by Jackie Ivie
“Do you have something I can use for shampoo?”
He folded his arms. It changed the perspective, but not much. That just highlighted his arms, shoulders, and pecs. Dang. He looked massive. Masculine. And something weird. He looked defensive, like he was preparing for a blow. All at once. And she was really having difficulty thinking.
“Sorry. I meant soap. Perhaps there’s something...in my trunks?”
“I do not know what is in that trunk. I only know what’s in the first one.”
He pointed to the area beside the door where he’d shoved the two trunks. Elena’s gaze followed. The new trunk was a lot larger than the first one he’d brought.
“I’m not sure I want to know what’s in it,” she whispered.
“Your jewelry.” He moved his gaze from hers, focused somewhere on the door. His tone had lowered, while the words were practically spat out.
“Oh.”
His reaction was beyond baffling. She didn’t understand why. So, Morrigan was into acquiring wealth. He wouldn’t be the first man with dollar signs in his eyes. As far as she was concerned, that was a minor blip in an otherwise fantastic-sounding future. Morrigan was practically perfect. If she was writing a romance, she’d have written the rapacious part of his character out, but she wasn’t balking. She had a lot on her plate this Christmas day. Starting with what looked like a sponge bath with some dunking possibilities. Dental hygiene to figure out. An outfit that wouldn’t cut off circulation. All of that before marrying a bridegroom that would have stopped traffic in New York...or any other city she could think of. As far as she was concerned, this beat the heck out of life in the 21st Century.
Hands down.
She couldn’t wait to get started.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
She probably thought he wanted to wed with her because she was rich. He hadn’t given her any reason to doubt it. He’d carefully slit threads and removed the reales from the satin skirt and layers of petticoats while she’d worked soap into her hair, rinsed it off with a dunking in the impromptu tub, and then dried it with one of the petticoats he’d taken to her after he’d emptied it. She hadn’t asked for his help. He hadn’t offered. Both times he’d glanced in her direction she’d studiously avoided his gaze.
That had galled.
Morrigan had set his jaw and created stacks of coins, pushed them to the back of the table, and then repeated the process until the tabletop was nearly covered. She’d carried a small fortune on her last night. The jewels in her trunks were probably worth as much as his ancestral home. There had been a silver brush and comb set in her jewelry trunk, packed along with a mirrored silver tray. All of it inlaid with costly gemstones. She’d snatched it on sight. He let her. He wished he didn’t need her silver. Or that he could tell her the truth. So she wouldn’t be embarrassed over a union with him – so embarrassed, she didn’t even want her family to know of it.
She’d finished washing her hair, had it wrapped in a large unwieldy-looking turban, and that’s when she asked him to leave. So she could bathe and dress in privacy. Morrigan hadn’t demurred. Her pink-tinted chemise had been soaked into a see-through state. Being near her was tantamount to torture. She could prepare in the warmth of the croft. He’d make do with the stables.
Morrigan shoved his feet into black leather thigh-boots with a vicious gesture, stomping a few times to stretch them. They were tight. His entire outfit had the same issue. He’d grown some since he’d arrived here, with little more than his sword, a horse, and a heart full of hatred. He hadn’t worn this outfit in months. The ermine-trimmed satin short cape was wrinkled. The velvet of his jacket was crushed, his muslin shirt in need of starch and a hot iron. The leather pants were stiff and unbending. It couldn’t be helped. He’d kept this ensemble rolled up and secured with twine atop a roof beam. Hidden. Awaiting one thing. A victorious entry back to his castle.
And for the first time since he’d left, the thought of that event failed to spark even a hint of interest.
Morrigan had been consumed with the idea of vindication. His world filled with making certain the world knew what a murderous coward his younger half-brother had become. His only goal gaining his proper position as head of the KilCreig family.
Now?
