Seeking The Truth - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 11)

by Shea,Lisa

  She wrenched herself back to the present with an effort. “Are you sure? I am more than happy to ride anywhere you wish. It is always a task I look forward to.”

  Lady Donna shook her head with determination. “I am decided,” she insisted. “I will stay within the walls, and you shall have your sabbatical. Let us say a week to start. You shall have completely free time to do with it as you wish.”

  “Thank you,” answered Morgan with heartfelt appreciation. She felt as if she had been handed a precious gift, and her heart glowed as she drew in a deep breath, contemplating her options.

  The inky violets were fading into a deeper hue as the two walked their steeds through the main gates, ambling through the large double doors of the stables.

  “Lady Donna, you go on in,” offered Morgan with gentle warmth to her elderly benefactor as they dismounted. “I will take our two faithful mounts in to Angus and get them settled in for the night.”

  “Thank you, my dear.” Lady Donna waved in appreciation, and headed into the keep. Morgan took up both sets of reins and strolled into the darkening building. Sure enough, Angus was waiting just inside the stable doors. Together they hung the tack and brushed down the horses with easy camaraderie. When the horses had been tucked into their stalls, Angus moved off to the back of the structure to tend to other tasks. Morgan remained behind, simply standing by the stall, a soothing relaxation permeating her bones.

  Morgan breathed in deeply, letting out her air in a long, smooth flow. She loved the smells of the stable, the fragrant hay, the earthy, grounding scents of the horses. She stood in the dark shadows for a long moment, closing her eyes, drawing in the contentment of it.

  Refreshed, she slowly allowed her eyes to open again. To her surprise, she was not alone. Sean was there before her, watching her. He seemed caught by the look he saw, by the fresh innocence of her peace.

  He took a step forward, and she took a matching step backwards, finding herself pressed hard against the rough wooden wall of the stables. He came forward again, only inches separating him from her. His eyes swept from her disheveled hair to her clothes, dusty from the sword fighting and riding of the day.

  “You are a wonder,” he sighed out appreciatively, putting his left hand against the wall alongside her right shoulder. He leant in, barely touching her, and she automatically raised her head to his, her eyes to his, caught up in the desire. His body was so close … his musky scent filled her nose, drawing her in.

  He raised his right hand to her collarbone, seductively running his fingers along her skin, sliding them down beneath the fabric of her dress to press against her back muscles, along the base of her neck, along the delicate skin of her throat. He lowered his mouth, kissing her neck gently as he worked, his fingers probing, his lips caressing.

  Morgan was near fainting. Her hands were pressed hard against the wall behind her, keeping her upright. She wanted him to release his left hand, to let himself press full force against her, a burning desire yearning throughout her body. He would not do it, would not touch her except for his right hand and lips. His left hand kept him resolutely, steadily an inch or so away from her.

  Craving carved into her soul, a desperate need beyond all measure. She was a fish thrown onto dry land, gasping for breath, out of its element, and she wanted him, wanted him …

  He drew back, and her breath came in gasps, her face burning with desire. She could see the same radiating need in his body, but he smiled, nodded, and turned, walking with slow calm out of the stables.

  Morgan was an incandescent bar of metal, fired to the melting point, glowing red-hot with readiness. She took in several deep breaths, then set out at a trot for the guard chambers. She could only pray that -

  There, to one side, Oliver sat talking with one of the castle guards. He looked up as she approached, then stood with a smile. “Let me guess,” he chuckled, looking over the dust in her outfit. “You went riding with Lady Donna, and would like a massage now.”

  “Yes, please,” ground out Morgan, the flush of her time with Sean glowing throughout her body.

  Oliver stood, patting her on the back, then walked with her out to the gazebo in the rose garden, sitting her down on the stone bench in its center. The fragrant blooms surrounded her with a heady aroma, and she drew it in, seeking calm, waiting for the release that his fingers brought.

