Her clan had admired the great swords the mac Girics carried and were forging claymores of their own. They’d need someone with expertise to teach them how to use them.
“Fine,” he said. “As long as I’m here, I’ll train your men.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Anythin’ else ye’d like to propose?”
She licked her lips. “I… I’ll need to buy calves in the spring. I could use your help with negotiating a good price.”
“Right. Coos. And claymores.” He arched a brow. “And?”
She bit the corner of her lip. Then she lifted her gaze to rove slowly over his body. The calculated desire smoldering in her eyes almost reignited the fires of passion in him. Almost.
When she ran a finger coyly down his chest, her message was clear. She didn’t want to speak any more of proposals. She wanted to swive him again.
His flesh was willing enough. But he had to stay strong. He wasn’t going to continue warming her bed if she was only going to tease him with a future of meaningless dalliances.
He plucked her finger from his chest and returned it to her.
“Coos and claymores ye can have, lassie. Couplin’, however, is goin’ to take a different kind o’ proposal.”
Jenefer wasn’t sure if his words were a rejection or an invitation.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m not content to be your…paramour.”
Her heart caught. She knew it. Why would he be content with one woman when he could have whomever he wished? Bitterness twisted her pain into ire as she said, “You seemed content enough a moment ago.”
“Aye,” he said. “But I want more.”
“More,” she echoed. “I see.” She nodded as hurt and anger sharpened her tongue. “This isn’t enough for you.”
“Nay, ’tisn’t.”
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Go then.”
“Go?” He seemed genuinely puzzled. “Go where?”
“Home!” She snapped the coverlet back and swiveled her legs over the edge of the bed. “Back to your Highland lasses!”
“My what?” He sat up in alarm.
She began collecting her discarded garments. “Heaven forbid I should keep you here when you’ve got a bevy of wenches waiting for you—”
“A bevy o’ what?”
She swept her kirtle from the floor and pulled it down over her head.
“But I’ll tell you this,” she said, stabbing her arms into the sleeves and wrenching it down over her hips. “None of them will ever care for Miles the way I do.” She snatched her surcoat from the foot of the bed and snagged her hose from atop his discarded leine. “None of them will train your archers with such dedication.” One boot she found beside the hearth. She had no idea where the other one had gone. She could hardly see for the tears of anger blurring her eyes. “And none of them will love you as much as…” To her horror, her voice broke.
“Aye?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered, scouring the chamber for her missing boot. “You obviously don’t care for me.”
“What?” He burst from the bed in an explosion of linen. “Why do ye think I’ve been swivin’ ye for the past sennight?”
“Sheep swive all the time. I don’t think they care all that much for each other.”
“Sheep. Sheep?” He looked at her in disbelief. “Bloody hell, lass! I told ye I loved ye that day we fought the English.”
She shook her head in dismissal. “’Twas in the heat of battle. You wanted me to go to the great hall. You would have said anything to get me to do your bidding.”
“If I’d only wanted ye to do my biddin’, I’d have dragged ye to the hall myself.”
“Fine. Maybe you did love me,” she said. “But now you’ve apparently changed your mind.”
He blinked, incredulous that she should say such a thing. “What?”
“You said you didn’t want to be my… What did you call it? My paramour.”
“That’s true. I don’t.”
She gave him a smoldering glare. He’d stabbed her in the heart already. He didn’t have to twist the damned knife.
“Then we understand one another,” she bit out.
“Nay,” he growled. “I don’t think we do.”
He tore the linens from the bed, knotting them around his waist.
Then he slowly advanced on her, all scowling brow and clenched fists.
“What about ye?” he demanded. “Is that all ye want?”
He took a threatening step forward.
She dropped her clothing and took a judicious step backward.
“A Highland warrior at your beck and call?” he snarled.
He ambled toward her, menacing her with his words as much as his size.
She retreated, staying carefully out of range.
“A man to warm your bed on cold winter nights?” he sneered.
His last step trapped her against the wall.
“Someone ye can command to come hither,” he breathed in a husky whisper, “when ye’ve got an itch that needs scratchin’?”
She gasped at his crude words, which both angered and aroused her. Then she shoved at his chest.
The massive brute barely budged.
He caught her wrists in a steely grip, pinning her against the wall.
“Do ye know,” he bit out, holding her as much with his demanding gaze as with his powerful body, “ye’ve not once said ye loved me?”
She blinked. Was that true? Had she never told him how she felt?
“That’s not possible,” she decided.
“’Tis.”
“Surely I—”
“Nay.”
“When we were—”
“Not once. Not even in the heat o’ battle.”
She lowered her eyes under his scrutiny, mildly abashed that she’d overlooked such a crucial thing.
“Fine,” she said. “Well, I do.”
“Ye do what?”
“I…care for you.”
“Bethac cares for me,” he scoffed. “Is that the best ye can do?”
“Fine.” She blew out an irritated breath and mumbled, “I love you.”
“What was that?” He cocked his ear toward her.
“You heard me.”
“Did ye say ye loathe me?” The glimmer of mischief in his eyes made her heart melt a little. “Because that’s what I heard.”
