“Ye can do it, m’lady. I know ye can.”
She fought the urge to fling the screaming infant onto the floor and let Morgan clean up the mess.
Instead she whimpered, “I don’t want to do it, Morgan. Can you not get Bethac to take him?”
Morgan finally gave in and rescued her from the bawling babe. But she could see he was disappointed.
That was fine. She couldn’t please him in everything. Morgan should be happy she’d come back at all.
Besides, raising infants was what servants were for. The lad had a nurse to feed and change him and a maid to rock him to sleep. What more did he require?
When the lad was seven years of age, she intended to send him to a neighboring clan to foster anyway. And she’d not see him again until he was grown.
After Morgan bounced the babe in his arms for a few moments, the lad quieted. She watched him interact with the child. He murmured words an infant couldn’t possibly understand. He tenderly grazed the lad’s cheek with the back of his knuckle. He gazed lovingly into his son’s eyes.
Jealousy struck Alicia like jagged lightning, sending scalding current through her body.
How dared Morgan show the child the affection she was due?
The affection she’d been deprived of for so many weeks?
The affection that ensured Morgan would always provide for her?
All at once she saw the infant for what it was.
A threat.
Originally, she’d imagined a child would forge an unbreakable bond between the two of them, safeguarding their relationship as husband and wife. But now she realized it had only created an obstacle to Morgan’s attachment to her.
She’d made a tactical mistake.
Instead of dangling the promise of fatherhood before him, keeping him in a constant state of longing, she’d simply handed Morgan what he prized most.
A son to carry on his name.
And now Morgan would have no use for her.
Curse her shortsightedness. She’d made herself superfluous. Unnecessary. Expendable.
But she could fix her mistake. She’d fixed her mistake with Godit and Edward, after all. She could do the same with the infant.
How difficult could it be? The thing was much smaller than Godit and completely helpless. She wouldn’t even need a dagger. She could just smother it. Infants died mysteriously in their sleep all the time.
“Would ye like to try again,” Morgan asked hopefully, “now that he’s calm?”
This time when she reached out for the child, there was genuine warmth in her smile.
“Oh aye.”
Jenefer dragged the archery target out of the way and gathered up her bow and quiver with haste. But by the time she raced up the stairs and burst into the nursery, her worst fears were confirmed.
“Miles?” she asked Bethac.
Bethac nodded toward Morgan’s bedchamber.
“Shite.”
Jenefer closed the door behind her and set her weapons against the nursery wall. She’d hoped to arrive before that viper of a woman could get her wretched hands on the babe. But Miles was already in her clutches.
Grimacing in frustration, she ran a restless hand through her hair.
“I’m sure the bairn’s safe enough,” Bethac said. “He’s with his da. And once Miles starts fussin’, she’ll likely send him away.”
Jenefer hoped Bethac was right. She began pacing, chewing on her thumbnail, obsessing over what could go wrong.
She’d faced villains before. Some were mean and brutal and some devilishly clever. Some were full of vengeful spite, others irreparably broken.
But she’d seen none quite as cold-blooded as Lady Alicia.
The woman’s eyes were flat and unfeeling. Her smile was forced and cool. It was as if she wore a mask over an empty shell.
The worst part was that Morgan seemed blind to it.
He was obsessed with the idea that his dead wife had miraculously returned from the grave. He thought he’d been given a second chance. He thought he could repair what had been done to his poor, innocent, damaged Alicia.
Any narrative that challenged his version of events was unwelcome.
And that willful ignorance was his fatal flaw.
Through the wall, Jenefer heard Miles’ faint wail. She halted in her tracks, listening.
The babe continued to cry for a long while. Finally Jenefer turned to Bethac in askance. “Should I go and…?”
Bethac shook her head. “After that interrogation ye gave Lady Alicia? Nay, lass, ye’re the last person she wants to see. And ye’ll only vex the laird. Besides, Morgan can calm the lad when he has a mind to.”
