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

by Shea,Lisa

  So, until that fateful day, things would go back to the way they always had been.

  Morgan put aside any thoughts of what might happen once Lady Donna was buried, when Sean returned to claim the keep as his own. That would be long from now. She would find new employ, and she imagined Oliver and Christian could be convinced to go with her. It would all work out somehow.

  Resolved, she turned with her head held high and strode back into the keep.

  *

  The table was already full as she moved purposefully into the main hall, and all eyes turned to greet her. Roger looked sheepish, almost embarrassed, and her heart went out to him. She had played him for information – there was no reason for him to feel the fool in front of his friends. She walked over with a smile, taking a seat by his side, patting his hand fondly as she settled herself in front of her trencher.

  “Good morning, Roger,” she greeted him sweetly, and was rewarded by a hesitant smile. She reached forward to take a hot muffin from the basket, then sat back to savor a bite.

  Servants moved in to distribute more platters of food, and the room filled with casual conversation. Roger waited several long minutes before leaning over to whisper to her.

  “I apologize for last night,” he stated cautiously. “I am afraid I drank far too much, and I remember very little of what happened. I hope I was not too … forward.”

  Morgan smiled widely. She did not believe she had ever received this type of an apology before. She leant forward, placing a tender kiss on his cheek. Then she put her mouth against his ear, pitching her voice as low as possible.

  “Believe me, you were the perfect gentleman,” she responded honestly. “I could not have asked for a more wonderful evening.”

  He blushed and smiled at the same time, his face radiating relief. Morgan glanced over at Sean, saw the stiffness of his neck, the tension in his face. Chuckling, she gave Roger another kiss on the temple for good measure, her eyes holding Sean’s in challenge. Then she sat back to work on her meal.

  Cassandra’s voice piped into the mix. “So you will be able to bring Daniel into this morning’s sparring workout?” she asked with bright interest. “I so much want him to begin right away with his training.”

  Morgan slid her eyes from Cassandra to Daniel. The boy was fit enough, but seemed uncomfortable with the idea, his eyes downcast. A twinge of annoyance stabbed at her, that her sparring time was being taken over by strangers, but she pushed it away. She was interested in seeing this Daniel in action, and besides, she could always spar with Oliver and Christian later in the afternoon if she wished.

  Sean nodded. “Yes, certainly,” he responded smoothly. “I will take him with me after breakfast to get some gear fitted, and we will see how things go.”

  Roger’s voice was tight. “I need to take a ride into town,” he apologized. “I have some people to talk with. I am afraid I will have to miss our practice this morning.”

  Peter turned to him. “I will go with you,” he offered. “It looks like a nice day for a ride, and my horse is undoubtedly getting restless.”

  Roger looked as if he would demur, but he glanced at Peter’s face, then nodded in agreement. “Certainly, if you are so keen to go.”

  The meal went by quickly, and soon Morgan found herself strapping on her protective guards, walking over toward the sparring area. Sean was there already, and had outfitted Daniel in leather gear Morgan recognized as belonging to one of the younger pages. It fit fairly well, but Daniel seemed uncomfortable, holding his sword in both hands, looking at it askance.

  Oliver and Christian came up behind her, standing with her for a moment. Oliver’s voice was low. “We can spar separately with you, if you wish,” he offered.

  Morgan shook her head. “I will be damned if he drives me out of my own practice ring,” she ground out. “Come on.”

  To one side, Sean demonstrated the basic guard position. Daniel dutifully held up his sword, watching as Sean moved his sword in slow motion from one angle, then another, explaining how the blocking worked. Sean was patient, gave clear instructions, was everything Morgan could dream of in a father.

  Morgan’s fury erupted without warning, cascading into a full boil. She drank in the strength, letting the feelings flood through her unabated. She spun on Oliver, whipping out a salute, barely waiting for him to respond before launching in an attack at him.

