by Ruth Kaufman
In one abrupt move, Morgan sat up. He gasped sharply and clutched his side.
Annora jumped to her feet. “What’s wrong?”
Slowly, Morgan eased back onto the pillows. “Nothing beyond a bizarre dream.” He pulled back the sheet to check his bandages, still pristine white.
“How do you feel?”
“Better.”
“Are you ready for soup? It’s sowpys dory, with onions and almonds. I have cheese and bread as well, should you want sturdier fare.” She ladled a portion into the bowl and brought it to him with a carved wood spoon.
He ate in silence. “’Tis good.”
She refilled the bowl and he ate that, too. The silence felt strained. Annora realized he hadn’t looked at her since he’d awoken. What was he hiding?
“Why does Jankyn ap Lewis seek you? Why did his men shoot you?” The questions burst free.
Morgan ate the last mouthful, scraping the bottom of the bowl with such diligence Annora wondered if he’d heard her.
“We have a longstanding feud about my father, who…needs my assistance. Ap Lewis won’t rest until he stops me from giving it. He’s ruled by vengeance and the quest for power.”
What ruled Morgan, she couldn’t help wonder.
“Let’s talk about you,” he said. “What brings you to this remote part of Wales?”
“I have nothing to hide.” If anything, she needed to tell her story. How desperately she’d wished for someone other than Emma to believe her.
“I came here, to Emma’s sister’s cottage to—” Tears rushed to her eyes and her throat clogged. Annora fought to keep her voice steady. The familiar ache in her chest returned as she remembered what brought her to Wales. How far she’d fallen, from wealthy noblewoman to poor supplicant who’d failed to find a benefactor. “My uncle Roger believes Amberton Castle, my castle, should have gone to him instead of me after my father died.”
She needed Morgan to understand. But why? An injured stranger on the run from a powerful lord couldn’t champion her cause, no matter how much he looked the part. She hoped there was more to his story. Maybe Morgan had connections, friends who might offer their aid. That must be it. Surely she didn’t care what he thought of her.
“After my betrothed died, Roger visited Amberton under the guise of a grieving relative. My only uncle, my late father’s brother, seemed so sincere, so solicitous. I should’ve known he didn’t care about me, but just wanted control of all that was mine. Beneath his outward kindness lurks darkest cruelty and evil. Only Emma and I know the truth.”
“Just because one should be able to trust his family doesn’t mean one can,” Morgan said. “And just because one hears dreadful stories about a man doesn’t mean he can’t be trusted.”
“I agree. But no one would believe me even if I dared reveal his secrets.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s convinced everyone I know that I’m a lunatic.” Saying it aloud sent chills prickling.
Surprise crossed Morgan’s face. “A lunatic,” he repeated.
Heart pounding, Annora searched for skepticism. Doubt from one more person, from him, would suck the will to fight from her. But all she saw in those clear, blue-green eyes was concern. She took a deep breath, relaxing muscles she didn’t even realize she’d tightened. She sat on the side of the bed.
“Roger tried to beat me into submission so I’d hand my lands over to him. When that failed, he drugged me so he could assume wardship of Amberton and me and swore my lunacy before a crowd of my people. He said he’s appealed to the courts.”
The pain of Roger’s betrayal rushed back. She’d never forget the anxious queasiness in her chest.
“Didn’t you tell someone what he was doing?”
“Of course. I protested the few times I was able, but no one would listen. Everyone except Emma believed Roger. He was that convincing. And the laws favor male relatives of an as yet unwed woman.”
“There’s more. Will you tell me?” His gaze, so sincere, made her want to continue.
It was as if he saw her innermost thoughts. He took her hand, his long fingers warm on hers. Decorum urged her to pull free, but his touch was soothing, comforting. How she needed that after being alone for so long.
“I have to admit my uncle thought of everything. He locked me in my room and forbid anyone to talk to me. I spent every day thinking of ways to escape.
