William cheered.
“Bloody hell,” she said.
How had he done it? How had he managed to shoot in the midst of rattling on about her temper?
Her temper? Her hackles rose. There was nothing that incited her to anger faster than someone mentioning her temper.
He gave her a taunting grin. “Your last shot, I believe?”
She shot him a scathing glare and wrenched an arrow out of her quiver with a vengeance. Fatal flaw? She didn’t think so. Her fatal flaw was believing him when he said he was no archer.
She lined up sideways to the target.
“Watch carefully, William,” Morgan said in a loud whisper. “Ye see how she lines up sideways to the target?”
She ignored him. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to distract her. She wasn’t about to let him have the satisfaction.
She set her arrow atop the hand gripping the bow, twisting the shaft until the cock feather faced upward.
“See how she twists the shaft,” he murmured, “until the cock feather faces upward.”
She felt her blood start to simmer. But she was determined to pay him no heed. Drawing back the bowstring, she took aim.
“And here she holds her breath and… Ye do hold your breath, aye? Do ye take a breath before ye draw or after ye’ve got the target in your sights?”
What the devil was he yammering on about? Drawing a breath? Holding her breath? How was she supposed to know? She’d never thought about it before. And now that he’d planted the notion in her brain, suddenly she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Worse, her arm was beginning to shake from holding the string taut.
Before the bow could wobble out of her control, she took her best shot. The arrow landed in the second ring.
“Shite!” she cried, turning on him. “Look what you made me do.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“You know very well,” she snarled. “Drawing your breath… Holding your breath…”
“I was only tryin’ to help the lad,” he claimed, “showin’ him how a master archer does it.” There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that belied his innocence.
“Cheating is what you were doing.” She turned to William. “See, lad, the depths to which an inferior archer will sink to win?”
“And how easy ’tis to use a foe’s weakness against them?” Morgan said to the lad. “A fatal flaw, that temper o’ hers.”
Her blood was boiling now. But saying any of the foul things that came to mind would only prove his point about her temper.
Instead, she took a deep breath, blowing out all her tension as she’d seen Feiyan do. While he was flexing the longbow, she considered what his fatal flaw might be.
For most men, it was lust.
Now that she’d tried her hand at seduction and succeeded, she was sure she could summon up enough womanly wiles to throw him off his game.
She snagged one of his arrows from the ground and sidled up to offer it to him.
Drawing his attention with her smoldering gaze, she murmured just loud enough for him to hear, “Make sure the cock feather is upright before you release it.”
His nostrils flared briefly, but then he gave her a soft chuckle. “I always do.”
She sauntered away then, swaying her hips in what she hoped was a provocative fashion until she was standing out of the line of fire, but well in his line of sight. She leaned back against the castle wall and used her finger to coyly tease the neckline of her kirtle, something she’d seen a milkmaid do once.
Unfortunately, the smile he gave her wasn’t full of lust. It was sad and wistful. And in the end, her scheme only created unanticipated consequences.
From this angle, she could see every gesture he made. Every muscle he tensed. Every movement of his eyes. Every expression in his face. And it was painfully obvious to her now that he was no novice.
Before he shot, he examined the arrow itself, sighting down the length of it to make sure it was straight. Then he ran the fletching lightly across his lips to smooth the feathers.
She gulped. She’d never noticed before what an enticing gesture that was, almost like a kiss. She remembered the feel of those lips on hers.
When he fitted his arrow this time, it settled evenly on top of his fist without the awkward interference of his hooked finger.
He raised the bow and drew back the string in one smooth, practiced gesture.
Beneath his taut sleeves, she could glimpse his formidable, well-muscled arms. She was instantly reminded of the way those arms felt around her. Powerful. And protective.
Because the bow was light, he was able to hold the arc steady for a long while as he challenged the target with his gaze.
She’d seen that challenge in his eyes before. There was a penetrating force of will in his gray-green-golden gaze that would make any but the strongest adversary tremble.
