by Margaret Way
RISE OF AN EAGLE
(MORGAN)
Margaret Way
Morgan was raised in Ty's shadow!
Morgan Hartland had inherited enough of her grandfather's estate in the Australian Outback to make her a rich woman. But Ty Hartland, her natural-born rival, had the controlling interest.
Morgan had always resented Ty's position, and his arrogant indifference. Now their mutual inheritance made their lives inseparable.
So when Ty unleashed his desire for Morgan, she was wildly confused, unable to reconcile it with her past. Just when had their rivalry become a passion—too intense to resist
Chapter One
AT dawn of the day Edward Hartland was buried, great billowing thunder clouds like silver-shot atomic mushrooms began to roll in from the desert. To the north and the south, to the east and the west, they massed and hung in barbaric splendour, so close to the earth that some of the aborigines were wide-eyed with a sense of foreboding, and the whites on the station were forced to rake deep, calming breaths to keep their own sense of proportion. Today the man who had dominated their lives for more than a half-century was being taken up into the Sky World and a peculiar dread bordering on panic throbbed in the atmosphere, Edward Hartland had not been loved. He had been revered like a stern and sometimes dangerous god.
His granddaughter, Morgan, triangular face set in planes of mourning, stood behind the lace curtains of her bedroom watching along procession of vehicles wind up the avenue of sentinel desert oaks, a full mile from the front gates of the compound to the homestead. People, a few genuine mourners among them, had been arriving all morning. They came from all over the great State of Queensland and beyond. The Hartland empire spread its tentacles all over the continent and now they came, stout Outback vehicles lining both sides of the undulating drive and light aircraft scattered like giant birds off the all-weather strip. Professional mourners by the hundred: family, so-called close friends, politicians, rich graziers, the landed establishment, hangers-on, socialites, all of them acknowledging the passing of a legend in his own lifetime. His enemies far outnumbered his admirers and only his granddaughter, Morgan, was said to love him.
Why were you such a cold, difficult man? Morgan thought. Why was there so little loving kindness in your heart? She turned away from the window bleakly. Many a time she had suffered from his savage moments. No one had a more lashing tongue than E.J., though God knew Ty could be perfectly hateful. For someone who had been so kind to her when she was a child, she now thought of Ty as the enemy, her natural-born rival, and the hostility was mutual. She and Ty couldn't be together five minutes before the sparks flew. She even hated him enough to wish he had stayed away from the funeral, but then the whole Outback would have been shocked. All of them were E.J.'s family and subjects. It was unthinkable that his only male relative should not be there to stand at his graveside.
Now there's a boy who'd love to stand in my shoes! E.J. had often taunted him. Don't think I don't know all about your burning ambitions, young Tyson!
Ty had never answered. Never taken the bait. He had simply stood his ground, dark blond head thrown up in his damn-you-to-hell attitude, azure gaze brilliant and quietly scornful. Who cares what you think? the gaze said, and E.J.'s thick black brows would move down over his hooded eyes like thunder clouds. As far back as Morgan could remember, there had been a special tension between E.J. and Ty, a continuance of the long- ago rivalry between E.J. and his stepbrother, Robert. Robert had been the favoured one, causing a bitter, lifelong jealousy and resentment in the loner, E.J.
Of such things were feuds born. Morgan turned about to the long mirror. Her eyes looked strange, shadows beneath them. They were very green, large and tilted like a cat's, as was the triangular shape of her face. Her highly individual appearance was the cause of her name. Her mother who had given her up so easily had thought such a queer little baby should have an odd name. Morgan was a faery name and it was true that as Morgan grew she developed a wild beauty in startling contrast to the other Hartland women. Ty's sisters, Sandra and Claire, were exceptionally good-looking with haloes of golden hair and the vivid blue eyes of the Hartland clan. They didn't present the compelling front of their brother, but they were universally known as the 'beautiful Hartland twins'. Morgan's beauty was far more elusive and complex. At times with her eyes hidden, and when all was not well she could look almost plain, but then her extraordinary slanting eyes would flash up, emerald green like a still lake, and her long raven mane would curve around her face and one was certain she had power of some kind.
It's all too easy to believe you're a witch!
Woe betide you, Ty, if I were.
She looked sallow and washed out in black, and no number of tucks could disguise the fact the dress did not belong to her, Cecilia had brought it with her, but whereas the Hartland women were tall and stately, Morgan was small and slight. The dress was too big and too long, and though she had belted it very firmly around her tiny waist the effect was dismal. She just knew Cecilia and the girls would look very different. Not that she cared. Morgan was as terrible in her way as was Ty. The two of them had always had an alarming tendency towards rebellion. The only thing they had in common. The only apparent family tie. Strangers on first meeting them did not think they could conceivably be related, for somehow Morgan had inherited quite different genes.
