Bride of Fire

by Glynnis Campbell

  Every tender syllable that dropped from his lips was like the sharp cut of a dagger. Whoever the woman was, Morgan clearly cared for her.

  And by the faint melody of the woman’s responses, that affection was returned.

  Jenefer felt sick with betrayal.

  How could Morgan have forsaken her? And so quickly?

  Mere hours had passed since they’d trysted.

  She thought their joining had meant something.

  Morgan may not have lost his virginity. But he’d given her something of himself. His ecstasy. His passion. His soul.

  And she’d given him all of her.

  She thought he was just as affected by the experience as she was.

  She thought they’d shared something unique and special and intimate.

  Apparently, she was wrong.

  It meant nothing to him.

  She meant nothing to him.

  Chapter 41

  In her heart of hearts, Jenefer knew she had no right to feel like a victim. After all, it was she who had seduced Morgan. She glanced at the bed, still rumpled from what they’d done. None of what had happened there had been his idea.

  But knowing he’d practically leaped into another woman’s arms while his seed was still warm inside her…

  Her eyes welled. Her throat ached.

  But she refused to shed a single tear for the rutting stag of a man.

  Instead, she swallowed down her hurt and banged a fist on the stone ledge, turning her sorrow to ire.

  It was just as she’d always heard, she decided. Highlanders were faithless beasts who sowed their seed like wild thistles. Unfeeling, uncaring brutes who took what they wanted and left a trail of destruction behind.

  How could she have forgotten that?

  How could she have believed otherwise?

  She’d been a lovesick fool.

  Unwilling to subject herself to any more of the soft, crooning exchanges taking place in his bedchamber, Jenefer closed the shutters and jabbed at the fire.

  There was no point in trying to sleep. She’d only toss and turn and annoy her cousin.

  Instead, she paced the nursery in an angry swirl of skirts. She clenched and unclenched her fists. She muttered curses under her breath. She scowled at the wall between the chambers with enough hatred to scorch the plaster.

  On one pass, she ventured too near the tub. Striding forward, she caught her bare toe on the hard oak. Sharp pain shot up her foot, wringing a gasp from her.

  “Bloody shite!” she hissed, clutching her throbbing toe and hopping on her good foot.

  Her oath woke Miles. Which made her utter another.

  Cicilia roused to Miles’ whimpers. She sleepily patted him, hoping it was only a bad dream.

  But when the young nurse suddenly spied Jenefer in the room, she gave a squeak of surprise, bringing Miles fully awake.

  After that, even Cicilia’s cooing and patting couldn’t calm him. His whimpers rose to a high-pitched wail. Feiyan, half-buried in sheepskins, dug her way out to complain.

  “Odin’s eye, Jen, can’t you quiet him?”

  She bit her lip. She could quiet him. And it was becoming second nature to her to console the crying lad.

  But if she didn’t, if she let him cry, Morgan wouldn’t be able to sleep. Neither would his soft-voiced concubine. The philandering Highlander would be forced to come to the nursery to look after his son. And she’d get the chance to show him just what fury a woman scorned could deliver.

  Ignoring Miles wasn’t easy. His sobs grew more plaintive and miserable by the moment. Jenefer’s heart ached for him. Cicilia looked over at her with pleading eyes. And if Feiyan’s glares had been daggers, Jenefer would be dead by now.

  Finally, just before Jenefer was about to yield to her maternal instincts and comfort the crying babe, the door swung open under Morgan’s hand.

  She faced the Highlander with her chin held high and her arms crossed in challenge. Her heart knifed sideways at the sight of him, adorably disheveled from sleep, and her resolve almost crumbled.

  But she steeled herself against the heartbreak. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her suffer. By God, she would confront him with his duplicity.

  He looked weary, drained, and somewhat startled to see her. “Ye’re here.”

  “Aye, I’m here,” she snapped. “Why? Were you hoping Bethac tossed me out on my arse?”

  “Nay, but…” He glanced at Miles, screaming in Cicilia’s arms.

