Bride of Fire

by Glynnis Campbell

  “Alicia?” Jenefer scoffed. “I don’t trust Morgan.”

  Cicilia began wringing her hands.

  Bethac shook her head. “That devil woman has ways o’ steerin’ Morgan,” she said, “makin’ him feel he’s done somethin’ wrong.”

  Jenefer nodded. “And if she does that…if she makes him think Miles needs to be with his mother…”

  “Do ye think he might give him o’er to her?” Bethac clapped a hand to her bosom.

  A wail of woe escaped from behind Cicilia’s hands.

  Jenefer scowled at the lump in the bed that was Feiyan. How her cousin could manage to sleep through the commotion, she didn’t know. But Jenefer had heard enough.

  “I’m not going to let that happen,” she promised.

  She shouldered her quiver and plucked up her bow.

  “What will ye do?” Bethac asked.

  “Whatever I need to.”

  “Wait!” Bethac interjected, seizing Jenefer’s arm. “Whate’er ye do, lass, don’t harm her. Morgan will ne’er forgive ye.”

  Jenefer nodded. She realized that. But Miles’ safety was more important than Morgan’s forgiveness.

  She climbed to the top of the castle wall walk where she could keep an eye—and an arrow—trained on the treacherous woman.

  True to his word, Morgan didn’t let Alicia into the keep. He motioned his approval to the guard at the palisade gates and met her just outside the wall.

  At first, they appeared to be having a civil discussion. Morgan held Miles securely in his arms. Alicia’s head was bowed in a semblance of remorse.

  Then she dramatically burst into tears, burying her face in her hands.

  Morgan took a step forward, extending one hand to her.

  She suddenly clutched his hand in both of her own and sank to her knees, like an urchin begging for bread.

  “Shite!” Jenefer spat, knowing Morgan was about to be sucked into the whirlpool of pity Alicia had created.

  When Alicia stretched her hand toward Miles, Jenefer tightened her grip on the bow.

  “Oh nay, you don’t,” she muttered.

  Before Morgan could surrender the babe for whatever it was Alicia had pleaded for—a last embrace, a final kiss, a fond farewell—Jenefer sent a shaft spiraling into the ground between them.

  To her satisfaction, they both visibly started.

  “Back away, wench!” she called down. “Or my next arrow will find your deceiving heart!”

  Alicia came to her feet then. But she didn’t recoil in fear or enlist Morgan’s sympathy or make a desperate grab for her babe. Instead, she gave Jenefer an icy glare and then turned toward the palisade gates.

  Jenefer followed the woman’s gaze through the swirling gray haze. And her eyes widened in horror.

  Alicia hadn’t come alone. Dozens of soldiers began pouring through the gates, like ants boiling out of a nest.

  Chapter 60

  Morgan didn’t notice the soldiers at first. Clutching Miles protectively to his chest, he was too busy glaring up at the meddlesome lass atop the wall.

  Damn the wench! That arrow had come far too close. What if it had gone astray? Her gesture had been reckless and unnecessary. Hadn’t he told Jenefer he wouldn’t let his wife have Miles?

  “Run!” Jenefer suddenly screamed at him.

  He scowled. What was she carrying on about now?

  “Run, damn you!”

  He scowled and stood his ground. Was she giving him orders?

  Only when he turned back toward Alicia did he finally see the hostile army charging toward them through the fog. Jenefer must have been ordering them to attack.

  His first thought was for his wife. He couldn’t let harm come to her. Lunging forward, he seized her around the waist. Ignoring her protests, he hefted her up in his free arm. He lumbered through the inner doors, shouting at the guards to bolt them behind him.

  The guards managed to seal the entrance with only moments to spare, before the horde could force its way in. Even so, there was a loud rumbling as they crashed against the wooden doors.

  He set Alicia down and turned to her in concern.

  “Are ye all right?”

  She gave him a cautious nod.

  It appeared the army of Rivenloch had come at last.

  With no time to waste, he began calling out orders.

  “Davey!”

