by Shea,Lisa
Walking up and down the long rows proved no help at all. The heat rose up from the brown earth in waves, surrounding her with the tantalizing scents of tarragon, oregano, sage. She could imagine his fingers running along her neck, imagine the softness of his lips, what they would feel like, what they would taste like.
God, she wanted him.
Footsteps founded behind her and she turned quickly, her eyes alight. The air sagged out of her. It was not Sean – it was Christian, his red curls damp with sweat.
“There you are. Sean said I would find you out here. You should have seen our practice -”
Morgan did not wait. She half ran to him, swept her arms around him, drew him into a hard kiss. He responded immediately, eagerly, his lips moving wetly against hers, his arms pulling her in against him.
It was just what she needed … but it was not at all what she wanted. His kisses were playful, like a puppy’s, full of enthusiasm but missing any real passion. His embrace was awkward and bony. She kissed him for another long minute, trying to immerse herself into it, but it was no use. Still, she made sure she swallowed her disappointment and put on a smile before pulling back, looking fondly up at her friend.
“Thanks, I needed that,” she teased him gently, giving him a pat on the arm.
“Any time,” he responded with enthusiasm, his face glowing.
He looked down at her arms. “You do realize you still have your guards on,” he added, chuckling.
Morgan looked down and smiled. “I suppose I forgot about them,” she admitted with a grin. She sat and stripped them off with casual ease. “I will see you later; time to go get these cleaned.” She gave him a wave as she headed off to the stables to find some oil.
She sighed with pleasure as she stepped into the cool stables, drawn in as always by the fragrance of hay and musk. The ointment was kept on shelves in the back corner; she walked over to the dappled shadows to fetch a jar.
Someone was there already. Sean had taken his leather jerkin off, was sitting on a bench, bare skin down to his waist, rubbing the oil into his armor top with a clean rag. Her breath caught. His build was even more stunning unclothed, the ripple of muscle clearly visible beneath his skin, the firm lines of his arms. He had not heard her soft approach amongst the stamp and breathing of the horses around him, and remained focused on his circular rubbing.
Morgan smiled, gently putting her guards down on the ground before creeping up behind him. She licked her lips, then slowly, gently pressed them down against his neck.
He reacted instantly in a blur of motion. She was lifted, spun, flipped over on her back, landing in a soft pile of hay next to her. He was on top of her in an instant, half drawing his sword before he realized who it was, what the sensation had been.
Morgan’s heart was pounding, and the sensation of Sean lying full sprawl on top of her only intensified her feelings. She slid one leg up against him without conscious thought, only aware that his lips were close … so close …
He released his grip on his sword, putting his hand down to support him, to look down at her, his eyes reflecting the passion she knew shone in her own. He lowered himself down gently until his lips were barely a whisper from hers, until she could feel his hot breath warming her, filling her.
“You should know better than to do that to a solider,” he warned her, his voice hoarse. “You could get hurt.”
“I will not break,” she growled back, her voice rough with passion. “Try and see.”
He groaned at that, then lowered his head, brushing her lips with his own. She answered the kiss, opening her mouth to him, bringing her hands up to twine in his hair, to draw his head down to hers.
He resisted her pull, maintaining control, giving her teasing, languorous, slow kisses, gently licking the edges of her lips, tormenting her.
She wanted him all, wanted to feel his onslaught, and yet his movements remained tantalizing, drawing it out, sending her heart racing with desire.
A noise sounded in the entryway, and the notes of a Scottish song began humming as Angus worked his way down the stables. Sean rolled off of Morgan easily, drawing her up with one hand to stand beside him. He picked up his jerkin and resumed polishing it with casual ease. Morgan’s breath came in heaves; she struggled to focus, to brush the straw off of her dress as Angus came around the corner.
“You need some more oil for your guards?” he asked as he spotted her, a twinkle in his eye.
