Alasdair rolled over in time to see the sorceress stroll into the bathing chamber. She pushed the door closed with one toe and when he heard her clothing hit the floor, he smiled to himself.
As soon as the water began to run, he was on his feet.
Alasdair cast aside his towel and stealthily made his way across the room, eying the half-closed door all the way. He flattened himself against the adjacent wall and edged toward the narrow opening.
What would Morgaine le Fee do to a man who surprised her in her bath?
Alasdair refused to think about it. He had to win her approval, he had to gain her affections, and some hard thinking had given him an idea of precisely how to manage the deed. The lady was wary of men, that much was certain, and ’twas clear she had been poorly used in the past.
But Alasdair had a plan. He took a deep breath, tried to slow the pounding of his heart, then peeked around the corner.
A buttock flashed creamy as the sorceress stepped into her bath. That cascade of dark hair bounced behind her and Alasdair caught a glimpse of her face.
Had she seen him?
Alasdair snapped back against the wall and held his breath. His heart thundered with the certainty that he had been discovered. His fists clenched and he half-expected Morgaine to explode out of the chamber to smite him.
But instead she began to sing quietly.
’Twas clear she had little confidence in her voice, for she sang softly, but Alasdair strained his ears and was delighted to recognize the tune he had sung just the night before.
He needed no more incentive to round the corner on silent feet.
A curtain was drawn round the tub, the water was running merrily and steam rose toward the ceiling. Alasdair could faintly discern the enchantress’s silhouette behind the curtain and his mouth went dry. He would have but one chance.
He had best put his all into this.
To say Morgan was shocked when someone eased the shower curtain open would be the understatement of the century.
The curtain moved, Morgan squealed, she dropped the soap at the sudden draft of cooler air. Her mouth gaped when she found a naked Alasdair eyeing her with steely determination.
What was he doing awake?
Had he guessed what she had done? Morgan took a wary step backward, her foot landed square on the soap and she yelped as her feet flew out from underneath her.
Alasdair swore mightily and before Morgan could panic, she was snatched up and trapped against a very firm, very masculine chest. Her hands landed on his shoulders, because there was really nowhere else for them to go.
And a powerful arm locked around her waist.
Morgan refused to think about anything she could feel below that, but her nipples tightened instantly, nestled as they were in the thick tawny hair on Alasdair’s chest. Her heart pounded so erratically that she was sure he would feel it. Warm water rained down upon their entwined limbs and trickled between them.
Now, what was she going to do? Morgan wriggled, but Alasdair’s grip only tightened, his broad hands spanning her back. He turned and decisively closed the shower curtain behind himself and Morgan had to face the fact that a very naked highlander was in her shower to stay.
For better or for worse. She felt herself blush in consternation.
But Morgan just couldn’t look up and meet those blue eyes. If she did, she’d be lost. If she did, she’d want Alasdair to stay and that could only lead to Big Trouble.
Somehow, she had to get rid of him.
“Well, good morning! Um, did you sleep well?” Morgan tried to sound as though there was really nothing unusual about having a large, sexy man join her in the shower. The water beaded on Alasdair’s muscled shoulders in a most intriguing way, and slid through the hair on his chest like a caress.
Morgan told herself that she was only having a good look for research. Who knew when she’d have to paint a man in the rain?
Alasdair snorted and Morgan’s cheeks burned hotter with the certainty that he had guessed what she was thinking. Alasdair braced his feet against the porcelain tub and drew Morgan up to her toes. The heat of his skin pressed against her and awakened that damn tingle in her belly.
Was he going to kiss her?
Morgan kept talking to try and avoid that eventuality. “Yes, well, it was too bad you fell asleep last night, but I’m sure you’re well rested now…”
Evidence of Alasdair’s well-rested state pressed against her thighs and Morgan had a very good idea of what compensation he considered to be due.
Clearly, men only joined women in the shower for one reason—and it wasn’t to ask when breakfast would be ready. What wasn’t clear was why Morgan was having a hard time finding the idea offensive.
