As Angus and his men rushed forward, surrounding Chandra and Aleck, a squealing noise ascended from the dungeon. The torch was thrust over the opening, pouring light into the cavity. Rats swarmed over Cedric’s body, gnawing at his flesh. Chandra shuddered. “Take me out of here, please.” Immediately Aleck led her from the room, out into the night air.
“Yer clansmen, it appears, have come to pay their respects,” Angus snarled down the hole, then his foot kicked the trapdoor shut. “Come, lad.” He motioned to Owen, who’d bounded out from among the sacks. “Ye did a grand job, ye did. Proud of ye, we are.”
With much thumping of his back and tugging of his shoulders, Owen also was led from the room. Out in the inner ward a short, but joyous celebration took place. Finding their chief in the yard, the Sassenach’s lips on hers, the clansmen encircled the pair and shouted their approval.
“’Tis not the place for this,” Chandra whispered up at Aleck, having pulled back.
“Why, sweet? They seem to be enjoying it.”
“Ah-hmm.” Chandra and Aleck turned to see Angus. “Not that I mean to be insultin’ or the like, but what do ye want us to do with the English rabble outside?” he asked.
Aleck looked to Chandra. She said, “Show the commander and a small detachment of his troops inside. He’ll need to confirm that Cedric is dead, so he can report the fact to James.”
Shortly Penrose rode through the gate. He was accompanied by two dozen men, including Sir John and Jason. “Well, cousin, I see you saved the day,” Jason said, peering down at Aleck.
“Actually, the hero is Owen, here.” Aleck’s arm went around the boy’s shoulders. “He’s the one who felled Cedric. I think we’ll take him back to Montbourne with us. He’s brought us nothing but good luck.”
Owen swung from under Aleck’s arm. “No!” he shouted. “This is my home.”
The whole compound fell silent as everyone stared at the boy. Then Chandra stepped forward. “You can speak! Why haven’t you done so before, Owen?”
“My name is not Owen—’tis Royce. I am the son of Colan Morgan. Lochlaigh is my home.”
Her brow furrowing, Chandra gazed at the lad. The hair color, the forehead, the eyes, the chin—why hadn’t she seen it before? “Come, Ow—Royce. Let us go inside.”
Aleck’s and Chandra’s wounds, amounting to no more than a cut and a nick, were cleaned; then at her direction, a small group gathered in the antechamber of Chandra’s room. On one side stood Aleck, Jason, and Sir John; on the other were Chandra, Angus, and several more of her clansmen, elders all.
Leaned against the table, Chandra said, “Tell us your story.”
Under the scrutiny of so many eyes, Royce had grown nervous. He opened his mouth and let out a squeak, then quickly cleared his throat. “’Twas nearly thirteen years ago that I was born. My mother lived in a bothy along Lochlaigh’s northern border. The Morgan of Morgan had been out riding his boundaries when his horse bolted. Grouse had flown up in its face. He was thrown and injured badly. My mother knew herbs and roots, and on her rounds to collect some, she found him. Somehow she got him into her hut. For nearly a month, she cared for him.”
Chandra looked to Angus. “I remember the time,” he said. “The Morgan was gone ’bout a month. ’Twas not long after yer mother died, as I recall.”
“Go on,” Chandra said to Royce.
He shrugged. “Well, I came along about nine months later.”
“Did my fa—our father know about you?”
“He did. He came often, bringing us food. Many times he spent the night. But he’d never take us to the castle. Said it would cause too many difficulties.”
By “difficulties” Chandra assumed her father had been referring to her, as well as the fact that Royce, as he was now known, was the bastard child of The Morgan of Morgan. Then Chandra asked, “Were your mother and our father ever married?”
Royce’s head sank. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“And your mother, where is she?”
“She died shortly after our father did. That’s why I came here to live in the wood.”
“I asked you at least twice to come stay at the castle with the rest of us, did I not?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you—especially since you are my brother?”
“Because I did not belong.”
“Is that what our father told you?”
“In so many words,” Royce said.