She flashed him a brilliant grin, then picked up one of the containers of oil. “I am set, thanks,” she rejoined, then picked up the guards with her other hand, striding back out toward her room without a backwards glance.
She may have left Sean’s body easily enough, there in the stables, but Morgan found it far more difficult to banish Sean from her mind. All the long afternoon as she worked on her guards, on oiling her sword, his hands and lips came vividly to mind. When she went down to dinner there were others at the table, talking and laughing, but it was Sean’s eyes she felt on her, his voice she listened for. Even as they all sat around drinking into the evening, she soaked in the heat of his gaze, filled with the answering flare of her own desire.
Finally the group began to break up for the night, and she finished off her mug of ale before heading up the stairs.
She knew he was right behind her, felt him come up against her as she stood at the door. She put her hands out braced against the door, arching back against him. His hands traced along her neck, swept away the hair, and his lips lay sensual kisses along her throat. She moaned softly, turning in his arms, drawing him in to press her up against the door as he kissed her cheek, her throat, her chest. She ran a hand up behind his neck, into his hair, tilting back her head, drawing him in …
His hand moved slightly toward her door latch and she froze, her spine stiffening. He smiled at that, nuzzling against her neck for a moment, then he drew back. He gave her a nod good night before turning and moving down the hallway toward his own room.
Morgan took in several long, deep breaths, watching him go, before turning to slip into her own room. She pressed the door solidly closed behind her, holding her hand on it for a long moment before turning to climb into bed.
It took her many long hours before she was able to fall into a tumultuous sleep.
Chapter 7
Morgan plunked herself down at the full breakfast table next to Lady Donna, smiling fondly at her lady. “Oliver said you had something you wanted me to do for you?” She picked up a grape from the table and bit it in half. “I am free all day, just let me know what you need.”
“I was thinking of throwing a garden party this coming Saturday at noon, in honor of my nephew,” announced Lady Donna with a smile. “I know you are on vacation, but I have a number of orders to place, so a fair amount of money will be heading into town. I would feel safer if you brought it around to the various people, to ensure it reached its destination safely. That way the servants can concentrate on ferrying goods without being nervous about bandits.”
“I would love to help,” Morgan replied at once. “It looks like gorgeous weather for the ride.”
“I will be heading into town as well,” commented Sean, looking up. “I have some business there to resolve.” His eyes flicked sideways to look toward Roger for a moment and he did not comment further.
“Well then, we can ride together,” offered Morgan with a smile. “This time I promise not to threaten you if you ride too close.”
“We will see about that,” chuckled Sean softly, catching her eyes. She blushed and looked down, taking up some strawberries to cover her distraction.
She finished her breakfast in record time, then stood to head toward the main door.
“I have some things to get from my room; I will meet you in the stables,” suggested Sean with a nod. She waved him on, then headed out toward the entry hall.
An arm grabbed her from the side chamber, drawing her into the darkness. Christian wore a playful grin, and pulled her into a
loose embrace. “I will miss you,” he teased, peppering kisses on her nose.
“And I you,” agreed Morgan, not resisting, but feeling no answering passion, no response due to his attentions. She untangled herself from him, moving back out into the entry hall just as Sean strode through. He pulled up short, looking from her sigh of frustration to the flustered face of Christian who came up behind her. A knowing smile flitted on his lips, and he waved his hand in a welcoming sweep before him, inviting Morgan to move on ahead. She did so, feeling Sean’s eyes on her the whole way into the stables.
They saddled their horses side by side, falling into an easy routine, then mounted and headed off down the quiet road. The sun’s warmth soaked into her skin, shining down across the meadows in the late summer shimmer, the leaves barely hinting at a change in color. Energy pulsed through her; she called over to Sean.
“Let us go cross country!”
She roused her horse into a canter, pulling him hard to the left. Sean’s horse was beside hers in a moment, and together they were running hard across the countryside, her hair streaming behind her, the smell of grass and wildflower and warm earth all around her. It was gloriously wonderful, and she felt a living part of nature, as if she were a low flying hawk skimming over the daisies. She threw her head back, laughing at the sheer joy of it.