“Aye, I slept well enough.” The highlander’s voice was low, a thread of humor lurking in his tone. Morgan glanced up at that and was snared by the intense blue of his eyes.
“Though you had naught to do with that, hmmm?” Alasdair arched a fair brow and his lips twisted in a smile so intimate that it nearly stopped Morgan’s heart.
In fact, the whole world stopped right then and there. Morgan stared, her mouth went dry, her heart started to hammer. She felt that languorous heat slide through her that she was quickly coming to associate with Alasdair and she couldn’t have summoned a single word to save her life.
Her toe slid experimentally over his foot, then continued up the muscled length of his calf, as though it had a mind of its own and liked what it found. Morgan had the sudden sense that she had no chance in this battle—after all, her body was already on Alasdair’s side.
He looked away then, examining the shower head, then smiling down at her once more, his eyes nearly indigo with intent. “’Tis a fine circumstance for what I have in mind,” he rumbled.
And Morgan had a very good idea what that was.
Before she could convince herself that she should bolt, Alasdair bent and kissed her ear in a most distracting fashion. What little was left of Morgan’s resistance eroded dangerously.
She had to keep him talking, at least until she could collect her thoughts! “Um, well, you know, I won’t be long, and then you can have the shower all to yourself…”
“I wish only to be where you are, my lady,” Alasdair breathed into her ear.
Morgan hated that she shivered at the sensation, then she caught her breath as the highlander nibbled on her earlobe. His hands fanned across her lower back, the way his fingers spanned her waist making her feel infinitely small and delicate.
He cradled her in his arms and ran a line of kisses along her jawline. One more time, Morgan had the intoxicating sense that she was treasured and she couldn’t turn away. Such tenderness was irresistible—as was the certainty that one word of protest from her would stop the whole interlude cold.
But Morgan was honest enough to admit that she didn’t really want him to stop. When Alasdair’s mouth locked over her own in gentle demand, Morgan actually heard herself sigh with satisfaction.
And every single argument she had went AWOL. Alasdair’s hand closed possessively over her breast, his thumb sliding across her taut nipple until Morgan arched against him. His hand eased lower, the other one cupping her buttock, then he ducked to flick his tongue across her nipple. Morgan gasped and clenched fistfuls of his hair as Alasdair suckled.
Morgan thought she would explode. A throbbing took up the beat between her thighs and her wandering toes slid over his knee.
Alasdair groaned and lifted her, holding her against the tiles so that her feet dangled freely. He lifted her errant foot, caressing her instep before placing that foot on his thigh. His kisses distracted and disoriented Morgan, and she could do no more than hang on to his broad shoulders and enjoy.
Which wasn’t so bad. Morgan writhed when Alasdair’s strong fingers slid over her thigh, across her hip, then through her pubic hair, but he was undeterred. His fingertip landed with gentle assurance on her throbbing clitoris and moved with a surety that stole her breath away.
And Morgan couldn’t find it anywhere within herself to fight this amorous assault. She had never had anyone touch her with such tender persistence, had never had any man awaken such longing within her. Alasdair’s thumb locked onto the nub of her desire and caressed her with slow persuasiveness.
Morgan kissed Alasdair with newfound abandon as her hands slid over his strength. To her amazement, he moaned into her kiss. When Morgan felt the heat of his erection press against her, her hips began to buck in intuitive demand.
His finger slipped inside her and Morgan caught her breath. Their gazes locked and Alasdair smiled slowly as he moved his thumb once more. Morgan’s heart thundered, the heat rose beneath her skin, and she couldn’t look away from the hypnotic sapphire of his gaze. The rocked together in instinctive rhythm, the water bore down upon them, and Morgan felt the crest of a wave rise deep within her.
She must have given some small sign, because Alasdair captured her lips in that very moment. He trapped her between the wall and his chest, his scent filling her lungs, his tongue in her mouth, his fingers inside her. Morgan writhed demandingly, pulling him closer, wanting more, wanting all he could give her.