All he wanted to do was erase the doubts in Elena’s eyes. Replace them with something else. She needn’t worry over his character. Morrigan Amorag KilCreig wasn’t marrying her for money. Or social position. Or even for the reasons he’d stated originally. It wasn’t because he was the man who had taken her virtue, and was honor-bound to correct that.
No.
He was wedding her because of what had happened when the interpreter had translated the letter to him. It didn’t matter if she was strange, or that the idea of having his babes seemed to frighten and upset her. They would work through whatever they needed to. He was marrying that woman because the thought of any other man having the right to touch her had sent a fire of reaction through Morrigan’s gut, a hammer strike of anger into his chest, and wash of pure red to color his vision. Such a thing had never happened to him before. Morrigan realized what it was even as he feared it. And even that didn’t change what he felt. He wouldn’t have believed it possible to fall in love within the span of a few hours.
If he wasn’t fully in its grasp.
Right here.
Right now.
Love was a powerful emotion. It even altered the physical realm. He didn’t see the bare starkness of the stable. Hear the whickering of the horses. Feel the cold. Thoughts of his brother’s perfidy failed to raise any emotion. All Morrigan wanted was to be with Elena. Search her eyes. Hold her close. Experience again the sensation of pleasure only she seemed to raise. Alleviate her worries.
He couldn’t wait to see her expression when she saw her bridegroom in his proper attire, either. That’s why he’d brought this ensemble out of hiding. She needn’t hide in shame over a union with him. Morrigan was the holder of an old and respected title. He claimed lands and a castle. He’d been accepted into the Knights of the Order of St. Patrick. That honor came with a riband to be worn across his chest. It was a striking band of satin, in a sky blue shade. Once he’d secured it in place, the riband seemed to overcome any lack from the condition of his attire. He hadn’t even donned the collar of the Order of St. Patrick, yet. That piece included a jeweled star at its center, equal to any of her gems. It was draped over the top of a stall, where it twinkled if the light from his lantern caught it just right. He was almost ready. He finger-combed his hair back before securing it in a queue.
“Have you about finished, Morrigan?”
“Yes, Father.”
The priest had arrived with a flagon of ale and an offer to assist. Morrigan hadn’t declined either item. The ale brought welcome warmth to his innards, and the man’s company helped assuage any nervousness. Besides, the priest had shuffled through thigh-high snow just to reach the stable. The lone trail to Morrigan’s croft would be more difficult to negotiate, since his steps had carved it, and he’d only been here twice.
Morrigan lifted the Order of St. Patrick collar and settled it about his shoulders, then put his fur coat atop the whole. Lifted the lantern. Nodded to the priest. Tried to smile reassuringly, despite how his belly fluttered. He forced his hand not to shake. This was truly odd. He couldn’t recall ever feeling this apprehensive.
Snow had finally ceased falling, other than the occasional flake. Evening light sent a bluish cast to the landscape. Everything was disguised. Crofts were identifiable by the threads of smoke coming through roof holes. Trees limbs were coated with white. And everything sparkled as his lantern light touched it. The trek to his croft was completed in silence.
He told himself he was ready as the front of his croft came into view. He still swallowed nervously, and the lantern shook in his hand. It wasn’t possible to hide it. The light wavered across the doorframe, giving him away. He lifted his other hand. Made a fist. And rapped at the door.
“Yes? Who
is it?”
He heard her clearly. So did the priest if his choked laughter was an indicator. Morrigan blew a sigh heavenward before looking back at the door.
“Morrigan. And Father Simon. May we come in?”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.”
They heard the sound of the bolt being drawn, but then nothing happened. Morrigan regarded the door for a span before turning the handle and pushing it open. Air from their entrance stoked the fire at the back, lighting the interior easily. It lit upon Elena. She’d moved the stool, and was sitting beside the fire. She’d used the time to arrange herself. He couldn’t see her clearly except as a silhouette, but she looked like a queen. It was obvious. And completely frightening.
