by Ruth Kaufman
“I can’t stay,” Morgan said through gritted teeth. Because I might destroy you, the woman I love.
“You said you loved me. You said the most beautiful words a woman can hear, ‘I am your heart’s desire.’ Look me in the eye and tell me your feelings have changed. Like you did at Ninian’s shop. This time I’ll know I can believe you.” Her voice wavered as if she held back tears.
He released her, afraid if he held her another moment he’d weaken and be enslaved for the rest of her life. Mayhap not within a deep cave of crystal like Merlin, but in spirit and soul.
“Whether I love you or not, as an immortal I must wed my destined mate.” Seeing no other option, he steeled himself to tell her his first lie. “No, Annora, I don’t love you. I thought I did, and said so in a moment of overwhelming relief, but I don’t. I care for you. But not enough.”
When the truth was he loved her so much he had to do what was best for her.
Leave.
The crumpling of her soot-streaked face almost did him in. A tear traced a clean path through the dirt on her cheek.
Morgan knew it was callous, but he left her sitting amidst her sweet-smelling herbs, sobbing as if her life was over. If she loved him as much as he loved her, she probably thought it was. Each sob wrenched him to the core. He felt the bite of his own cruelty, but if he touched her he’d be lost. He’d kiss her, taste her, and never be able to leave her side. Then he’d fail the people he’d longed to make proud. He might destroy her. He couldn’t live with that.
As he neared the carnage, Morgan hardened himself against her suffering. Whatever she felt now, it would only be worse if he stayed.
No matter how long it took, he’d put his love for Annora aside and seek his destined mate. He’d never love her, but knew now that would prove a good thing.
His lack of feelings for his wife would keep them both safe and well for the rest of their endless, immortal lives.
Chapter 20
Smoke still swirled from sections of the great hall. The walls were blackened higher than a man could reach. Another wave of distress washed over him.
Morgan closed his eyes to summon a cool zephyr. As the sweet breeze blew through the broken windows to cleanse the air, he enjoyed the soothing of his heated flesh. If only his soul could be refreshed as easily. He sorted through the rubble, his very bones aching as he bent and lifted. So far all of the victims were Roger’s or ap Lewis’s men, thank the gods.
He paused to ease a cramp in his back before turning over another corpse. ’Twas Roger.
Annora was free. Something good had come out of this disaster.
“Have you found him yet?” She leaned against the doorway, still pale, her face washed almost clean by tears. He hoped she wouldn’t look in a mirror any time soon, for she’d be horrified by her mangled hair. Not that her appearance altered his feelings. Somehow her sorry state endeared her to him all the more.
He couldn’t seem to help falling more in love every time he saw her.
“Roger’s here. Dead.”
“It’s over, then,” she said.
Morgan righted a stool that had survived the fire with minimal charring. Then he picked up Annora and carried her to it. She sat without a word.
He braced himself for his next task, locating her servants. Had they fled in fear of him, concerned they’d be next to suffer his wrath? Mayhap they were hiding, waiting to be sure the worst was over. As he stretched weary muscles, he got his answer. Kerwyn poked his head into the hall.
“My lady. My lord,” Kerwyn began.
My lord. Morgan was no lord, but he couldn’t deny how good the words made him feel. How welcoming they sounded to a man who’d never belonged. He suddenly realized how much he wanted to be lord of this castle, to build a future with Annora. If only he could trust himself around her. If only….
“I’ve talked to the others, and they’ve agreed I may speak for them,” the cook said. “If you’ll allow it.”
He and Morgan looked to Annora.
“Of course, Kerwyn,” she said. “What do you want to say?”
One by one Amberton’s servants and craftsmen followed Kerwyn into the hall, staring at the remains with varying degrees of shock and horror. Emma crossed to stand by Annora’s side.
Thank the gods they were safe. They were all there, even the traitorous blacksmith.
Kerwyn went down on one knee and bowed his head. “We do not deserve it, but we beg your forgiveness. We should’ve believed you, Lady, and put our trust in you instead of your uncle. Sir Roger was so convincing and sounded so certain he was doing the right thing. He even told us your father wanted him to be lord here, not have you as lady. Some of us had doubts, especially when all he did was drink the day away. By then, it was too late to stop him and his threats. And those documents he showed us, who were we to go against them?”
“What documents?” Annora asked in a whisper.
“Sir Roger keeps them in your solar, locked away in a drawer. Said they were proof of your illness and his rightful wardship.”
Morgan’s breath caught. He glanced at Annora. She swayed on her stool and looked as if she might faint again.
Could Roger have been telling the truth about being her legal guardian? Annora had convinced Morgan no such proof existed. She said she hadn’t been examined by a physician or a court. For a split second he wondered if she’d made everything up, if she’d lured him into accepting her version of the truth. Just as Roger had said.
He had to get those documents. “Do you know where he kept the key?”
“In his pocket. He kept the rest of his keys on his person, too. Anyone who wanted supplies had to ask him. That’s why he sent Burneby, our steward, away. Sir Roger wanted to rule over everyone and everything.”
Morgan strode to Roger’s body and ran his hands over the man’s chest. Ah. He pulled a ring of keys free.