“If that is true, then it was wrong of him to make you feel unwelcome.” Chandra couldn’t imagine her father doing such a thing. Yet he was a proud man, and he was most protective of her. “Why have you refused to speak all this time?”
“’Twas because of what I had said.”
“Which was?”
Royce drew a ragged breath. “One day our father came to the hut. ’Twas after his return from prison. I asked to go to the castle, but he refused, as always. I became angry. I shouted that I hated him—that I wished he were dead. Two weeks later, he was.”
“And you blamed yourself for his death because of what you’d said.”
He nodded. “I swore never to speak again.”
Chandra’s heart went out to him. “’Twas Cedric who killed our father, Royce. You had nothing to do with it.”
“I know that now.”
“Is that why you now speak?”
“I speak because this is my home. I will not leave it. I have avenged our father’s death, using your dirk. I am a Morgan. This is where I belong.”
As Chandra viewed him, pride shone in her eyes. “Aye, you are a Morgan. And, truly, this is where you belong, for you are my brother. By right of tanistry, you should be The Morgan of Morgan.”
“Ye are the chief. Yer father named ye,” Angus said. “The lad, here, is just that—a lad.”
“Do you not see Colan Morgan’s face in his face?” she asked. She saw their nods. “Has he not displayed the courage and the strength that are required to be chief?”
“Aye, he has,” Angus agreed, as did the other men of the clan. “But he is too young.”
“He is,” Chandra acceded, “but he will not be too young for very long. It is at this time, as your chief, that I shall name my successor. ’Tis Royce Morgan, son of Colan Morgan. When he reaches the maturity that I deem acceptable, I shall step down from my position as your chief, and Royce will become The Morgan of Morgan. So, my brethren, I suggest you teach him all he needs to know and do it quickly. I have a husband. His home is in England. I shall not stay here at Lochlaigh forever.” She noted how Aleck’s eyebrow rose; obviously he’d thought they would leave that night. “Your task is at hand. Do not tarry. My brother awaits your instruction.”
Before her, Royce fell to one knee. He kissed the knuckles of her right hand. “I thank you, milady,” he said, blue eyes gazing up at her.
Chandra urged him up from the floor. “A hug would do, Royce. After all, you are my brother.”
Awkwardly he threw his arms around her; a quick squeeze, and he withdrew. He then fished in the small leather pouch that he’d snatched from the hearth, its string now hanging round his neck. “’Tis the ring our father gave me. I guess it really belongs to you.”
Remembering how it was said to have been lost, Chandra immediately recognized the token he offered. She took hold of it. “If he gave you this, Royce, he held you in great esteem. Give me your hand.” When Royce obeyed, Chandra slipped the heavy gold ring onto his forefinger. Though it was a loose fit, the ring, she knew, would not be lost. “It has belonged to each Morgan chief for the last hundred years. Someday soon, you, too, shall claim that right.” She looked to Angus. “Your first order of instruction is to teach this lad the importance of cleanliness. Take him and give him a bath.”
“Gladly,” Angus said. Before Royce knew what had happened, two sets of hands had clamped onto his arms, two more around his ankles. He was hefted into the air and carted out the door.
“’Twould be interesting to see what color he really is,” Aleck said from the cor
ner where he’d stood quietly. Then he moved to her side. Though he was saddened that Chandra would give up her title as The Morgan of Morgan, he was also relieved. “You have done all the Morgans proud, my love. They will never see another chief to match the likes of you.”
“At least not until another woman holds the title,” she said, smiling up at him. A mischievous twinkle sparked in her eyes. Forgetting that they were not alone, Aleck groaned. He started to reach for her.
Jason cleared his throat behind them. “Well, cousins, perhaps it is time we leave the two of you alone.”
“Splendid idea,” Sir John said. He thumped Jason’s back, then caught the viscount before he hit his knees. After pleasantries were exchanged—Aleck thanking Sir John for his help, Chandra apologizing to Jason for waylaying him—the two men headed for the door.