  She pressed hard against the blond, striking swiftly with her sword, relishing the loud clangs which echoed across the meadow. Christian stood to one side, watching, calling out encouragement as she forced Oliver back a step. Oliver slid in with a blow toward her ankles, and she hopped over the blade, turning. She spun, struck, whirled, hit, her sword seeking release … seeking …

  Daniel was no longer paying attention to Sean – he was standing, staring at her, his mouth agape with surprise. Her anger escalated until it glowed white hot. Now she was on display like some sort of one-eyed freak animal at a fair?

  She snarled, emotion slamming into her and imbuing her body with a radiating power which overwhelmed all sense. She held her left hand out to Oliver to hold up while she swung her sword into a backward pointing guard, spinning to face Sean with eyes of ice. “You want to see a real fight, lad?” she called sharply to Daniel, her eyes skewered on Sean’s. “Well, then, try this on for size.” She launched herself at Sean, whipping the sword around in a turning blow.

  Sean’s guard came into place just as the strike was about to land, and she let the deflection carry through, used its momentum to help her turn, spin, drive in toward his leg. He dodged that attack, and she was moving again, her slices the razor-sharp moves of a viper, her arm sure, lightning-fast. She aimed for the meat of his leg, for the back of his arm. She wanted to leave him a scar to remember her by, a memento to show to his new wife.

  ‘Not his new wife,’ she remembered with seething hatred. He had pledged himself to that woman thirteen years ago, had promised to love her, to respect her. Did his vow include seducing Morgan in her own room, drawing her down onto her own bed, running his hands along her body …

  She could barely see, she was moving so quickly, the flash of silver, the tears in her eyes, the fury in her driving her to swing more quickly, to add an extra burst of speed, to get past his guard … she had to get to him … she had to …

  Suddenly there was another sword in the mix, and she was driven back. She looked up in shocked surprise as Oliver stood alongside Sean, his eyes rich with tense concern.

  “Morgan, that is enough for today,” he instructed sharply, holding her gaze with steady focus. “Sparring requires a clear mind.”

  Sean’s voice was low, his eyes on Morgan’s. “I will be fine,” he commented. “Let her come, if it will help.”

  Oliver rounded on Sean, his gaze icy with fury, his sword rounding in a high guard. “I was not worried about you, you bastard,” he shot out. His gaze swept Sean’s with anger, then he turned to move forward, taking Morgan by the arm, walking with her over toward the garden.

  Morgan let him lead her, went with docile acceptance to the stone bench in the field of lavender. She let him remove her leg guards, her arm guards, and in a moment Christian had brought her over a large mug of ale. She drank it down gratefully, wiping her face off on her sleeve.

  Christian shook his head. “God’s teeth, Morgan, you were an avenging angel come to life,” he muttered. “I have never seen you move that quickly.”

  Oliver’s face was somber. “Quickly, and without thinking,” he cautioned. “You let your rage get the better of you. You had him on speed, but you were leaving yourself wide open as a trade-off. If he had been able to get ahead of you, get forward of one of your combinations -”

  “He would not have hurt me badly,” bit out Morgan defensively. “He would have landed his hit, and I would have begun a new round, gotten that scar I sought.”

  “At the speed you two were moving, you would have been lucky if that was all that happened,” warned Oliver.
“Besides, we do not know now what that man is capable of. He has already proven himself to be without honor.”

  Anger and disappointment welled in her chest; she drained the rest of her ale in a long draw. She looked down, unwilling to face her friends.

  “Please, I just want to be alone for a while.”

  There was a long moment of silence, and then Oliver sighed. “Of course,” he agreed. He gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. “You know where to find us, when you want to talk.”

  In a moment the two had walked out of the garden area, heading toward the main practice field.

  Morgan rested in the tranquil garden for hours, the butterflies dancing delicately from flower to flower. The beautiful creatures had done their same activities yesterday, would continue tomorrow. The world moved on. Nature continued its cycle. She had to find the strength to put Sean in the past, to accept his casual flirtations for what they were.