  The eldest Campbell was already emerging from the armory. He was only half-dressed, but his claymore was firmly in his grip.

  “Gather the men,” he commanded, “and arm heavily.”

  “Aye, m’laird.”

  “John! We’ll need a cart to reinforce the doors,” Morgan ordered. “William, post archers at the four towers.”

  “Aye, m’laird.”

  “And William…”

  “Aye?”

  “No arrows are to be released except on my orders.”

  William’s face fell in disappointment, but he nodded, “Aye, m’laird.”

  If there was to be any hope of peace, Morgan needed to make sure there were as few casualties as possible, something Jenefer apparently hadn’t considered when she’d given the order to Rivenloch to charge.

  It was tempting at that moment to hand Miles off to his mother. The lad was beginning to fuss. Things were about to get chaotic. Morgan needed his full concentration to defend the keep. And a bairn had no place in the midst of a siege.

  But at that moment, Jenefer came tearing across the grass toward him. Her bow was in her grip, and her quiver of arrows bounced against her back.

  “Nay!” she yelled, as if she’d read his thoughts. “Give Miles to me!”

  He looked daggers at her. Give his heir to Jenefer? Was she jesting?

  The lass may have been loyal and devoted to Miles. She may have soothed the bairn’s fears and stopped his tears.

  But this was war. That was her clan out there. There was no telling what she might do to salvage the castle and save her people. He’d be a fool to hand over his heir.

  Instead, he turned toward young Danald, who had just arrived in the courtyard and was still tying up his trews. “Danald, lad, take my son. Gather the women and children in the great hall. Keep them safe.”

  The lad straightened with pride. “Aye, m’laird.”

  “Nay!” Mid-stride, Jenefer drew her bow, aiming at Danald.

  The lad’s eyes widened as she rapidly closed the distance.

  Morgan felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach.

  God’s eyes! Was the lass going to shoot Danald? Was she so intent on taking custody of his son that she’d kill anyone who got in her way?

  Desperate to save Miles, Morgan quickly stepped between the archer and her target. With trembling hands, he placed the bairn in Danald’s arms. “Go!”

  Then he wheeled back around to deal with Jenefer.

  Jenefer watched in dismay as Morgan put his precious son into the hands of a lad who couldn’t even tie his trews properly.

  What was he thinking?

  It was bad enough that Morgan had dragged his murderous wife into the courtyard. But now he was leaving his sole heir under the protection of a beardless boy?

  Her arrow was still trained on the lad. But it was an idle threat. She dared not shoot him now, not while he had Miles in his arms.

  Focused on the retreating lad, she was stunned when Morgan suddenly knocked her bow aside with a powerful sweep of his arm.

  But it was nothing to the shock she felt when the Highlander seized her by the throat in his steely grip.

  Stunned by the fierce rage in his eyes, she dropped her bow.

  Then he lifted her up by the throat, leaving her feet to dangle. The quiver fell from her shoulder, scattering her arrows.

  He wasn’t quite choking her. But she couldn’t exactly speak. One hard squeeze of his fingers, and he’d throttle the life out of her. And by the fury in his gaze, she wondered if he might do just that.

  She scrabbled at his hand, trying to pry his finger
s loose. They wouldn’t budge.

  “Ye’re comin’ with me,” he bit out. “And unless ye want to see your clan slaughtered before your eyes, ye’ll do as I say.”

  She blinked. What the devil was he talking about?

  “Do ye understand?” he said.

  Nay. She didn’t understand. Not at all. But when his fingers tightened on her neck, she gave him as much of a nod as she could manage.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alicia mince by, heading casually toward the great hall where the women and children were gathering. The evil witch gave Jenefer a knowing smirk as she passed.

  Jenefer twisted in Morgan’s grip, trying to choke out an alarm and stabbing a frantic finger toward the departing Alicia. But Morgan only gave her a silencing shake.

  Rage quickly erased her fear of strangling. She began kicking at the Highlander. Maybe he’d drop her long enough for her to warn him he’d just set a fox loose among the hens.

