Godit was a spy,” she said. “She was working…for the English.”
The word “English” started a soft rumble of disapproval among the clansfolk. Morgan was half English himself, but he had no love for the land his own mother had fled.
“An English lord…desired me,” she continued, wincing and pressing the back of her hand to her bloodied lip.
Morgan clenched his jaw tightly enough to crack walnuts. If some foreign swine had not only beaten Alicia, but bedded her…
“Godit was working for him,” she rasped out. “After our infant was born, she helped him to abduct me.”
A dozen curses perched on Morgan’s lips. Him. Who? Who had stolen her? What English brute had put filthy hands on his wife?
But he kept his fury in check. He didn’t wish to upset Alicia any more than she already was.
Still it was guilt, not anger, that pressed like a heavy yoke on his shoulders. How could he have let his guard down? How could such a thing have happened on his watch? Right under his nose?
He silently swore he’d see the Englishman and that betraying shrew of a midwife dead before another sunset.
Alicia coughed—a pitiful, hacking cough that shook her frail ribs and made her grimace in pain.
Morgan’s eyes watered in sympathy and rage and frustration. He took her wee hand between his, hoping to lend her his strength.
When the coughing ceased, she peered up at him with her one undamaged eye. Her brows rose in pained askance.
“Oh, amor meu, will you ever forgive me?”
His heart splintered at her words.
“Forgive ye? For what?”
She glanced at the faces gathered round and whispered so softly, he could scarcely hear her.
“For not finding my way to you sooner. For trusting Godit. For leaving you and the infant.”
A lump clogged Morgan’s throat. Alicia had always been so meek, humble, helpless. That she would somehow imagine he’d blame her for succumbing to abduction—especially when she was at her most vulnerable, having just given birth—tore at his heart. What kind of cur did she think he was?
He reached up to stroke her tangled hair. For one awful moment, he recalled honey-colored tresses, softer and silkier than Alicia’s black locks. And then he put the disloyal thought aside.
He had to put that other lass out of his mind now. Forever.
“Oh darlin’,” he murmured, “I could ne’er blame ye. How could ye even think that?”
Grateful tears squeezed from her black eyes.
Always careful with sensitive Alicia, he guarded his emotions and forced a smile of gentle reassurance to his lips.
“I’ll go fetch the physician,” Bethac mumbled, adding pointedly, “Shall I ready your bedchamber, m’laird?”
“Oh.” He blinked, startled. He’d forgotten his bedchamber was already occupied. “Aye. Can ye take care o’ things there?”
“I’ll do my best, m’laird.” She gave him a nod and hurried off.
He had no idea where Bethac would put his two guests. Certainly it wouldn’t be as secure—or as comfortable—as where they were now. But he trusted Bethac. And he believed the lasses would keep their word not to flee.
He then addressed the clan. “The rest o’ ye, return to your beds. Your mistress is weary. And there’s naught more ye can do here.”
Morgan needed his men well-rested. He wouldn’t press poor Alicia for a name tonight. But on the morrow, he intended to hunt down the English bastard who’d abducted his wife. He’d cut out the man’s black heart and bring his head home on a spike.
Jenefer bolted awake as Bethac burst into the bedchamber.
“Wake up!” Bethac hissed. Her arms were full of bedsheets. “Make haste!”
“What is it?” Jenefer gasped. “Is it Rivenloch? Has my uncle come?”
For the first time, she feared her kin might attack first and negotiate later. Two days ago, she would have been fine with that. But now she wanted as few casualties as possible.
Sleeping with Morgan had changed her. Changed the way she felt about him. She saw now he wasn’t a usurper to be ousted. He could be a friend and an ally.
Maybe even, she dared to hope, a husband.
But only by his own choice. She wouldn’t have it any other way. If she couldn’t earn him by virtue of her qualities as a wife, she didn’t want him at all.