  His fingers began slowly, methodically, working down the quadrants of her back, as they had always done. Soon came the gentle unwinding of the knots that had been built up there. Even so, it was not nearly the same, it was a pale reminder of how Sean had touched her. She was cooling, dwindling under Oliver’s touch, as skilled as he was. It was like hearing a favorite tune dutifully played by a young student on a recorder, while wistfully remembering the four-part harmony version echoing through a beloved church.

  Still, she sat beneath his gentle ministrations, and when he was done she thanked him tenderly for his efforts, giving him a gentle hug. She wandered out into the rose garden, lost in thought until the light began to fade.

  She moved up to her room, freshening herself before heading down the stairs to dinner. The room was already full of noise and conversation, and she found a seat between Christian and Oliver waiting for her. She gave each man a fond pat as she sat down, filling her trencher, taking a long drink of ale.

  Christian offered her a toast. “You are two for two,” he laughed, glancing over at Sean with a teasing wink. “First you bested him in the tavern, and now you have trounced him on the sparring field as well.”

  Sean nodded in congratulations, his eyes sparkling. “I am sure there will be many other opportunities to test our talents against each other in the coming days,” he responded with a smile.

  Letitia came by with a new pitcher of ale, and Christian took it from her, nodding his thanks before refilling Morgan’s mug, then his own.

  Christian put his arm around Morgan’s shoulders. “My girl will best you at each turn,” he promised with pleasure, drawing her in for a fond hug. “You might as well accept it. Besides, you will be gone soon, back to London, with your bevy of kept women.”

  “I do not keep women,” chuckled Sean, his eyes twinkling as he held Christian’s.

  “Oh, not that you would admit to, of course,” responded Christian, sitting back against his chair. “Perhaps you have a secret woman, tucked away somewhere. I doubt a man like you lives alone.”

  There was a strangled choking noise, and Roger stood up from the table, his face somber.

  “I apologize,” he bit out, glancing around the table at general. “I need some fresh air.” He turned and strode from the room. Sean and Peter glanced at each other in concern, then Peter rose, going after his friend.

  Christian paled with embarrassment. “I am sorry,” he bit out, abashed. “I did not mean to upset him.”

  “He is still sensitive about Eli’s death,” ground out Sean, his face somber. “It hit him very hard.”

  Morgan looked over. “The funeral was recent?” she asked in a low tone of voice.

  “Just a few days ago, in Northchapel,” explained Sean. “Eli’s parents were there. It was a difficult thing to go through. I am sure no parent ever wants to bury their child.”

  Oliver nodded his head. “Maybe the event reminded Roger of his own mortality,” he mused. “It can be a common reaction at the death of a friend. The thought of dying without issue, without a child to continue your line.”

  “None of us have children,” pointed out Sean, his voice neutral. “It is practically a requirement for our group, to only include men without family, without wives. I think King John feels it has us retain our focus on our work more clearly.” His eyes became distant for a moment. “Perhaps Roger is feeling the burden of that.”

  Morgan’s eyes moved thoughtfully over Sean. “So with all that talk to Lady Donna about her getting married, you have no intention of doing so yourself any time soon?”

  “No,” bit out Sean, his voice tight.


  “Oh, come now,” teased Morgan gently. “Are you saying no lass has ever caught your eye, made you weaken?”

  Sean reached over for the mead, poured himself a fresh mug, then stood. “I think I will go check on my friends,” he commented quietly, then turned and headed out.

  Morgan looked from Oliver to Christian, shaking her head in confusion.

  Lady Donna looked at the trio with gentle eyes. “Give them some time,” she requested in a low voice. “They just lost a friend. I imagine their emotions are still in a churn.”

  “I suppose so,” agreed Morgan, turning her mug around slowly in her hands. She remained quiet during the rest of dinner, and when the group began to break up, she made her way over to the sideboard, her eyes thoughtful.

  *

  Morgan found Sean sitting on the back garden steps, an empty mug of mead in his hands. She sat down to join him, plunking down the pitcher and her own mug besides his. She poured his mug full, topped off her own, then leant back against the step, staring up at the stars.