  She ran a hand through her dark hair, chuckling wryly. For all of her own claims about never becoming attached to anyone, for her countless flirtations with Oliver, Christian, and others, it was ironic that in a mere ten days she had fallen so heavily for this man.

  She took in a deep breath. She had thought he was something he was not. The situation had merely proven to her the validity of her vow against commitment. She would not make that same mistake twice, of allowing herself to be swept away by someone. If she saw Sean again, she would treat him as a common criminal, nothing more.

  A pair of footsteps came in toward the garden, and she stood up, clenching then unclenching her fists.

  It was not Sean – it was Daniel, walking slowly, a basket held under his arm. He stopped in surprise when he saw Morgan standing there, then dropped his eyes and turned to go.

  “No, wait, it is all right,” called out Morgan. No need to take out the sins of the father on the innocent child. “What did you want to do?”

  “I saw the lavender was in full bloom,” he admitted quietly, turning back to face her. “I thought I might harvest some, to make up a solution. It works wonders for headaches.”

  “Yes, I know,” agreed Morgan with a wry smile. “Here, I would be happy to help you.” She moved over to one of the larger plants and sat down beside it. Daniel hesitated for a moment, then came over to sit near her, putting the basket in between the two.

  “The smaller buds are the better ones,” he commented shyly as they began to pick off the light purple flowers.

  “Oh, why is that?” asked Morgan, paying more attention to which flowers she removed.

  “Something about the smaller petals, I think,” he responded, brightening. “Also, I think the flower is putting all of its energy into creating those petals as fragrantly as it can, to begin luring in the butterflies.”

  “You really like this,” mused Morgan with a smile.

  “Matthew said I would be one of the best herbalists in the region, if I kept up my studies,” replied Daniel with hesitant pride, his eyes shining.

  “Matthew, was that your stepdad?” asked Morgan curiously.

  Daniel looked down instantly, his eyes shuttering. “I do not want to talk about it,” he bit out in a low tone.

  Morgan flushed with embarrassment. “I am sorry,” she murmured. “You must miss him a lot.”

  Daniel kept his eyes on the flowers, his hands moving in a slow rhythm. His voice seemed to emanate from deep within him. “Yes, I do.”

  “If you want to talk, or just want to be with someone, I am here to help,” offered Morgan. “You are among friends.”

  “I saw you with Sean … I mean, with my father,” whispered Daniel, still looking at the flowers, his shoulders hunched. “I know that my being here has caused trouble for you.”

  Morgan turned to gaze at the lad for a long moment, and he looked up at her, his eyes lost, afraid.

  “Oh, you poor thing,” she sighed. “It is not you at all. Please, do not worry about that. It is me, it is all me. You are innocent in all of this, and you deserve to have a home and a family.”

  “Now you sound like my mother,” he bit out, his voice low.

  “That should be what a mother worries about,” agreed Morgan. “Caring for her child.”

  Daniel looked down into the basket. It was almost half full. He stood, bending to pick up the flowers, then looked at her with a solemn gaze far older than his young body. “Thank you for your help.” He turned and walked back toward the keep.

  Morgan stood for a while, staring out at the garden, her mind unable to focus. There was nowhere in the keep she wanted to go. For the first time in many years, the keep did not feel like home to her. She found her feet taking her toward the stables, found herself saddling up her mount, climbing up into the saddle before she realized what she was doing. She spurred her horse into a canter, and then as she got into the open air, she stretched him out into a full gallop.

  It was immensely freeing to be streaming full tilt across the meadows, to watch the hawks soar overhead, hear their cries. She imagined herself a deer, racing through the forest, thrilling in the sheer joy of being alive. She let herself become lost in the sensation, the release.

  Despite her best efforts, there was still something missing. It frustrated her, tugged at her, tore away the edges of her happiness. She rode on, searching for the elusive peace, craving it, but it did not come. Instead, the town began to ease into sight, and she reined in, disappointment settling over her.

  She made her way by habit down to the Rusty Nail, stabling her horse before heading in to the tavern. The after-dinner crowd was just beginning to wander in, and she moved up to the main counter.

