Lord of Legend

by Charlene Cross

“Which would you prefer by way of punishment? The Tower or chasing off to the wilds of Scotland?”

  Aleck dropped his taut backside onto the mattress. “So, he means to teach me a lesson, does he? Perhaps I shall turn the tables on him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He can keep his dukedom. I am more than satisfied being an earl. And I can easily survive a month in the Tower. I’m not a weakling like Harry was.”

  Felicia’s thoughts spun wildly. She certainly didn’t want Aleck to be thrown into the Tower, but even less did she want him to give up his dukedom. To be a duchess meant more to her than anything. She hadn’t flirted and teased, used every contrivance she could think of in order to find her way into his bed, simply because she thought he might be an exceptional lover. That he was, and discovering such became an added bonus, but Felicia’s main desire was not for the man himself, but for the power he exercised at court. He was already one of James’s favorites, and as a duke, he would be even more revered. Felicia hoped to share in that honor by becoming his wife.

  Unfortunately, her schemes to trap him had been constantly thwarted. She couldn’t use the excuse of being with child to extract a proposal, for Aleck was far too careful. He never came to her without protection. Not until today.

  Tutored by an exuberant Frenchman who had found his way to court less than a fortnight ago, Felicia had applied what she’d learned to Aleck. His desires raging out of control, her erotic overtures driving him nearly insane, he had forgotten to sheathe himself. According to her calculations, today was the day, the time for her to conceive. That was why she had arrived this very morn from London. Had not that pompous steward come banging on the door, pulling them apart before they were completely together, she was certain Aleck’s seed would already have found its mark.

  “Aleck,” she said pensively. “Would it not be wiser to do as James has requested?” He opened his mouth to protest, but she waved him off. “Listen to me, please. There has been talk that the plague might hit London again.”

  “There is always talk of the plague hitting London. It has yet to come—at least, during the last several years.”

  “True, but if it does, and if you are in the Tower, you will not survive. I could not bear to lose you.” Her agile fingers trailed coaxingly over his shoulder. “Especially when it is mere stubbornness that keeps you from doing what James wants. Go to Scotland, marry the girl to the first man who swears fealty to our king, then ride back to England as fast as is humanly possible. I’ll be here awaiting your return.”

  Aleck’s brow furrowed. Mayhap Felicia was right. The thought of breathing fresh air, even if it wafted over the likes of Scotland, seemed far more appealing than the stagnant dankness inside the Tower. Besides, how long could it possibly take to marry the twit off? A day? A week? Certain that the entire expedition could be completed inside of a month, Aleck came to a decision. But it had not been Felicia’s words that prompted him to make his choice. For some strange reason, he’d suddenly felt compelled to see his mission through, and it had nothing to do with James or a dukedom.

  He turned a quick smile on Felicia. “Will you await me in this very bed?”

  “I await you now.” She lay back on the feather mattress. The sheet slid away, exposing her nudity. “Come,” she cajoled, arms opening to him. “I’ll give you a taste of what you will be missing.”

  Aleck regarded Felicia’s ripe, womanly body and her enticing pose. “Tempting, but I fear our union will have to wait.”

  “Why?” Felicia asked in a near screech as she sat up again. “What is so pressing that we cannot enjoy this next hour together?”

  “According to the letter, fifty of our king’s finest men stand ready in the courtyard. We are to strike out immediately. It is by James’s orders.” He placed a light kiss on her lips, then rose from the bed. “When I return, Felicia—less than a month from now, I hope—I shall be eager to find you as you were a moment ago, ready and waiting. We can enjoy an entire summer together, if you like. Right now, I must see to other matters.”

  Felicia watched while Aleck searched through the hanging cupboard, selecting his clothing and laying items across a chest, then she fell back onto the bed. Thwarted again, she thought, her frustration growing. But all was not lost. Aleck would soon be a duke. And shortly after his return, a little less than a month hence, she would be his duchess. Again, according to her quick calculations, the time would be right for her to conceive. He’d not escape her.