  Morgan took a long pull on her drink. “Your turn.”

  “My turn for what?” he asked quietly, not turning from the night sky.

  “You know why I am not married,” she responded without inflection. “Someday if you actually meet my parents it will seem all too clear to you. So it is your turn now. By your reaction back there, something happened in your past.”

  “Why have I not married?” asked Sean pensively, taking a long drink of his mead.

  Morgan waited, in no rush. The hoot of an owl echoed in the night air, and a cloud drifted across the moon, a gentle breeze pushing it along.

  “Fair enough,” murmured Sean after a while, his voice coming out as a distant echo. “I was eighteen. I had just joined the soldiers, and my team included the two men you have met – Roger, Peter, along with Eli, Giles, and a few others. We were sent out to a fishing village to deal with pirates who were raiding the coast.”

  Morgan watched the sky, thinking to when she was eighteen. It was when the pressure to marry had begun to grate on her, when the fights in the house had escalated to the point that she had run, had fled, had begged Lady Donna to take her in.

  “She was a vision,” sighed Sean, bringing Morgan back to the present. “She was blonde, beautiful, an angel on earth. Her skin was delicate porcelain. She would break if you raised your voice to her. Her name was Cassandra. In only a few weeks I fell in love with her. We slept together; it seemed so right at the time. I had dreams of marrying her and raising a family, all of those plans that young people in love make.

  “Then the pirates suddenly shifted their attacks, and my troop had to leave on an hour’s notice. There was no time for goodbyes or for planning. We chased the pirates up and down the coast for month, skirmishing with them, driving them further and further. Finally about a year later we caught up with them at their stronghold and defeated their main force.

  “We received our overdue pay, and I could finally afford to send a messenger to Cassandra’s father. I let them know that I was now free to return to her.”

  He drank down the rest of his mead, then refilled his mug again. “The messenger returned with a reply from the barkeep, a friend of her father’s. Apparently the father was dead, and Cassandra could not wait for my return. She had married the local innkeeper and already had a son with him. She was gone.”

  Morgan looked down. “You were a soldier,” she pointed out quietly. “It was your profession, there was not much you could have done.”

  Sean shook his head. “I agree I had no money to leave her, and no way to contact her during those long months in the wild. Still, before I left, we could have married. I could have pressured the priest to allow us to bypass the usual waiting period. The way things were left, she had no reassurance that I would really return. She waited for me, she prayed for me, for as long as she could. If only her father had not died, she might be mine still.”

  Morgan sat for a long while, considering this porcelain vision in white. Was that really the woman Sean needed in his life, to sit on a pedestal in his cupboard? Was he holding onto his lost dream because it was easier than facing the challenges before him today?

  She shook her head. In the end, it was not her issue to muddle through. She supposed that his clinging to a long-lost woman as his excuse was as meaningless as her blaming her parents for her own situation. Both of them were adults, both were still reliving issues of the past. If they wanted to, they could move forward. It was easier to stay stationary, to find a source of blame, and to risk … nothing.

  She stood slowly, finishing off her mead, leaving the pitcher on the step. “I am sorry for your loss,” she offered gently, then turned and walked back inside, heading wearily to her room.

  Chapter 5

  Morgan woke to the subtle tracery of pre-dawn light, lying in bed for a long while before finally standing to dress. She brushed her hair back, making her way down the darkened hallways into the main room. Maybe there would be something left over from last night to nibble on.

  To her surprise Letitia was there already, a pair of loaves in her hand.

  “Miss,” she gasped in surprise, looking up guiltily. “I was not taking these for myself, miss,” she added in haste. “They were for the gentleman.”

  “For who?” asked Morgan in confusion.

  “She was fetching them for me,” came a voice from behind her. She turned, finding Sean standing quietly before her, his face somber.

  “What are you doing down here at this hour of the morning?” Morgan asked, looking him over.