Alasdair slanted his mouth across hers, his fingers danced with persistence. Morgan cried out as her orgasm exploded through her body with dizzying force.
And she sagged against Alasdair, trembling, in the wake of the torrent he had summoned.
It took several moments for Morgan to realize that things were not proceeding exactly as she had expected. Gradually, the haze retreated from her mind and she noticed that amorous intent had left the highlander’s touch.
When her pulse slowed, Morgan found herself standing on her own two feet with Alasdair busily soaping her down. Her breasts were all lathered up, as were her arms and belly. But it was obvious from the deft purpose in Alasdair’s touch that this wasn’t some game—he was simply washing her.
It wasn’t what Morgan had expected to happen next. She frowned and looked but his erection was just as enthusiastic as ever. Before she could ask what was going on, Alasdair pivoted her purposefully beneath the cascading water, and she sputtered for a moment beneath its flow.
“Rinse,” he commanded. “Then bend over that I might scrub your back.”
Morgan did as she was told, still trying to make sense of what was happening. His fingers were turning the tense muscles of her back to putty, but she knew she didn’t imagine that his mood had changed. Morgan sighed as Alasdair found the souvenir kink that an afternoon of sleeping in the Micra had left in her shoulder, but she forced herself to ask.
“What are you doing?”
“Bathing you, my lady.” Alasdair’s tone was amiable. “Was that not why you came to this chamber?”
Morgan couldn’t really argue with that. “Well, yes.” His thumbs moved rhythmically against the knot, and Morgan closed her eyes with pleasure. She let herself enjoy his ministrations and savored the luxurious feeling of being pampered.
By a rough warrior. Morgan smiled at the contrast, then gasped in delight as Alasdair scratched her shoulders. She stretched like a cat, directed him left, right, and down, and knew she had never felt so good.
“Rinse,” he commanded again and Morgan straightened as bidden. When the highlander squatted down in front of her and started to lather up her legs, Morgan eyed him assessingly.
What was going on?
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked tentatively.
Alasdair’s grin was fleeting. “That would be my question,” he joked, then flicked a glance at her that was so intent, it stole her breath away. “Were you well pleased?”
Morgan flushed scarlet. “Well, yes.”
“Good.” Alasdair nodded and frowned slightly as he focused on the task at hand. He worked the soap between each toe, then rinsed her foot before placing it back on the porcelain. Then he lifted her other foot.
“Um, what about you?”
One fair brow arched. “I can wait well enough,” Alasdair murmured, and Morgan couldn’t help but wonder how long he intended to wait.
Was he just softening her up for a big sensual attack? Morgan wondered whether she was the only one feeling awkward—Alasdair certainly didn’t seem to have any doubts about how things should proceed.
His erection seemed to be mocking her, dancing between his thighs as he moved, as though daring her to ask about it being so obviously left out of the loop.
Then Alasdair pushed her under the shower’s assault and Morgan closed her eyes. She felt the weight of the water in her hair, then Alasdair’s strong fingers began to massage her scalp.
She was being spoiled. Morgan decided not to worry about what was to come, but just to enjoy. The hum between her thighs was already starting again as Alasdair’s hands worked through her hair.
“Um, there’s shampoo in that little bottle,” she directed with one finger, taking the excuse of not wanting to open her eyes under the shower of water.
“Shampoo?”
“To wash my hair.”
“Ah!”
Then Morgan was folded against his chest, her lungs filled with the scent of him, his hands working up a lather in her hair like an expert. Her breasts were slightly crushed against his chest, the afterglow of her orgasm still throbbed through her veins. His erection nudged against her belly, and Morgan melted beneath his touch.
If heaven was anything short of this moment, Morgan didn’t want to go.
All too soon, Alasdair gripped her shoulders and backed her into the shower stream again. “Rinse,” he dictated and when Morgan lifted her hands to ease the shampoo out of her hair, Alasdair’s hands cupped her breasts.