  “Evening, Felix,” she called out in familiar greeting as he came down to her.

  “How is your head, Morgan,” he chuckled, pouring her a mug of mead. “I seem to recall you were carried out of here the last time you came in.”

  “I am much better now,” she offered with a wink, toasting him before drinking down the potent brew. She turned and stood with her back to the bar, scoping out the men present before settling on a table with two farmers at it. She leant back behind the bar, fishing a trio of wooden dice out from the shelf, then walking over to the table, tossing the dice in her hand.

  “Conrad! Little Red! How about a friendly game of dice?” she asked, smiling over at the pair.

  “You are on!” cried out Conrad immediately, dragging over a chair for her. In a moment the game was in play.

  The room filled up with loud voices, the sky darkened, torches and candles were lit as she played, her fortunes coming and going. She did not care about the money. She was in her element, drinking down the rich mead, shouting in enjoyment with the fellow gamblers. The hours tumbled by in smooth succession.

  Slowly the room began to empty again, but her table remained full as men joined in to replace those who had left the game. Her luck was failing; she was losing more than she was winning. She laughed as it went, and the men gave her tips back for her good nature, which she promptly spent or lost again. Finally, a throw of the dice brought her to a point she had not seen in many a year. She was flat broke. She knew she had been drinking too much, and playing too wildly, but it did not matter to her. Her financial state matched her emotions. She had burnt through everything and had left nothing behind.

  “I am sorry, gentlemen,” she apologized to the small crowd still gathered around her table. “I am out. You will have to find another source of income for the evening.”

  “A lovely thing such as you should never have to go home early,” offered a smooth voice in her ear, a hand sliding casually down her arm. “My employer would be glad to spot you five pounds so you could keep playing.”

  Morgan froze, her heart suddenly pounding. No loan shark operated in this town; she would have known about it. It was too much of a coincidence to assume a strange criminal had just happened to wander in at the same time the Eli situation was going on.

  “I always like to know the name of a man to whom I owe a favor,
” she purred quietly, turning to gaze up at the man who stood behind her.

  Her eyes first struck dark hair slicked back over a thin face. As she swept her gaze along his long length, she noted the fine embroidery on his tunic, the silver buckles at the edge of his boots. He was evaluating her as well; his eyes slid greedily down her body, drinking her in.

  “My employer’s name is Edward, but mine is Coll,” offered the man before her. He took her hand in his, lowering his head to kiss it, flicking his tongue out as he did so. She hid a shiver of repulsion at the sensation.

  Then she froze. Coll. Realization hit her in an instant; she sat back suddenly, looking up into his eyes with careful attention.

  “Let me get a drink first, while I consider it,” she demurred, standing and turning toward the bar.

  “Barkeep!” called out Coll over her shoulder. “Put whatever the lady wants on my tab.”

  Felix came over to the bar as she approached, putting his head down near hers. “I know you can handle anything life throws at you,” he warned her in a low voice, “but watch out for that one. That is Coll -”

  “Nicholas,” agreed Morgan, her heart racing. “I encountered him when I was thirteen, and taught him a lesson which apparently did not affect him nearly enough. You are wrong, though, I do need help.”

  “Whatever I can do, just tell me,” offered Felix promptly.

  “Send someone to the keep to fetch Roger. Make sure they talk only to Roger, though, not to any other person. I need him here right away.”

  Felix looked doubtful. “By the time a rider can get there -”

  Morgan shook her head. “Whatever can be done, I need it done.”

  Felix called over one of the lads and gave him the whispered request. The boy nodded at once and sprinted out the back door, a fire burning in his eyes. Then Felix poured Morgan a large mead, concern in his gaze, and handed her the mug.

  Morgan put on her widest smile before turning to saunter slowly back over to the table. Coll was now sitting there alone, having sent away the other men she had been playing against. She sat down next to him, looking him over slowly, taking a sip of the drink.