“We beg you not to dismiss us,” Kerwyn continued. “Please give us the chance to prove our loyalty. We vow to work hard and make Amberton thrive again.”
Annora nodded. “I’m so glad all of you survived, and willingly accept your apologies. No one knows better than I how powerless we were against him. How convincing he could be. We all suffered under his rule. Let’s work together to make Amberton as it should be.”
The servants’ concerned expressions changed to smiles and sighs of relief. Several stepped forward to bow, curtsy or kiss Annora’s hand.
Morgan wanted to beat them to a pulp as payment for their repeated betrayal. But if Annora could forgive, as their unofficial, albeit temporary lord, he’d have to as well. Too well he knew the dread and ingrained reluctance to rebel against authority.
“I want to see those documents Kerwyn mentioned.”
“I’ll go with you,” Annora said. “I never knew they existed, I swear. Whenever Roger spoke of them, I thought he was lying again.”
As servants began cleaning up the mess and craftsmen returned to their tasks, he and Annora made their way to the solar. At least the debacle’s damage concentrated on the hall. The rest of Amberton was unharmed.
Morgan had never been in the solar, a bright and cozy room with tapestries of animals frolicking in gardens on two walls and a small desk nestled in the corner. Key in hand, he opened the only locked drawer. Several folded parchments lay within. He pulled them out, red wax seals clacking as he handed them to Annora.
“You don’t think I made all this up, do you?” she asked. “That in my illness I’m so subtle, so clever, I could weave a web of lies?”
“The thought did cross my mind, but no, I don’t believe it.”
With a sigh, her face grim, she unfolded the parchments and spread them on the desk. They bent to read them.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“They’re nonsense.” He saw relief washing over her. “The words look like Latin, but they don’t mean anything. Though they might seem authentic at first glance.”
“If not examined closely, the
y’d have convinced your servants.”
“Especially since most of them can’t read.”
“So it was as we thought,” Morgan said. “Roger never went to the courts, never had proof of any kind. Everything happened based on his word alone. You should be proud of yourself for standing up to him, Annora.”
“I’m proud of you. You’ve saved me more times than I can count.” Annora folded the parchments and put them back in the drawer. “I smell so of smoke I can hardly breathe. I must bathe.” She plucked at her shredded skirt. “These aren’t even fit for the rag pickers. I must be a horrid sight.” She put a hand to her head and flinched. Her mouth dropped open. As she patted her head, some of the frizzled ends turned to dust. Her face crumpled and her voice wavered. “My hair! I suppose I’m fortunate the rest of me didn’t burn to a crisp as well.”
“You’re still beautiful to me.” Morgan gathered Annora in his arms. He shouldn’t, but he needed to hold her.
“Will you come to my room?” she asked.
Morgan opened his mouth to say yes, but closed it. If he did, ’twould set the bar for the remainder of his stay. He wanted nothing more than to renew their intimacy, to soothe his battered soul with Annora’s love, but to what purpose? So they could grow closer still, come to need each other more and make his leaving more difficult? Or so they could enjoy whatever time they had left?
He released her so he could look into her eyes. “I will leave you at some point, Annora. Just so we’re clear. Do you still want me to come with you now?”
“With all my heart.”
Her welcoming smile almost did him in. He had a sudden urge to swear to remain by her side always, to cherish her forever.
She took his hand, but winced when his fingers closed over a small burn. “He put his arm around her shoulders. They returned to the hall to arrange for the bathwater.
Soon they were alone in her room, a tub of steaming water scented with herbs contrasting with the smoky odor emanating from them both. Stacks of towels awaited them along with a pot of Emma’s burn salve.
Unfortunately, the tub wasn’t big enough for two.
* * *
Annora ached. She had a few small burns that, well, burned, and her head spun from all that needed tending to. But the worst ache was deep inside. She needed Morgan.
She couldn’t wait to be clean. Morgan once suggested she think of her bracing bath in the stream as a cleansing of her past. So now would these waters wash away her recent ordeals.
Though her hall was a mess, her enemies were defeated and Morgan was here. That was all that mattered.
An idea came to her. Shocking, but practical. And oddly arousing.
“I’m so dirty that when I get in that tub, the water will turn black in an instant,” she said. “And be too filthy for you.”
“We’ll send for more.”
“What if we went to the garden, and you made it rain? There’d be plenty of water then.”
He smiled, his eyes turning a deeper blue. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard in a long time.”
After each grabbed fresh clothes, towels and a small chest to keep them dry, they hurried to the garden. She’d always think of this as their special place.
“What if someone sees us?” he asked.
“The servants are setting the hall to rights. Even if someone should find us, I don’t care,” she replied. “After what happened today, I doubt anyone else would, either.”
Propriety meant nothing anymore. Happiness, living in the moment, did.
Gently Morgan peeled off the remnants of her clothes and tossed them into a pile. In short order his clothes followed hers. They looked at each other’s soot-streaked bodies and smiled.