  “Ah, that’s right,” she said bitterly. “You couldn’t throw me out. Then you’d have no one to keep the babe quiet.”

  “Listen, Jenefer…”

  She stiffened, hating how the sound of her name on his lips made her heart catch.

  “There’s somethin’ I need to tell ye,” he said. “If ye can quiet the bairn…”

  Hurt and fuming, she bit out, “If you mean to tell me our tryst meant nothing, don’t waste your breath.”

  Shocked at her candor in front of Cicilia and Feiyan, he judiciously closed the door. “Naught could be further—”

  “’Tis clear you scarcely waited for the linens to cool ere you sought out another lass’s bed.”

  Cicilia gasped and covered Miles’ ears.

  “What?” Feiyan exploded, outraged on Jenefer’s behalf.

  Morgan gave her a sullen look. His fatigue was gradually diminishing, being replaced by growing ire. “’Tisn’t what it seems.”

  She should have known he would make excuses. “Oh, tisn’t?” She raised her voice to a shout. “I wonder how the lady lying in yonder bedchamber feels about that.”

  “What lady?” Feiyan demanded.

  Morgan grimaced, raising his hands to bid them be quiet. “I can explain.”

  “Can you?” Jenefer doubted that.

  Feiyan skewered him with a glare. “This I’d like to hear.”

  “No one can hear anythin’ with…” Morgan gestured in frustration toward the bairn, who was now screaming at the top of his lungs.

  Unable to endure any more of Miles’ forlorn crying, Jenefer lifted him from Cicilia’s arms.

  Jostling him against her bosom, she confided in the lad, loud enough to be heard over his wailing. “You see, Miles, what a fiend your laird is. Like a fickle bee, stealing nectar from one blossom and hastening on to the next.”

  Morgan’s brows collided in aggravation. “’Tisn’t like that at all.”

  “And then denying it,” Jenefer added, raising her voice again so the woman in his bedchamber would be sure to hear, “even though his paramour is right next door.”

  “Will ye keep your voice down?” he pleaded between clenched teeth.

  She took his request as a challenge. “Why? Are you afraid your doxy will hear the truth from me?”

  “Damn it! Ye don’t understand,” he growled.

  “Oh, I understand. Like all Highland heathens, you simply seize what you want.”

  “Not true,” he argued.

  She gave him a smoky glare and resumed addressing Miles. “But you’ll be raised in the Lowlands, won’t you, Miles? And Lowlanders are faithful.”

  “Now hold on,” Morgan said, indignant.

  She wasn’t in the mood to hold on. “Lowlanders don’t flit from bed to bed, stealing lasses’ virtues and breaking lasses’ hearts.”

  “Stealing?” He arched a brow.

  She ignored his parsing of words, cooing, “And you, sweet Miles, you’d never use a lass as you see fit and cast her aside like offal, would you?”

  “Och, for the love o’…” Morgan muttered.

  The babe was beginning to settle down. And it seemed as if he were paying heed to her words.

  “I know you can’t help being born in the despicable Highlands, but maybe there’s time to save you from your da’s bad habits.”

  She knew she was prodding at a dangerous beast. Belittling Morgan’s beloved Highlands was like yanking a tooth from a sleeping wolf.

  Morgan straightened to hi
s full, impressive height. Stabbing a finger down at her, he snarled, “Don’t ye ever insult my home and the place o’ Miles’…” He bit out an oath at his mistake. “Allison…Allison’s birth. ’Tis a fine piece o’ land belongin’ to my clan for generations. And as far as my habits, I hope he…”

  He broke off, blanching. For a long moment, he only stared at her.

  Feiyan’s mouth went round with surprise.

  Miles silenced as well, sucking on his fist and gazing at Morgan.

  Morgan spoke softly. “How…how did ye know the bairn was…”

  “Yours?” She smirked. “’Tis plain to see.”

  “How long have ye known?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “Give him to me.”

  “He’ll cry again,” she warned.

  “Give him to me.” His eyes had lost their sheen. He was deadly serious.

  “Wait.” She lowered her brows. “You don’t think I would hurt him?”

  “Now,” he commanded.

