The two clans worked together for several hours, restoring the keep enough to make it secure. Meanwhile, Bethac had the cooks prepare supper for the hungry warriors.
It was early afternoon when they crowded into the great hall. Sitting elbow to elbow at the trestle tables, they feasted on thick mutton pottage and barley bread. And they swapped glorious stories of past battles.
Jenefer, ravenous after the skirmish, paid more heed to the stew than the boasts. But after she’d finally eaten her fill, she asked the one thing she was most anxious to know.
“What news from the king?”
Morgan’s hand tightened around his eating dagger.
He narrowed his eyes at Deirdre. If the Laird of Rivenloch had brought news from the king herself, it must not bode well for him. Glancing at Colban’s bleak expression, Morgan expected the worst.
Ballocks. After everything he’d been through over the past several days, he didn’t think he could endure more bad tidings.
Lady Deirdre’s face was unreadable as she wiped her mouth, set her napkin aside, and rose from the table.
She turned to her husband. “Pagan?”
He pulled a sealed document from his gambeson and handed it to her.
“First of all,” Deirdre said, holding it aloft for all to see, “I hope all of you understand this is the will of the king and not the decree of any one clan.” Her ice blue gaze landed on Morgan then, and her voice was forthright, sincere, and reassuring. “As far as mac Giric and Rivenloch, this document affects neither our loyalty nor our friendship.”
Morgan nodded in agreement. The two clans had fought side-by-side, after all. Nothing could break the bonds of war.
Then she turned away.
“By order of the king, Castle Creagor and its surrounding lands are hereby awarded to Lady Jenefer du Lac of Rivenloch.”
His clan’s whispers of shock and disappointment circled the great hall as she handed the decree to Creagor’s new laird.
Morgan’s heart sank.
Then bitter bile rose in his throat.
How could the king do such a thing? How could he take away the prize Morgan had been awarded?
He and his clan had traveled over a hundred miles from the Highlands to get here. They’d already settled in. He was finally beginning to feel like Creagor was his home.
God’s eyes. His clan had even shed blood in defense of the keep.
The king’s betrayal filled him with rancor. How could a beardless boy, sitting miles away in his royal robes, steal Morgan’s future with a single stroke of his pen?
His clan gave voice to his ire. There was a swell of muttering and cursing from the mac Giric soldiers that was becoming a risk, even if they were no longer armed and hot from battle.
It was up to him to rein them in. And keep them safe.
He came to his feet.
“Heed my words, mac Giric! The king has spoken and made his will known.” He held up his hand for silence. “By all rights, Rivenloch could have marched on Creagor and forced us out at the point of a sword. But they did not.”
Even as he said the words, he knew Rivenloch would never have attacked, not while Jenefer was in his ranks.
“Instead,” he continued, “they’ve been merciful, fightin’ by our side.” To his horror, his voice cracked on the last words as he recalled how proud he’d been of Jenefer’s expert command of his archers. Not daring to look at her, he cleared his throat. “We owe it to them to return to the Highlands without delay.”
“The sooner, the better!” Colban barked.
Morgan narrowed his eyes at his loyal companion. He’d never seen Colban so grim. What had happened to him at Rivenloch?
Soon his clan was joining in with comments of their own, like monks trying to make good wine from sour grapes.
“I’ll be glad to be far away from the bloody English!”
“’Twill be good to see real mountains again.”
“We can be back and settled ere winter comes.”
“The siege stores will be good for the journey home.”
“…home…”
“Home.”
Morgan tightened his jaw.
His heart was breaking.
He told himself it was because he’d grown to love Creagor. He would miss its rolling hills and green grass.
He blamed the pain on all of his recent losses. The loss of his right hand man. The loss of his wife. And now the loss of his holding.
He tried to believe his sorrow was because his son would never know his mother, never grow up in his grandfather’s castle that was his birthright.
But deep in his heart, he knew the truth. He knew the source of his anguish. It had hair like honey silk and eyes of fiery emeralds. It went by the name of Jenefer.
At least she would be happy. She was getting what she wanted. What she’d wanted all along.
He sat back down, refusing to look at her. He couldn’t bear to see her smug smile. Not now. Not when he knew it would be the last he saw of her.
“Wait!” Jenefer said.
What she did next shocked them all.
She pushed the document back across the table toward Deirdre.
“I don’t want it. I don’t want Creagor.”
Jenefer had spoken on impulse. But it was true. She didn’t want to win the castle this way. Not at the expense of the clan she’d come to care for. Not if she’d be stealing it from the man she loved.
She was sure she was making the right decision.
Until her mother glared at her, her eyes flickering with dangerous fire. “What do you mean you don’t want it?”
“I mean, Mother, you can tear this up.”
The fire in her mother’s gaze flared even brighter as she leaned toward Jenefer. But Deirdre pushed her back with an arm across her chest.
“What’s happened, Jenefer?” Deirdre demanded.
Jenefer lowered her eyes, lifted her chin, and shrugged.
“Nothing,” she said. “I’ve just changed my mind.”