Jenefer suspected as much, despite the persistent myth that only she could soothe the lad. Morgan was the babe’s father, after all.
As for her interrogating Lady Alicia, someone had to challenge the woman’s improbable story. Even if Morgan was too stubborn to hear it.
Eventually, Miles’ crying diminished. Soon afterward, she heard the bedchamber door close and footfalls in the passageway. Morgan was returning to the nursery.
Jenefer braced herself. She intended to confront him with the truth. Give him a piece of her mind. And force him to listen.
But when Bethac opened the door under his soft knock, Morgan looked crestfallen. His shoulders sagged. The light in his eyes was dimmed by sorrow. And all of Jenefer’s bullish intentions fell by the wayside.
Bethac took the babe from him, patting Morgan on the arm. “’Twill take time, m’laird. To Mi-, Allison…she’s a stranger.” She added, “And not all mothers take to motherhood naturally.”
He looked up once at Jenefer. A tiny, troubled crease formed between his brows. But he said nothing.
“Go on back now,” Bethac said. “I’ll take care o’ the lad.”
After he left, Jenefer took it upon herself to inspect every inch of the babe, to be sure the wicked wench hadn’t pinched him or scratched him or done him any harm.
She was only slightly less worried about Morgan. He might be a mighty Highland warrior. But she saw now that his heart was as soft as clay. Easy to bruise. And easy to break.
As the afternoon hours dragged on toward evening, Jenefer grew more restless. She bit her thumbnail down to the quick. She returned again and again to the window, troubled by how quickly the sky darkened. She only picked at the generous platter of food Feiyan offered her.
Later, as she watched the moon slip between wisps of cloud, she couldn’t decide what troubled her more. The thought that Alicia might plot to kill Morgan. Or that she might plot to kiss him.
Chapter 53
Alicia couldn’t put it off forever. Sooner or later, she was going to have to return to Morgan’s bed. She needed to establish, once and for all, that he belonged to her. And she needed to show him that it was she, not his son, who held the most intimate claim on Morgan.
It wouldn’t be easy. She wasn’t exactly in the mood for trysting. Not after the rough week she’d had, fretting over whether she’d left any evidence of her crime behind. Tangling with that conniving, loose-tongued lass. Suffering through a less than ideal reunion with her wriggling, demanding infant.
At least, in some ways, Morgan was a better lover than Edward had been. He never tore her fine silk garments with clumsy hands. He never shoved his member into her while she was sleeping. He actually made an effort to please her.
Still, for Alicia, swiving was only a means to an end. She needed leverage to bend Morgan to her will.
When Morgan returned from the nursery, she’d be prepared to acquiesce to his seductive whims. She’d be timid and apologetic, in need of his reassurance. Though it could set a dangerous precedent, she might even allow him to swive her by the light of day.
That plan was propelled forward at full speed when Morgan entered the bedchamber.
He looked brooding and uncertain. More of a mind to engage in deep conversation than tryst with her.
She couldn’t have that. Doub
t had already reared its ugly head with Morgan. She couldn’t have him poking his nose into the past, digging into the details of what, to her mind, was dead and done.
So she schooled her features to a sort of helpless dismay and let her kirtle slip strategically off of one shoulder.
“Morgan, I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I know I’ve disappointed you.”
“Disappointed me? What do ye mean?”
She lowered her gaze and worried the coverlet between her fingers. “I know you wanted me to bond with wee Al-…” Shite. What had he called the infant? Alfred? Alisdair? She covered her faltering with a soft sob.
He fell neatly into her trap, venturing near to give her comfort. “I know ’twill take some time.”
She sniffed and nodded shyly. “At least we have each other.” She gave him a sidelong glance, gauging his response.
His expression wasn’t what she expected. Or what she wanted. His brow creased, not in instinctive empathy, but in concerned contemplation.
