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

by Shea,Lisa

  She looked into his eyes, and suddenly there was no question at all in her heart. She knew beyond all doubt that this was right. She turned, put her hand on the latch for a long moment, and then pressed the door open wide.

  Her breath caught in her throat, and she looked around, spellbound. There were candles on every surface of the room, some white, some lavender, some a soft rose color. The room gleamed and danced in a symphony of shadow and light. Bouquets of rose and iris bloomed in delicate vases. A cascade of rose petals was scattered across the bed.

  She turned to him, taking a long step back, drawing him in. He stepped slowly across the threshold, closing the door behind him with a gentle but solid hand. Then he took a step forward to stand before her, tenderly caressing her face with his fingertips.

  “I never dreamt that there was anyone so right for me anywhere in this world,” he offered at last, his eyes looking at hers in wonder.

  She smiled at the echo of her own feelings. Holding his gaze, she took one step back, then two. He moved along with her, and when she sat back against the bed he was alongside her, then rolling over so that she lay on top of him, looking down at him.

  Her caring and tenderness and passion all melted together in an overreaching emotion that she could not name. She brought her lips down to his, and they were kissing, she was running her hands through his hair, along his neck, down to his waist, and she was easing her hands beneath his tunic, wanting to feel his skin beneath.

  He shrugged out of the top in a moment, then they were pulling off his light white shirt as well. She sighed in deep pleasure as she sprawled against his bare chest. She remembered the muscles, the strength from that day in the stables, but now he was even more alive beneath her. She kissed along his chest, ran her hands with pleasure along the strength of his arms, the well-toned muscles of his abdomen.

  God, what a man he was.

  His fingers slid down to the hem of her dress, and she helped him slip it up over her head, leaving her in her thin white chemise. She pressed down hard against him, her emotions heating, his desire pressing into her. She kissed him, wrapping herself around him, and his strong arms came up around her, pulling her close.

  His hands were sliding down again, to the hem of her chemise, and she wanted it off, wanting nothing between them, wanted her skin to slide against his, to be one with him.

  A loud rapping came at the door, startling her into attentive awareness.

  Sean rolled over on top of her, guarding her with his body, coming to full alert. Morgan froze for a moment, her breath coming in heaves, wondering if someone was at the wrong door. Surely they could not be calling for her, not now …

  The knocking came again, more insistent. Morgan gently pushed Sean off of her, held a finger to her lips, then moved to the door. She pressed her head against the edge of the frame, calling out low through the crack without touching the latch.

  “Who is it?”

  The voice which responded was muffled through the door, but it was unmistakably Lady Donna, her tone serious. “Morgan. I need to tell you something.”

  Morgan flushed, but obediently pulled the door open a hair, blocking the opening with her body. Lady Donna stood there with a candle in her hand, her face somber. “Morgan, someone downstairs needs to talk with you.” Lady Donna paused for a long moment, her eyes seeming to grow sad.

  Morgan’s heart dropped through the floor. “Is it my mother? My father?” she gasped in shock.

  Lady Donna shook her head, but her look remained shadowed. “Just, please, attend to them quickly,” she advised. She hesitated a moment, her eyes flicking to beyond where Morgan stood. “If you happen to come across Sean, tell him he should come as well.”

  “Of course,” agreed Morgan, and before she could say anything further, Lady Donna had turned and gone, heading down the stairs toward the hall.

  Morgan pressed the door closed, then turned and leant back against it, baffled. Sean crossed the space between them in two steps, looking down at her in concern.

  “What is going on?”

  Morgan shook her head, moving to the bed to grab her dress. “I have no idea,” she responded, sliding into the outfit. “It has to be something serious, for Lady Donna to be acting like this.”

  Sean was pulling on his shirt. His voice was a growl. “If she is going to speak up because I am in your room …”

  Morgan chuckled. “She and Letitia are very close. She would have known of Letitia’s decorations long before I did.” She shook her head in confusion. “Surely, if she had wanted it stopped, she would have pulled me aside hours ago. No, this is something else.”