  But she could get no purchase to get in a good kick. Instead, he dodged her flailing limbs and circled her waist with his free arm, setting her on his hip. He finally released his grip on her throat, but before she could cry out, he clamped his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. His clansmen cleared a path for him as they crossed the yard.

  “Make no trouble,” he said as he climbed the steps to the wall walk, “and there will be no bloodshed.”

  Trouble? What kind of trouble could she make? Her weapons were strewn on the courtyard grass. She was helpless to free herself. Hell, at the moment, she couldn’t even scream obscenities at him.

  “Ye said ye were a woman of honor,” he said. “I expect ye to tell the truth.”

  What the devil was he going on about? With his hand locked over her mouth, she couldn’t even spit out a few choice oaths, let alone concoct a good lie.

  “I won’t have ye tellin’ your uncle I harmed ye in any way.”

  Jenefer froze.

  Her uncle?

  What did her uncle have to do with…

  Her eyes widened as she realized his mistake.

  Morgan thought the invaders were from Rivenloch. He thought they were her uncle’s men.

  She strained against his grasp, making urgent sounds behind his palm.

  “Aye,” he muttered, “I know what ye’re goin’ to say. We trysted. ’Tis true. But I hardly think ye can claim ye were harmed.”

  He stifled her scream of frustration.

  “Fine. I did take your virginity. But ye know very well ’twas partly your idea. Mostly your idea.”

  She emitted an irritated squeal.

  “Really?” he asked. “Ye’re goin’ to argue the point?” He shook his head and sighed as he climbed the last two steps. “Maybe ’tis best we say nothin’ about it at all.”

  She attempted to speak in a rational tone, intending to tell him the army below was not Rivenloch. But, muffled by his hand, none of her words could be understood.

  “Anyway, the important thing,” he said, “is for him to see with his own eyes that his nieces are safe and unharmed.”

  She closed her eyes to smoldering, sarcastic slits.

  “Oh come now, lass,” he chided. “’Tisn’t so much to ask.”

  He was just approaching the middle section of the wall when there was a call from below.

  “Who is the lord of this castle? Show your face!”

  He peered over the edge and boomed back, “I am Morgan Mor mac Giric o’ Creagor, rightful laird o’ this keep.”

  “Then before this day is through, Morgan Mor, I’ll have your head on a pike!”

  She felt Morgan start in surprise.

  He recovered quickly.

  “There’s no need for that, m’laird,” he said. “I think we can come to a fair agreement.”

  “A fair agreement?” the man sneered. “For murdering our lord?”

  “What?”

  “You slew Lord Edward, my brother, while he slept. Now you will pay.”

  Dumbfounded, Morgan loosened his grip on her. “What the hell?” he murmured.

  “’Tis what I’ve been trying to tell you, you overbearing lummox,” she said, extricating herself. “That’s not Rivenloch.”

  Chapter 61

  Three thoughts coursed through Morgan’s head in the space of an instant.

  The invaders were English.

  They’d come for blood.

  And his clan’s forces were badly outnumbered.

  It didn’t take long to guess who had led the English to believe that it was he who’d slain their lord. And, curse his honor, he’d let the conniving woman into Creagor.

  Now what could he do about it?

  If he let war break out, he’d surely lose. With his small army, he couldn’t hold the castle for long.

  As hopeless as it was, he’d have to try diplomacy.

  “Who is my accuser?” he called down.

  “Roger of Firthgate,” he barked. “And I’ll be carving that name into your flesh.”

  His men roared in solidarity.

  “Roger, ye’ve got the wrong man,” Morgan shouted. “I’ve ne’er set foot in England.”

  Their reply was an earth-shaking charge against the doors.

  “Hold!” Morgan shouted. “I have no quarrel with ye. Can we not settle this like reasonable men?”

  Again they banged against the doors.

  Morgan glanced down at the heavy-laden cart blocking the doors from the inside, rocked by the blow. Three of his strongest men were currently managing to hold it in place. But for how long?

  “What proof do ye bring o’ this crime?” Morgan tried.