Her mother had not come. Marcia never could face the pressure-points of life: marriage, motherhood, being left a young widow. She had hated E.J. as much as she was capable of hating anyone, so why would she come? Marcia had long since become the prize possession of the silver-haired, Chairman of the Board of Just About Everything, Sir Philip Ainsley. Morgan had the black-printed telegram on her dressing-table. The problem was, Philip's commitments did not allow them to get away, but both sent their fondest love and deepest sympathy. Her mother had deserted her long ago. Morgan remembered the day vividly. Her mother had visited her at her boarding-school, sweeping her small eight-year-old daughter into her arms, resembling a mother, but never a mother, explaining in a short, private talk that Morgan's grandfather, a man of iron will, would not countenance passing his only grandchild into the care of her mother, and as his heiress Marcia would do anything to protect her little daughter's inheritance. The deal was simply that Marcia would move out of Morgan's life. Edward Hartland would assume complete control.
Morgan and Marcia had been estranged for years until Morgan, determined and challenging beneath her fragile looks, had sought out her mother on her own. She had been seventeen at the time, newly graduated from college with all the honours E.J. had expected of her. From earliest childhood Morgan had had to set her mind to gaining accomplishments. She wondered how many other twenty-year-old girls, especially twenty-year-olds of her slight physique, could ride, shoot, hunt and muster. She even had a pilot's licence, plus a sheaf of diplomas for piano, art of speech and ballet. E.J. had demanded so much of her, but however hard she tried she could never become his true heir. She could never be a boy. Though he was going to his grave without admitting it, E.J. would have thrown Morgan to the lions if he could have gained control of Ty. Ty was an identity in his own right. After his father had been killed in a light-aeroplane crash, which even now no one could satisfactorily explain, power had passed to Ty. He had taken over the reins and never looked back. For the past few years it had been a spellbinding contest between the young and old. It might have even hastened E.J.'s death to know Ty was coming out on top. Ty was a natural-born power-broker. God help her now, when he would start to cut her down to further his own ambitions. No one could deny her own flair, but she dreaded the morrow when she would be matched against Ty. Not only that, the entire clan would support him. It was a good thing E.J. had ensured h
er outright control.
Prior to the funeral only family were admitted to the house, though afterwards would come the inevitable gathering. Morgan walked along the quiet corridor and down the great curving stairway, and as she did so Ty came out of the drawing-room, from whence issued voices, breaking in his long stride as he looked up and saw her.
'For God's sake!' The radiant blue eyes flashed over her with their characteristic insolence. 'You might have picked out something to fit!'
'Keep out of my way, Ty,' Morgan advised.
'You're joking!' He was tall, lean, supple, with an animal grace of movement. He mounted the stairs in a flash, grasping her by the arm. 'Maybe you don't know it, but to everyone else all you need is a broom.’
'Sure,' she said. 'Don't try drinking anything I pass you.'
'Oh, my.' His vivid gaze moved to her hair. 'What the hell is that?'
'That's a chignon,' she said crisply. 'Your big problem, Ty, is you've forgotten it's a funeral?
He shrugged. 'It's impossible to feel tearful. It wouldn't surprise me if the old devil tried to rise again.'
'Believe he'll be around to haunt you?'
'Not me, sweetheart.' Using his vastly superior height and strength he began to propel her back up the stairs. 'There are going to be hundreds of people here today. There's no way I'm going to let you appear looking like a joke.'
'You let me go!' she gritted, with more than a hint of violence.
'I'm not happy about what an outfit like that might do to the family. I know you're much too proud a young creature ever to have asked that miserable old miser for money, but I've seen you in a dozen outfits more suitable than that.'
'If you don't let me go,' Morgan warned very slowly and distinctly, 'I'll have you thrown out.'
At least he didn't laugh. 'Simmer down, elf,' he replied, almost mildly.
When had he last called her that? It had to be years ago!
Somehow they were back in her room, and while she stood in helpless rage he went to the huge armoire that held all she owned in the way of dresses and threw it open.
'My God, how pathetic!'
'Thank you. Why would I need a large wardrobe when all I wear is riding-gear?' She went to him and stared up at his arrogant profile.
'Isn't this awful? Just plain, bloody, awful.' He appeared genuinely taken aback. 'I couldn't get into either of my sister's bedrooms for the profusion of possessions. What the hell is a little girl doing in her mother's dress?'
'This little girl is a woman! Anger was putting colour into Morgan's pallor. Her very green eyes gleamed.
'You're not even a pocket Venus. Seen from the back, I'd swear to God you were Oriental.'
'Thank you again. I think Chinese and Japanese women are just beautiful.'
'I didn't say you weren't beautiful.' He stunned her for the second time. 'God, I'm shocked,' he muttered tersely. 'It's a good thing you're such a tough little fortune cookie, otherwise I'd have to see you as a natural-born victim.'
'Get out of my wardrobe.'
He Ignored her. 'What about this?' He drew out a soft grey dress on its hanger.
'I repeat,' she said tightly, 'we are going to a funeral.'