  Sean was slipping his tunic over his head, and he turned to gaze at her with smoky eyes. He pulled her in to him, giving her a long, languorous kiss, holding her body firmly against his.

  “This had better be quick,” he muttered under his breath.

  Morgan looked around her again at the beautiful dancing lights and flowers. “It would be a shame to let this all go to waste,” she teased, nuzzling against him for a moment. “Hopefully this visitor is someone we can put off until the morning.” She turned, pulling open the door, and in a few moments they were heading down the stairs into the main hall.

  The hall was still brightly lit, with several groups of people huddled together in conversation. Morgan saw Roger and Peter were standing by the fireplace, talking in low voices. To the other side Christian and Oliver were standing with Lady Donna, their faces somber. By the center of the room …

  Morgan stumbled to a stop, and beside her she felt Sean halt as well. The woman was beautiful. More than that, she was angelic. Her blonde hair cascaded down her back to her waist, so pale it verged on white. She wore a long dress of the lightest blue, embroidered in delicate white tracery. Her face was smooth porcelain, with the bluest eyes Morgan had ever seen. Besides her was a boy nearly the same height, with blond hair in tight curls along his head. Both were thin and delicate looking; both were staring at Sean with fixed attention.

  Besides her, she heard Sean croak out a name.

  “Cassandra?”

  He moved toward the woman, and Morgan watched him go, watched him take her hand in his, bring his head down to kiss it, get introduced to the son, Daniel.

  Cassandra turned and looked at her with curiosity, and Morgan found her feet moving forward, found herself curtsying in front of the woman.

  “A bodyguard?” repeated Cassandra with fading interest, nodding at Lady Donna’s explanation. Then Cassandra was turning to talk again with Sean, and Morgan half fell onto the bench by the head table, her mind a muddle. Oliver sat beside her, his look full of concern, pressing a mug of ale into her hand. She took it absently, drinking down a third of it, barely able to follow what was going on.

  Lady Donna’s somber voice floated into her awareness. “This is all very sudden,” she stated as Sean and Cassandra sat at the center of the head table, the others falling in around the sides. “What brings you to this part of the world, and to our keep so late at night? Have you brought your husband?”

  Cassandra’s voice was delicately mournful. “I am a widow now,” she explained. “Daniel and I are left alone without a protector in the world.”

  Sean put his hand over hers. “I am so sorry for your loss,” he comforted in a low voice. “If there is anything I can do for you, please, you just have to ask.”

  “You know, when you left me, I was heartbroken,” she reminisced, looking up into his eyes with a soulful look. “You said you would return soon, and I ran to the crossroads every day, watching for you. You never came back.”

  Sean’s face stiffened. “I meant to,” he responded quietly. “My duties interfered.” He took in a deep breath. “Then I heard you had married an innkeeper, that you had a son with him. It sounded like your life turned out well.”

  “I did not have a son with him,” responded Cassandra simply, a faint blush blooming on her cheeks.

  Sean’s eyes leapt to hers in surprise, then
widened in growing awareness. He looked over at Daniel, then back to Cassandra.

  Cassandra nodded, putting her hands over his on the table. “You see now why I had to marry, why I could not wait,” she expanded. “My child had to grow up with a respectable upbringing, with the support of the village. I could not let him grow up fatherless.” She glanced down with a melancholy sigh. “However, now his stepfather is dead, and we have no resources. Daniel is destined to be a fine soldier, but I have no way to train him, to outfit him.”

  Sean’s lips compressed into a thin line. “Say no more. I will take care of everything.” He looked up at his aunt. “Do we have a pair of guest rooms in the keep that they could use?”

  Lady Donna nodded, her eyes shadowed. “Yes, of course, whatever you need, Sean,” she agreed quietly.

  “You must be exhausted,” offered Sean, looking between the two guests. “Let us get you to bed, and we can talk more in the morning.” He put out an arm to Cassandra, and she took it wearily, leaning against him. Together they headed toward the stairs, Daniel following close behind.