His fingers, curved against his swarthy jaw, held the string with the perfect grip. Firm yet flexible.
Her breath caught as she realized the way he gripped the arrow reminded her of the way he held her when they’d made love. Tightly enough to maintain control, loosely enough to set her free at the right moment. A surge of desire rose up in her as the memory of her own passionate release assailed her.
Then her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a bewildered cry drifting down from the bedchamber window. “Morgan?”
His wife.
Chapter 51
Startled, Jenefer gasped.
Alicia’s voice apparently rattled Morgan as well. When his arrow sprang from the bow, it missed the target completely.
“What are you doing, amor meu?” Alicia asked in plaintive tones.
Jenefer saw the pleasure vanish instantly from his face, replaced by shame and defensiveness.
“I’m takin’ care o’ things,” he assured her.
“Are you?” she asked. Her question was innocent enough, but Jenefer detected a sharp edge to her voice.
“Aye,” Morgan said. “I’ve got the matter well in hand.”
Jenefer scowled. Matter? What matter?
Alicia clasped a hand to her bosom as she leaned out the window. “I’m sorry, Morgan,” she said in dulcet tones. “I’m afraid, since the kidnapping, my trust has been…damaged.”
Morgan colored at her remark. His jaw tensed. He lowered his gaze.
As for Jenefer, righteous indignation boiled up in her like a cauldron of molten iron on the fire.
Lady Alicia knew very well the guilt Morgan must feel over what had happened. How he must blame himself for allowing her to be taken from him. Damaged trust? The woman was intentionally jabbing at his wounds.
Jenefer itched to tell the vile wench just what she thought about her treachery. She had the weapons in her verbal arsenal to send the woman recoiling from the window.
But her ire was tempered by pity for the Highlander.
So instead, she rose to defend him.
Pushing away from the wall, she shook her head in wonder. “Oh m’lady, be at ease. I’m certain you could have no more trustworthy a guardian than Morgan.” She intentionally called him by his first name, knowing it would aggravate Alicia. “No kidnapper could slip past his keen eye a second time. Not without some help.”
Jenefer could feel the wave of rage Alicia sent her way. But in the next instant, the woman recovered, as if she’d donned a coat of chainmail that hid her malevolent underbelly.
Alicia affected a smile of sympathy, “No man is perfect. I’m sure my husband,” she said pointedly, “did the best he could.”
“Morgan is a valiant warrior,” Jenefer replied. “You couldn’t hope for better.” She didn’t have to lie about that. It was the truth. Then she drew her brows into a puzzled frown. “’Tis perplexing how an abductor slipped past him the first time. Even more bewildering is how the villain knew the exact day of your labor.”
Her remark unnerved Alicia, but only for a moment.
“I suppose he lay in wait nearby,” s
he said.
“Indeed. But then, to have somehow made his way inside the keep,” Jenefer mused, “hiding right under the noses of the mac Giric clan…”
Alicia gave Morgan a nervous glance, then replied with sweet condescension, “With all due respect, lass, you weren’t there.”
Jenefer ignored the comment, pacing pensively before the window. “Was it just the English lord by himself? Or did he have his men with him? How did he manage to steal you out of the castle while you were kicking and sceaming?”
Alicia’s fury was palpable, but she gave Morgan a trembling smile. “I don’t wish to talk about this now.” She lifted quavering fingers to her brow. “I don’t feel well. Will you come up soon, Morgan?”
“At once,” he said.
With that, Alicia withdrew from the window.
Jenefer was unprepared for the venomous glare Morgan shot at her a moment later. He wasn’t vexed with Alicia. His anger was aimed at her. Sharper than any arrow, his betrayal pierced her heart.
He stepped near, looming over her like a raging dragon, and spoke through clenched teeth. “How dare ye speak like that to my wife?”
“What?” For a moment, hurt left her speechless.