“Once I pushed past the servant bringing my supper and ran to the hall to plead my cause. Roger had warned everyone I’d say he lied. He told them a symptom of my illness was that I didn’t trust my own uncle or those who knew what was best for me. I fell right into his trap. My accusing him of seeking control of Amberton served as additional proof that Roger spoke the truth.
“The day he displayed me in front of my people, he’d bribed a servant he’d hired to drug me. I could hear and see, but couldn’t speak or move. He flaunted me before them so all would witness my supposed infirmity. My supposed inability to make my own decisions.” How could she describe the supreme frustration and hurt of being frozen and unable to speak while everyone she knew looked on in various stages of shock, horror and pity? How horrible it was not to be able to control anything in her life?
“Several said they wouldn’t believe Roger until they heard from me. But he’d arranged it so that I couldn’t speak on my behalf. Proof enough to make everyone I knew and trusted believe him.”
“I’m no stranger to betrayal,” Morgan said under his breath.
Annora was tempted to delve into that, but sensed he offered sympathy rather than unlocking a door into his past.
“Emma helped me recover by controlling what I ate, though she and I fear for her should she be caught opposing Roger. After Roger fell into one of his drunken stupors, she stole the key to my room. We fled here with whatever we could carry. I owe my life to her.
“Abandoning my home and my people was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Especially since they could suffer under Roger’s harsh rule. But I have to find someone at least as highly placed to help me.”
“What now?”
“Roger has petitioned King Edward and the courts for ownership of my castle. I must return with evidence of my wits before the king grants his petition. I’d hoped a prominent physician friend of my father’s would examine me and swear I am well. But when I arrived at his residence, I learned he was near death and unable to help me. No one present had other ideas.”
“’Tis harsh when a well-made plan fails.”
She studied his face and saw only concern. Joy and relief washed over her at sharing her tale with someone who believed her. “Yes. Next I’ll appeal to some of my father’s other friends.”
“I’ll pray for a speedy recovery so you can return to your quest,” Morgan said. “How much time do you have?”
“Everything depends on the court’s or King Edward’s willingness to act on Roger’s requests. A few weeks or months.” Annora shrugged.
She’d been so immersed in Morgan and his troubles she’d forgotten her own. Telling her tale brought them surging back to the surface.
“Now. I have shared everything.” Well, almost everything. She realized she did have one thing to hide: the entirety of her uncle’s abuse. “Let us talk of you.”
• • •
Morgan shifted on the pillows, grimacing at the stiffness in his muscles. Annora’s tale melted his hardened heart as a flame dissolved an icicle. He wanted to learn about her and wanted to help her.
If only he could, if only he wasn’t the sole conduit who could free his father from living hell.
He still held her hand. The gesture intended to comfort now spurred his thoughts in another direction. How soft the top of her hand was, the slight calluses on her fingers an appealing contrast. He wanted to kiss his way up her arm to her neck, taste her skin.
“Tell me how you came to be here.” Annora rested her hands in her lap and tilted her head as though nothing in the world could interest her
as much as he did.
Her beauty so affected him, even thin and dressed in rough woolens as she was, he couldn’t imagine he’d want her more were she garbed in the fabrics and jewels suited to her station. Morgan wished he had feasts to feed her, from sauced meats to sweets, course by course, until those hollows left her cheeks. He wished he could hold her until the sorrow left her eyes, replaced by a shining joy.
Something was definitely wrong with him. He had that peculiar sensation, that annoying warmth in his chest he’d had years ago when Ninian had tried her love potions on him.
“Morgan, are you ill?”
“No. Lost in memories,” he answered.
“Will you tell me about the feud?”
He’d told numerous lies to survive, but he couldn’t lie to Annora. Though he barely knew her and their time together would be brief, she’d risked so much and cared for him so diligently despite her own travails. He couldn’t deceive her when she’d given of herself. But what to reveal?
“My father is imprisoned. My quest is to free him. Jankyn ap Lewis seeks to prevent me from doing so.”