Bethac didn’t answer. She charged into the room with her candle flickering wildly. She dumped the bedsheets on the end of the bed and yanked the sheepskins off the cousins.
“Come! Now!”
Feiyan, groggy and disoriented, groaned as she was abruptly uncovered. “What the…?”
But Bethac’s agitation troubled Jenefer. She shot to her feet. “What’s happened?”
“No time,” Bethac muttered. “Gather your things and come with me to the nursery.”
The nursery? Jenefer’s heart dropped. “Miles.” Had something happened to the babe?
Her fear must have shown in her face, for Bethac hastened to assure her, “He’s fine. Just hurry.”
Jenefer swept up her boots and snagged her cloak from the hook.
The guard was gone when they shuffled down the hall to the nursery. They entered quietly so as not to wake the babe.
Cicilia was asleep on the floor beside Miles’ cradle.
The bath was still there. The water had grown cold. The melted remains of the candles surrounded the tub. But the memory of warmth and light was fresh in Jenefer’s mind.
The sight of the rumpled bedsheets heated her blood. The only thing missing was the irresistible Highlander. And she didn’t dare ask Bethac where he’d gone, lest she reveal their indiscretion.
“Ye’ll be safe here,” Bethac whispered.
Jenefer frowned. “Safe? From what?”
For an instant, Bethac looked as if she might confide in her. Then she shook her head. “’Tisn’t my place to say.”
Jenefer grabbed the old maid by her sleeve. “If there’s danger, my cousin and I can be of use.”
Feiyan nodded in agreement.
But Bethac only gave her a sad, sweet smile. “’Tisn’t the kind o’ danger that can be battled with a blade.”
With those cryptic words, she hurried from the room, leaving Jenefer and Feiyan to exchange baffled glances.
“Do you think Hallie has returned?” Jenefer wondered.
Feiyan shook her head. “There would be no reason to separate the three of us.”
“Maybe he has a ne
w batch of captives and nowhere else to imprison them.”
Feiyan smirked. “The laird is probably just tired of sleeping on straw while we take his downy bed.” Then she eyed the pallet. “At least this one looks reasonably comfortable.” She sat down to test the mattress and almost immediately popped back up. “Oh! Is that the spot where you…?”
Jenefer was glad her cousin couldn’t see her blush. “Aye.”
Feiyan wrinkled her nose and crept into the opposite side of the bed. “God knows how I’ll sleep, knowing that.”
She was snoring within moments.
Jenefer, however, couldn’t quiet her thoughts. What kind of danger couldn’t be battled with a blade? And why had Bethac moved them out of the bedchamber in such haste?
She winnowed down the possibilities until only one remained. Maybe the king’s messengers had finally arrived, and the chamber was needed to house them.
Jenefer was mulling over this probability and what it might signify when she heard activity on the other side of the wall. There were muffled voices and the sound of the door opening and closing.
She stole to the window and cracked open the shutters. If she leaned out over the sill, she could hear better—not enough to make out words, but enough to tell who was speaking.
She recognized the lilt of Bethac’s voice. There was a gruff male grumble she didn’t recognize. Then she heard a voice she knew all too well.
Morgan.
The deep, smooth timber warmed her against her will. The familiar cadence penetrated her bones, turning them to custard. Melting her into a pathetic puddle of desire.
Until she heard a woman answer him.
Her voice was light and sweet. Soft and vulnerable. Not menacing in the least.
Yet Jenefer suddenly felt more threatened than if she’d heard a boar letting loose with a hellish roar.
She strained to hear.
A sound of disgust came from behind her. “Jen, close the shutters,” Feiyan hissed from the bed. “You’ll freeze everyone.”
Jenefer ignored her. Feiyan let out a loud sigh, then flounced over in the bed, pilfering all the furs.
Jenefer resumed listening. She heard Bethac leave. Then she heard the gruff-voiced man bid Morgan farewell. Now there were only Morgan and the woman. Alone.
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