“You know what I said,” she murmured.
“Sorry, nay. I couldn’t quite—”
“Oh, for the love of Thor… I love you!” she shouted. “All right?”
He grinned, releasing her wrists.
She gave him a chiding punch in the chest for looking so smug. Then she demanded, “So what are you going to do about it?”
“Me? Well, if ye’d only stop dawdlin’, proposin’ this and proposin’ that…”
Her jaw dropped. How dared he accuse her of delay. She’d been seducing him for days now.
He continued. “If ye’d just aim, draw, and loose instead o’ dallyin’ with your bow…”
“Dallying with my…?” She felt her veins fill with fire. Was that what he thought she was doing? Dallying? “Fine. You want a bull’s-eye? I’ll give you a bull’s-eye,” she said. “Marry me!”
“I will!”
“Wait. What?”
“I said I will.”
Her mouth clapped shut. Was that all it took?
She might have gone on staring at him in shock, but she was startled by the sudden sound of cheering from the nursery next door.
Morgan scowled. “What the devil?”
They didn’t bother getting fully dressed. They stole out of the bedchamber door as they were and crept to the nursery.
Bethac greeted them at the crack of the nursery door. She was grinning from ear to ear.
“Congratulations,” she said with a wink. “Though it took ye long enough.”
Jenefer sighed. How much had the maidservant heard? They’d have to be cer
tain to close the shutters from now on when they were grappling…either with words or under the bedsheets.
Then Bethac swung the door wide to reveal the guests crowded into the nursery.
Jenefer was mortified.
Her aunt Deirdre was holding Miles, smiling gently down at the wee lad.
Hallie sat on the bed beside her, looking on in cool, quiet reflection.
Cicilia was closing the shutters. When she turned, her face was alight with pleasure.
Feiyan and her mother Miriel were warming their hands at the hearth, looking both satisfied and conspiratorial.
Her mother Helena stood with her arms crossed. Her expression was grave, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“What are you doing here?” Jenefer blurted.
“We did give you a sennight,” Deirdre said, tickling the babe in her arms. “Didn’t we, Miles?”
Her Aunt Miriel shrugged. “We figured if it didn’t happen today…”
“We might have to intervene,” Feiyan finished.
“If what didn’t happen?” Morgan asked.
Miriel didn’t answer him, speaking to her sisters instead. “I told you they wouldn’t read the document.”
Deirdre nodded. “You were right. And it turns out ’twas for the best.”
“The document?” Jenefer asked, growing annoyed with her aunts.
Feiyan answered. “The document from the king.”
Helena stepped forward, eyeing Morgan up. “We decided to wait for a sennight. If by then the two of you weren’t wed or dead, we’d return to prod things along.”
Morgan’s brow had clouded. He probably didn’t like the way her mother had said “prod,” as if she meant to jab him with her sword.
Jenefer wasn’t happy about her kin’s interference either. “What about the document?”
Hallie rose from the bed. There was a sad wistfulness in her voice as she said, “The important thing is you’ve chosen to wed.”
Cicilia couldn’t contain her glee. “Now wee Miles will have a mother!”
Bethac joined in. “And we can all stay here at Creagor, aye?”
Her mother’s eyes gleamed. “Think of the fighting force you’ll have, combining your two armies.”
Bethac clasped her hands in delight. “And the brood o’ wee bairns ye’ll make to carry on the clan name.”
Even Miles voiced his opinion, cooing from Deirdre’s lap.
The nursery filled with happy chatter as everyone began to discuss the future. Details for the wedding feast. Plans for meeting Morgan’s parents. Schedules for upcoming tournaments. Alterations to the castle. Arrangements to take turns caring for Miles, whom they’d all come to adore.
Jenefer couldn’t stay disgruntled for long. Especially when she let her gaze slip over to Morgan.
He was everything she’d ever wanted in a husband. A man of honor and discipline. Kindness and strength. Fierce. Gentle. Handsome. Powerful. Fair.
Like a straight arrow married to a flexible bow, their union would fly true and go far, bringing harmony between their clans.
Peace along the border.
A lifetime of love and loyalty and adventure.
“Amor vincit omnia,” she murmured.
Love conquers all.
Perhaps the Rivenloch motto wasn’t so wrong after all.
By the sparkle in his eyes and his heart-melting grin, it seemed Morgan agreed.
Epilogue
“’Tisn’t right!” Jenefer snapped, dropping the document onto her bedsheet-covered lap.
She was suddenly furious. With the king. And with her kin.
Her rage was palpable enough to wake Morgan, dozing beside her.
“What is it?” he murmured with a yarn, still drowsy from the honey mead they’d imbibed at their wedding feast. That and a night full of lovemaking. “What’s wrong?”
“Did you know about this?” she demanded, shoving the document under his nose and crossing her arms over her naked bosom.
Rising up on his elbows, he squinted at the parchment. But with the candle on her side of the bed, he couldn’t make out the words.
“I can’t… What does it say?” he asked.
She hesitated. Gazing at his adorable mussed hair, his half-lidded eyes, and the concern etched between his brows, she couldn’t help but feel her anger soften. After all, she had no reason to be vexed with him.