She couldn’t have that. She couldn’t have him thinking about things.
“Unless you don’t want me anymore,” she said softly, “now that I’m…soiled.”
He looked sharply at her. “What? Never. What happened wasn’t your fault. Ye aren’t to blame.”
That was what she needed to hear. She looked up at him with wide, watery eyes. “Oh, Morgan, what did I ever do to deserve you?”
He sat beside her on the bed. To her chagrin, he reached out and slipped her kirtle back up, covering her shoulder.
But then that was Morgan. He was a gentleman. Almost too much of a gentleman.
Maybe that was what had attracted her to Edward. Besides being strategically located to give her the lifestyle she desired, Edward had always been forceful and demanding. She didn’t have to play the meek mouse with him. He took what he wanted. So did she. They understood each other perfectly.
Swiving Edward was rough, urgent, and over with in moments.
With Morgan, she’d had to learn a complicated dance. He wanted caresses and kisses, whispers and whimpers, a breathless passion that was hard for her to emulate and sustain.
So she’d created strict rules for trysting that ensured he wouldn’t discover her pretense. She feigned modesty to keep him at arm’s length and in the dark. She made frequent claims of illness and infirmity to keep his desires at bay. When she did relent and allow him to come to her bed, it was with carefully modulated responses that eased his hunger while maintaining her aloofness.
Considering the infrequency of their trysts, she’d been astonished to discover she was with child. But she’d never let circumstances of fate interfere with her plans. Not then. And not now.
“Alicia,” Morgan breathed, taking her hand between his two, “I don’t wish to hurry ye.”
She resisted the urge to smirk. Sometimes she wished he would hurry her. The quicker a thing was begun, the quicker it would be over with.
“You’re so kind. So patient,” she said.
Then the conversation took a nasty twist.
“But I do need to know the name o’ your abductor,” he said.
Fury flared in her, though she dared not show it. This was exactly the subject she’d hoped to avoid. She stared at her lap while her mind worked furiously.
“’Twill do no good to keep it secret,” he said. “The longer the wound festers, the less likely ’twill be to heal.”
There wasn’t an icicle’s chance in hell she was going to divulge the name of her lover.
There was only one way out of this discussion. She was going to have to seduce him for all she was worth.
Morgan couldn’t allow Alicia to distract him. Finding and questioning her lover was the only way he’d settle the truth of her abduction once and for all. The only way he’d discover whether she’d been snatched forcibly from his castle as she claimed or if there was more to the tale.
He wanted to believe her story. That she’d been swept away by a cruel villain. That for weeks, she’d languished in his keep. That her return had been a miracle.
But Morgan didn’t believe in miracles any more than he believed in ghosts. And now that he was thinking with his brain instead of his heart, he realized her version of what had happened was full of holes.
He couldn’t question Alicia. She was still too feeble. He couldn’t force her to relive what had happened.
But he could damn well interrogate the English lord who’d taken her. All he needed was a name.
“Will you hold me?” Alicia murmured.
Morgan blinked. It was a curious request, coming from her. But maybe the ordeal had changed her.
He folded his arms around her, tucking her against his chest. For once, she didn’t stiffen. Despite the daylight filtering through the window, she nestled against him in perfect trust.
“I feel so safe when I’m with you, Morgan.” She placed her palm over his heart. “So loved.”
He curled his fingers around her hand. Something had altered Alicia’s nature. She’d always cherished him in her own way. But now she seemed particularly thankful for his affection, welcoming his touch in a way she never had before.
He should have been relieved, grateful.
Instead, he felt guarded.
When her free hand slithered up his throat, lodging in the curls at the nape of his neck, his suspicions increased.
This aggressive woman was intriguing. But she was not the Alicia he’d married.
“’Tis been such a long time,” she breathed. “I’ve missed you.”
There was no mistaking her meaning. He replied with caution. “I’ve missed ye as well.”
