by Shea,Lisa
“You do not like me the way I am?” she persisted teasingly, moving to almost touch him with her body.
“Like you …” gasped Roger, taking a long step back, turning half away. “You know I am on fire for you. It does not change things. I cannot court you. You are Sean’s.”
Morgan cooled instantly at that, standing up straight, her spine stiffening. “I belong to no man,” she shot out hotly, her eyes flaring.
Roger turned back quickly, his eyes serious. “I did not mean you belonged to anyone,” he agreed earnestly. He glanced around, then dropped his voice. “Having two men interested in the same woman causes trouble in our unit. It has led to one man’s death. I swore an oath never to allow that to happen again, regardless of my own feelings.”
Morgan chuckled softly. “Surely you two would not get into a duel merely because I was flirting with one or the other of you.”
Roger shook his head, his eyes maintaining their quiet focus. “It was not a duel. Nothing that dramatic. Even so, the existence of the triangle caused a death. I would not have that repeated.”
Morgan looked Roger over for a moment, noted the honor shining from his eyes. She was chastised. Obviously he took this seriously, and he was already in enough pain with his friend’s death. Her aim here was to be a pleasant distraction, not to rile his emotions even more.
She held out a hand. “In that case, I would never drive a man to break a pledge he had made,” she offered gently. “I will ease up on my flirtations, as much as you are a handsome rogue, and promise to behave as sweetly as a nun around you.”
Roger took her hand and presented her with a courtly kiss. “I appreciate that,” he answered with honest relief. “Believe me, if things were different -”
“If pigs had wings, we would never have any bacon,” teased Morgan with a laugh. “Now, how about an innocent game of chess?”
He nodded, and the two headed into the main keep side by side.
*
The fireplace threw wavering shadows across the dim room. Roger slid his rook into place on the board. “Checkmate!” he announced, laughing cheerfully. There was a cheer from the watchers, and Morgan took a long drink of her ale before toasting him with a smile.
“Well played, well played,” she called out. The crowd of spectators came forward to pat her on her back, to shake Roger’s hand in congratulations, and she stood, her eyes scanning the room for something to eat. They had battled right through dinner and she was starving.
Sean handed her a ripe, red apple. “Looking for this?” he asked with a smile. She grabbed it with a laugh, taking a large bite out of the polished fruit. She sighed in enjoyment as the juice dribbled down her chin.
He waved with one hand. “Come, I have set up a picnic for you,” he offered, leading her out away from the throng, into the moonlit gardens of the back of the keep. She saw to her pleasure that he had indeed gone through some trouble. An indigo blanket lay spread beneath one of the elderly oak trees, with platters of bread, cheese, fruit, and other items arranged in its center. A large pitcher of ale sat to one side.
“You really went all out,” she praised, settling herself down on the blanket then picking up the bread and tearing off a piece.
“You seemed quite … enraptured … with your activity,” he commented quietly, moving to sit alongside her, taking a drink of his ale.
“Yes, Roger is quite the partner,” she responded cheerfully, layering cheese on another slice of bread. “I am sure, given a few more games, that I will have the upper hand.”
She ate her bread with enthusiasm, her appetite finally coming under control. It was only after another piece of bread and cheese that she realized Sean had not said anything further, and she looked up to him. She saw to his surprise that his face had become serious, quiet.
“I would ask you to stay away from Roger,” he requested in a low voice.
She tossed her hair back, eyes flashing. One such command in a day was odd enough – but two?
“Jealous?” she snapped.
Sean shook his head. “How I feel is beside the point. Roger is … was … Eli’s best friend. He has taken his death very hard. I would not have his emotions any more tangled than they already are.”
Morgan grinned. “Maybe a carefree tumble in the sack is exactly what he needs,” she chuckled.
Sean’s face grew even more serious, and she held her hands up in surrender. “I was only joking,” she admitted, shaking her head. “In any case, Roger has already talked with me. He says he does not want me.”
Sean’s face became incredulous. “Roger, not want you?” he asked in disbelief.
Morgan reached for one of the pears, turning it to check for blemishes before taking a large bite. “Well, all right, perhaps he wants me,” she admitted with a wink, swallowing, wiping her face on her sleeve. “Still, he will not give in and have me. He said he has vowed that any woman of interest to one of your group would not be pursued by him as well.”
Sean looked at her in confusion. “Why would he say that?”
Morgan turned her head, reaching for the pitcher to pour another mug of ale. It occurred to her suddenly that Sean did not seem to know about the death, about the situation, whatever it was. Sean had said Roger was Eli’s best friend – was it Eli who had been slain over a girl? It was not her place to interfere in their close knit group or to share confidences. Roger had not asked to keep his vow a secret, but she respected his honor and strength.
She finished pouring her ale and turned back to him, her face calm. “I respected his request,” she responded, deflecting the question. “He and I are friends and nothing more. That should please your sensibilities, yes?”
Sean nodded, his face still echoing his bafflement. She ate the rest of the meal in a contented quiet, the moon and stars slowly whirling overhead in an inky dance.