Morgan’s heart jumped but she didn’t step away. Alasdair teased her nipples in a most distracting way, and she admitted she was prolonging the moment as much as possible.
Because Morgan knew that this was It. She braced herself for him to make a move on her and opened her eyes, but Alasdair had stepped out of the shower.
Leaving Morgan alone.
She peeked around the curtain and watched him dry himself off. She cleared her throat. “Um. What about you?”
“I believe I am clean, as well.”
“No, I mean about, well, about that.” Morgan’s face burned as she indicated his erection.
Alasdair grinned, then shrugged. “’Tis a state I grow accustomed to in your presence, my lady.”
Then he wrapped a towel around his waist and left.
Left?
“Wait a minute!” Morgan stumbled out of the shower, nearly slipping on the slick tub as she turned off the water. She darted out of the bathroom, leaving a trail of wet footprints.
Alasdair stood at one window, watching her, arms folded across his bare chest. Morgan pointed back to the bathroom with rising frustration, hating how one good look at him awakened all those impulses that were safer locked away.
Morgan felt ruffled and disoriented, and didn’t like it. Didn’t Alasdair find her attractive after all? Was he just teasing her? But then, shouldn’t she be glad they hadn’t done more? She tried to blame her feminine pride for the confusing jumble of pride and disappointment.
“I thought you wanted me!” Morgan blurted out, hating the tinge of hurt revealed in her words.
Alasdair’s slow smile heated her blood with dangerous ease. “Make no mistake, my lady, I do.”
“Then, what…”
“Morgaine.”
That single low word silenced Morgan’s outburst. That blue, blue gaze made her words stick in her throat.
Alasdair’s voice was low with intent. “Believe me, my lady, I desire you as never I have desired a woman before. But know this. I see that men have played poorly with your affections, and I would have you trust me, for naught good happens between the linens before trust is forged.”
Alasdair crossed the room with quick steps, capturing her chin in one broad palm. Morgan was stunned by the sincerity gleaming in his eyes.
“Believe this, Morgaine,” he insisted with an intensity that melted her bones. “You have but to invite me to your bed, and I will spend my every breath in bringing pleasure to us both.”
Morgan blinked but he was perfectly serious. And she did believe him.
Part of her wanted to issue that invitation right now.
The other part, though, managed to speak up. After all, Alasdair had a wife.
Didn’t he?
“What about your wife?”
Alasdair grimaced. “Ah, the beautiful Fenella.” His expression turned grim. “What would you know of her?”
The confirmation that his wife existed, the admission of her name and her beauty combined to make Morgan’s heart clench. And that packed a more powerful punch than she could have expected. Before, she had only feared that Fenella existed—knowing the truth changed everything.
Especially Morgan’s assessment of Alasdair’s character. Men were all the same, and hoping otherwise didn’t change anything. Morgan felt sick at what she had nearly done.
She had almost replayed a familiar scene, and she didn’t like the role she found herself acting.
Revulsion made her tone harsh. “How dare you touch me like that?” Morgan flung out her hands in frustration. “How can you practically dare me to invite you to my bed, then calmly ask what I want to know about your wife? Don’t your marriage vows mean anything to you?”
Alasdair frowned, then shook his head. His gaze locked with hers once more. “’Tis a long tale.”
Morgan knew her skepticism showed. Matt would have said pretty much the same thing. There was always an excuse.
“I’ll bet.” Morgan heard the bitterness in her tone. She stalked back into the bathroom and began to towel herself off roughly.
It made absolutely no sense that she was fighting against tears. How could she have misjudged Alasdair so completely? He wasn’t at all the man she thought he was, let alone as compassionate and wonderful as she had believed.
How could she have been so stupid?
Morgan completely ignored the large shadow that loomed in the bathroom doorway just a moment later.
“I shall make you a bargain, my lady,” Alasdair finally said softly. “I will tell you of my wife, if you share with me the tale of your hatred of whisky. ’Twas a man at root, unless I miss my guess, and I would know the manner of cur who has scarred you so deeply.”