  She viewed his handsomely proportioned form with admiration. Already she yearned to have him beside her, his passion flaring out of control. But she was willing to wait. Long ago, Felicia had learned that to place demands on Aleck Hawke, sixth Earl of Montbourne, meant an inevitable end to their relationship. He was not a man to be ordered about, not even by his king. Knowing as much, Felicia decided that her lover desired a dukedom more than he’d let on. Why else would he dash off to a place he could not abide? Unless...

  “How old is your new ward?” Felicia asked. “Thirteen, fourteen?”

  “Seventeen.” Aleck’s head popped through the top of his loose, flowing shirt and he tucked its tails into the waistband of his tight-fitting doeskin breeches, then tugged at the legs to straighten them. “Why do you ask?”

  Felicia scrutinized her lover momentarily. A leather jerkin slipped over his head; muscular arms covered in white linen punched through the side openings. He smoothed the leather over his flat belly, then banded a wide leather belt around his narrow waist. “I was just wondering,” she stated.

  “Do I detect jealousy, Felicia?” Aleck commented, dropping onto the arm of a sturdy chair. In four swift moves his stockings and thigh-high leather boots were in place. He stood and moved toward the bed. “Do not worry about my fidelity to you,” he said, retrieving the two letters, tucking them into his waistband. “You are the fairest of all my mistresses, and I have not yet tired of you. As for the Lady Lochlaigh, she is most likely big-boned, toothless—a fright to behold! Let’s hope she has some redeeming qualities or I’ll never find her a mate.”

  Have not yet tired of you. The words rolled through Felicia’s head. Would he? she wondered, vexed by the thought. “I shall pray for your swift return,” she said, a tempting smile crossing her face. She stretched sinuously, hoping to seduce him. She wanted him to stay, at least a bit longer. “I shall miss you. I already ache to hold you.”

  Aleck watched the serpentine movement of her body. While doing so, he remembered that in the moments prior to Marlowe’s pounding on the door, he hadn’t protected himself. Had his steward not interrupted them, his mistress might now be with child. “It will make our reunion all the sweeter,” he said, his suspicions growing. She’d driven him nearly insane with her expert lips and teasing tongue, a first for Felicia. Where had she learned to excite a man so? And from whom? “Farewell, Felicia.” Offering a wave, he strode to the door.

  “What? Not even a kiss?”

  “You’ll receive one on my return,” he said over his shoulder. “Be waiting, just as you are.”

  Peeved because she couldn’t entice him, couldn’t even elicit his kiss, Felicia did something she’d promised herself she’d never do. She issued a threat. “Should I get bored, Aleck, I might return to London. After all, there are others who seek my attention, Whitfield being one,” she said, knowing there were years of animosity between the two.

  Placing his hand on the latch, Aleck cast a hard look on his mistress. “You are a free woman, Felicia. You may do as you wish. If you desire another man—Whitfield included—then go to him. I’ll not stop you. But be aware, should you decide to leave, you will never return. The decision is yours.”

  Not giving Felicia the chance to respond, he was out the door. While he and Marlowe made their way down the corridor toward the stairs, Aleck gave the man instructions. “Pack the clothes I’ve laid out. You know what else I’ll need. But before you enter the chamber, knock. Otherwise, you might be wearing a brass urn for a
hat. The Lady Emory says she wishes to stay. She has my permission to do so, but she is to be moved into another apartment while I am gone. However, should she leave here for any reason other than illness or death, then attempt to return, she is to be barred from entering Montbourne.” He saw his steward’s startled look. “Do not trouble yourself over the woman. Just keep the gates closed to her.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  “I know you will, Marlowe. Now, tell the king’s messenger that I’ll be leaving shortly to fulfill my duty. I go to see about extra provisions.”

  At dusk, Aleck, with fifty of James’s men at his back, left the gates of Montbourne Castle. In less than an hour, the entire company had crossed the border into Scotland. As his large steed galloped beneath him, torches held high by nearby bearers to light the narrow road ahead, Aleck was amazed by his own haste. Strangely compelled to drive himself and the king’s men late into the night, edging ever closer to the northern climes, he thought not about his mistress but about the Lady Lochlaigh instead. Was she beast or beauty? In a few days, he would discover the truth.