  His mistrust was almost as hurtful as his infidelity.

  “Fine.”

  She held out the babe to him. As predicted, Miles began to wail as soon as Morgan took him. Racked by new pain, she wanted to wound Morgan.

  She sneered, “I’m sure your mistress will be delighted to share your bed with a squalling infant.”

  Morgan leveled his gaze at her. “She’s not my mistress.” He took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. “She’s Allison’s mother. My wife.”

  Chapter 42

  As Alicia snuggled in welcome solitude beneath the coverlet, her self-satisfied smile turned into an impatient growl.

  What the devil was all that noise? What was going on next door?

  After all she’d been through, she thought she deserved to sleep in peace.

  No one could ever fathom what a rare and special gift for deception she had. Nor what a grueling, demanding business it was.

  She’d had to employ that gift a lot lately.

  Feigning her love for Morgan.

  Faking her death.

  Fabricating her abduction.

  Inventing her harrowing escape.

  And those were only the lies she’d told her husband.

  It grieved her to admit that things had not gone as well as she’d liked.

  But now that she’d successfully insinuated herself back into her husband’s household, her fatiguing work to cover her tracks and her arduous midnight journey had caught up with her.

  And the commotion on the other side of the wall was preventing her from getting a good night’s rest.

  Still, it was hard not to smile in self-congratulations after her brilliant victory. She’d made naïve Morgan believe her story. And she’d even had time to take sweet revenge on those who’d wronged her.

  She closed her eyes, reliving the tumultuous events of the last several weeks.

  Sick to death of the miserable and uncivilized Highlands and weary of carrying Morgan’s heir in her belly, Alicia had been desperate to find an escape. Six months ago, she thought she’d finally found one.

  The English knight, Sir Edward, with whom she’d had a brief affair in Catalonia, had recently become a lord in his own right. He’d acquired a castle at Firthgate, along the border with Scotland. A few fawning letters from her reignited his affections, guaranteeing that—should she find her way back to him—a home, a title, and all the comforts of civilization would be hers. Or so he’d promised.

  His offer was too tempting to refuse. All Alicia had to do was rid herself of a husband and an infant. For that, she’d enlisted her midwife. Godit had arranged her childbed ruse, declaring Alicia dead and hiding her away. Once Alicia was hale enough to travel, they planned to abandon the wretched Highlands, journeying to Edward’s holding. No one at Firthgate would ever know Alicia was once wed, and faithful Godit would guard her secret. Or so she’d vowed.

  Alicia had expected Edward and Godit to keep their promises.

  Their disloyalty in the form of a love affair had been an enormous disappointment.

  But two days ago, fate had finally smiled on Alicia. She’d learned her estranged husband Morgan had left his dreary Highland home to inherit the holding at much more temperate Creagor. As luck would have it, Creagor was not far away, just on the opposite side of the border. Suddenly she found the prospect of life with him once again appealing.

  Godit and Edward’s betrayal had made her decision easy.

  How Alicia had relished watching the life slowly drain out of the midwife’s bulging eyes, holding Godit close so the young woman couldn’t free herself from the dagger Alicia had shoved beneath her ribs.

  Yet it was a shame things had had to end that way. Godit had been a skilled midwife. She’d delivered scores of babes in her short lifetime, including Alicia’s own. Godit had been willing to lie for Alicia, telling Morgan she’d died in childbirth. And she’d shown Alicia how to halt the flow of milk that lingered in her breasts after she’d delivered.

  The useless milk had still seeped from her for days, not unlike the blood that seeped from Godit’s wound. The dark liquid had bathed Alicia’s fingers where she gripped the hilt until Godit finally stopped scrabbling at the blade.

  “You brought this upon yourself, you know,” she’d whispered to the dying woman. “If only you’d kept your knees together and stayed away from Edward, none of this would have happened.”

  Godit had opened and closed her mouth like a hooked trout until her eyes began to glaze over. She’d tried, and failed, to suck in a few last, desperate breaths.

