Morgan (Brethren Origins Book 4)

by Barbara Devlin

“That, too?” Despite her expression of contrition, she giggled. “My love, it is not my fault, as you are quite imaginative when it comes to connubial games, and that is not a complaint.”

  “So I gather, as did the physic.” He rolled his eyes. “And I think we will take it slow, once you are fully recovered, as I would not stress you, my love.”

  “But I can take you.” Hawisia stuck her tongue in her cheek, and he thrilled to the glimpse of his spirited bride.

  “My love, you were made for me.” Then he studied their clasped hands. “I have a confession to make, which I vowed I would honor, if Our Lord let you live.”

  “Morgan, what have you done?” She sat upright, and he steadied her, as she leaned against his shoulder. “Tell me.”

  “I wish I had not sinned, prior to our nuptials.” At last, he unburdened himself of his great sorrow. “I regret that I was not a virgin, when we first made love, as I should have come to you as a clean man. Instead, I am forever sullied.”

  “Nay, my love.” Wrapping her arms about his waist, she nuzzled his chest. “In a sense, you were a virgin when we first made love, as that was not the morrow when we consummated our vows. Rather, it was the eventide when you bade me ride astride you, after you bathed me, and I would argue we both came to that magical moment, untouched. So you are not spoiled.” Then she stretched her spine and rubbed her nose to his. “You are mine.”

  ~

  As her father’s traveling coach pulled into the courtyard, Hawisia stood at the ready to welcome him and a very special visitor. Garbed in the blue gown Morgan gifted her, along with the sapphire necklace, she wanted to greet her guest in a manner befitting his eminence.

  “Papa, I cannot thank you enough for helping me with this adventure.” She hugged her father and then addressed the tall gentleman, who bore more than a passing resemblance to Morgan. “You must be Guarin Le Aguillon. I am Lady Hawisia, countess of Wiltshire, and your brother’s wife.”

  “Lady Hawisia, I know not what to say, given the gift you have bestowed upon me.” Guarin glanced about the castle. “And I am amazed by the display of wealth my brother amassed since we parted, when he was but eight. Whither is he?”

  “In the fields, and I would take you to him.” She waved, and the master of the horse brought forth three mounts. “Let us ride to the north, whither you may enjoy a happy reunion, as Morgan does not know of your arrival.”

  “What?” Guarin started. “Wherefore?”

  “Because I did not want to give him hope, only to have you disappoint him, as I knew you could not send word to me, directly.” And Morgan had already endured enough disappointment, in her estimation. “He speaks often of you and your home in Rouen, and would surprise him.”

  Beneath a cloudless sky, they embarked on a ride that would forever change her husband’s life, and Hawisia urged her mare faster. On either side, peasants worked the soil and the crops, as under Morgan’s supervision the community thrived.

  Anon, she spotted his stallion, bereft of its owner, and the saddle empty, and she scanned the area. “There he is, near the heavy plow.” She pointed. “Go to him, Guarin. My father and I will wait hither.”

  Deep in conversation, Morgan did not notice the approaching man, until Guarin waved. Hawisia clutched her throat, and tension weighed heavy in her heart, as Guarin advanced. At last, the elder brother dismounted and broke into a run and Morgan stepped from beyond the group. Then he dropped a hoe and charged his brother.

  After a prolonged hug, they set each other at arm’s length. Then Guarin pointed to Hawisia, and she waved, as tears welled in her eyes. To her surprise, Morgan made straight for her, and he did not slow until he lifted her into his embrace. Whirling about, he showered her face in kisses.

  “I cannot believe you managed this.” Now he set his lips to hers, and she speared her fingers through his thick hair. “I am truly a fortunate man, to have married a kind, generous woman of uncommon intelligence. But, above all, you are the most beauteous creature I have ever beheld, and I am but a beggar at your feet, my love.”

  “Oh?” She cupped his cheek and whispered, “I prefer you in our bed.”

  “Or in the ancere.” He chuckled and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Or in the stable. Or in the undercroft. Or in the north field.”