  Chapter

  2

  Lochlaigh Castle, Northern Highlands June 1610

  Wings outstretched, a hawk soared high above the Morgan stronghold. Sitting atop a fallen log, Chandra Morgan viewed the magnificent hunter as it searched relentlessly. The great wings folded, and Chandra tensed. Her deep blue eyes watched as the large bird swooped, its target an unsuspecting sparrow that had flown into the hawk’s path. Entranced by the drama in the sky, she prayed that the small bird would somehow escape.

  Talons poised, the hunter took aim, only to miss its mark as the sparrow flitted first up, then down. The hawk pursued its quarry, the sparrow’s wings fluttering wildly in its desperate attempt to escape. A stand of trees loomed mere yards away. Exhausted by its harrowing flight, the tiny bird plunged toward the protection of the leaves.

  “She made it, Devin!” Chandra cried in jubilation as the great hunter swept the treetops, then winged toward the clouds once more. Thwarted, the hawk made its way north, quickly fading from view. “The ladybird escaped him.” Devin Morgan’s laughter met her ears. Three years older than herself, Devin, her third cousin once removed, had been Chandra’s constant companion since childhood. “You make light of me,” she accused.

  “’Tis hard to tell from here if the wee creature was male or female, but yes, it escaped.” His brown eyes studied the beauty beside him. “You think of the legend. Why?”

  “I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “Watching the hawk brought it to mind. ’Tis supposed to be a bad omen when the winged hunter flies above the castle.”

  “Were that true, ill fortune would befall us most every day of the week. ’Tis only a myth, Chandra. The legend has no substance.” The pine boughs whipped furiously as a cold wind swept through the meager stretch of forest where he and Chandra sat; she shivered violently. “Cold?” he asked.

  Chandra decided the reaction had been induced not by the abrupt chill nipping the air, but by the sudden foreboding that had filled her. Were she to voice such a thing to Devin, she knew he would laugh, then say that the premonition was caused by talk of the legend, and that she was too superstitious by far. In turn, she’d have to agree. She was too superstitious by far. Although she tried, she was unable to quell the mysterious feeling.

  Not sharing her thoughts with Devin, Chandra drew her plaid atop her head. The excess cloth settled around her shoulders, and she scanned the sky anew. Dark clouds fomented in the not too far distance. Deciding that she was being childish and silly, she quickly attributed her apprehension to the approaching storm. “The rains will soon betide us again. We’d best go back or we’ll be drenched through and through.”

  Noting that she was still plagued by misgivings, caused by thoughts of the old Morgan legend, Devin bounded to his feet. “Aye, we should go back.” He extended a hand toward. Chandra. “’Twould not do if The Morgan of Morgan appeared in front of her clansmen soaked and looking like a drowned kitten,” he teased, trying to lighten her mood. “A chieftain must be fierce, strong.” His fists beat against his slim chest. “At least, she should seem such, even if she’s not. Besides, caught in the frigid rains, you might take a chill. These harsh climes are not favorable to the health of a genteel lady such as yourself.”

  “You mock me, Devin,” she said, playfully swatting his outstretched hand. As she pulled a strand of lustrous red hair away from her face, tucking it under the plaid, her bare feet hit the cool earth. “If you did not amuse me so, I, as your chieftain, would have you cast from the clan—banished forever. But, since you have the ability to make me laugh, I shall keep you at my side.” Her smile faded as melancholy overtook her. “It is not often I am given to merriment. Not lately.”

  Devin beheld the despondent look on Chandra’s exceptional face. Tears shimmered in her eyes, which she tried to hide. His cousin thought of her beloved father, he knew. Since Colan Morgan’s untimely death, Chandra’s natural exuberance had faded nearly into extinction. Faced with her grief, plus the added responsibilities of being chieftain to the clan Morgan, she had fallen into a depressed state. She desired to be a good leader, hoping to live up to her late sire’s faith in her, but Devin knew she was unsure of herself. Likewise, her uncle’s constant interference did little to reaffirm Chandra’s position, and he wished the man would keep his advice to himself.