“Morgan, I am sorry,” Sean finally bit out into the darkness, looking off into the shadows. “It is very difficult, with Eli’s death so hard upon us. If it had been a soldier’s death, at least, that would be one thing. However …” he shook his head, letting his voice trail off.
“What did happen?” asked Morgan quietly.
“We do not really know,” admitted Sean with a frown. “Eli had been taking more and more time off from the group, claiming he had personal matters to attend to. It appears now that he was addicted to gambling. He was losing heavily every week and hoping to reclaim his losses with further bets.”
“That rarely works out well,” mused Morgan in a low tone.
Sean nodded in agreement. “When they found him, he was at a seedy bar. His throat had been slit. A note was found pinned to his chest – ‘debt paid in full’.”
He looked down morosely. “My parents died dirt poor, and all that I own I built up with my own sweat. Everything that is mine, I would have given Eli to help him out. He never said a word.”
Morgan dropped her eyes. “I am sure he was embarrassed, and convinced his next bet would clear him.”
“It never does,” sighed Sean, his eyes somber. “I just do not understand, though. His parents gave him a healthy nest egg to start off life with, and he had done very well for himself, investing and growing it. I would have said he was very well off; I had no idea he was in such straits.”
“Fortunes can change in a blink of an eye,” commented Morgan. She glanced at Sean, and she raised an eyebrow. “For example, your mother was well off before she ran off with your father.”
“Indeed,” nodded Sean, bringing his eyes over to meet hers. “She gave up her wealth and position, all for love.”
“Did she find it was worth it?”
“It was hard to tell,” admitted Sean, looking away. “My parents argued bitterly over finances; they had very little to spare. My childhood was very rough.” He shrugged. “Still, no worse or better than most others, I imagine.”
“I imagine so,” concurred Morgan, taking a long pull, becoming lost in thought.
*
<
br /> The moon was high overhead when they finally gathered up the blanket and items, bringing them in to deposit them in a heap in the quiet kitchen building. They kept their mugs of ale, making their way across the courtyard, into the quiet hall, up the stairs.
Sean came to a stop as they reached her door, leaning against the wall to its right, his eyes on hers.
“I am sorry about tonight,” he commented quietly. “I am afraid I was not very good company.”
Morgan patted him on the arm. “We all have our moods,” she returned easily. “You certainly have good reason for yours.” Her mouth tweaked into a smile. “Do not think to be invited in for a nightcap, however. No man crosses this threshold.”
His eyebrows raised, and a hint of levity infused his face. “I am sure that line must work for some of the men,” he commented with a twinkle.
He took a drink of his ale, then stopped with the mug still at his lips, his look becoming more focused.
At last he lowered his mug. “You are serious.”
“Very,” agreed Morgan. “This is my room, my sanctuary. It is where I can simply be me.” She gave his arm another pat. “Good night, Sean.”
She pushed open her door, giving Sean a wink as she slid it shut behind her.
Sean stood staring at the closed door for a long while, his mug forgotten in his hand, before finally turning and heading back to his own room.
Chapter 6
Morgan grinned with pleasure as Sean headed toward the sparring area, dressed for another bout. She had missed him yesterday, and looked forward to another test of her talents. To her surprise, Roger and Peter followed along behind him, also geared for action.
“We thought while we were here that we might as well make ourselves useful,” commented Sean with a smile, drawing his sword and beginning some practice lunges. “We can each work with one of you, then round robin to the next person.” He pointed his sword. “Christian – you are with me.”
Morgan paired up with Peter, nodding to him with a friendly smile. She matched his welcoming salute, then began circling him. He moved slowly, cautiously, his thick bulk seeming to settle into the dust with each step. She noticed that he dragged his left foot.
Morgan watched his every move with sharp focus, her sword held out at the ready. His attack would come from that suspiciously weak left foot. He would have to reseat it before the move came in, to hold his bulk.
Even though she was watching for it, the lunge was lightning-fast; his foot landed, twisted to a more forward position, and he dove in attack. She slid beneath the blow, bending sideways, resetting herself with a shout of enjoyment.
“Nicely done,” praised Peter with a smile, giving his blade a spin. “Most of my opponents fall for that one the first time around.”
“I might have, if I did not play those games myself,” pointed out Morgan with a chuckle. “You build on your older, slower stereotype – and I am happy to encourage my opponents to think I am weak and afraid of scary weapons.”
Peter reached forward to touch swords with her in acknowledgement, and then they were off. He no longer held back, instead dancing forward, back, working with care and strategy. She found him to be a master tactician, and was hit far more than she was able to land a blow. She was slightly faster, perhaps, and her shorter height gave her an advantage in sliding under his swings. Still, his many years of experience meant he had seen every trick she could come up with and had a counter-attack moving before she could reset.
She was ready for a break when Sean called out for a pause, and flung herself laughing onto the stone bench, reaching for the ale. Oliver came around behind her, and she swung her hair over her right shoulder without a word, leaning her head forward. His fingers began their slow, methodical working through her knots. She sighed in appreciation, and yet something was still missing. It was clinical, not …
Her eyes looked up, and she found that Sean was standing nearby, drinking from his mug, a smile dancing on his lips. She flushed at his look, remembering the feel of his hands on her, suddenly craving his more sensual touch. His smile widened, and he gave her a nod of understanding.