Morgan’s head snapped up and she stared at Alasdair. He looked so sincere that she was tempted once more to trust him. And that made her doubt her conclusions.
Was she judging him too harshly? What if he really did have a good reason?
Didn’t she at least owe him a chance to explain?
Alasdair had promised not to try to get the crystal from her and he hadn’t. He had saved her from being mugged. He had sworn off whisky apparently just to please her. He let her know he was attracted to her, but what happened was always up to Morgan.
She fingered the towel and considered the facts. Alasdair did rant and rave a bit, but flinging words was not the same as flinging fists. She had to concede that his situation couldn’t be easy. He made a great fuss over keeping his word, a trait that Morgan found quite admirable. And Alasdair apologized.
Matt had never done any of those things.
Morgan peeked through her lashes at the highlander. The simple fact was that Alasdair hadn’t broken his marriage vows. He had pleasured her and stepped away.
And Morgan wanted to know the whole story. She dared to hope that all men weren’t like Matt.
No, she dared to hope that this man wasn’t like Matt.
Not only that, but Morgan found it oddly appealing to be offered the chance to talk about Matt. No one knew what he had done, not even Justine, and Morgan had the sense that it was time to let the pain of the past go.
The best way to do that was to share the story.
Morgan had an instinctive sense that Alasdair would not judge her because of what had happened. It was time to tell someone and she wanted to tell him. Hadn’t he been the one who had insisted that telling took the sting out of bad news?
“All right.” Morgan nodded agreement. “But maybe we should get some breakfast first.”
Alasdair grinned. “Aye, I knew from first glance that you were a woman of good sense.”
The sorceress fiddled with the last of her toast as though she knew she could delay no longer. She had donned another pair of those tights that tormented Alasdair, tossing a vivid blue and green sweater over her shoulders. Her yet damp hair had been bound back in some semblance of order. The sunlight streaming through the window above the table painted blue lights in its drying curls.
But ’twas the vulnerability in her emerald eyes that tore at his heart this morning. Alasdair waited patiently, sipping at the vile brew she called tea. ’Twas clear enough that this tale would not be easy in the telling for her, and he was humbled that she had accepted his invitation to recount it.
Morgan flicked him a very green glance, and Alasdair knew ’twas time.
“I was married before,” she confessed tightly. This was part of her history that Alasdair did not recall from his gran’s tales, though he supposed he should not have been surprised. Within the eternity of an immortal’s life, surely there would be moments of love?
Morgaine sighed. “I’m not really sure why, although at the time, it seemed to be the thing to do. We met at art school, you know, and he always knew what to do when I didn’t.” She shrugged. “I guess I admired him. He had so much self-assurance.”
“Had he a name?”
She smiled quickly then, though the curve vanished almost as soon as it appeared. “Matt. Matthew James Reilly. He graduated and got a good job in an advertising agency, then he thought it was time to get married, so we did.”
Her school of arts was obviously where the great sorcerors went to hone their skills, though Alasdair had no understanding of an advertising agency. It seemed to have little import, other than motivating this Matt to propose marriage, so he did not interrupt her tale. No doubt ’twas only a sign that Matt had proven himself.
Morgaine frowned into her cup. “For a while everything was wonderful. We found a good apartment overlooking the lake and I kept on with my classes. He came home from work and we cooked together, that kind of thing.” Her lips twisted. “Maybe because it once was good, when it got bad, things seemed worse.”
Alasdair felt a pang of jealousy. There had never been a day without strife in his marriage. That it had always been strife willfully created by Fenella and for her own entertainment made the truth no easier to bear.
Morgaine leaned forward. “You see, I thought it would be nice to start a family. I really like kids.” Alasdair’s heart tightened at the sparkle that just the thought brought to her eyes.
He had to look away when the spark was quenched.