She wasn’t about to divulge the truth. That she’d fallen in love with the Highlander. That she adored his precious son. That his clan—Bethac, Cicilia, William, Danald, the Campbell brothers, all of them—felt like family to her.
She didn’t have the heart to take the keep from Morgan. Not after everything he’d lost.
Her mother’s temper erupted then. “Changed your mind? Changed your mind?” She pounded a fist on the table, rattling the ale cups. “Listen, lassie. Your father and I didn’t just traipse the length of Scotland to curry the favor of a king scarce out of his swaddling just to have you change your mind. Your cousin didn’t barter away—”
“Hel,” Deirdre warned. “That’s enough.” She turned to Jenefer and spoke with an air of firm but fair command. “What the king has decreed and set his name to is final. ’Twas negotiated and hard won. You cannot refuse such a gift. Not without incurring the king’s wrath.”
Jenefer knew she was testing her aunt’s patience. Her mother looked ready to carve her up with her eating dagger. Even her normally calm cousin Hallie stared at her with glacial rage.
Feiyan and her mother Miriel, however, murmured together. In unison, they crossed their arms and arched their brows. Then they gave Jenefer secret, knowing smiles.
“Of course, the English could attack again,” Miriel mused. “You’ll need a fighting force to keep Creagor safe.”
Feiyan added, “Servants to set up your household.”
Miriel nodded. “Someone to purchase provisions and livestock.”
“And probably a dozen cooks,” Feiyan said with a smirk, “to keep up with your appetite.”
Ordinarily, Jenefer would have cuffed her cousin for that remark. But she was beginning to understand their veiled message.
Maybe she didn’t need to send the Highlanders away just yet. She could definitely use their help.
When she turned to Morgan, her heart pounded, belying the casual tone of her words. “What say you? Wil
l you stay on?”
His face was grim. Of course it was. He’d just been told that the castle he’d risked life and limb to defend had been taken away from him.
But her throat ached. What if he said nay? How could she bear the thought of never seeing him again?
“’Twill take a few days to prepare for the journey home.” His voice was ragged with bitter defeat. “But we’ll delay no more than that. We must leave ere winter comes.”
It wasn’t much. But it was something.
Jenefer would just have to use every weapon of seduction in her arsenal in the coming days to convince him to stay.
Chapter 67
Beneath the tangle they’d made of the coverlet, Morgan felt Jenefer arch in ecstasy.
Her fingers clawed at the bedlinens.
Her astonished mouth fell open.
Between his legs, he felt the blood surge to his hungry beast, caught within the cage of her womb.
She moaned in need.
He growled in impatience.
They gasped together in growing wonder.
Then, just as he feared another instant of delay would make him explode, she shook with tremors of rapture, releasing him to shudder in his own welcome relief.
Their passion spent, they fell back on the bed in happy, breathless exhaustion. Again.
It wasn’t the first time he’d made love to Jenefer in the week since their battle with the English.
It was, however, the most comfortable location. With a fire crackling on the hearth and morning storm clouds outside the window, his bed—her bed now, he reminded himself—was definitely his favorite place for bedding.
Last eve, they’d trysted in the straw. Jenefer had lured him to the stable, telling him she wanted his opinion on enlarging it to accommodate knights for the tournaments she planned to hold.
Yesterday morn, they’d discussed reorganizing the armory and wound up swiving on a pile of targes.
The day before that, she’d led him down to the pond, explaining how it could be dug deeper for bathing. Naturally, she’d had to show him how shallow it was, peeling off every stitch of her clothing and wading into the freezing water. He’d had to warm her up afterward in a nearby thicket.
What she lacked in experience, the lass made up for in ambition. And her creativity was keeping him distracted from his responsibilities.
Yet the longer he delayed getting his clan ready to leave Creagor, the less he felt like leaving.
He could definitely get used to this.
If he lingered much longer, he’d have to get used to it. The lass’s appetite for love, like her appetite for food, seemed insatiable.
But he was running out of excuses to remain. And he knew it was pure selfishness that made him wish to stay.
He sighed as he glared up at the ceiling.
Yesterday, a small contingent of servants from Rivenloch had arrived to complement Jenefer’s household. In addition, her mother had gifted her with a flock of sheep, a few cows, assorted fowl, a pair of oxen, and even a handsome destrier. Six knights and six archers had moved into the armory with their weaponry.
Soon she wouldn’t need his protection.
Meanwhile, Morgan only tortured himself with procrastination.
Disgruntled, he rose up on his elbows. “I should go.”
“Go? What do you mean, go?” Did he imagine the subtle note of panic in her voice before she tempered it with a coy smile? “Don’t be daft. We haven’t even had breakfast yet.”
He had to smile at that. “After breakfast then, I suppose.”
But he knew he couldn’t delay the journey home forever.
“You’re not thinking of leaving today, are you?” Her voice seemed artificially bright. “I mean, look at the clouds. There’s sure to be a downpour. If you go now, your clan and your livestock will be forced to slog through the mire and sleep in the mud.”
He glanced out the shutters. To be honest, the clouds looked no more threatening than on most days in the Highlands.