She looked over at Sean and saw he was watching her, his face relaxed, his eyes holding … admiration? Contemplation? It was hard to tell with him. She did not mind. He kept up with her easily, twisting and turning through the low hills, his horsemanship impeccable. She thrilled in the ride, and was immensely contented when the hour had passed and they had reached the main town.
“Meet me at the tavern when you are done,” she suggested to him as they began to work their way into the town itself. “I imagine I will be at my tasks until a bit after midday. Is that enough time for you?”
“It will be enough,” he agreed, nodding, then turning to move down a side street. Morgan pulled out her list and began heading toward Matthew’s farm to negotiate for one of his cows.
Her morning drifted by in easy conversations as she stopped in at each location, paid out the money due, and gave the instructions for the party. She knew everyone in town and enjoyed catching up on idle chit-chat, on recent happenings, and on news. The sun was sliding past its zenith by the time she was done with her tasks and able to turn her steed’s head in the direction of the Rusty Nail.
“Morgan!” called out her mother from the side of the road. Morgan winced, then immediately felt guilty at her reaction. She had hoped to get in and out of town without being drawn into a family visit. She loved her parents dearly, but there was a reason she had moved away from home.
“Mom!” she called out brightly, reining in with a tug. Her mother ambled across the dusty street, coming to a stop by the horse’s side, her arms embracing a bundle of carrots.
“I did not know you were in town today,” commented her mother brightly. “What luck! We will be having a chicken stew tonight. I was just getting a few supplies. Come by and join us!”
“I really cannot,” demurred Morgan. “I am meeting someone from the keep, at the tavern, and I hate to keep him waiting.”
A deep voice sounded from nearby. “I was just on my way there myself,” commented Sean, looking down at Morgan’s mother with interest. “So it is no problem at all.”
Morgan blushed as her mother stared, intrigued, at the handsome man who had ridden up, his dark green tunic elegant and well-made. “Who is this gentleman?” she asked with open curiosity.
“Mom, this is Sean, nephew to Lady Donna,” replied Morgan, drawn into the necessity of the introduction. “Sean, meet my mother, Jocelyn.”
Sean dismounted immediately, walking over to bow deeply before Jocelyn. “It is my honor to meet the mother of such a fine woman,” he greeted her courteously, taking her hand in his and kissing it. She giggled at his elegant manners, blushing deeply.
“Why, you will have to come to dinner too!” she offered immediately, looking between the man and her daughter. “We certainly have plenty of food, and any friend of Morgan’s is welcome in our home.”
“I would be honored,” agreed Sean, looking up to Morgan with a questioning eye.
Morgan sighed. It would be churlish of her to refuse now, if Sean was truly willing to spend the time. “Of course, thank you, Mother,” she agreed, dismounting as well.
Sean turned to her mother with a smile. “Let me carry those for you,” he offered, pointing toward the bundle of carrots.
Jocelyn blushed, snugging the vegetables closer in to her chest. “A gentleman, too!” she commented to Morgan with a laugh. “While that is a sweet offer,” she continued, turning back toward home, “I can handle them quite fine on my own.”
Sean shrugged amiably, falling in alongside Morgan, and together they walked the several streets to reach her childhood home.
Morgan moved with Sean toward the back of the house, bringing the horses into the small stable, removing the saddle and tack with quick efficiency. She thought of apologizing for their small home, so much dingier than Lady Donna’s elegant keep. She bit her lip, turning away. She had long since tired of apologizing for and explaining away her childhood to others. Christian and Oliver had been here many times, had gotten used to the quirky nature of her family. If Sean were to have issues with how she had grown up, that would be his own problem.
He looked around with interest as they entered through the back door of the house, walking into the kitchen and dining area. He smiled in greeting at her mother, then strode over to offer his hand to her father, who was putting away tools in the main forge section of the floor.
