Fire Raven

by McAllister, Patricia

  “Damnation,” he muttered, realizing she wasn’t yet able to feed herself without a disaster of one sort or other. He rose and carried his chair and plate of scones back to the other end of the room. There he sat and extended a scone towards the stubborn, set lips of his uninvited guest.

  “Open your mouth,” he ordered her. “I intend for you to sample one of Cook’s world-famous scones.”

  “You don’t have to feed me,” Kate protested, her cheeks burning when she heard the resignation in his voice. She vowed she would not be treated like a child anymore, nor fed like an injured animal. But as she did so, her stomach rumbled desperately.

  To her mortification, Morgan laughed. “I’m afraid you’ve little choice, madam, unless you wish to have currant jam dripping down your bodice,” he said. The instant her mouth opened with surprise, he thrust the scone halfway home. Kate choked and sputtered. The flaky pastry crumbled and melted in her mouth.

  Morgan chuckled at her incredulous expression and watched her down the remaining half with an endearing greed.

  “Like manna from heaven!” Kate declared, licking a dab of red jam from the corner of her lips. Morgan shared in her joyous discovery until he made a shocking one of his own. Sweet Jesu. He was aroused by every movement she made.

  He sat back in his chair, distancing himself from the bewitching smile and sweetly curved lips he knew were complimented by a bright pair of inquisitive, emerald-green eyes — eyes he knew would open wide, then clamp shut with horror once Kate got a real glimpse of him.

  “Cook will be pleased to hear of your approval,” he said brusquely, scraping back the chair as he rose. “I’ll send someone in to help you with the rest of the meal. I just remembered I am needed in the shearing pens.”

  “Oh.” Kate tried to conceal her disappointment and confusion over his abrupt departure. “Shall I see you later?”

  “I doubt it. I’m busy this time of year. By all accounts, my work will run late. If there’s anything you want or need, just let Mrs. Carey know. She’s been instructed to fulfill your every reasonable whim.”

  Instructed by whom? Kate wondered. The master of the house? Morgan had never mentioned the man who held sway over them all, the same lord who played unwitting host to her now, one who might be rightfully outraged to learn a stranger was sheltered beneath his roof for so long. She feared for Morgan and the other servants, yet she selfishly wished to stay here forever. Here, at least, she felt safe, warm, and protected.

  Who knew what dreadful secrets the sea held in store for her? Kate shuddered to think of crossing those dark waters again, in search of family abroad. Morgan might be convinced she was Irish by birth, but she prayed he was wrong. There was no excuse for her to linger if her kin were found.

  How reasonable was it to want Morgan to stay with her now? she wondered. She knew in her heart she was to blame for his sudden change in mood. She sought to make amends for all the trouble she’d caused.

  “Morgan?” Her hand shot out blindly. She was lucky enough to capture his arm before he escaped the room.

  “Thank you. You’ve been too kind,” she whispered.

  “’Tis nothing, Faeilean. Just a passing hobby of mine, caring for little lost birds until they can fly again.” He gently pried her fingers from his arm. He held her hand for the briefest of moments in his before releasing it. As her hand dropped down to her side, abandoned, he left.

  MORGAN WALKED THE WATER’S edge at low tide, while seagulls screamed and dived above him. Their haunting cries alternately scolded and mourned. He felt as if he was being warned — against what, he didn’t know. Caring for Kate? Mayhap his emotions were clear to wild animals now. Clear to everyone but himself.

  Morgan watched the gulls riding the currents on their frosty white wings and wished he might be so carefree. Duty was his sole destiny: Falcon’s Lair and finding Kate’s family. To the latter end, he studied the various debris scattered here and there along the rocky shore. Most of the stuff was battered beyond recognition. Indeed, it was a right wonder Kate hadn’t been, too. By some miracle, she’d been spared, except for cuts and bruises.

  He raised his gaze to the clear blue horizon, scanning the deceptively peaceful sea for any further clues. It was the first clear day he’d had to ride out in search of more answers. There were too damme few to satisfy him here. Surely the young woman he called Kate would eventually remember her past.