“Jason,” Aleck said in afterthought; his cousin turned. “Come visit us at Montbourne sometime in the near future, will you? We have some old wounds to heal. I ask that we begin as soon as possible.”
Jason’s gaze softened. “I shall do that, Aleck,” he said, hoping their estrangement would soon be ended. He smiled. “But only if you promise to control your temper. My exceptional looks must be maintained. After all, I am now the most sought-after man at court.”
When the door had closed, Chandra giggled. “He is right, you know.”
“Right?” Aleck asked, staring down into her beautiful face. “About what?”
“He has claimed your position.”
“What position?”
“Most sought-after man at court.”
“He can have it. I have more interest in another position.”
“Which is?”
“I’ll show you.”
Sweeping Chandra up into his arms, he strode through the connecting door leading into her bedchamber. He set her on her feet, then disrobed her. “I should bathe, Aleck. The dungeon—”
“No,” he said, kicking boots and breeches across the floor. “You’re fine just as you are. I want you, Chandra. God, how I want you. I need to know you are real.”
They were on the bed, lips, arms, and legs entangled. Then Aleck was in her. Wildly, sweetly, their desire exploded through them, around them. Nothing yet had compared with this bliss. Never could a woman please him as did Chandra; never could a man be so tender as Aleck. Then, as their soft cries echoed off the walls, becoming music in each other’s ears, they knew it was the melody of a forever love.
Much later, Aleck lay beside his wife. The uninjured side of his head was propped against one hand, the palm of his other smoothed low over Chandra’s flat belly. “Do you really think so?” he asked almost reverently.
“Aye. The signs are there.”
“Then tomorrow we go back to Montbourne. My son shall be born there.”
Chandra slowly shook her head. “We stay at Lochlaigh.”
“Why?”
“Because Royce needs me.”
A disgruntled frown formed along Aleck’s brow. “The lad is capable of taking care of himself. In fact, he’s done just that for quite some time.”
“Aye, but he is my brother. I would like to get to know him.”
“You hope he will become as close to you as was Devin,” he stated, knowing how much she missed her cousin. Maybe she thought Royce could fill the void.
“’Twould be nice.”
Aleck’s gaze dropped away for a moment. “About Devin … Chandra, I—”
Her finger fell over his lips. “’Twas an accident. He was so gravely ill, Aleck. He even said that it was better this way. He did not suffer. I could not have abided seeing him in agony. Maybe Devin felt that way, too. Perhaps that is why he did what he did.”
“Aye, maybe so.”
Thoughts of Devin left her. “So, we shall remain at Lochlaigh, then?”
Aleck studied her for a long moment. He hadn’t had a chance to tell her, but while in London, negotiating with James over the clan Morgan, he’d declined the title of duke—which James insisted he’d hold for Aleck’s son—so he had no immediate plans. Chandra was his reward, and because he loved her so, he could refuse her nothing. “If I agree to stay, what will you give me in return.”
She rose. “This.” Her lips met his. When the kiss ended, Aleck’s head spun, but it wasn’t from his injury.
“I suppose you should set yourself to teaching me all there is to know about the Morgans,” he said, his finger trailing over her breasts. “Otherwise, because of my ignorance, I might offend. ’Tis a fact, sweet: This Hawke is in an alien nest.”
Soft laughter bubbled from Chandra’s throat. “Then lie back, my fairy-tale prince, I have a story to tell.”
Aleck’s head sank onto the pillow; he stared up at his wife. Eyes bright with promise, she straddled him.
Her finger traced the outline of the medallion. It had saved his life, and she was thankful. “’Tis the story of the hawk and the ladybird,” she said, then, knowing he was ready, eased down on him.
Aleck drew breath shakily. “Sounds interesting,” he rasped, his large hands claiming her hips.
“One of the refrains says: ‘Ladybird, ladybird, fly, sweep to the heavens ever so high.’”
“Then soar, sweet, and take me with you.”
Eager to please her beloved lord of legend, Chandra did as he asked.