“Ye don’t know what she’s been through.”
Her pain was quickly replaced by outrage. She narrowed her eyes at him, muttering, “Neither do you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he hissed.
“It doesn’t make sense, Morgan. None of it does. And you know it.”
“I don’t know what battle ye think ye’re wagin’, lass, but I won’t allow ye to attack the woman I…my wife…in that way.”
She met him, eye-to-eye, both of them aware of the subtle change he’d made in that statement. He’d meant to say “the woman I love.” And he hadn’t.
“Fine,” she said.
She sensed it was time to leave the field of battle to recover for the next. Despite Morgan’s stubborn defense of his traitorous wife, Jenefer knew her words would haunt him and make him question the truth. Meanwhile, she’d do everything in her power to protect him—and Miles—from Lady Alicia’s treacherous ways.
“I won the match,” she reminded him. “I’m keeping my longbow. And I’ll be commanding your archers.”
She could see he wasn’t pleased by the outcome. But he was a man of his word.
“Ye’ll be trainin’ my archers. Command o’ them is still mine.”
Morgan trudged up the stairs to his bedchamber on leaden legs. He was displeased that Jenefer had upset his wife. He’d hoped to get Alicia to reveal the name of her abductor today. Now, because of Jenefer’s prodding, his wife had likely taken a step backward in her recovery.
But that wasn’t the only thing niggling at his brain.
Jenefer’s questions had been sensible. If he’d felt anything but relief over seeing his wife alive again, he would have asked them himself. And now they gnawed at his sense of reason like a rat at grain.
Godit the midwife may have facilitated Alicia’s abduction. True enough, she’d disappeared at roughly the same time. But she couldn’t have carried her out of the castle. After all, Godit had been the one to inform Morgan that Alicia hadn’t survived. She’d handed him their newborn infant. And she’d never allowed Morgan to see his dead wife. Which meant…
Someone else must have spirited Alicia away. Someone strong enough to silence her protests. Someone capable of conveying a new mother—desperate to save the bairn torn from her womb—out of the keep.
So how had her abductor managed to infiltrate his household? And how had he slipped out again?
Why had he left the bairn behind?
Surely whoever took Alicia must have known she’d be more compliant with her child in tow. The bairn was Morgan’s firstborn son and heir. The abductor could have demanded a hefty ransom for the lad’s return.
But he hadn’t.
There was something Morgan wasn’t seeing. But until he could get the name of the villain from Alicia, there wasn’t much he could do.
Reaching the top of the stairs, he pushed the door open.
“Morgan,” Alicia sighed from the bed, wiping stray locks of hair from her brow with the back of her hand. She wasted no breath. “Did you get rid of her?”
Morgan couldn’t admit the truth. He turned around to close the door so he wouldn’t have to meet her eyes. “She won’t trouble ye anymore.”
“Thank God. A woman like that with a longbow. I was afraid she might harm you, Morgan. Or our son.” She shuddered. “She was too wild and unpredictable.”
Wild and unpredictable were two of the things Morgan loved about Jenefer. But that was in the past. Now he had to make peace with his wife.
“Ye know, ’twould make things easier,” he gently ventured, “if ye took your place as Allison’s ma.”
The smile she gave him was brittle. He knew it was a difficult step for her to take. She’d virtually never been the bairn’s mother. Snatched from him at birth, she hadn’t had a chance to bond with the lad.
But he was certain, once she saw how beautiful he was with his creamy skin and bright eyes, his bow of a mouth and his sweet, gurgling voice, she’d fall instantly in love.
“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll try.” Then she muttered, “You know I can’t feed him.”
“O’ course.”
Her lips pursed nervously. “And I haven’t held an infant before.”
“Neither had I,” he said with a smile of encouragement. “Shall I fetch him then?”
“Not if he’s squalling. I won’t be able to quiet him.”
He grinned. “If he were squallin’, ye’d hear him.”