But the temptation in the bed beside him—Jenefer’s wide emerald eyes, her rosy lips, her lush tresses, the gentle curve of her bare shoulder—proved too great to resist. He supposed one more day couldn’t do any harm.
“Perhaps on the morrow then,” he said, content to blame his delay on the weather.
“Aye, tomorrow,” she said. “Or the next day. Though it does seem like winter has set in.”
“Does it?”
“Oh aye.” She shook her head. “When I think of you stranded in the mountains in the ice and snow with Miles…”
“Perhaps we should stay a while longer.” He pensively scratched his jaw. “For Miles’ sake.”
“Aye!” she cried. Then she tempered her enthusiasm with a shrug. “I mean, you’d certainly be welcome to stay here.”
“Just until the weather clears.”
“Of course. Once the weather clears, you’ll want to be on your way. I’m sure you’re eager to return.”
But that was just it. He wasn’t eager to return. He’d come to Creagor with all intentions of staying. That hadn’t changed. If anything, he had more of a desire to stay than ever.
He was even fairly certain she wanted him to stay. Why else would she be swiving him in every corner of the keep? And why would she be making the flimsiest of excuses to keep him at Creagor?
If she wanted him, why had she not asked him to marry her? After all, Morgan was free to wed, now that Alicia was gone.
The question was, did Jenefer want him for a husband? Did she envision him as her loyal, lifelong companion? Or was he only a pleasant diversion?
She must realize he couldn’t go on being her lover. He was too proud for that. He wouldn’t disgrace her by keeping her as his mistress. They’d taken enough liberties in that quarter as it was.
For the sake of honor, they had to become husband and wife.
And it had to be her idea.
Otherwise, no one would ever believe he was marrying her for love. They’d assume he was marrying her to reclaim Creagor.
Nay, as inconvenient as it was, it had to be Jenefer who proposed marriage.
Jenefer sighed in equal parts bliss and frustration.
How much more seduction would it take before the stubborn Highlander proposed marriage?
She let her gaze roam over the man in the bed beside her, the bed clearly meant for two.
Loki’s rod, Morgan was devilishly handsome. Incredibly gifted. Breathtaking and mouthwatering. But more than that, he was noble and good and strong and fair. Any woman would be lucky to have such a man in her bed.
To have him as her husband…
Damn it, she was getting desperate.
She was running out of excuses to keep him at Creagor.
Every night, she found herself praying for bad weather.
And as wicked as it was, she even considered breaking the wheel of one of his carts or setting fire to his supplies to delay him.
She watched him as he stared at the ceiling, deep in thought.
Not for the first time, she wondered why she couldn’t confront Morgan the same way she confronted everything else. Without hesitation. Without artifice. Directly. The same way she released arrows. Straight and to the point.
Why was that so difficult when it came to addressing Morgan?
She should look him in the eye. Stand firm. Speak frankly.
But the truth was she was afraid of his reply. She was afraid he might not feel the same way she did.
What if his heart didn’t race every time she walked into a room?
What if his breath didn’t catch every time she smiled at him?
What if his soul didn’t ache at the thought of never seeing her again?
Delaying that conversation kept hope alive for her, she realized. Hope of a lifetime with him. Hope of being a mother to Miles. Hope of adopting this clan as her own.
She’d been utterly charmed by Morgan’s son. She’d grown terribly fond of Bethac and Cicilia. She’d bo
nded with the mac Giric archers as if they were her own men. And Morgan… There were no words to describe the love she felt for him.
How could she watch them walk away forever?
If Morgan refused her, they would walk away. And all her hopes would be dashed.
But why wouldn’t Morgan wish to go home? He’d lost his wife, and he already had an heir. What use did he have for another? In the Highlands, he probably had a whole bevy of willing lasses he could swive to his heart’s content, without commitment or even affection.
Jenefer hoped he wanted more than that. She wanted to believe he loved her.
He’d told her so once.
But words spoken in the heat of battle couldn’t be trusted.
She swallowed down fear. She couldn’t put off the confrontation forever. The longer she waited, the harder it would be.
“Morgan!” she blurted before cowardice could curb her tongue.
He turned to her in startled concern. “Aye?”
His captivating eyes, still smoldering from passion, made her stumble over her words. “I… I…”
She glared at the ceiling. She couldn’t do it. She suddenly realized it was too soon. It would be too easy for him to tell her nay.
If she could only keep him at Creagor a little while longer. Maybe until spring. Long enough to fall in love with her…
Chapter 68
Morgan held his breath, waiting for Jenefer to finish.
Was it possible she’d finally stopped beating around the bush and intended to ask him to be her husband?
She’d averted her gaze. Her fingers were clasped together tightly enough to snap a birch arrow in half.
At last she seemed to screw up her courage.
“I have a proposal—”
“Aye!”
“What?” She blinked at him.
“Ye said ye have a proposal?”
She blushed and looked at her hands. “Aye. I’d like to propose…that you stay on for a few months to train my men in using the claymore.”
His eyes flattened. “Train your men?”
“Aye. If ’tisn’t too much to ask.”
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