  “Indeed.” She nipped his chin, as he catalogued the various places they made love. “I shall take you whither I may have you, my lusty lord.” As the guests neared, she wiggled free, and he lowered her to the ground. “For now, duty calls, so let us join our honored visitors and take refreshments in the great hall, and I will explain everything.”

  Thus they repaired to Wardour Castle.

  “How was your journey?” Morgan inquired, as he doffed his gloves and sat at a table, which bore a light repast.

  “We met rough weather on the Channel.” Guarin snatched a chunk of bread from a trencher. “And I feared we might not make it.”

  “There are always heavy seas in those parts.” Beneath the table, Morgan held her hand. “But I would know how my wife contacted you.”

  “I can answer that.” Her father smiled and glanced at Morgan. “Hawisia sent a directive, asking me to make contact, as she feared any hint of a familial connection might imperil your relations. Whereas our name is relatively unknown on the Continent.”

  “And the letter I received posed an innocent proposition.” Guarin shook his head. “The sender offered to pay for passage to England, in exchange for my agricultural knowledge, given the great famine.” He shrugged. “The plan was naught short of genius, as it made perfect sense and sparked no suspicion.”

  “What of home and our parents?” Morgan scooted to the edge of his seat, evidencing the boyish impatience she knew well. “And have you a family of your own?”

  “In your absence, the farm thrives, yet it was never the same without you. And I buried Louis, your childhood pet, in the family graveyard, near the old pine that overlooks the fields, whither you used to play. He lived another five years after you left Rouen. As for me, I married Alais, the neighbor’s daughter. We have four children, three boys and a daughter, and I cannot wait to tell them of their uncle and his achievements.” Guarin compressed his lips, and his expression sobered. “Nos parents have long since passed to the glorious hereafter, but you were never far from their thoughts and prayers.” Leaning forward, he rested elbows to knees. “In fact, both invoked your name, in their final moments, as I believe notre mère never got over your departure. And every year, we set a place for you at our table, a custom I have upheld, as we never forgot you, brother. You remain very much a part of our lives.”

  In that moment, Morgan bowed his head and closed his eyes, and Hawisia rubbed his back. “See? You were remembered. You were never alone.”

  “But I did not know that, until now.” When he met her gaze, tears welled in his breathtaking blue stare, and she ached to console him in the privacy of their chamber. “And I would have never known had you not acted. Thus, I am doubly blessed, and I owe you a debt I can never repay, dearest and most precious Hawisia.”

  “If I may, I would know how you came to be in England, as we thought you dead.” Guarin scratched his temple. “After the scandal and the destruction of the Templars, we expected you might return home. When that did not happen, we suspected you were taken prisoner, and everyone knew what became of them.”

  Little by little, Morgan relaxed at her side, as he recounted his sad tale, which wrenched her heart. Every now and then, he sought reassurance in a touch or a glance, and Hawisia vowed to stand strong for her man.

  At last, she instructed a servant to show Guarin to his accommodation, that he might settle and bathe after his trip. Given her husband’s demeanor, which she could read like her prayer book, she issued a series of charges to her staff and then removed to the chamber she shared with Morgan. She had not long to wait before he joined her.

  “My love, are you all right?” For a while, he simply stood and stared at her. When she sp
layed wide her arms, he walked right into her embrace. “I am so sorry my surprise has caused you distress, as that was not my aim.”

  “Have I told you how very much I love you?” Shuddering, he clung to her and cradled her head. “How I am so fortunate to have you as my bride?”

  “My love, you show me how you feel, every day, and I am beholden to you.” Framing his face, she kissed his cheeks, licked away the tears that streamed his beauteous visage, and rubbed her nose to his. “Thus, I am equally fortunate.” When he untied the laces of her gown, she grinned. “Your brother wishes to tour the estate, and I wager he will not linger in the tub.”

  “I will show him, soon enough.” When she gave him her back, he loosened and dropped her dress to the floor. Cupping her breasts through her chemise, he nuzzled the curve of her neck. “Right now, I need you. I need to be close to you, as I struggle with so many emotions I cannot contain, and I would share them with you.”

  “Then let us retire to our bed and make love.” With that, she turned and helped him disrobe.