  “My brother’s blood is on your hands, you filthy Highlander!” Roger shouted back.

  Roger’s soldiers, fueled by bloodthirst and beyond reason, sent up a bellow, rattling their weapons upon the doors.

  Beside him, Jenefer was clearly done with diplomacy.

  “Amor vincit omnia, my arse,” she muttered. “I’m rounding up the archers.”

  He stopped her with a hand. “They’re already posted atop the towers.”

  “The towers? We need them all at the front wall.”

  He shook his head. “We can’t leave the flanks unprotected.”

  “But they’re not at our flanks. Not yet,” she argued. “We need a show of force. Make them think there are more of us.”

  He creased his brow. She had a point.

  He nodded. “Fine. But I’ll do it. I need ye in the hall with the others.”

  “Ballocks,” she scoffed. “You need me up here.”

  He leveled a brow at her. “I won’t argue with ye, lass. I’m—”

  “Good. Then ’tis settled. You handle the men-at-arms. I’ll command the archers.”

  “Jenefer,” he growled as she headed for the stairs. “Jenefer! If ye don’t go straightway to the great hall of your own accord, I’ll have the Campbell brothers toss ye in on your arse.”

  “They can try,” she called back.

  He shook his head. With the enemy at the door, he didn’t have time to discipline the lass. Nor could he spare the Campbell men to enforce his threat.

  “M’laird!” John cried. “They’re fellin’ a tree for a batterin’ ram!”

  Morgan ran his hand across his jaw. The hotheaded English commander apparently wasn’t going to waste time with a siege. He wanted blood. And he wanted it now.

  Morgan had to save his clan. Even if, in the end, it required a sacrifice.

  “Jenefer!” he shouted, loping after her.

  He caught her by the shoulder and whipped her around toward him. Her expression was full of fire and determination.

  “What?” she snarled.

  Her anger disappeared when she saw the genuine concern in his eyes.

  “Do as I say,” he pleaded, “I’m beggin’ ye.”

  “Damn it, Morgan, I can do this,” she told him. “I can fight.”

  “Aye, ye can,” he admitted, “better than most o’ my men. But I need to know ye’re safe
, because…”

  He looked into her spark-filled green eyes, burning with a passion for justice. And honor. And life.

  And he told her the truth.

  “Because I love ye.”

  Jenefer thought there was nothing he could say that alter her from her course.

  She was wrong.

  His declaration—fierce and sweet—caught her completely offguard.

  She’d been prepared to defend her skills. It was something she did all the time. Men seldom believed a mere lass could hold her own in battle.

  But Morgan wasn’t questioning her abilities. He’d just admitted she was an accomplished warrior.

  Instead, he’d attacked her with something she’d never had to defend against before.

  Love.

  Granted, it was a love that could never be. A love full of heartache. A love doomed by honor and circumstance.

  But it was a love that was pure and true.

  Her throat closed. Her vision blurred with tears. Her heart melted as she was overcome by her own deep, doomed feelings for him.

  She wished she could freeze time and let his words wash over her, bathe in the waters of his affection, relish the tender moment they shared.

  But she knew it was useless to water a tree that would never bear fruit.

  Besides, there was no time for selfish emotions.

  This was war.

  Right now, she had to consider what was best for the clan. If there was any hope of surviving this attack, Morgan needed her skills, her experience in battle, and her knowledge of the Borders.

  She hated to waste precious time arguing, especially when what she truly longed to do was return his words of affection. But she had to convince him she could be of more help atop the wall than locked in the great hall with dozens of helpless…

  She knitted her brows.

  Helpless? They weren’t helpless. Every one of those Highland lasses had faced hardship with a backbone of iron.

  Bethac. Cicilia. Feiyan.

  How could she have forgotten Feiyan?

  They could help defend Creagor.

  Morgan would wring her neck when he discovered what she planned. But in the end, it just might win the war.

  “Fine,” she said, lowering her shoulders. “I’ll go to the great hall.” Then she pounded his chest with the back of her fist, piercing him with her gaze. “But you promise me…”