“Ye’d leave your own child?”
“You’re giving me no choice.”
How Morgan could expect her to have pity on him when he wasn’t willing to send away one pesky maidservant on her behalf was astonishing.
“I…we…lost ye once already,” he said. The memory of suffering shadowed his eyes.
“’Tis your decision,” she repeated with growing confidence. “The maidservant or me.”
He stared at her a long while, weighing the consequences. His delay angered her. But Morgan was a practical man. She had no doubt he’d ultimately see reason. He had to realize how foolish it would appear to choose a common servant over his own wife, who’d been miraculously returned to him from the dead.
Finally, he nodded and let out a long sigh of surrender.
The melancholy in his eyes was like a balm for her wounded pride. She felt the pleasure of triumph, knowing she’d won at last.
Then he spoke.
“Go then, if ye must.”
Alicia’s look of utter shock gave Morgan no pleasure.
He didn’t need her confession to figure out what had happened. Her guilt was obvious from the alarm in her eyes.
She hadn’t been taken from her childbed by Lord Lionel.
She’d run away to him. Willingly.
It had been no secret that Alicia hated living in his home. The English lord must have promised her wealth, position, and an escape from the Highlands.
But even knowing she’d abandoned him to run off with her lover, he’d held out hope that she’d somehow be repentant. If not for his sake, at least for the sake of their child.
Unfortunately, she was not. Whatever shred of remorse might have slipped into her gaze was obliterated by fury. Her face, contorted by hatred, disfigured by rage, was that of a stranger.
She spat vile curses at him, words he’d never heard her utter before. Then, with a scream of outrage, she bolted past him, shoving him aside, and threw open the door to flee.
The slam of the door shook the whole keep and startled a whimper from Allison.
Miles, he corrected. He murmured reassurances against the bairn’s soft, warm head. From now on, he’d call his son Miles.
He could stop Alicia, he thought. He could summon the guards to prevent her from leaving.
But he knew where she was going.
She was returning to her lover.
A day ago, Morgan had sent young Danald as a scout to locate Lord Lionel’s keep. The lad would report back soon. Should he need to find Alicia, Morgan would know where to look.
At the moment, however, he had no desire to do so.
By right, he could punish her for her sins—adultery and desertion.
But he had no will to hurt the mother of his child. His thirst for justice was tempered by a deep melancholy for his poor abandoned son.
Self-preservation propelled Alicia forward as she crossed the courtyard. She didn’t know if Morgan would have her stopped. But she didn’t dare take the chance he might wish to seek vengeance for her crimes.
She couldn’t afford to linger. She had to go—now—before things got any worse.
Before that evil wench could convince Morgan that she’d tried to kill their son.
Before he could find out about what she’d done to Edward.
Even if it meant leaving without a single possession to her name and not a morsel in her satchel.
Somehow she’d survive. She always had.
Scurrying past the workshops lining the walls, she ignored the guards at the gate who saluted her.
No one ordered her to halt.
Only when she slipped safely out the gate and into the thick of the woods was she able to consider her next move.
As she wended her way with breathless haste down the forest path, what finally came to her was as simple as it was devilishly clever.
There was no reason to fear Edward anymore, she realized. No one who knew the truth was alive. She’d been careful to leave behind no clues. So she’d march boldly up to the gates of Lord Edward’s keep and give them a story they’d not only believe, but be eager to embrace.
Her lips curved into a smile as she congratulated herself on her brilliance.
As always, things had turned out for the best. Tossed by the cruel winds of fate, Alicia had once again managed to land on her feet.
Chapter 57
“Shall I stop her?” Jenefer called over her shoulder. As Lady Alicia stormed out of the gates toward the woods, Jenefer watched from the nursery window, her arrow trained on the fleeing woman. Even at this distance, she could kill the wench with one well-placed arrow or at least shoot a shaft into her arse to send her staggering to the ground.
“Nay! Don’t shoot her,” Bethac answered. “Morgan would ne’er forgive ye.”
Beside her, Feiyan squinted down at Alicia. “Thank God, she doesn’t have Miles.”
“Where will she go?” Jenefer asked Bethac, keeping Alicia in her sights.
Feiyan smirked in disgust. “Probably to her lover.”
“She won’t be back,” Bethac predicted.
Finally, as Alicia strode out of range, Jenefer lowered her bow. Though her aim had been steady enough, her hands were now shaking.
She’d never killed anyone. Never had to. But after witnessing the horror of what Alicia had tried to do—smothering poor wee Miles—she would have been glad to sink a shaft into the woman’s black heart.
Earlier, the three of them, crowded together at the window ledge of the nursery, had been able to hear much of what transpired in Morgan’s bedchamber. Still, Alicia’s vile shrieking before she charged out of the room had sent a ripple of shock through all of them, making them recoil from the window.
For an agonizing space of time, until she’d seen Lady Alicia fleeing the keep, Jenefer had feared the worst—that the madwoman might have taken Miles with her.
“Poor Morgan,” Bethac said, clucking her tongue. “He’s had to lose his wife twice now.”
Jenefer propped her bow against the wall and headed for the door. She needed to go to Morgan. To convince him that Lady Alicia’s desertion was for the best. And to assure herself that Miles was safe and unharmed.