He couldn’t possibly know what the document said. The king’s decree had been sealed for a month, forgotten in the flurry of wedding plans. Since they were wed now, she’d finally opened it, figuring she should know exactly what it said.
But her pardon of Morgan’s complicity didn’t mitigate her anger with everyone else who knew what it contained.
She took the document back.
“According to this,” she said, poring over the words, “The king ‘hereby grants the lairdship of Castle Creagor and all its lands thereto’…” She skipped the boring description of the holding. “‘to Jenefer du Lac upon the condition of her marriage to Morgan Mor mac Giric.’”
“What?” That woke him up.
He seemed just as outraged as she was. He reached across her to grab the candle and took the document to examine the words himself.
She sulked. “My inheritance was apparently secured with the promise of a wedding between us. My kin knew all along. And they didn’t say a word.”
“’Twas to be a political alliance then,” he said in disappointment, lowering the document to rake his hair back from his furrowed brow. “Not a love match.”
“Why?” she asked bitterly. “Why would they do that? Why would they bargain away my…”
She couldn’t finish the thought, because she knew that wasn’t quite accurate. She’d given Morgan her maidenhood freely, of her own accord.
Besides, most marriages between powerful nobles were political alliances. That anyone fell in love after a forced marriage was a rare occurrence.
“Why didn’t they tell us?” she wondered aloud.
There was a long silence before he answered, “I think I know.”
She lifted her brows in askance.
“We would have refused the match,” he said.
“What?”
“Think about it. If your kin had shown up and said that in order to win Creagor, ye’d have to wed me…”
“I would have turned them down.” She’d already decided she didn’t want to win Morgan by force. She only wanted him if it was of his own free will.
“As would I,” he said. “I couldn’t have ye always wonderin’ if I only married ye for your castle.”
She nodded, beginning to understand. “Feiyan. It had to be her idea.”
“Your cousin?”
“She knew I had…feelings…for you. She must have told everyone that the match could be accomplished without force.”
“Without force.”
“Aye. ’tis the same thing she says about her fighting. That there’s greater power in diverting a foe’s own force and using it against them.”
“So ye’re sayin’ they had faith in the power of our love.”
She nodded.
Morgan studied the document more closely. “There’s more.”
“More?”
“Your cousin’s betrothal was bargained for as well.”
“What?” she exploded. “Feiyan?”
“Hallidis.”
She gasped.
Hallie’s hand in marriage seemed too great a price to pay for one border castle. The man who married Hallidis Cameliard of Rivenloch would inherit a valuable prize indeed. After all, she was in line for the lairdship after her mother.
“Hallie’s to be married?”
“So it says.”
She snatched the parchment away. “To whom?” she asked, quickly scanning the document.
Finally she found the name.
“Nay.”
Her heart sank. No wonder Hallie had seemed so glum and resigned when she returned to Creagor. S
he must have known what was in the king’s decree.
“What’s wrong?” Morgan asked. “Who is it?”
“Archibald Scott.”
“And who is Archibald Scott?”
“He’s at least a decade older than Hallie. And he’s…” How could she describe Archie? “He’s a vain popinjay. A weakhearted coward who faints at the sight of blood.” So she remembered from one of the Scotts’ visits to Rivenloch years ago.
Morgan grimaced. “I’m sorry for her. If it’s any consolation, she probably expected as much. Powerful clans are always pawns in the king’s game. ’Twas the same way with Alicia and me.”
“Aye, and Hallie will do her duty,” Jenefer agreed. But she didn’t approve. And if there was a way to prevent this travesty of a match, she wouldn’t hesitate.
“Wait,” Morgan said. “Ye don’t suppose…”
“Aye?”
“My man Colban has been miserable, mopin’ about like an orphaned pup. He said he might leave Creagor after the weddin’. I thought he was only upset to lose me to a wife.” He lifted a brow. “Ye don’t think somethin’ might have happened between them in the woods, on the way to Rivenloch?”
“Between him and Hallie?” Jenefer asked in disbelief.
In matters of the heart, Hallidis was practical and dispassionate. She didn’t have a romantic bone in her body. Jenefer shook her head.
“Maybe a skirmish or two,” she said. “But when it comes to love, my cousin is about as warm as ice.”
“Ye’re probably right,” Morgan decided. “And Colban’s only restless, goin’ off on an adventure. By the time her returns, he’ll likely have swived every maid between here and Stirlin’.” He took the candle and parchment from her, reaching across her to place them back on the table. “And speakin’ o’ swivin’…”
Any lingering doubts Jenefer had about Hallie and Colban vanished as soon as her new husband claimed her with a soul-searing kiss.
Unlike their earlier trysts, which were wild and frenzied, this time their coupling was sweet, slow, full of languid touches and soft sighs. Morgan sank into her with tender care. And she rose gently up to meet him.
But soon their bodies began to strain and tremble. Their desire grew as taut as a bowstring. And when they could no longer hold back the arrow of their passion, they released their love skyward, sending it across the heavens in a beautiful arc of pleasure.
Bride of Fire Page 33