“Who is your father? Why was he confined?”
No one living in this Year of our Lord 1463 believed his renowned father really existed. The world now knew him only as a key figure in a magnificent legend passed down through time. Various versions of his father’s life had been written over the centuries or shared by troubadours, but no good Christian accepted any of the tales as true.
If Morgan told Annora he was the son of Merlin, if he told her he was a Knight of the Round Table charged with facilitating King Arthur’s return, she’d probably think he was a lunatic. He couldn’t lay that burden on her.
“’Tis late.” He feigned a yawn, though he needed far less sleep than mortal men. His recovery was under way.
She jumped to her feet. “Forgive my curiosity. You must be exhausted.”
He’d bought some time, as he’d hoped. Tomorrow Ninian should arrive and deflect Annora’s focus from his past. Tomorrow he might be well enough to leave. A twinge of scruple plucked at his heart for playing on her sympathy. After all the deceptions practiced on her, she needed someone who would be unfailingly honest.
That someone wasn’t him.
“Come to bed,” he said without thinking. At Annora’s look of surprise, he amended, “’Tis time for bed.”
“No!”
Morgan read shock and uncertainty in her face. Even in remote Wales, proper behavior mattered. ’Twas bad enough, an unwed woman spending a night alone with a man. There was nowhere else to sleep but the rough floor or that uncomfortable looking chair in the corner. Injured as he was, he couldn’t be chivalrous and abandon the warmth and comfort of her mattress.
It wasn’t as if he had the strength at the moment to do much besides lie flat on his back, though the thought of her sleeping beside him sent desire swirling.
“I’ll spend the night here.” She took a tattered blanket off a high shelf and spread it over the chair. “I don’t want to disturb you.”
Clever reasoning. By the glow of the fading fire, Morgan watched her settle in the chair with her head tilted back at a sharp angle, legs stretched out. Beneath her serviceable skirts, Annora wore the wooden shoes of a laborer, not smooth leather ones of a lady. She shifted, turning her head to the side with her hands folded beneath. Then she crossed and uncrossed her legs. She kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet beneath her.
Proper behavior be damned. He couldn’t watch her spend hours trying to get comfortable.
“Annora. We must share the bed,” he said. “I’ll move to the edge, like so, leaving plenty of room for you.” With care for his injuries, he shifted to the left. “If I swore not to move from this spot, would you believe me?”
He wondered if she could trust a man ever again.
Morgan wanted Annora’s trust. She’d only heard ap Lewis’s version of the truth and had to have some doubts. Despite their short acquaintance, he wanted to do so much for her. To give her the gift of honesty, to protect her, to help restore her to her rightful place, any of which would impede his progress and might render his own success impossible.
Annora sat up and licked her lips, first upper then lower, an unconscious act that told him she was thinking. Her pink tongue entranced him.
As one overflowing with secrets, he knew when someone tried to conceal something. More than good manners kept Annora from joining him. Fear? Mistrust? She looked down, shielding her expressive eyes.
“You will be safe with me, Annora. I won’t harm you.”
Her head lifted. Slowly she crossed to the opposite side of the bed. Their eyes met as she tugged on the ribbon that had confined a portion of her hair. The auburn mass spilled free.
He wanted to touch that hair. To gently pull till he drew her close enough to kiss.
Annora climbed in without changing her clothing. Staying as far from him as she could without falling off, she turned her back and pulled up the covers. Her rose water scent wafted over, making him hard.
Morgan wanted her. But he couldn’t have her.
“Sleep well,” she said.
“And you.”
Unfulfilled need pulsed as he admired the outline of her body, the flow of her wavy hair as it glowed red as the setting sun in the firelight.
He closed his eyes, strangely content. But he stayed awake through the night, ever aware of the woman beside him.
Ever aware of his quest.
Chapter 3
A knock on the door jolted Annora awake. Her heart hammered with foreboding as she and Morgan ap Myrddin bolted up. He clutched his side and hissed.