“Nay, lass,” Bethac said, halting her with a hand on her forearm. “’Tisn’t the time. He needs to work things out for himself.”
A few days ago, Jenefer would have disregarded the maid’s advice. Accustomed to acting on impulse, when she wanted to do a thing, she did it. She never let reason delay immediate action.
But she’d begun to learn the wisdom of patience and the power of using persuasion rather than force. Though she hated to admit it, her aunt Deirdre might be right about using honey instead of vinegar to get one’s way.
So with a submissive sigh, she nodded in agreement and sank onto the edge of the bed.
“Morgan will come round,” Bethac confided. “Ye’ll see. And he’ll realize the answer to his woes is standin’ right in front o’ him.”
Jenefer looked up sharply. Was that approval in Bethac’s eyes? Was it possible she not only forgave, but condoned what had happened between her and Morgan?
It was almost too much to wish for. At the moment, she only prayed the maidservant was right, that Alicia would never return.
Combat had always served to help Morgan work out his frustrations and center his mind. So when Cicilia came to feed Miles, he snatched up his claymore and headed to the practice field. With each slash of his sword, he felt his despair dwindle and his resolve return.
He’d already lost Alicia once, so his grief was spent. All he felt now was disappointment and emptiness.
Yet he wouldn’t take her back for the world.
She’d betrayed him. She’d abandoned her newborn. And she’d revealed herself to be a monster.
What he would do now, he didn’t know. He was still wed to Lady Alicia. And the only way he could remedy that was to formally accuse her of her crimes. For Miles’ sake, he didn’t want to do that.
But the lad
needed a mother. And, despite believing at one time that he’d never love again, Morgan couldn’t imagine living without a woman to share his life, warm his bed, and fill his heart.
He was in the midst of crossing swords with the Campbell brothers when young Danald came tearing across the practice field.
“My laird!” the lad cried breathlessly. “I bring news!”
Morgan lowered his claymore. “What is it?”
“I did as ye asked,” he said. “I inquired at three o’ the Scots keeps along the border. No one had heard of an English lord named Lionel.”
Morgan nodded. As he suspected, Alicia had lied about her lover’s name.
“But ’tis the oddest thing!” Danald’s eyes were wide with excitement. “A few days ago, Lord Edward o’ Firthgate was murdered in his sleep,” the lad said, adding in a whisper, “along with his mistress, a lass by the name o’ Godit.”
The breath deserted Morgan in an icy rush. A cold blade of dread stabbed him through the gut. He braced himself on his claymore.
“M’laird?” Danald asked in concern. “Are ye all right?”
“Aye,” he managed to croak out. “Thank ye, lad.”
But he was not all right. His world was careening like a runaway cart.
Everything he’d believed in was a lie. His faith was in ruins. His trust was destroyed.
Was it possible?
Could the meek, mild lass he’d married be a cold-blooded killer?
The prospect was too painful to consider. And so he thought of a dozen other explanations.
Perhaps it wasn’t the same Godit.
Or if it was, perhaps the murders had occurred after Alicia left.
Maybe Alicia had witnessed the murders and fled in fear.
But no matter how he tried to reason away the evidence staring him in the face, he couldn’t stop thinking about the last he’d seen of Alicia. Her crazed eyes. Her twisted mouth. The vile oaths she’d screamed at him.
She must have done it. She must have killed her lover and her midwife, and then come to Morgan for safe haven.
He trembled as he thought about his precious wee son. How he’d left him alone with her. How, if not for Jenefer’s warning, he might have never suspected what evil lurked beneath Alicia’s guileless face.
Gossip traveled quickly through Morgan’s clan. Before nightfall, Jenefer had heard the news from Bethac, who’d heard it from William, who’d overheard Danald tell it to Morgan. Alicia’s English abductor and her midwife had been murdered.
Though there was no proof, Jenefer immediately assumed Alicia had done the deed. She would never forget the horrid, emotionless cast of Alicia’s face as she tried to smother Miles. Only someone that indifferent and unfeeling could kill a man in his sleep.
She wished now she had shot the vicious wench when she had the opportunity. While she lived, the chance remained that Lady Alicia would return to do harm to Morgan and Miles.
As Jenefer lay in the nursery bed with Feiyan snoring beside her, it sent a chill through her to think that Miles had been in the clutches of a murderer. The horrifying thought kept her awake.
Suddenly, she craved the comfort of holding the babe in her arms.
She slipped out from under the coverlet, crept past Bethac and Cicilia, who were sleeping on pallets on the floor, and leaned over Miles’ cradle. Gently lifting him against her breast, she carried him back to the bed. There, she stretched out on the bed, enfolding him in protective arms and letting her lips graze the top of his warm, downy head.
She felt more at peace now, holding him safely in her embrace. And yet a mix of unexpected emotions washed over her, squeezing tears from her eyes.
Deep love and deeper sorrow.
Sorrow for what would never be.
Though Alicia had fled, she was still Morgan’s wife, still Miles’ mother.
It wasn’t fair.
Morgan deserved more than to be wed to a woman who would betray her husband, abandon her child, and commit murder.