  “But you couldn’t do it, could you?” Alicia had told her, twisting the knife in Godit’s bare abdomen with cruel vengeance and forcing a sickly gurgle from the woman’s throat. “You couldn’t keep your hands off of what was mine. And now you’ve spoiled everything.”

  But Godit’s eyelids had already fluttered shut. The stupid wench was beyond hearing. Before she went completely limp, Alicia pushed her naked body back onto the garderobe seat.

  When Alicia gazed down at the dagger protruding from the midwife’s chest, she realized it was the same one Godit had used to cut the cord when Morgan’s infant was born.

  That had seemed like an age ago. It had been just over three months. That things could go so wrong in so short a time was maddening.

  Yet, like a cat, Alicia always landed on her feet.

  Receiving news about Morgan Mor mac Giric had shifted the winds of fate for her.

  She’d disposed of the philandering midwife. Half of her problem had been solved. Once she took care of the rest of her unfinished business, she’d emerge untouched by the violence she’d wrought.

  Taking a cleansing breath, she’d ripped the dagger out of the woman’s body, oozing blood onto Alicia’s saffron skirts. But that was fine. Soon she’d be able to afford a whole chest full of new gowns.

  Besides, she knew her fickle Edward would never notice the stain. His thoughts always centered solely on what was between his legs, which had finally proved to be his downfall. Once Alicia had grabbed him by the ballocks, he was oblivious to all else.

  Half an hour later, in the bedchamber they’d shared, Alicia was staring down at the second part of her gruesome handiwork, amazed by how well it had gone.

  It was still hard to believe how much she’d sacrificed to be with Edward. A large inheritance. A handsome husband. The protection of the mightiest army in the Highlands. And now he’d forced her to murder him.

  The English lord had never truly appreciated her. Not the way he should have.

  Now things were back under her control. She’d left Edward dead on their bed, gawking blindly at the ceiling, with Godit’s dagger protruding from his belly.

  She didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. The betraying bastard deserved every inch of the steel she’d thrust into him.

  Of course, she’d never truly loved Edward in the first place. She was incapable of feeling love. The emotion had eluded her all her life.

 
But she’d made plans with him.

  And she hated to have her plans ruined.

  The deception after that wasn’t difficult. Her bloody clothing lent credence to her story. And her injuries…

  She winced now as she touched the stinging, bloody scratches Godit had raked down her cheek. Her bruised breasts and thighs ached from the hard pinches Alicia had administered herself. A convincing lump swelled where she’d intentionally bashed her brow against the bedpost.

  She’d torn her skirt, drenched it in Edward’s blood, and dragged it across the floor to the window, leaving the scrap on the sill.

  Those who discovered the grisly trail would assume she’d been a victim. They’d believe that whoever had killed Edward and Godit must have kidnapped Alicia.

  In all honesty, she didn’t expect Edward’s people to expend much effort to find her. After all, they’d known her only a few months. She’d been his lover, not yet his wife. Surely the carrion crows in his household would be too busy deciding who was to inherit Firthgate to concern themselves with a missing mistress.

  The trek to Creagor had been several miles long. But the journey had been worthwhile. She’d managed to throw herself upon Morgan’s mercy and into his grateful arms.

  Now, however, she was exhausted from murder, sore from her injuries, and drained from having to play the meek, remorseful wife. All she wanted to do was lick her wounds and fall into a deep sleep.

  The altercation in the next room was robbing her of that well-deserved rest.

  The infant was screaming relentlessly. That was bad enough. But now she could hear the muffled voice of Morgan upbraiding the servants. Worse, one impertinent maid who didn’t know her place was squawking back at him.

  If Morgan were wise, he’d knock the maid across the room. Maintaining one’s rank in the world required ruling with a fist of steel.

  But beneath all that warrior muscle and bone, Morgan was cursed with a soft heart. It was why she’d always been able to manipulate him so easily.

  That bloody infant, however, was going to be difficult.

  Infants were selfish and needy. She despised the mewling creatures with their screaming demands and their sopping trews. If she had her way, she wouldn’t lay eyes on her offspring until they were full-grown, useful, and capable of complete sentences.