  Was it possible she lied about the memory loss for some reason? Morgan shook his head at the thought. Kate had nothing to gain by pretending she’d been washed ashore on the Devil Baron’s land. At best, it would irretrievably damage her reputation; at worst, she’d be viewed as yet another of his unearthly familiars.

  Morgan chuckled, realizing that Kate, with her night-black hair and uncanny green eyes, might fit the townsfolk’s notion of a sorceress or witch, albeit a beautiful one. What manner of crazy tale will crop up next? he idly wondered. He considered asking Mrs. Carey to keep an ear primed for the latest rumor in town.

  Something dragged at his feet. Morgan glanced down, surprised to see a wet clump of material washed up around his riding boots. He picked it up and unfolded the soaked cloth to reveal a torn but recognizable standard of sorts. The red background had washed out to a pale pink, making the center emblem all the more pronounced: a black bird clutching a burning oak branch in its talons.

  His grip tightened on the wet cloth as he remembered the amulet, and Kate’s thoughtful whisper: “Raven.” He knew there was some connection between the standard and the unusual amulet she was wearing when he found her.

  Morgan studied the fierce if bedraggled flag, then wrung it out and walked across the sand to tuck it in his mount’s saddlebag. He realized it was an important clue. With this pennant, he might be able to trace the lost ship and his Kate’s family. It was likely her passage home.

  His Kate’s? Morgan recognized the covetous thought and, at once, tried to banish it. He had no claim to her, none at all. Yet, he thought, it would be easy to toss the flag back in the sea and tell Kate he had found nothing. He was startled by his own devious musings.

  Would he do anything to keep her here for a week, a day, an hour longer? Aye, he decided, he would. For the first time in his life, Morgan didn’t care to be honest.

  Chapter Four

  KATE RAN HER FINGERS down the length of the velvet gown. “Are you sure?” she asked Winnie again, turning a bewildered gaze in the housekeeper’s direction.

  “Aye. Himself was adamant about it. He doesn’t want to see you dressed as a servant anymore.” Winnie spoke the words with faint disapproval. Though she was fond of Kate, she didn’t approve of encouraging airs in those of the lower classes. Even more upsetting was the fact that the gown had once belonged to Lady Trelane, Morgan’s mother.

  The instructions had been simple. The means had not. Morgan didn’t want Mrs. Carey going into town to buy any female attire. He realized that would only encourage wild rumors and speculation among the villagers; neither did he want to see the girl wearing peasant garb any longer. The quandary wasn’t an easy one. Winnie had done her best.

  Kate’s “new” gown of deep green velvet was elegant, if simple. Spanish influence might be seen in the cut and style; at least Lady Elena had been tasteful enough not to choose gowns lavished with lace and embroidery.

  Kate didn’t know the history of this gown or the others donated to her cause. Winnie merely told her that Morgan had arranged for a finer wardrobe. It appeared the girl was too stunned to question her good fortune.

  “The fit is perfect,” Kate said, stroking the gown’s rich material as she turned about. “I wish I saw it, as well. You said ’tis green?”

  “Aye, a wee shade darker than your eyes. Speaking of eyes, dear, the wrap should stay on a few more days, until I’m sure the damage is healing well.”

  Kate sighed. “Very well. I’ll try to be patient, Winnie.”

  “Have you remembered anything else?”

  “Not
hing, I’m afraid. I’m such a burden right now. I feel terrible about it. I hope I come from a wealthy family so I can repay your master properly.”

  Winnie was spared a reply by the vesper bells from the village. “La, Katie, we’re just in time.”

  “For what?”

  “The evening meal, of course. Take my arm and I’ll lead you downstairs.”

  “Will Morgan be there?”

  Winnie clucked at the familiarity. “I doubt it. He’s working late in the lambing sheds. I daresay he’ll wish to ask you some more questions later.”

  Kate fell silent, sensing the sudden change in atmosphere and Winnie’s air of disapproval. The woman was always kind to her, yet in the past few days Winnie’s manner seemed cooler, more distant. What had caused the change? First Morgan, now the housekeeper. All of a sudden, she felt lost and alone.

  This time, Kate knew, the meal would be solitary. At least she had managed to feed herself, if somewhat awkwardly. She smelled the pungent aroma of barberry candles long before she was seated and left at the massive table to fend for herself.