Damn her eyes! Jenefer was the one who loved them. Who deserved them. She would have been a faithful wife and a loving mother…if only she’d had the chance.
Amor vincit omnia was a bloody empty promise.
Love conquered nothing.
For the first time in her life, fierce and fearless Jenefer du Lac wept herself to sleep.
Chapter 58
Morgan let a whole day go by. He peered out his bedchamber window this morn at the ominous iron-colored clouds. A brutal storm was coming.
As foolish as it was, even after two days, he kept expecting his wife to return. Not that he would have taken her back. She was no longer the Alicia he’d known.
A soft knock sounded at his door.
“Come,” he replied.
It was Bethac. She’d wisely held her tongue for the past two days, as had Jenefer and Feiyan. This morn, the maidservant busied herself with silently straightening the bedlinens and stoking the fire.
“She’s alone out there,” he said, nodding toward the forest. “And a storm is on its way.”
He’d been Alicia’s husband for two years. In spite of everything that had happened, looking after her was second nature to him.
“She made her choice,” Bethac replied.
“She didn’t even take a cloak.”
When he turned to her, he saw Bethac struggling with her ire. Though his faithful old maidservant had hidden it well, she’d never approved of Alicia. He understood why now. Apparently, Bethac had better instincts than he did.
“She’ll be just fine,” she answered through thinned lips. “She’s a sly fox, that one, always findin’ a way out.”
He nodded. That was probably true, considering her gift for deception.
“Besides,” she added, “from what I hear, she has much more to fret about than the rain.”
Secrets were hard to keep in the mac Giric clan. By now everyone had likely heard about the murders. But he supposed it was just as well. His first priority was protecting his son. In her present state, and considering what she was capable of, he dared not let Alicia come anywhere near Miles.
Bethac answered the second knock on the door.
It was Jenefer. She had Miles. The wee lad looked at home in her arms, as if he had always belonged there. The bairn, blissfully unaware of the trauma that had unfolded around him, lit up when she transferred him to Morgan.
Morgan’s heart melted as he gazed into the lad’s innocent, smiling face.
He glanced at Jenefer, half-expecting the warrior maid to arch her brow, crowing that she’d told him his wife was a liar and a cheat and a traitor.
But she didn’t. Instead, her fiery eyes were softened by compassion and shared sorrow. She said not a word. She didn’t need to. And her silent empathy touched him more than words could say.
When she left the room, he felt her absence. More than ever, he wanted her beside him. But now that his circumstances had changed, he was at a loss about what to do with her.
He’d told Alicia that Jenefer was under his protection. Of course, that wasn’t true. He’d been holding her as leverage against attack by her clan. But that attack hadn’t come, and he wasn’t sure it ever would.
He could no longer keep her here on the pretext of needing her to calm Miles, for Morgan was now capable of soothing his son’s tears.
The king’s messengers would arrive any day now to clear up ownership of Creagor once and for all. Yet he dreaded their coming, for he was in no hurry to be rid of Jenefer.
And unless he was mistaken, she was in no hurry to leave.
As if Bethac had read his thoughts, she said, “That lass is goin’ to be heartbroken to leave the two o’ ye.”
Morgan replied carefully, “I fear Miles is goin’ to miss her.”
“And ye?”
He tensed his jaw and ignored her question. The woman could be as pushy as an ox-driver.
She continued. “She could stay on as your archery master. She’s done wonders for my Wil
liam.”
Miles chose that moment to wave his fists wildly, making Morgan chuckle.
“Ye see?” she said. “Miles agrees.”
A distant rumble of thunder served as a welcome interruption. But it made him think again of Alicia, alone and defenseless against the coming storm. Not only the one the thunder predicted, but the one she’d face if she returned to the English keep.
“You have to eat something,” Feiyan insisted, chewing on whatever Bethac had brought to the nursery.
But Jenefer had no appetite. Her heart was breaking.
She’d always been able to get what she wanted. Whether it was procuring a new bow, secretly competing in an archery contest, or laying claim to the holding at Creagor, she’d always found a way to achieve her ends, usually by threat or force or simple stubbornness.
For the first time, she was unable to influence her destiny.
She couldn’t take Miles by force.
She couldn’t make Morgan love her.
She couldn’t make Alicia disappear.
“I’m going to the archery field,” she decided, seizing her bow from where it was propped against the wall.
There was nothing she could do to change the course of fate. So she’d vent her frustration with the one thing she could control.
In spite of the moody clouds, heavy with rain, and lightning on the horizon, the practice field was crowded with knights when she arrived. To Jenefer’s consternation, Morgan was there too, crossing swords with his men. Even here, it appeared she couldn’t purge herself of the Highlander.
She paused beside the yard-high wattle fence that divided the fields to watch him. His aggressive blows took her breath away.
His fighting was fierce and brutal, and he wielded the heavy claymore as if it weighed nothing. His bellows as he charged forward, plunging his sword violently against his opponent’s targe, sent a primal shiver through her bones.
His scowl of concentration as he cast off blade after blade with powerful swipes of his shield was as magnificent as it was intimidating, and she found her heart pounding from the thrill.
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