  Naked and aroused, they reclined amid the soft sheets, and he rolled her onto her back. “I warn you, this may take all afternoon.”

  “Is that a promise?” Grasping his shoulders, Hawisia stuck her tongue in her cheek.

  To wit Morgan cast his shy smile. “You may depend upon it.”

  MORGAN

  EPILOGUE

  December roared in with a vicious storm, which blanketed the earth in snow and made the trip from Salisbury somewhat treacherous. As was the custom, the married Brethren gathered at Chichester Castle, whither it all began, to convey the news of the next Nautionnier Knight to wed. Given only one unattached man remained, it was not difficult to discern for whom the wedding bell tolled.

  “Hawisia, my love.” Morgan sat beside her, on the mattress, and rubbed the back of his finger to her cheek. “Darling, it is time to wake and dine, as Geoffrey must be led to his doom.”

  “That is not funny.” Stretching, she yawned and rested her palm to his thigh. “Come back to bed, my love.”

  “Sweetheart, if you do not get up, we will be late.” He bent and pressed his lips to her protruding belly. “Shall I help you dress?”

  “I prefer it when you undress me.” She giggled and sat upright. “But, if you insist, I suppose I should avail myself of your assistance.”

  “Ah, you make it difficult to resist you, when you are so accommodating.” As she scooted to the edge of the bed, he balanced her, when she stood. “Yet, you should eat something, as you know I worry about you.”

  “My love, I am fine.” Despite her reassurances, he fretted for her health, in the wake of her illness, which almost took her from him. “Now, whither is the blue dress?”

  “Hawisia, as much as I love you, you cannot wear that gown, because it will not fit your temporary addition.” He framed her protuberance with his hands and chuckled. “Mayhap a sheet will suffice.”

  “Oh, horrid man.” She pouted, and he pinched her bottom. “You would not speak so casually if you bore the children in this family.”

  “There is a reason Our Lord blessed you with the singular ability, because women are the stronger of the sexes, and I will argue that with anyone.” How so much changed in a year, as they had grown close as a couple. And while their marriage was not perfect, it was far more perfect than he ever thought possible. “What about your green kirtle and cotehardie? I can loosen the laces, so you will be more comfortable.”

  “All right.” Crestfallen, Hawisia raised her arms, so he could remove her nightgown, and he took the opportunity to kiss each pert nipple.

  Once he had her garbed, he knelt as she sat, so he could pull on her hose, and then he eased on her slippers.

  “There.” Holding her hands, he drew her from the chair. “Hmm. Your attire is lacking, my love.” From beneath his tunic, Morgan pulled a small bundle, which he presented to his wife. “I think this is just what you need.”

  “Morgan, what have you done?” She arched a brow.

  “For you, my love.” When she unfolded the cloth, she discovered the diamond necklace he selected from the dungeon, and he took the jewelry from her grasp, to fasten the sparkling gems about her neck. “Do you like it?”

  “Wherefore do you buy these things, when I love you without them?” With a sniff, she favored him with a tender kiss. “I would rather spend our eventide, hither, just the two of us, that I might show my appreciation of your gift.”

  “My darling wife, proof of your appreciation precedes you.” He pointed at her belly. “But we must join the others in Arucard’s solar.”

  After a few turns and a stroll down a long passageway, they arrived at the lord and lady’s suite. Given the doors stood open, they entered, to find Isolde, Athelyna, and Dionysia fussing over the meal and seating arrangements.

  “Hawisia.” Isolde paused and hugged Morgan’s bride. “I was going to wait until we were ready to be seated, before we disturbed you, as you arrived only last night, and you need your rest.”

  “But I feel fine.” Hawisia hugged her protrusion. “And I would assist you in any way I can.”

  “You will do naught of the sort.” Athelyna took Hawisia by the hand and led her to a chair. “Everything is prepared, so you need but enjoy yourself, dear sister.”

  “Aristide and I were so thrilled to learn of your happy news.” Dionysia kissed Hawisia’s cheek. “And you look beauteous.”

  “Well, can we sup, as I am on the verge of eating my toenails?” Aristide strode into the room. “Good eventide, Morgan.”