'You'd attract no more attention if you went in that little red bikini Pat O'Donough got so excited about.'
'Pat O'Donough is a creep.'
'I'm afraid you're right. Make him disappear so he'll never be seen again.'
'It may not work on Patrick, but it would be a pleasure to work on you.' Morgan snatched the grey dress from him, holding it to her, so that, mysteriously, the soft misty grey made her eyes glow. 'I should tell you, your mother brought along this dress for me.'
He laughed. 'Like hell! Tell me the truth.'
'The truth would not do me much good. Your mother, though a very benign lady, does not like me.'
'Why should she?' He looked down his straight nose at her. 'You scare the hell out of her.'
Morgan frowned. 'I cannot imagine your mother being intimidated by anyone, let alone pint-sized me.'
'How do you know all you know?' he taunted her. 'How can you do all you do? We reckon you have to be two hundred years old. Where do you come from with your great green eyes? How do you transform yourself into a raving beauty in the twinkling of an eye? I swear when I first saw you on the stairs you looked like an orphan.'
'Don't you touch me.' Morgan shivered as his lean brown finger traced the angle of her pointed chin.
'Where?'
Such an answer disturbed her enormously. 'You should not be in my bedroom.'
'Ridiculous,' he said smoothly. 'We're family. Sort of.'
'Bad luck of the draw.'
'Why don't we put our disappointments aside and try to get you presentable? You have good hair. Why have you dragged it back like a coil of rope? I'd only have to give you one little tap to snap your neck.'
'You sound as if you'd love to.' she told him coldly. 'Oh, what's the time?'
'I don't think old E.J. is yearning to be buried.' Ty assured her. 'Step out of that dress, Morgan. You obviously need help with your dressing.'
'Yes, I am a lousy dresser,' she fumed, pulling at her long zipper. 'I can't play at being a clothes-horse. I'm a station hand, remember? I plan to change all that soon. I shall be mistress here.'
'Glorious day!'
'And your last around here.' Morgan tore at her black belt, then stepped out of the offending dress without the slightest hesitation. Ty might not have existed for her, though he leant back against the mahogany bureau watching her every movement.
'All you really need is a gold earring, or maybe a little crown of flowers.'
'You are so wicked, I cannot tell you.' She regarded herself fleetingly in the mirror. There was no question about it, she looked better in the grey dress,
'A little ragamuffin to a dryad whose domain is the forest. Have you ever lain in the grass, Morgan, looking up at a man with those slanting emerald eyes?'
'If you're trying to lead me on about Pat O'Donough, I smacked his face as hard as I could when we were no further than the stables.'
'Is that why I saw you riding like the wind?'
'It's sweet of you, Ty, to be so concerned about me.'
'God knows you'll have every fortune-hunter in the country coming calling.'
'I really won't have any trouble throwing them out.'
'I have to say it, green eyes, you have your wits about you. Now the hair.'
'I'll keep it back,' she told him determinedly.
'I'm sorry, you won't.’ He reached out effortlessly and removed the long pins one by one. 'Legend has it that Morgan Le Fey had long curving hair the colour of black silk.'
She shook back her head so that a long swathe of her hair slid from his hand. 'I deeply object to your highhandedness, Ty. Let's get out of here.'
'Right away. No need to thank me.'
'You're not exactly my favourite person.'
'I think you irritate me more than anyone else in the world, too. And this is only the beginning. Who's going to look after you now that E.J. has gone?'
They were at the door and Morgan swung around to look up at him. He was tall and devastatingly handsome in his unfamiliar mourning clothes,
'Would you say we were a happy clan?' she asked, almost sadly.
'Come on, we have some good times.' His brilliant blue gaze locked with hers. His hair was a dark gilt with lighter streaks, and his skin had the golden sheen of an idol. He looked what he was: a young man, barely thirty, charged with extraordinary abilities and a passion for life.
'You know I have never felt comfortable with your side of the family.'
'I hope you understand they don't feel comfortable with you,' he silenced her derisively.
'I actually hate you.'
'Are you so sure?'
'Yes. I don't need anyone to look after me, Ty. E.J. has made me secure for life. I've had an excellent education and I've got a good brain, as my degree testified. You're not the only on
e in the family who can handle life at the top. I plan to learn, and learn fast.'
He smiled, a humourless movement of his firm yet sensuous mouth. 'I hate to say it, but I've saved your life at least twice. I'm all for a girl's developing her potential, but your drive to prove yourself could have ended in disaster. What the old man did to you was cruel. A lot of grown men would have buckled under the series of challenges he threw out to you. A little girl, five feet two, forced into passing test after test. Is that love?'
'It's all he had to offer.'
Ty groaned. 'My mother, who you think doesn't like you, wept for you. My sisters freely admit they would have been broken like toys.'
'So, I'm the legitimate heir, right?' She tilted her chin with a flash of his arrogant self-sufficiency.