Morrigan blew out the lantern before stepping in, holding the door for the priest. The man walked in without a hint of the edginess dogging Morrigan. He put his attention on securing the door against the elements, hanging the light from a spike. He unfastened the coat and pulled it off. Took his time hanging it beside the lantern.
And then he turned around.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Elena’s eyes went wide and her jaw dropped. She felt it. And then she was on her feet and approaching him, ruining every bit of the impression she’d spent so much time setting up! She didn’t have much room in the gown she’d chosen, but it was the best of the lot. There had been three dresses in the large trunk to choose from. All wrapped in layers of linen that turned out to be undergarments. One was made from heavy black satin. It wasn’t too wrinkled, and had a lot of silver thread for embellishment, but she didn’t want to get wed in black. That could be a bad omen.
One was crafted from a red striped material that she didn’t care for, and one had been crafted of velvet in a variety of sea-green colors. There was a silky slip included. A corset. She had to wear one. They seemed to be the lone item that would support her breasts. She would have worn the green one, but it fastened up the back with a webbing of lacing that looked daunting. The black corset was her lone choice, and once she had it laced up, it did a wonderful job of not only supporting her breasts, but putting a lot of cleavage on display...but that was helped by a goose-egg-sized pearl set in the center of a necklace she’d found in the jewelry chest.
She’d barely finished in time.
Getting her hair under control had taken hours. She’d settled on a braid. It probably looked messy at the beginning, and it weighed a lot more than she was used to, but at least the fly-aways were under control. She was going to have to figure something out for conditioner if she kept her hair this long. And something for the split end problem. But it was out of her way. And looked pretty nice.
What was she thinking?
She wasn’t just nice. She was ravishingly beautiful. Pulling the hair back had highlighted high cheekbones, dark eyes with a slanted cast, a lot of eyelashes, and unbelievably perfect features. Even viewed in a mirrored tray that warped her image, Elena had been stunned. Shocked. And amazed. She hadn’t believed much about actually being here in seventeen-ninety, but seeing her new image had been so over-the-top incredible, it was almost obscene.
And gratifying.
Morrigan deserved a beautiful woman.
Ah.
Morrigan.
Morrigan KilCreig.
Mister and Missus KilCreig.
Missus Elena KilCreig.
Hmm.
She’d giggled, but couldn’t seem to banish the thoughts. She was wedding Morrigan! The thought thrilled. Sent goose bumps along her skin, tingling to her breasts, and a huge surge of warmth had gone everywhere else. It was so exciting. He was so manly. She was so in love.
Oh, shit.
No.
She’d stopped her preparations. Dropped the dress. Stared at the door. But still the certainty sat in her belly, sending something that alternated between a fluttering like butterflies and a sinking sensation like lead. She’d fallen in love? Oh. This was bad. But, true. And that was bad. But incredibly wonderful at the same time.
Then again...why not? She was stuck here. With him. And he wanted to marry her. No. The man had pretty much demanded that she marry him. And that sounded like heaven. Whatever his reason, surely between them they’d figure out how to make it work. They already had massive passion going for them.
Oh!
She couldn’t wait to see him again! Watch him unwrap this Christmas present.
The thought sent another burst of mirth through her. So, she’d set it up. Finished fastening the row of hooks up the back of her dress and somehow swiveled it around. She really did have a fabulous bosom. The necklace was probably overkill. She hadn’t been able to sit still, however. She’d packed everything back into the trunks. Washed dishes. Moved the stool. Worked at finding a pose that would highlight her.
But when he’d turned around, a surge of electricity shot right through the space between them, lifting her to her feet and completely ruining the entire effect. He had a slight smile as she gazed up at him, absolutely awestruck. He looked like something out of a royal portrait. There was a huge piece of jewelry in the center of his chest, hanging from a chain that looked like real gold. She didn’t know much about gems and prices in 1790, but that thing could probably buy a nice section of Manhattan. Even in 21st century prices.
How could he need money?
“Elena?” he asked.
“Holy crap,” she replied.
“Holy what?”