  “Indeed, Aristide is right.” Demetrius filed into the solar. “Whither is Geoffrey?”

  “I am not sure.” Arucard scratched his chin and studied the familiar rolled parchment, which would reveal the next lucky lady to enter the Brethren. “But I sent Pellier to summon Geoffrey.”

  Just then, Pellier ran into the solar. “My lord, Sir Geoffrey is gone.”

  “Not again.” Arucard pounded the table. “He made it halfway to Winchester before we ran him aground the last time.”

  “Oh, dear.” As Morgan prepared to join the hunt for their missing brother, Hawisia scrunched her face. When she stood from the chair, some sort of liquid pooled at her feet.

  “The baby is coming.” Isolde snapped her fingers. “Quick, Athelyna, get the physic.”

  Caught in the middle, Morgan glanced at Arucard and then at Hawisia, and there was no choice. “Brother, I am sorry, but you will have to find Geoffrey without me, as it appears I am about to become a father.”

  EXCERPT

  THE MAROONER

  Derbyshire, England

  September, 1818

  Somewhere in the dim light of the chandeliers, his future wife mingled with so-called polite society, but he would argue the perfumed peacocks, despite their refined manners, were every bit as cutthroat as the worst of his associates, especially the marriage-minded mamas, as they trotted their daughters before a man they believed was a well-heeled, wealthy American merchant.

  In truth, he was but a wolf in gentleman’s clothing, with his face clean-shaven and his black hair trimmed and tied in a leather thong, that he might appear civilized. Of course, the as-yet unknown darling did not know she was marked as the bride for ruthless former pirate Leland Stryker, as he surveyed the various targets, bedecked in their finery, and how the beast was hungry. What would he choose from so many tempting offerings? Blond, brunette, ebony, or redhead? Curvy or slender? Blue, green, hazel, or brown eyes? Tall or short? Meek and mild or saucy and fiery of temperament?

  In the end, his body would decide.

  “Good evening, Mr. Stryker.” Another in a long line of chits paraded past, batting her lashes at him, and he waited for some sign of life below his belly button, as he dipped his chin.

  “Good evening.” Thus far, his notoriously fickle interest rejected every single blushing debutante, but he was in no rush to the altar.

  Known throughout the pirate ranks as The Marooner, fo
r his habit of abandoning his victims on deserted islands, a practice he considered far more charitable than gunning down, running through with a sword, slashing with a knife, or feeding to the sharks, as did other buccaneers, patience guided his every move. Whereas he always thought it unfair that the general public deemed him heartless and brutal for leaving his quarry to their own fate, his colleagues viewed his eccentricity as a sign of weakness.

  For most marauders, innocents manifested prey to be consumed, in some form or another, if only to provide amusement for the crew. For Leland, those who had the misfortune of falling into his custody, through no fault of their own, other than happenstance, presented a connection to his childhood, to the young lad sold into servitude because his parents could not afford to feed him. Perhaps that was why he could not, by his own hands, kill the guiltless.

  “My, my, Lady Sophia, what an interesting ensemble you sport, tonight.” An unseen female snickered in a nasty tone. “Is that not last year’s fashion?”

  In that moment, he came alert.

  “This is my favorite gown, so I see no reason to dispose of it, simply because it might offend your delicate sensibilities.” Given the cutting retort, the heretofore-unfamiliar Lady Sophia charged the fore, as she piqued Leland’s curiosity. “As always, Miss Barty, you exhibit the stellar comportment one would expect of a lady. Your parents must be so proud.”

  “My father says your father has driven the earldom to ruin, and you have no dowry.” Now that bit of information snared Leland’s attention, because it made his goal much easier. “Such a pity. Who will have you now, when you possess naught but a good name to recommend you?”

  “Certainly not that delicious Mr. Stryker from America.” So another tormentor joined the fray, and he gritted his teeth. “I mean, he could afford to marry anyone.”

  “Why would he settle for nothing but an empty title?” Miss Barty replied, in the shrill voice that grated his last nerve. “When he could have a woman of taste and fortune.”