Fire Raven

by McAllister, Patricia

  Morgan was silent a moment. “Does she know?”

  Kit shook his head. “Not yet. Isobel thought it prudent not to upset her any more than necessary. I concur with my wife’s decision. Besides, there is no point enraging Bess further if ’tis not true.”

  “Let’s assume ’tis so. When is the child due?”

  “Christmas. Be advised, twins run on both sides of the family. You would do well to keep her abed after the fifth month.”

  “Of course,” Morgan muttered, still dazed. “Of course.” He rubbed absently at the bandage on his cheek, and, to his chagrin it came completely off. He winced as Kit’s gaze encountered his secret.

  “Set it aside, milord. There’s no need for pretense any longer. Kat deserves the truth.”

  Morgan nodded. “Aye, I suppose you’re right … Kit.” The other man smiled broadly, though whether at the use of his familiar name or at the success of his plot, Morgan did not care to guess.

  Chapter Eighteen

  KAT LEFT ST. ETHELBURGA’S with mixed emotions. Morgan had not sought an annulment yet. Then where was he? She paused outside the little cathedral to gather her thoughts. She had annoyed the priest by demanding an audience at this early hour, especially after their hasty midnight service.

  Father Benedict was loath to assist Kat in finding her missing husband. A proper wife, he informed her righteously, did not question her lord and master’s whereabouts or interfere in his business. Kat stifled a burst of disrespectful laughter during the priest’s not-so-subtle reprimand. Father Benedict obviously assumed Morgan had sought out another’s bed on his own wedding night, and, as usual, the poor abandoned wife must needs shoulder the blame and burden of it!

  Kat sighed. She didn’t know what to do about her predicament. She wandered the slumbering streets of London for a time, digging into the pockets of her skirts for coins. She purchased a bag of hot chestnuts and a hunk of cheese to break her morning fast. One by one, the stalls came to life, each vendor declaring their fish the freshest, their fruit the sweetest.

  After she finished the nuts and cheese, Kat was seduced in turn by a basket of bright oranges and bought one from a little orange girl with a mass of honey-colored, corkscrew curls who spoke with a charming lisp. The price was dear; the reward was heavenly.

  While Kat peeled the orange and let the sticky juices run down her chin, she perused other stalls and their offerings. It had been so long since she strolled a marketplace. A pang of something — a flash of memory — came to her. Hadn’t she and Rory once shopped for bargains in Dublin?

  A pair of young lovers, hand in hand, passed Kat on Bishopsgate; the girl was laughing, her fine dark hair blowing in the breeze. Her red-haired swain dangled a blue ribbon and a bunch of daisies before her eyes until, mischievously, she snatched them from his fist and ran. He gave merry chase, shouting her name so that it echoed off the alley stones:

  “Ahh, Kaitlin, sweet Kaitlin, wait!”

  His thick Irish brogue sent a cold shiver through Kat. Suddenly, she found herself weeping and didn’t know why.

  MORGAN ARRIVED BACK AT Hartshorn only to discover his wife missing. He felt a rising frustration as he questioned his apathetic servants. None knew where Kat had gone; only the stableman had bothered to notice that she left several hours ago. Kat must have run away after he had rejected her.

  Cursing himself for a fool, Morgan called for his roan to be saddled. He downed a quick mug of ale and a handful of biscuits before he went in search of her. He decided to head to Whitehall first. If Kat believed herself well and truly spurned, it was logical she would turn to her sister for consolation.

  He took care to don his bandage again in public, though it proved a waste of effort Merry Tanner was nowhere to be found. Her tiring woman, Jane, was diplomatically evasive about where his new sister-in-law might be. Morgan realized the servant assumed him to be one of the queen’s spies. None of his wheedling arguments — not a whole crown — could serve to pierce the woman’s reserve. She denied any knowledge of her mistress’s whereabouts.

  “You’re a good girl, Jane,” he said before he left, and, with a gesture of defeat, he pressed the crown into her palm before he left. “A loyal servant is worth ten of these. I shall see you are properly rewarded one day soon.” Jane dropped him a dutiful curtsey, eyes wide with curiosity and some trepidation. Morgan realized his bandage must be disconcerting to others by daylight and suddenly hated it with a passion. Jesu, he was so weary of the charade.