Pocket Books
Proudly Announces
ALMOST A WHISPER
Charlene Cross
Coming from Pocket Books Spring 1994
The following is a preview of
ALMOST A WHISPER …
York, England
April 1841
“I sympathize with you.” John Kingsley’s words sailed across his desk into Leah Balfour Dalton’s ears. “I know it has been a most difficult time for you and your siblings—”
“Difficult?” Leah cried, waves of dissension rolling through her. She sprang to her feet; gloved hands hit the desk’s cluttered surface. Nose to nose, she stared at her father’s former solicitor. Her world was spinning out of control, and she couldn’t seem to stop it. She was beyond sorrow, beyond grief. Anger had become her driving force. “My parents are dead—first my mother, then my father. Barely a fortnight had passed when the next blow was struck—cruelly, I might add. As though we held no worth at all, we were tossed from our home—much like slop from a bucket, sir—and cast on the mercy of others. Hope, Kate, Peter—you are aware that Peter has weak lungs and has been ill since birth, are you not? Then there’s little Emily, who is barely five. All of them are in a foundling home not far from here. It is a dreary place, Mr. Kingsley, unfit for tender young hearts such as theirs, and unsuitable for Peter’s condition. They are miserable, sir, and most depressed.
“Young Terence, on the other hand, being four-and-ten, and the oldest boy, managed to escape the orphanage, yet he suffers equally as much. Without explanation, he was torn from his studies, his tutor dismissed. You realize, don’t you, that his marks were exceptional? Presently, in order to earn his keep, he is reduced to mucking out stalls and firing the bellows for a smithy named Jones in Leeds. As for myself, though well-educated, I have been unable to find a suitable position with a decent wage—one that would allow me to bring my family together again.”
Beneath her gloves, Leah’s once soft white hands were now badly chafed. To be close to the younger children, she had taken a job as a scullery maid at a local inn, earning less than twopence a week. Yet pride prevented her from relating her own acute situation and the abuse she continually endured as she was constantly harassed by her lecherous employer. Her youthful bottom bore a multitude of bruises, resulting from the innkeeper’s insistent pinches, delivered whenever he was away from his wife’s sight As she gazed at the solicitor, his attitude seemingly one of apathy, she decided that she’d never allow this man to know just how low she’d truly sunk.
“Difficult, you say? That word doesn’t begin to describe the horrors we have suffered—are still suffering, sir. Unless
you plan to help us, you may keep your sympathy. The emotion alone does us little good.”
John Kingsley peered at Leah over his wire-rimmed spectacles. “I am fully aware of your circumstances, Miss Dalton. I am also aware of what has happened to your family since your father’s death. It is tragic, but unfortunately I am unable to offer you any assistance. And whether you desire it or not, you still have my sympathy.”
Leah’s mouth flew open, but he waved her off. “If you hadn’t noticed when you first burst through the door, unannounced, I am otherwise occupied. I would appreciate it if you would take your leave so I might get on with my work. I have a letter to finish and a strong-willed niece to deal with before my departure. I hope to have these tasks completed inside of a quarter hour. Where is the chit?” he grumbled, viewing the wall clock. “She was to be here twenty minutes ago.” His faded blue eyes returned to Leah. “As for seeking me out again, I should inform you that tonight I set sail for India in the queen’s service. I shall be gone a very long time, Miss Dalton. Now, good day to you.”
In truth, when she’d stormed his office, she hadn’t marked how engrossed he’d been in his work. As she looked around her now, she saw the place stood in disarray. Folio cabinets lay open, files bulging from their shelves, Mr. Kingsley’s assistant quickly putting them in order. A meager assortment of luggage was stacked in one corner of the room. Similarly the outer office held a multitude of trunks and hatboxes. She remembered how she’d nearly tripped over the trove when she’d first stepped from the sunlight into the dimness of the reception area. Undoubtedly the first collection belonged to his niece.
Her attention shifted back to the desk’s top. By the solicitor’s left hand lay a bankdraft, the amount indecipherable from where she stood. Pen poised over the letter he’d been framing when Leah had first launched herself into the room, he scrawled the words: I remain your most obedient servant, John Kingsley, Esq.
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