“Hide,” she whispered as she scrambled out of bed.
He flattened and pulled the covers over his head.
Only the faintest light peeped through the shutters. Five short raps sounded.
“Who’s there?” She made her voice waver.
“’Tis Ninian. I’m alone.”
Annora glanced at Morgan. He sat up again, with more care. Sleep and diving under the sheets had mussed his silvery hair, making him look younger and more approachable. The array of muscles on his bare chest enticed her.
He nodded. “’Tis she.”
She opened the door. In slipped one of the most striking women she’d ever seen. Tall and pale with silvery hair like Morgan’s, Ninian exuded grace. Beneath a thin cloak she wore a robe of layered sheer fabrics and swirling, muted colors that floated and shimmered as she flowed to Morgan’s side. She was a moonbeam, ethereal and haunting. Though she must’ve travelled through the night, she looked fresh and clean.
Annora smoothed her sleep-tousled hair and wrinkled, worn gown. Not that it helped her look better.
“Annora of Amberton, meet Ninian,” Morgan said.
Ninian carried a huge sack with ease. She lowered it to the floor as she sat on the edge of the bed. Her arms moved like a dancer’s as she reached out to Morgan, fingers delicately extended. She placed the back of her hand on his forehead.
“No fever,” she pronounced.
“Spare of speech today?” Morgan asked with a smile.
“I was worried.” Ninian took his hands. “I’m so glad you sent for me. Let me treat your wound.”
Jealousy flashed through Annora. She barely knew Morgan ap Myrddin. Yet she wanted to be the one checking his wounds, brushing the silky hair from his brow. Who was this Ninian to him?
Ninian pulled mysterious packets and jars from her sack, then removed his bandages. She dug unguent out of a jar and with dainty pats spread the stuff over Morgan’s wounds.
They spoke in an unfamiliar language. Not Welsh, French or Italian…what was it? The tone was clear—private. From the way their silvery heads bent to their secretive smiles, she envied their closeness.
Why? Because he was the most attractive, intriguing man she’d met. And the first man since her father died who made her feel something good inside instead of fear and weakness. As if she had worth and value. What
a fool she’d been to think he’d taken an interest in her.
Annora rebuilt the fire and took stock of her provisions. The food wouldn’t last long if eaten by three.
“Done,” Ninian said. “Apply a little of this twice a day.”
Morgan already seemed much improved. Ninian’s arrival and treatment had brought him to life.
“How is he?” she asked.
“Very well. But then, he—”
Morgan shook his head slightly.
Annora couldn’t take much more of being left out.
“—has always healed quickly,” Ninian finished. “My special mixtures will help and your stitches are excellent. I see no sign of infection. Soon he should be good as new.”
“’Twas good of you to come all the way up here.”
Ninian smiled. “Anything for Morgan.”
Who was he? The brutal murderer as Jankyn ap Lewis claimed, yesterday’s secretive soldier or the man before her this morn, deserving of “anything” from an uncommon healer?
“How do you know each other?” Annora asked.
“We go back a long way,” he said.
“A very, very long way,” she agreed.
Their answers were clear as the mud near the stream. Annora couldn’t bring herself to ask what she most wanted to know, whether they were lovers. “Are you family?”
The silvery beauty took Morgan’s hand, sending another rush of jealousy through Annora. “Almost. Our kin have been close, forever.”
Enough of that. “Emma and Albert must be on their way back to Amberton.”
“So they said when they found me,” Ninian confirmed with a nod.
Annora needed them to report on developments at Amberton. They wouldn’t remain long, but would make an excuse for another absence and return to help her track down her father’s friends. She wished Ninian would leave, too, so Annora would have more time alone with Morgan to…what? Know him? Touch him? How wayward her thoughts ran.
Primrose made her way out from under the bed and wound around Ninian, disappearing amidst her flowing robes. She bent to scratch the cat. Primrose poked her head out and purred as lovingly as she did when Annora petted her. It seemed everyone loved Ninian.