  Softening a little, Jane blurted, “Captain Navarre inquired earlier after Mistress Kat, sir. Mayhap he has found her by now.”

  Navarre. The name set his teeth on edge. Morgan realized the French captain was a logical choice. If Kat had not gone to her sister, perhaps she had turned to a trusted friend for advice or consolation. He tried not to think of the latter possibility, when he scratched at Navarre’s door in the barracks.

  Morgan warned himself not to be surprised by whatever he found. He deserved the worst. A sleepy Navarre answered the door. The handsome captain did the wrong thing when he recognized Morgan: He smiled.

  Morgan caught a glimpse of the bed over Navarre’s shoulder. He saw a fan of dark hair across the pillows.

  “You bastard.” Reason went out the window, as Morgan’s fist connected with Lucien’s jaw. The naked Frenchman stumbled backwards into the room with the force of the blow.

  “Mon Dieu!” The woman in the bed screamed, shrill as a fishwife, and pulled the covers over her head.

  Morgan stepped into the room, over Lucien’s faint protests, and went to the bed. He whipped the covers back; he froze, staring down at the bawd with Kat’s dark hair, but a coarser face. She whimpered beneath his cold assessment.

  With an oath, Morgan tossed the blankets back over the wench’s trembling form. He spun on his heel to leave, just as Navarre came around.

  Gingerly touching his bruised jaw, Lucien shook his golden head free of stars. He stared up at Morgan. “I demand to know the meaning of this intrusion, monsieur.”

  Without answering the captain, Morgan demanded in turn, “Have you seen Kat?”

  “I’ve a mind not to tell you anything, after what you’ve done here,” Navarre said. He came to his feet a little unsteadily, and met Morgan’s gaze. Then he reached for a murrey silk dressing gown and drew it over his broad shoulders. He sighed as he belted the robe. “Katherine has never come to me.”

  “Never?” Morgan heard himself demand, sounding suspiciously close to a jealous husband.

  Lucien’s blue eyes twinkled. “You are a possessive man, Trelane. I thought as much the night of the masque. Non, Katherine has never been my lover, though I will not deny I wished otherwise. She is a priceless pearl and you cast her foolishly aside.”

  Morgan’s jaw tightened. “I did nothing of the sort.”

  “Then why are you looking for her here?”

  “My wife is missing. I thought perhaps — ”

  “Your wife!” Lucien’s exclamation was one of shock and envy. He chuckled. “So you thought the worst, eh, Trelane?” For some reason his piercing blue gaze suddenly softened on Morgan.

  “Yea, she is my wife. I see you … admire Kat. And she speaks of you fondly.”

  Lucien knew what it cost the other man to admit that. “You are a fool,” he said, shaking his head. “Oui, I admire your wife greatly. Especially her courage. But I knew Katherine loved another from the moment I declared my own intentions. She was too kind to hurt me, but I saw from the beginning I had no chance. We are great friends; ha las, I still find rejection hard to accept. If she came to me now, I would not turn her away.”

  Morgan stiffened. The handsome captain was honest, too honest. He quelled the urge to strike the man again. Damme! He was jealous.

  The woman in the bed had gathered her wits by then and spoke querulously in French. Lucien turned and curtly addressed her complaints. When he turned back to the door, Trelane was gone.

  “WHERE’S UNCLE KIT?” Kat de
manded, the moment Merry stepped into Ambergate’s parlor.

  “Dear Kat! Where have you been? Everyone has been looking for you. Uncle Kit called at Hartshorn some time ago and was told you were out. He went in search of Lord Trelane instead. Isobel had just taken Maggie to the dressmakers, and not a moment too soon. We have all received a royal summons for this evening. You realize what this means?”

  Kat sighed and reached down to massage her aching feet. “I’m too tired to worry about it. I walked about London most of the morning, Merry. I had some thinking to do.”

  “Goodness, it must have been rather heavy thinking. I cannot blame you for dreading the queen’s reaction to the news of your wedding. I understand Bess is in a fearful froth. Uncle Kit intends to try and placate her, once he tracks down your wayward husband.”

  Kat shook her head. “The queen is the least of my concerns, Merry.”