She raised her face to his. “Would you… Will you…” She blushed and blurted out, “Take me, Morgan.”
“Here? Now?”
“Aye,” she sighed.
His nostrils flared. Alicia had never made such a request. Not once.
He couldn’t help but be moved. But he resisted his instinct to swoop down on her trembling lips, to kiss her in answer.
No matter how much he wanted this reunion—needed it to heal their marriage—he needed the truth more.
“’Tis my dearest desire,” he said. “But I can’t find peace until I have your villain’s name.”
In answer, she traced his ear with her fingertip. “I don’t want to think about him, Morgan. I only want to think about you.”
Her delicate touch sent a shiver of longing through him. But he refused to be diverted from his purpose. He captured that hand as well and clasped both between his, brushing her knuckles with his lips.
“And I only want to think o’ ye, Alicia,” he said. “But I can’t stop dwellin’ on what he did to ye. If I can only have his name, ’twill purge him from my mind.”
A peevish glower flashed across her brow, so quickly he might have imagined it, before she spoke. “I’ve already purged him from mine. All I’ve been thinking about for weeks,” she said, her eyes filming over with lust, “is returning to you, my beloved Morgan.”
He couldn’t deny that he was moved by her desire. He’d never seen such warmth in her gaze. And only now did he realize that was all he’d ever wanted from his wife. The knowledge that she wanted him.
As he stared down at her in wonder, she lowered her gaze to his mouth and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.
Only a will of iron kept him from surrendering to her seduction.
Still, his voice cracked as he repeated his demand. “His name.”
This time, unmistakable ire hardened her gaze. Her lips tightened into a thin line. She moderated her irritation, giving him an offended pout.
“If I tell you his name, will you let it go?” she pleaded. “Will you make love to me so I can forget him?”
“Aye.”
“Very well.” She pursed her lips and muttered, “Lionel. Lord Lionel.”
Oddly, hearing a name attached to what had happened to Alicia made her abuse seem far more real. No matter the circumstances of her
abduction, he now knew that the bruises on her face, the scratches on her neck had been caused by a living, breathing brute by the name of… “Lionel what?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Morgan narrowed his eyes. He found that hard to believe. She’d been in his keep for three months. Had no one addressed the lord by his surname in all that time?
Alicia leaned in toward him again, resting her cheek against his chest and extricating her hands from his grip.
“Now can we make love?”
She let one hand drift up to caress his jaw. The other she placed brazenly upon his thigh, letting her thumb graze perilously close to the beast quickening in his trews.
He had the name now. At least half of it. He was sure he could find the culprit with that.
For now, he’d yield to her temptation.
After all, Alicia was his wife. He had every right to swive her. And now he had her invitation.
After weeks of guilt and longing, he was finally getting the absolution he needed. And for the first time, at her request and by the light of day, he was going to make love to his wife without regret.
Half an hour later, he sighed as he rolled off of her in shame.
She didn’t seem to mind that he hadn’t been able to fulfill their tryst. With a soft, sleepy murmur, she turned away to doze.
But he was mortified. Never in his life had his body betrayed him so completely.
It wasn’t Alicia’s fault. She’d been open and willing. Letting him feast his eyes on her slender, pale body. Allowing him to cup the small swell of her breasts. Encouraging his kisses.
Finally, clasping him in her cool hand, she’d guided him to the crevice between her legs.
Their coupling had been brief and unsatisfying.
After a few dozen thrusts, his interest flagged. Unfortunately, that wasn’t all that flagged.
But what caused him to shrink wasn’t Alicia’s forwardness. Or knowing her abductor’s name. It wasn’t that he was out of practice. Or drunk. Or weary.
What caused him to wither was guilt over the intoxicating lass in the chamber next door.
All he could think about was Jenefer’s fiery nature and fierce body, her honest, innocent, unfettered desire. And, curse the lass, that memory was ruining him for any other woman.
Bride of Fire Page 24