  The wood felt smooth and cool beneath her fingertips; she fancied it was mahogany. By pretending she saw her surroundings, she effectively distracted herself for hours. Certainly there was nothing else to do, except think about Morgan, and that was becoming too painful.

  She fumbled awhile with the utensils, then managed to spread a cloth over her lap. Suddenly she burst into tears of frustration, surprising herself.

  “What’s wrong, Faeilean?”

  At the gentle query, Kate’s head rose with a jolt. She realized Morgan was close. He must have been seated next to her all this time. Her cheeks burned as she quickly regained her composure.

  “I didn’t know anyone was here.”

  “I just arrived.” He reached out and coaxed a tear from her cheek to his finger. “You’re beautiful, you know,” he said softly. “Too beautiful to cry.”

  Kate swallowed a painful surge of emotion. It threatened to push another ragged sob from her lips. “I can’t be very beautiful with this hideous cloth tied around my head.”

  “Then I’ll amend it to ‘simply beautiful,’ Morgan said, his tone teasing. “Are you ready to eat now?”

  “I’m not hungry,” Kate lied. She couldn’t bear the thought of another humiliating episode, wherein Morgan was forced to hand-feed her like an injured lamb. Just as she spoke, her stomach gurgled. She felt another blush burn her cheeks and heard Morgan chuckle.

  “Now, I won’t have any nonsense, Faeilean, “he scolded, as he nudged a spoon against her lips. “Eat.”

  She ate. It was delicious and filling; she soon heard her whalebone stays creaking in protest. Despite her upset, she was ravenous, and Morgan’s approval of her hearty appetite made it all the easier to eat every last crumb. Finally, she shook her head and begged for mercy. Laughing, he gently wiped her mouth with a linen napkin. Kate sat back with a sigh, replete.

  “Better,” Morgan approved. “Mayhap you’ll be able to concentrate upon what I have to tell you now.”

  She sat up straight. “You’ve found something.”

  “Aye.” Morgan sounded reluctant for some reason to reveal his discovery. Nevertheless, he proceeded to describe the flag he had found, along with several other boards from smashed crates. He said the latter bore the Eastland Company’s mark. “I’ll venture to guess we can discover your identity within a fortnight now. ’Tis quite possible you were a passenger upon an English vessel.”

  “Are you certain?” Kate wondered. “You said I spoke in Gaelic when you found me. The English and Irish are always at odds.”

  “Yet your English sounds native-born,” he pointed out. “’Tis obvious you’ve been to England before; perhaps your family lives there. A mystery, to be sure; one which must needs be solved. With your permission, I wish to send out several queries about a recent shipwreck or any missing vessels in these waters. We shall soon discover if you have any relatives anxiously awaiting news.”

  “Parents, you mean?”

  “Or a husband.”

  She turned towards him. “What makes you think so?”

  “I can’t imagine a woman so lovely would not be wed, or at least betrothed.”

  “Winnie said I wore no wedding ring,” Kate said, not sure why she felt obliged to point out the fact.

  “Aye, you wore men’s trews, as well. Mayhap your husband is more accommodating than I would be about such attire.”

  There was as much tease as threat in his tone, Kate discerned. She decided to play along for a moment: “Pray tell, what would you do, sirrah, if I were your wife in truth and I chose to wear men’s garb?”

  “Do you truly wish to know?” Morgan asked, his voice lowering an octave as he leaned close to her. His hand moved to cover hers, and she felt both a languid warmth and a strange, feverish excitement rising to engulf her.

  “First of all,” he murmured, “any lady wife of mine would suffer dire consequences for wearing such mannish attire. ’Twould be a grave crime against nature, especially if she were as comely as you. Should she disobey me, anyhow, Faeilean, she should forfeit a penalty.”

  A smile curved her lips at his mock threat. “In sooth, would you truly? Pray tell, Morgan, what would it be?”

  “’Twould be better if I showed you.”

  Kate drew in her breath when his lips grazed her own. She leaned towards Morgan, chasing his mouth with her own, her bold pursuit meeting with success. She felt his arm steal around her shoulders to steady her.