  Her sister looked shocked. “It bodes ill to be cavalier where Bess is concerned. Come, dearest, sit down, and I’ll send for a pot of hot, strong tea and some of Cook’s delicious biscuits. We must discuss a strategy for this evening. Certainly, we must plan on a suitable costume. Mayhap you can wear my yellow damask? You are not fond of it, I know, and such a shade makes brunettes look sallow, but I’ve learned ’tis wise to feign ill health when one requires Her Grace’s sympathies.”

  “Nay, Merry. I can’t stay.” Kat took a deep breath. “I’ve made up my mind; I’m leaving for Wales straightaway.”

  Merry’s jaw dropped. “Wales? Are you mad?”

  “Mayhap.”

  “Lord Trelane — ”

  “Morgan must do as he sees fit,” Kat said wearily. “I’ve no more stomach for these charades.”

  “Your husband was here early this morn,” Merry said. “He and Uncle Kit spoke at great length here in the parlor. Alack, I couldn’t hear what they were saying, though ’twas not for lack of skill nor trying.”

  “No doubt ’twas about dissolution of our marriage. Morgan vowed he would seek an annulment. He was furious, Merry, absolutely furious that we all tricked him. It appears the queen shall have her champion in this cause, after all.”

  “Then why go to Wales, where you are not wanted? Stay here at Ambergate, where you are safe and loved.”

  Kat set her jaw, and, in that stubborn expression, Merry caught a glimpse of their mother, Bryony.

  “Nay. I’ve a right to return to Falcon’s Lair and stay there, until Morgan or the queen tell me otherwise. Besides, I never thanked the Careys for their hospitality, and I feel a strong need to walk the shores where the Fiach Teine sank. I must deal with the tragedy, once and for all.”

  Merry sighed. “You can’t let it rest, can you?”

  “Rory was my husband. The entire crew was like family to me. Mother and Father would understand.”

  “I wish they were here to dissuade you now.”

  “They would understand better than anyone, I think.” Kat paused, blinking back tears at the memory of all the beloved faces she had grown up with and sorely missed now.

  Over the past few months, the names and faces of her crewmen had slowly surfaced, one by one: Rogan Keane, first mate, a dear cousin; Ty Dempsey, their burly bosun; Corby MacQuaid, the lookout; Little Barry, the cabin boy, not quite twelve when he died; Higgins, a cranky but amazing cook, who served nigh two-score in her parents’ fleet. Slade had lent Higgins to his daughter, with a wink and a grin.

  Kat’s heart ached when she imagined telling her parents how she had failed. She recalled both of them as proud, especially her mother. Kat was said to resemble Bryony Tanner in more than looks. While her mother still sailed the high seas without a qualm, Kat had suffered terror of water ever since the tragedy. She knew she must deal with it eventually. Returning to the site of Adrien Lovelle’s treachery, and Rory’s death, was the first step in the direction towards the healing of her heart.

  Merry sensed her unwavering stance and sighed again. “’Tis utter madness to defy the queen, Kat. You have already roused Bess’s ire by snatching Maggie’s intended and by wedding the baron under false pretenses.”

  “Maggie was glad to be quit of Trelane’s suit, and as for Morgan, I thought he would come ’round to the notion once the shock faded. He is not, it seems, pleased to find me his wife today, yet the deed is done. Short of the annulment, he must deal with me. I will seek my answers in Wales, Merry.”

  Another sigh came from her sister. “How will you get there?”

  “I pray Uncle Kit might lend me a mount.”

  Merry shook her head. “Don’t be foolish. ’Tis too dangerous for a woman to travel such a distance alone. If you must go, you will take one of the coaches. And I shall go with you. If you must defy Bess, you shall not be alone.”

  Kat did not conceal her relief. “Would you risk so much for me?”

  “What are sisters for?”

  THEY CROSSED THE WELSH border on a stormy, windswept day. Slowly and painstakingly, the elegant Tanner coach continued rumbling northward, Kat and Merry ensconced within its cozy velvet depths. Jem, the coachman, had been reluctant to spirit them off on such a lark.

  “Don’t favor this one bit,” he repeated whenever they stopped to change horses or frequent an inn. He ominously shook his grizzled head. “There are rogues and brigands all about, miladies, and the master would rightly have my hide should anythin’ happen to either of ye.”