She shook her head and stood suddenly. “Thank you, Oliver,” she offered gently, “but I think it is time for us to start round two. Everyone ready?”
Roger came over to stand before her, and she gave a flourishing salute to him, a wide smile on her lips. He returned the salute, then settled back into a guard.
Morgan had spent hours playing chess with Roger, and she was not surprised when he fought as he played. He circled for a short while, deciding on his strategy, then dove in with an aggressive set of combinations, working to wear her down. If she held the flurry off, then he settled back for another period of contemplation.
She found her best defense was to recognize the sequence he was working through, to find a guard which was close to what he was expecting – but not quite right. The inconsistency would throw him off slightly, just enough for his next blow to be a little high, or low, or off center. That gave her the opening she needed to drive in with an attack, to land a hit.
They were laughing by the time they finished, and Roger gave her a friendly pat on the back as she made her way over to the stone bench. She looked at him, her eyes twinkling.
“I will get you back in our next chess match,” she vowed, grinning. She threw herself down onto the bench and drew down a long drink of ale, her throat parched from the workout.
“Let me give you a hand,” came a low, rumbling voice from behind her. His hand slowly traced along her shoulders, sweeping her hair gently forward. His fingers on her neck were a soft caress, a tease, and her breath went out of her in a shuddering sigh. His hands kneaded lower, running along her shoulder blades, easing along her spine. She melted under his touch, awakening to the tantalizing slowness of his fingers, craving him to press more deeply, to move his hands back up to her neck, for him to bring his lips down …
“I think that is enough for now,” he chuckled softly. Then his fingers were gone, he was walking out onto the practice area, drawing his sword and going through a few rotations of his shoulder.
Morgan blew out a long breath, refocusing herself. She quickly braided her hair down her back, then stood, striding over to stand before Sean with a grin.
“Ready when you are,” she called out, sweeping her sword in a cocky salute.
“Right,” he answered with a smile, bringing his sword to his forehead, then swinging it out to the right. He held the blade slightly behind him, his eyes focused on hers. She brought her own sword into a high guard, watching him closely.
He circled around her slowly, his legs maintaining a careful balance as he stepped. She reacted instinctively, mirroring his moves, drawing in as he retreated, stepping back as he advanced.
His eyes left hers as they circled, tracing their way slowly, languidly down her body, lingering as they went. His muscles rippled as he moved, his body sensual, like a cat, like a tiger stalking its prey.
Then, suddenly, his eyes flashed back to stare into hers, hot with desire, fired with passion and need. It hit her as a palpable force. An answering rush flooded through her, her throat tightened …
Sean was in motion, driving toward her. She half felt like drawing him in, throwing her arms around him, raising her head to him in a kiss. She fought to throw up a guard, to keep him away, but it was too late. He easily drew his sword sharply against her right thigh, scoring his hit.
He turned and came up close to her, smiling down without a word.
“Oh, you play rough,” she breathed, her heart still pounding from his presence, his closeness.
“Payback can be tough,” he chuckled softly, running the back of his hand down along her throat. “Want to try again?”
“Bring it on,” she responded in a low purr, and in a moment they were circling again.
She basked in the heat of his gaze, and she let it build within her as she moved, let it infuse her movements. She wove a sensual slide
into her steps, held her sword back by her shoulders, drawing his eyes to her bosom, to her face. She licked her lips softly, visualizing the seduction in his massage, letting her face glow with her longing.
She flicked her eyes up toward him, letting them shine openly, projecting her desire, her need, without any filters. His foot caught in its movement, his eyes widening, and she drove in at him, spinning in a low lunge. He barely caught her first blow, then countered with a high strike. She moved past him as she blocked, letting her hand flutter along his thigh as she went.
He groaned softly, his next strike coming slower than the previous and she caught it easily. She staggered as his free hand followed through, sliding down along her side, ending just above her hip. She rolled toward him instinctively for a moment, craving him, before her senses returned and she spun back, her breath coming heavily.
The dance continued, their blocks merging into subtle touches, their attacks involving both swinging swords and darting glances. Morgan was torn between holding him back and desperately wanting to draw him in. The line became harder to maintain, the distance harder to hold. She wanted him … she wanted him …
He came in a spinning attack, and she did not even attempt to block him out. She let him come in, waited until the very last moment to catch him in crossed swords, to bring his body in close against hers. He held the position for a long moment, his face an inch from hers, their breath coming heavy, their eyes connected.
He smiled, then stepped back and away. “I believe it is time for the troops,” he commented casually, his eyes looking up the hill toward the main training ground. “Roger? Peter?”
The other two pairs broke apart, the men smiling from their exertions. “Ready when you are,” agreed Peter, wiping a hand along his hair.
“We will see you later,” nodded Sean to Morgan, then the men gathered up their items and moved up toward the main group.
Morgan stood alone for a long moment, her body flushed, watching Sean stride up the hill. She could not stay here and see him in motion; it would drive her mad. She sheathed her sword and strode toward the herb garden, seeking to lose herself for a while in its fragrances.