The black-clothed figure of a priest answered from where he stood beside Morrigan. The priest was not only dwarfed, he looked like he hailed from a different species. She hadn’t even seen him.
“My bride hails from the New World, Father. She doesn’t remember anything of her past life. She speaks our language well, but some of the words she says are unknown to us. I believe what she is saying right now is that she is...impressed. Yes?”
Morrigan winked at her. Elena’s knees turned to water and her thighs to mush. The support pole saved her from the embarrassment of falling, although she probably looked gawky as she swayed into it and then grabbed on.
“Um. I. Um. I. Um.”
She stopped trying to say anything. His lips curved into a smile. Elena’s heart lurched.
“Are you certain you wish to wed this woman, Morrigan?” the priest asked.
Morrigan’s smile grew broader. He didn’t reply. She was surprised he didn’t grunt.
“An unknown woman?” the priest continued.
“Un...known?” Elena managed to find her voice enough to interject.
Morrigan lifted his jacket, pulled out a long paper-looking thing. He unfolded it. There was a really cool-looking design across the top. A lot of calligraphic writing.
Was that parchment?
How the heck was she supposed to know? Morrigan strode past her to the fire. Nobody said a word as he put the edge of the letter to coals. Then, he held it up so flames could consume it. When it was down to thumb-size, he dropped it into the fire. Turned around. He was grinning broadly. She didn’t understand why. And then it dawned on her. If that was her introduction...?
“Was that what I think it was?” she asked.
He didn’t move his gaze from hers, but he addressed the priest. “In answer to your question, Father Simon. Yes. I wish to wed this woman. The one we pulled from the sea. The one without a past and no relatives. The woman known only as Elena.”
He had just burned her introduction!
“You are certain?” the priest asked.
Elena couldn’t move her gaze from Morrigan. He had such riveting blue eyes. If she wasn’t already in love, that look would have done it. She was close to swooning.
“Oh, yes, Father. Positive.”
“Very good. And you, Miss Elena?”
Long moments passed before she realized the priest had addressed her. But she couldn’t seem to break eye contact with Morrigan. Not until he winked again. Elena gasped, held tighter to the pole and managed to swivel around to face the door. And the priest.
“Y-Y-Yes?”
Crap. She stuttered.
“Do you wish to wed this man?”
What in the heck was wrong with her? Her eyes were filling with tears. Her throat closed off. She had to settle with a nod. But then he added words that sent her head spinning.
“You understand you are wedding a man known as Morrigan, but he is really the Earl of KilCreig?”
“The Earl of...what?” she asked.
“Father Simon!”
Morrigan’s reply sounded especially loud. There wasn’t any need. The cabin was small. Reverberations from his outburst were enough to rattle the walls.
“You may be in hiding, my lord, but I know the truth.”
“You know nothing!”
“I do. I have been south. To your castle.”
Morrigan had a castle?
The men kept speaking with each other, sending the temperature in the room higher with each spate of words. There wasn’t much break between them. Elena clung to the support pole and looked from one to the other as each spoke. Then she realized something. This was as good as watching a stage play.
Oh. Wait.
It was déjà vu. This was exactly like her first experience when she’d been pulled into this era. When Morrigan had faced Cedric and saved her. Only this was so much better. She didn’t question what was happening to her. Or if this was a dream. She knew it was reality. And she knew it wasn’t going to end.
“I don’t have a castle,” Morrigan replied. “I have exactly what you see here.”
The priest sighed loudly. “Once you regain it, you will.”
“That has yet to happen.”
“All you need is your uncle’s assist.”
“He does not answer my missives.”
“He is ill. I’ve been to his bedside. He only awaits your arrival. And your plan.”
“I need men. An army.”
The priest waved a hand toward the stacks of reales on the table. “The Lord appears to have provided for that.”
“How do you know all of this, Father?”
“I’ve given services at Castle KilCreig. There are many still loyal to you. They are fully aware of your innocence.”