  “Uncle Kit will understand the necessity of the matter,” Merry reassured the old driver at their last stop before the border. “I left him a letter in great detail, explaining our actions. Please, Jem, you know me to be a reasonable and mature young woman. Faith, I would not accompany my sister north were it not absolutely necessary.”

  Jem digested her words as Merry sat back against the cushions with an artless smile. Nay, Jem conceded, he couldn’t claim Mistress Tanner was reckless. She’d been raised at Court, proper as you please, and seemed a mite more levelheaded than the other young ladies he’d attended over the years.

  What Jem didn’t realize was that Merry also knew how to use her charms to the utmost when she needed to wheedle her way. He walked off to hitch the horses, still shaking his head but swayed by her convincing air.

  When the coach set off again, Merry’s smile changed from sweet to smug. “D’you see how ’tis done, Kat? Men are all the same, no matter their age or class.”

  But Kat wasn’t listening to her sister. Her gaze hungrily scoured the countryside for her first glimpse of Falcon’s Lair.

  At Merry’s insistence, she had donned an elegant crimson velvet traveling outfit with rose-colored satin sleeves, and her hair was dressed in a married woman’s fashion. She was glad she had taken Merry’s advice, when they arrived at the keep. Among the servants who watched her disembark from the fine coach, she noted a new, instant respect in their eyes.

  Only Winnie forgot her place in all the confusion. “Dearest Katie,” she cried, running down the steps with her apron flapping in the breeze. Kat didn’t have the heart to correct Winnie. She returned the housekeeper’s embrace with equal ferocity and fondness.

  Winnie wiped away her tears as she stepped back. “Why, Katie, look at you! A grand lady now.” There was surprise and uncertainty in her voice. Her gaze shifted to the redhead standing a measure behind Kat.

  “Mrs. Carey, may I present my sister, Mistress Meredith Tanner. She kindly agreed to escort me back to Falcon’s Lair.”

  As the housekeeper bobbed a confused curtsey, Kat explained, “At last I found my kin, Winnie. They had assumed me lost in a shipwreck at sea. Thankfully, most of my memory returned whilst I was in London.”

  “Praise the saints,” Winnie murmured. Her keen gaze affixed at once on Kat’s fourth finger and remained riveted upon the gleaming gold band.

  “I know ’twill come as quite a shock for you,” Kat said hesitantly, “but Lord Trelane and I were wed in London.”

  “Oh. Congratulations … milady.” Winnie bobbed another curtsey, this one a littl
e stiffer than the last.

  “Nothing has changed, Winnie. I might be Lady Trelane now, but I have not forgotten the kindness you showed me when I was but a stranger here.” There was an awkward silence after she concluded her speech. Kat forced a cheerful note into her voice. “Please do say we can still be friends.”

  “Of course, milady.”

  “Kat, if you please.”

  Winnie nodded but made no further attempt to be familiar. “Is the Master with you?”

  “I daresay he shall return shortly.” As Kat and Merry exchanged glances, Winnie moved off to see to the readying of several rooms for their stay.

  Merry moved up beside Kat. “You were too familiar with the woman, my dear. You will lose the servants’ respect.”

  “I cannot act as if I don’t know Winnie.” Chagrined by the implication that she must forget the friendships she had made here, Kat frowned at her sister. “Good heavens, Merry. The woman saved my eyesight.”

  “Still, you mustn’t encourage such familiarity. I daresay Mrs. Carey herself was shocked by your actions. You would do better to maintain a cordial, yet remote, relationship with all the staff.”

  Kat suddenly felt miserable. “I thought things would be wonderful when I became Lady Trelane. I had hoped I might make things easier for everyone here.”

  Merry fell silent, studying the huge gray stone keep rising ominously above them against a cloud-flecked sky. She didn’t understand Kat’s misbegotten affection for such an ancient old pile of rocks or such shockingly forward, countrified servants, but then, she had never understood Kat at all. She clearly had her work cut out for her. With a sigh, she motioned for Jem to follow them with the baggage to the entrance.

  “I shall see you settled in, Kat. Next I’ll head back to London and reassure Uncle Kit of your safe arrival. Doubtless by then, Bess will be one of the screaming Furies, but she is known to have a soft spot for us redheaded Tanners. Between Uncle Kit and me, we can plead your cause.”