“What if he’s asleep?”
“’Twill be worth wakin’ him to meet his ma,” he assured her.
He could see she was fretful. But the longer she waited, the harder it would be. And considering Alicia’s feelings toward Jenefer, it would be best if she took over the bairn’s care as soon as possible.
When he rapped softly on the nursery door, Bethac and Feiyan greeted him with cheeky smiles.
“I warned you my cousin was a master archer,” Feiyan gloated.
He shook his head. “Ye know very well I wouldn’t have missed that last shot.”
Bethac shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Is my son awake?”
Bethac opened the door wider and glanced over her shoulder. “He is now.”
From his cradle, the wee lad waved his fists wildly. Morgan approached, and the bairn looked up at him. He cooed at once, then sighed, and his open mouth formed the most charming smile.
Morgan smiled back. Alicia was going to love Allison. He just needed to unite them and let maternal instincts do their magic.
“I want to take him to his mother,” he said.
To his surprise, Bethac’s brow wrinkled. “Are ye sure ’tis wise?”
“She’s his ma, Bethac.”
“Aye. But Lady Alicia is still sufferin’ from her ordeal.”
Feiyan scoffed.
Morgan scowled at her. “She wants to meet him.”
“Does she?” Bethac asked.
“O’ course. Why wouldn’t she?”
Bethac had no answer for that. And to be honest, he was annoyed at the maid’s distinct lack of enthusiasm.
Without another word, Bethac bundled up the lad and put him in Morgan’s arms. “Good luck.”
All the way back to his bedchamber, the bairn babbled softly at Morgan, looking up at him in wide-eyed wonder. Morgan couldn’t help but smile down at the comely lad. Suddenly he longed for a whole keep full of sons and daughters. He hoped Alicia would feel the same.
Chapter 52
Alicia perched on the edge of the bed, hoping she could put on a convincing show of bonding with her son.
She shuddered at the thought. She truly had no use for infants. Holding one was as appealing to her as cuddling a gigantic, writhing slug.
But she’d delayed the meeting as long as
she could. She had to lay claim to the lad now, to ensure the departure of that pesky nursemaid before she could whisper any more mischief into Morgan’s ear. Mischief that might stir up investigation into Alicia’s story.
Morgan entered, securing the door behind him, and lifted the bundle up to show her their son. “Isn’t he handsome?”
There was nothing handsome about a pale, formless blob. But she gave Morgan a quick nod of agreement. Then she extended her arms, indicating her willingness to hold the infant. Her smile felt tense, and her arms felt clumsy.
He set the bundle carefully into her arms, propping the lad’s head against her shoulder and guiding her other arm beneath him for support.
Then she stared down at the lad.
And felt nothing.
Not love. Not hate. Not pity.
Only vague repulsion.
But she managed a nervous grin.
The infant stared back at her uncertainly.
As the moments stretched on, her smile grew weary.
Slowly, the lad’s forehead began to crumple.
“What is he doing?” she muttered anxiously.
Morgan peered down at the child, speaking softly. “’Tis all right, wee lad. This is your ma, the lady who gave ye life. Don’t be afraid.”
Morgan was talking to the infant. Why was Morgan talking to the infant?
“He can’t understand you, can he?”
“In his way,” he replied.
She continued to hold the squirming thing, counting the moments until she could give him back. The infant’s chin started to shiver. Then he started to fuss.
“I can’t…” Alicia began.
“Hush now, lad,” Morgan said. “Be good for your ma.”
But the infant had clearly had enough. So had Alicia.
When the lad arched his back, turned red, and began to wail, she felt every hair stand on end.
“Make him stop,” Alicia said to Morgan. “Can’t you make him stop?”
“Jostle him a wee bit,” Morgan suggested.
She didn’t want to jostle him. She didn’t want to hold him an instant longer.
“Nay, you take him,” she said, shoving him forward.
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