  Oliver leant over, his voice low. “Morgan, are you all right?”

  Morgan sat up, taking up her ale, draining the entire mug in one long swallow. “I am fine,” she growled, standing and turning in one motion. She strode up the stairs, going into her room, closing the door and barring it behind her. Then she went methodically from candle to candle, licking her fingers at each one, putting out the flame with a sizzling hiss.

  Chapter 11

  Morgan lay in bed for a long while the following morning, staring at the candles, the flowers, the beautiful aspect her room had taken on. It was something from a dream. That dream had not yet vanished, had not yet faded away. Cassandra was from Sean’s long distant past. The blonde was an image to him, not a reality. Morgan was that reality, was that present influence in his life. Yes, they could bring Daniel on as a student in the keep, certainly, and train him to be a skilled soldier. Indeed, she could help with that training herself, help Daniel learn and grow into his destiny.

  Even so, Sean could still be hers. There was no reason Sean had to return to Cassandra after thirteen years. She should not give up all hope because of one evening meeting.

  She lingered in her room, unwilling to go down to breakfast, unwilling to face the small talk with Cassandra and her son. She would take this slowly, work out her plan.

  *

  Sean was not at sparring practice. Neither was Roger or Peter. A cool breeze blew across the quiet clearing, and Morgan stood in distraction, running a hand through her hair. She looked around her, watching to see if any of the three were approaching. There was no movement.

  Oliver was talking at her, but the words drifted around without meaning. She saluted him, went through the routines, blocked his blows, made the expected attacks, and all the while her mind was a whirl. She had a vague sense that Oliver was holding back on his strikes, but she let the feeling slide, moved on with her footwork, with her swings, her thoughts in flight. Was Sean talking with Cassandra right now? Giving her a tour of the keep? Talking with her and Daniel about their future?

  Christian was watching them from the side of the sparring area. She saw Oliver wave him off, continue working with her, his movements careful, his blow landing on her high guard, sweeping against her side. She wondered how soon it would be before Daniel began practicing with them, before Cassandra sat on the stone bench, watching them train. The blonde would want Sean to teach her son, naturally, watch father and son playing together, learning together, her eyes on her family, tenderly, lovingly …

  Oliver staggered, swearing under his breath, pulling his arm in to draw his sword hard to the left to miss her thigh. She realized she had completely failed to see his attack, and she dropped her eyes, lowering her sword to the ground.

  “I am sorry, Oliver. My mind is just not in it today.”

  “Really?” asked Oliver, still shaking his head at the near miss. “I never would have guessed.” His tone gentled. “Morgan, why not go rest in the gardens for a while? Christian and I can come find you once we are done with the main troop practice.”

  Morgan nodded absently, sheathing her sword, her feet finding their way without thought around the corner of the keep, past the fountain, over toward the gazebo. It was her retreat, her private sanctuary. Some time alone would do her good.

  Except … there were voices up ahead. She looked up in confusion, and then in annoyance as she realized that Cassandra was sitting on the stone bench, looking out at the fields of lavender, and standing by her side was Sean.

  Sean turned slightly, and Morgan stepped back, staying out of his field of vision. He had something in his hands – a large, white rectangle of parchment, was staring at it with fixed attention. Morgan flushed with jealousy. What was this now? Was he thrilling over the birth notice of his son, relishing his position as a father?

  She turned on her heel, her face hardening in frustration. This was her keep. That was her gazebo. Cassandra was invading her private areas, taking them over, tainting them with her presence.

  She stalked back up to her bed chambers. There was still one place that was hers, and hers alone. She slammed the door closed behind her, barred the door, and flung herself down face-first onto her bed. She laid there as the shadows slowly lengthened across her room, dragging her more and more deeply into their gloom.

  It took a great effort of will for her to draw herself off the bed, to move to her dresser, to brush out her hair into a long, flowing sheen and make her way slowly downstairs.