  To her surprise, he glanced away for a moment, almost hesitant. “There is some legal work which needs to be handled about Eli’s estate,” he explained quietly. “With Roger in such a state, I did not want him to get involved in it.” He looked back again to meet her eyes. “I realize I have no right to ask you to cover for me, but if you could find a way not to mention this to him, I would be in your debt.”

  “Of course,” agreed Morgan slowly. “I make it a rule never to lie, but I am sure I can find a way to keep him occupied.” She looked at the two rolls of bread. “Will you be gone long?”

  “For the day.” Sean’s gaze was shadowed. “I asked Peter to tell Roger that I went out for a long ride. Which, in a way, is true.”

  “Well then, good riding.” Morgan glanced up as footsteps sounded overhead. “You best get on your way, before the household awakes.”

  “Thank you.” Sean held her eyes for a long moment. Then he gave her a bow, took the rolls from Letitia, and headed out the door.

  Morgan found breakfast oddly quiet with Sean gone. Oliver and Christian talked easily at her side, walked with her to the sparring field, kept her active during practice. When they moved on to the main training duties, Morgan found her mind kept returning to Sean, wondering where he was, what sorts of work he was doing, when he would return.

  Finally she realized she needed to find something new to focus her energies on. She was becoming far too wound up in one man! She wandered idly through the keep, her eyes alight for someone to keep her company. She came across Roger sitting by the fireplace in the main hall. He was eyeing the chessboard next to him with attentive thought, moving one of the pieces slowly with his hand.

  Morgan took in the morose cast to his face. Was he thinking about Eli, missing his friend? A new resolve entered her - she should do something to draw him out of his gloom.

  “Hey there,” she greeted, infusing her voice with bright cheerfulness. “I need to gather up some more lavender – it is a great cure for headaches and hangovers. Come and help me?”

  Roger shook himself from his thoughts. “Yes, certainly,” he agreed with a smile, standing and striding over to join her.

  She grabbed a basket from the main table and in a moment they had gone out the back doors and deep into the fields of lavender. Morgan spun around in delight, inhaling the rich fragrance.

  “This is fantastic,” she triumphed with a grin,
stopping to pull the bud off of one of the flowers. She looked up at Roger, taking in the gentle softness of his short, brown hair, the well-developed muscles of his arms, his chest. He was quite a man, perhaps a bit sensitive, but his friend had just died, after all. Keeping him distracted did not seem to be such a troublesome duty to take on.

  She ground the flower bud up in her hands, offering her palms up to Roger with a smile. “Here, take a sniff.”

  He took her hands in his, closing his eyes before bringing his face down to them. He breathed in a low, slow, deep inhale. “Intoxicating,” he agreed roughly, rubbing his fingers along hers for a long moment before releasing them. He opened his eyes again, turning to look out over the fields of lavender.

  Morgan chuckled in amusement. Clearly, he was deliberately avoiding looking at her. Distracting him was going to take more effort than she had imagined. She brought her lavender-laced hands to her neck, rubbing them along her throat.

  “Here, smell here,” she offered softly, her voice more resonant. She leaned her head back slightly, drawing him in.

  He hesitated a moment, then moved forward, putting his head alongside her neck, inhaling deeply. She could hear the exhale, the long sigh that followed, the frisson of tantalizing energy as his lips barely brushed against her throat.

  Then he was standing again, taking in a long breath, his face a mixture of hot desire and taut restraint. He blew a hard exhale before looking down at her.

  “God’s teeth, Morgan, do not torment me. Either we tone down things, or I will have to excuse myself from spending time with you in the future.”

  The sides of Morgan’s mouth tweaked up impishly. She took a slow, languorous step toward Roger, looking up at him deep lidded, eyes wide with innocence.

  “Tone down what?” she asked sweetly.

  A crimson flush swept through Roger’s face. He turned his head hard to the right, taking in another deep breath. His hands clenched, then unclenched. “You know very well what you do,” he ground out, his voice rough.