  As he saw it, Cedric—no actual relation to Devin—was a power-hungry man who wasn’t to be trusted. But he’d kept his thoughts to himself, for Chandra respected her kinsman, even sought Cedric’s counsel. Why, Devin didn’t know. But to speak adversely of the man meant raising Chandra’s ire, and Devin didn’t wish to feel the effects of her quick temper, nor the lash of her sharp tongue. He’d be flayed to ribbons!

  He looked at Chandra more closely. Always mindful of her moods—for Devin loved her more than as the brotherly figure she thought him to be—he realized he must do something to lift her sagging spirits, lest she slip further into the depths of her gloom.

  “Ho!” he cried, mischief dancing in his eyes. “A court jester—is that what I am to you?” He gathered three sturdy sticks from the ground. “Shall I juggle for you, then?” The dried foot-long limbs flew into the air in a haphazard fashion. Watching the missiles descend from aloft, Devin ducked, wrapping his arms protectively around his head just before they bounced off his linen-covered back. “What next?” he asked, spying a renewed sparkle in Chandra’s gaze. “I know. I’ll tumble for milady.” Not wanting to embarrass Chandra or himself, he pulled the tail of his knee-length plaid upward between his legs to tuck the extra material against the folds belted at his slim waist “Ready?” he asked, rubbing his hands together.

  Suppressing her laughter, Chandra watched while Devin clumsily sprang hand to foot around the small clearing. Seeing his direction, she blinked. “Devin! Watch out for the—” Too late! He disappeared over the edge of a small ravine. She took off at a full run. Stopping where her cousin had vanished, she peered down the slope. “Devin?”

  “You could have warned me sooner,” he snarled, pulling himself from the midst of a squat shrub. Gaining his feet, he looked at his bare legs to note a wealth of ugly scratches. “I’ll be scarred for life. And not even one wee chortle from milady. My efforts were wasted.”

  Chandra’s crystal laughter rose into the air. “You are a fool, Devin,” she said, her mirth subsiding. Her cousin’s bare feet trod the soft ground, moving up the side of the shallow chasm, and she extended a hand, helping him over the crest. “But a wonderful and caring fool.”

  Devin drew a ragged breath into his burning lungs, basking in the brilliance of her perfect smile. Another breath crept into his chest, but it was not enough. A spasm struck. Covering his mouth, he coughed fitfully, turning away from Chandra to lean against a nearby tree. His fingers clenched the rough bark until finally the seizure had passed.

  “Why do you exert yourself so?” Chandra asked, her
tone admonishing. In truth, she was angry not at Devin, but at herself. She should never have allowed him to frolic about when he’d risen from his bed only a fortnight ago, a good stone lighter in weight than what he had been. Looking at him now, she thought he might be lighter still. “You know you are not completely well.” The cold wind beat through the pines again. She scanned the heavens to see that the heavy, gray clouds were nearly upon them, and her gentle hands fell from his back where they had tried to soothe him. “Come, we must make the hall before the rains hit.”

  Devin pulled himself upright to look down on his cousin. Concern lit her face, yet the worry he saw there was not for herself, but for him. A quick smile curled his lips. “This cough is naught but a nuisance,” he said, drawing a full, cleansing breath. “I’m well and stout. To prove it, I’ll race you to the castle gates.”

  Devin sped off toward the centuries-old stone fortress, sitting atop the opposite hill. Damn him! Chandra thought. He would kill himself yet.

  Pulling her skirt up between her legs as Devin had done with his plaid, she tucked it in at her waist. The loose ends of her own plaid were thrown over her shoulder to trail down her back. Her skilled feet flew over the ground as she took off after him through the short span of forest, to descend the barren hillside as it sloped away from the trees.

  A quarter of the way down, she overtook him, then slowed her pace. “I’ll race you, but only to those rocks,” she said, pointing toward the outcrop at the bottom of the hill.

  “Done,” Devin rasped. “But only if you run like the wind. You hold back, Chandra. ’Tis not fair that you purposely lose.”

  To punctuate his statement, Devin pushed himself all the harder, leaving her a stride or two behind. More certain than ever that he would kill himself, Chandra decided to end the race. They were mere yards from the rocks, and with the speed and grace of a red deer, she loped past him. “You’ve lost,” she called over her shoulder when she’d reached their goal. “Give up the cause.”