  After a moment’s hesitation, he resumed the kiss, this time tracing her willing lips with the tip of his finger before he claimed her mouth again. With a sigh, Kate leaned into Morgan, her hand braced against the cool leather of his jerkin. She inhaled the musky male scent of him, a combination of leather and tobacco and wet wool. It was oddly exciting to her heightened senses.

  “Ah,” he murmured at last, reluctant to draw the intoxicating kiss to a close. “You make me forget my honor, Faeilean.” He set her back from him.

  Kate sensed Morgan physically and emotionally withdrawing from her. This time she was determined not to let it happen again.

  “Morgan.” She spoke his name with a clear affection she sensed startled him. “I owe you my life, thus my thanks as well. Yet there is some deeper bond between us now, and I ask you — nay, I beg of you, not to deny it any longer.”

  His silence frightened her. She felt a hand alight upon her head, tousling her hair like a child’s. When Morgan spoke again, his voice was sad and low.

  “There are reasons, Faeilean, why it cannot be.”

  “Why?” Her wounded whisper echoed throughout the room. “Is’t because … oh, Sweet Jesu, are you married?”

  “Nay.”

  “Mayhap you’re already betrothed yourself.”

  “No,” Morgan repeated, an edge of anger lacing his deep tone. She heard his chair thrust back and sensed him towering over her. “I beseech you, Kate, to let it alone. Some things are better not discussed.”

  “You kissed me. You wanted to. I know you did.”

  She knew she sounded childish, yet emotion pushed all reason from her mind. She must know why Morgan denied their feelings, their future.

  “Are you truly such an innocent, Kate? Any red-blooded knave will take what he can from a willing lady.”

  Morgan saw his deliberate jibe hurt her. She ceased all questions, though; it was his intent. He was sickened by the necessity of his own cruelty, for he was nothing if not a gentle man at heart. Kate must harbor no misplaced affection for him. He was torn and relieved when she nodded, as if accepting his statement.

  Then she rose from the chair beside him and addressed him formally.

  “By your leave, sirrah, I wish to depart immediately.”

  “Just where do you plan to go, Faeilean?”

  “Please stop calling me that. It sounds like an endearment, when it clearly is not.” She bit her lip and forged on. “I think it wisest if I
seek refuge elsewhere. There must be a nearby abbey or convent —”

  “Ridiculous. You are in no condition to travel, and your family is yet to be found.”

  “Nonetheless, ’tis not my intention to impose upon this household any longer. I shall leave right now.” With curt, angry gestures, Kate gathered up the cumbersome velvet skirts. She paused as he heaved a great sigh.

  “How do you propose to find the nearest retreat, Kate? Will you blunder about in the darkness, hoping to bump into the abbey bell?”

  “That’s not amusing, Morgan.”

  “Neither is your behavior. Cease this nonsense at once, or I’ll take you upstairs to your room. You are tired and distraught.”

  Distraught! When she was half in love with the cad and he knew it! Furious, Kate jerked away from his touch when he moved to take her arm.

  This was more the sort of reaction Morgan was used to. His eyes narrowed; he secured his fingers around her wrist. “There will be no hysterics in this household, Mistress Kate. You are going upstairs to rest now. ’Tis final.”

  “Curse you, sirrah!”

  Sweet Jesu, she was magnificent in her rage, Morgan realized. She looked a far cry from the meek, frightened creature he had rescued from the sea. He shivered at the intensity in her expression; for some reason he envisioned a line of proud warrior queens in Kate’s past. Each of them wore a pagan amulet; none of them needed or wanted a man. Morgan blinked, the vision vanished; instead he found himself faced with Kate, an ordinary if angry female.

  “No arguments, Faeilean.”

  Kate gasped with outrage when he lifted her into his arms. Her skirts fell topsy-turvy around her head as Morgan slung her casually over his shoulder, pinning her legs against his chest. His brisk stride carried her across the room, down the hall and toward the stairs. With each step, Kate beat a furious tattoo upon his back with her fists.

  “Put me down, you blackguard! I’ll not be handled this way.”

  Her outraged cries and threats went unheeded. Morgan didn’t pause until he met with Mrs. Carey coming down the stairs.