A strange excitement coiled within Annora. She was eager to see Morgan use his powers, to feel energy flowing from him as the skies obeyed his wishes. The unknown no longer frightened her. She wanted to see, learn, explore new possibilities. Later she’d ask him to tell her everything about being immortal. Now, she’d cherish his body and touch. Make more memories.
He spread his arms wide, palms toward the sky, fingers together. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. Slowly he lifted his arms and spread his fingers.
Clouds swirled forth to cover the sun. Rain began to fall in a soft, steady shower.
He opened his eyes. They’d turned a light bluish gray, almost matching the clouds. “Would milady like warmer rain? Larger drops? More wind?”
She laughed, happier than she’d been in a long while. Wonder, awe and love, that’s what he made her feel. “This will do nicely.”
Rivulets of filthy water trickled down their legs to disappear into the ground. The rain soothed her, though her burns stung.
“Best start with your head.”
Morgan picked up the soap and rubbed it into her scalp. His body heat warmed her back as his fingers moved in small circles, sending tingling comfort down to her toes. She wiped soapy water from her eyes as his rain rinsed her charred hair.
Next he washed her face with slow, gentle strokes. Lavender soap mingled with scents of the rain-washed garden, earthy and clean. He stepped in front of her and repeated the process on her arms, legs, shoulders and chest until she was so relaxed she didn’t know how much longer she could stand. She closed her eyes to luxuriate in the feel of his hands moving over her wet skin.
“Your turn,” she said, opening her eyes.
He was fully aroused.
She loved the proof of his desire for her. She took the soap, eager to make him feel as wonderful as she did. Her hands flowed over his slick, hard body, smoothing away soot and easing his tense muscles. He groaned as she massaged soap into his shoulders, squeezing hard. Touching him, pleasing him, aroused her. She needed more. Sliding her hands down his flat abdomen, she reached for him.
His hand closed over hers.
“Annora, we can wait. You need to heal.”
“Nothing will heal me better than you.”
His eyes darkened to that rich blue she so loved. “Rain or sun?” he asked, his voice low.
“Let the rain rinse us clean. Then sun.”
Morgan closed his eyes and tilted his head back. The rain stopped. When the sun reappeared, the remaining rowan leaves and flowers sparkled in the sunlight as if the whole world had been refreshed.
“What a wondrous gift,” she said.
“Never has it meant as much to me as it does now.” He kissed her gently, then spread the towels on the wet grass.
He took her into his arms, the place where she most wanted to be.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Her hands roamed his clean skin, renewing her acquaintance with each firm muscle, each subtle indentation.
Morgan’s fingers found that most sensitive spot between her legs. She gasped and arched against his hand.
“In a hurry?” Her voice sounded more like a purr.
“I need you, Annora. More than I thought possible. I must be inside you.”
“Yes. Please.”
He moved over her and filled her with one powerful thrust. Already she was near her peak, she’d longed so for this moment.
“I love you, Morgan,” she murmured.
She had the strength to tell him even knowing he might not love her back.
Her body sent his soaring. Annora clutched his shoulders as waves of bliss poured over her, cleansing her soul as the rain had cleansed her body. He whispered her name as he joined her at the pinnacle of pleasure.
Morgan eased off and held her as if he’d never let go. With her head on his chest, Annora savored their closeness, the joy flowing through her body after so much pain.
After several moments of shared silence, Annora said, “I suppose we should dress and go back inside.”
“Stay just a little longer. I find I’m uncommonly fond of holding you.”
A rush of warmth filled her. “Will you tell me about your father now? What it’s like to be immortal?”
“It would be a relief to tell
you.”
She raised her head and smiled. “I felt the same when you were interested in how I came to be in Wales. Finally, someone who understands, who believes.”
“Exactly. But where to begin?”
“I’d like to know who your grandparents and mother are,” she said. “How much of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s tales are true? Are Merlin’s parents, your grandparents, a princess who lived among nuns and an incubus?”
“Some of what Monmouth writes is accurate. I’m not sure where he obtained his information or if he intended to represent the truth. As all historians are, he was influenced by the political situation of his time. I didn’t read History of the Kings of Britain or Life of Merlin until around 1200, after Monmouth was dead.”
“The truth about my grandparents is this: to protect her lover, my grandmother refused to tell anyone who fathered Merlin. My father wouldn’t share much of his history, either, no matter how many times I asked. I’m not sure why. I assume because chroniclers had no name to ascribe, they embellished the tale. Both of my grandparents were immortal, because Merlin is a pureblood. I’m considered a halfblood. As you know, my father has a penchant for mortal women. My mother was one.”
“How can anyone tell the difference between whole and half? Why does it matter?”
“To answer your first question, one way to tell the difference is by the necklaces we all wear.” He held his to the light, where the raised chalice glowed. “Each immortal is given one made especially for him or her, and is supposed to wear it at all times so we can identify each other when needed. They’re fashioned of a special bronze alloy. When halfbloods wear them, they turn this color, a sort of bronze-gold. When purebloods wear them, they shine brightest gold.”
“And when mortals touch them, they burn,” Annora whispered.
“How do you know that?”
“When your necklace fell off at the inn, I held it to study the design. It got so hot I had to drop it. Now I know why. But the second question…why does it matter?”