Her father stood and took Sean’s hand, shaking it sturdily. “So you are the fellow with Morgan,” he boomed. “Will you finally be the man to make an honest woman out of her?”
“Father!” cried out Morgan, outraged. “You wonder why I rarely bring people to visit!”
Asa pounded Sean on the arm, laughing. “A father has to try,” he joked. “You have to admit, looking at that fine specimen of a woman, that it drives me to distraction to have her out in the world without protection.”
Morgan bristled. “I do not need anyone to protect me,” she countered, falling into the familiar argument yet again. “I grew up with daggers instead of dolls. I can take care of myself.”
Sean smiled. “Grew up with daggers, indeed,” he interjected smoothly, nodding to Asa. “I have seen her swordwork; you taught her well.”
“She was a quick student,” agreed Asa with pride. “You should have seen her, five years old, lunging at practice dummies with the surest arm you have ever seen. We had our games.” His eyes lit up with delight.
“Think fast!” called out Morgan’s father with glee, suddenly tossing a curved knife in her direction. Sean’s eyes watched with sharp interest as she plucked it out of the air, spun it in her grip and lobbed it back to her father with a chuckle.
Morgan shook her head. “You will not get me that easily,” she warned with a smile. “Remember the night we went at it for four hours straight?”
Her mother called out from the kitchen. “If you two are done playing out there, I could use some help.”
Morgan grinned, then moved into the kitchen, picking up a paring knife and plunking herself down at the table. She began sorting through the carrots, trimming and slicing them easily one after another, tossing the finished sections into a large wooden bowl.
Sean sat down at her side. “Here, give me some of these,” he offered. “Is there another knife?”
Asa looked at him in mock disbelief. “Is there another knife?” He pulled open a drawer, revealing twenty or more knives of all shapes and sizes. He grabbed one of the proper size and tossed it to Sean, putting a bit of a spin on the blade. Sean caught it easily, then picked a carrot off the table and began trimming.
Morgan wasn’t sure whether to laugh or blush. “Father, what happens when one of my guests mis
ses the catch, and loses a few fingers?”
Asa poured himself a mug of mead and took a long drink before answering. “My dear daughter, if you brought a man into this house who could not handle a blade, I say he gets what he deserves. No man like that has the right to be anywhere near you.”
Jocelyn looked over at the trio, shaking her head at her husband. “You forget to be a host,” she teased Asa. “Offer them a drink!”
Asa took another pull on his mug, then without speaking stood and poured out two more full mugs of mead, setting them before his daughter and Sean. “Drink up!”
Morgan reached for her own mug, leaning over to clink it against Sean’s before drinking down a swallow. The alcohol was warm and rich on her throat, and she leant back in satisfaction.
Soon the room was full of the fragrant smells of cooking, and the four of them were sitting around the table, eating bread and cheese, laughing, talking. Sean told them stories about his travels in France and England, then asked her father about his opinions on different styles of knives. Morgan was surprised at how smoothly, how enjoyably the evening scrolled on. By the time the main meal was laid out on the table, they were on their third drink, laughing and sharing old stories.
Her father was deep into one of his favorite tales about her childhood. “The bully, Coll, tried to force her to kiss him,” he told Sean, a gleam in his eye. “The boy must have been sixteen, maybe seventeen. She was only thirteen then, but a beauty all the same, clearly a forerunner of the woman she would grow into. He cornered her in the shed, pressed her up against the wall. She pulled out the dagger from her belt and threatened to cut off his privates! When word got around that he had been bested by her, he took off from town and was never heard from again. Mothers of other girls were coming by here for weeks, bringing pies and tarts in thanks. She was something of a town hero.”
Morgan shook her head, blushing. “I think that tale grows every time I hear it,” she objected, but her mother gave her a fond pat on the back as she began gathering up the dishes.