  Morgan nodded silently to the others as she sat for dinner, taking a spot between Oliver and Christian. The two made room for her without comment, but Oliver gave her a gentle pat on the leg as she settled herself, and she felt the concern in his gaze. She kept her eyes lowered, willing herself not to look across the table to where Sean sat between Lady Donna and Cassandra.

  Lady Donna turned to Cassandra. “So, how are you enjoying your visit here at the keep?” Morgan wondered if it was her own wistful thinking which found a slight emphasis on the word “visit”. She reached for a piece of bread from the woven basket, slowly breaking it apart.

  “Your home is simply beautiful,” Cassandra enthused with a smile, looking around her. “It seems the type of place one could easily stay at forever and never become tired of it.”

  Morgan found herself ripping her piece of bread into quarters … eights … Oliver’s hand gently came on top of hers and she paused, taking in a deep breath.

  Cassandra turned her sapphire blue eyes to stare up at Sean. “My dearest has some news for you all,” she continued, smiling brightly. All eyes at the table expectantly turned to Sean.

  Morgan could not help it. She looked up, meeting his gaze, seeing a mixture of steely resolution and loss in them. Her heart stopped beating. Only a night ago he was in her arms, in her bed …

  “Cassandra and I are married,” he stated simply, his voice muted but even.

  The table went stock still for a long moment. Lady Donna found her voice first. “What, you married her today? Without me present?” she stated in a measured tone, her voice holding a ring of shock.

  Sean shook his head slowly. “No,” he answered quietly. “It was when I was eighteen, when -”

  Morgan threw herself back from the table, started up to her feet, before she realized she was in motion. Her stomach corkscrewed, and she stared at Sean with horror. He was a married man, and he had chased her. He had baldly lied to her. He had pursued her, kissed her. She had invited him into her private sanctuary …

  The bile rose, she staggered backwards, then she spun and blindly fled the room. She ran down the front hall, out the main door of the keep, collapsing, leaning against the wall there, taking in a long, shuddering breath. She drew in a lungful of fresh air, then cried out, her stomach doubling her over in pain.

  “Morgan, God’s blood, are you all right?” Sean’s voice was right at her side, hoarse with concern. He put
a hand beneath one arm to support her. She felt the hot touch as if a fanged adder had struck her; she shook him off with a fierce motion. Her eyes flew to her arm, to where he had touched her; fury flowed through her in a thunderous rush.

  Oliver appeared from nowhere, inserting himself cleanly between her and Sean in a heartbeat, his hand dropping to his hilt. “Get your hands off her.” Oliver’s familiar voice was iced through with a steel note Morgan had rarely heard used, one which promised violence was only a whisper’s breath away. Sean drew back immediately, then Christian was leaping to her side, sliding his left arm beneath hers to support her, his right arm protectively before her, his fist clenched, eyes flashing.

  Stillness settled over the courtyard. She trembled at the rigid tenseness of the two men who formed a human shield between her and the man she had fallen for. Slowly she brought her eyes up to stare into Sean’s. He had his hands out by his side, palms out, his eyes pleading with her … for what? For forgiveness? For understanding?

  She drew herself up with a snarl, tossing her hair back, cold hatred soaking into her bones, filling her marrow. He was a married man, and he had used her as a whore. He had defiled her in her own bed. She had trusted him, trusted him as she had no other man, and he had maliciously deceived her.

  Cassandra drifted out onto the stairs, her pale blue dress fluttering gently in the breeze. “Is everything all right, my dear?” she asked in a light tone, seemingly oblivious to the vibrating tension in the air. “Dinner is getting cold.”

  “I have lost my appetite,” ground out Morgan, her stomach giving another sharp twist.

  Cassandra slid her hand under Sean’s arm with silky possessiveness, and a shudder ran through her. She pushed it away with harsh anger, turning her head. She had to get away.

  “Please inform Lady Donna that I am heading in to the Rusty Nail.”

  “Oh, that quaint little tavern I passed in town,” smiled Cassandra, her eyes lighting up with recognition. “Such an interesting clientele. I am sure you fit right in there!”