“But Matt didn’t want any ties. At all. We started to fight, about every stupid little thing. He started to not come home. I started to wonder whether those unwanted ties included me.”
The shadow that fell over her delicate features showed the pain that even the memories caused. Her next words were husky. “We even stopped making love. It was awful. He didn’t touch me at all. In fact, he went out of his way to avoid touching me.”
This then, was why she had such doubts of her allure. Alasdair realized why she had been so upset when he stepped away from her in the shower and wished he had known this tale sooner.
“There is naught amiss with your charms, my lady,” he assured her with passion, and that wan smile flashed briefly again.
“Well. Maybe.” She shrugged. “Anyway, when I finally worked up the nerve to ask what was wrong, things got ugly fast. Matt accused me of wanting to trick him into creating a child, but I would never have done that.” She looked sadly at him. “How could I have brought a child into a marriage where it wasn’t wanted? How could I have done that to a little baby?”
Alasdair shook his head firmly, hating that he had not been as farsighted as the sorceress before him. “You could not.”
She shook her head adamantly. “I couldn’t have done it.” She heaved a sigh and tears shone in her eyes. “But he didn’t believe me. It was terrible, being married to someone who thinks the worst of you.”
“’Twas no more than a reflection of his own heart,” Alasdair declared. The sorceress looked up, a question lurking in those wondrous eyes. “Those with dark hearts accuse all those around them of planning foul crimes. I have seen this often.”
“Maybe.” Morgaine played with her cup, and Alasdair knew there was yet more. He leaned forward and captured her nervous fingers, alarmed to feel them tremble within his grip.
The sorceress did not pull her hand away, but she did not look at Alasdair either. “He, um, started to drink. I mean, he always drank, but he drank a lot more.”
This then was the source of her concerns about whisky. Alasdair closed his hand firmly over hers and hung on.
“And he changed so much when he was drunk. He was awful, shouting accusations and throwing things, storming out and not coming home all night. All I had to do was ask how his day had been to set him off. It was horrible.” Morgaine grimaced as Alasdair watched. “But it was worse when he wanted to have sex.”
“When he was fou as a puggie?”
Morgan frowned, clearly not understanding.
“When he was drunken,” Alasdair clarified.
Morgaine smiled slightly, though the merriment did not reach her eyes. “Well, it didn’t work most of the time. You know how it is. And he blamed me for that, calling me all sorts of names.” Her voice caught. “Then I found out that he was sleeping with other women. We had a huge fight. I refused to let him into our bed.” Her expression turned rueful at the recollection.
Morgaine fidgeted but Alasdair did not release his grip on her fingers. She unwillingly lifted her gaze to his, and he saw the truth he would have her utter aloud.
“Did ever he strike you?”
A tear shimmered in her luminous eyes. “Just once.”
Anger erupted within Alasdair. She was so finely wrought, so tiny and perfect, even the fingers trapped within his grasp were delicate beyond all. How could any man lift a hand against her? What manner of boor would see the need to strike such a creature?
“Once is once too often, to a decent man’s way of thinking!” Alasdair angrily leaped to his feet. “Tell me where I should find this Matthew James Reilly that he might be taught what is right and proper!”
He glared down at the sorceress in outrage, his hands on his hips. She looked up at him and slowly smiled, as though she barely dared to believe his anger on her behalf.
“You really would, wouldn’t you?” she asked softly.
Alasdair’s heart twisted that she had been so poorly used. “Aye. Do you doubt my pledge?”
Morgaine looked at him for a long moment but did not answer his question. “Sit down,” she urged, “and I’ll tell you what happened.”
Alasdair did as he was bidden, but his indignation was not so readily dismissed. He wanted dearly to break the nose, if not more, of this Matthew, but he fiddled roughly with the cutlery instead. ’Twas not within him to sit still while his anger boiled, but he forced himself to do the lady’s bidding.
Morgaine folded herself up on her seat, and her gaze slipped off to the distance. “Things had been really bad, but then suddenly they started to get better. He made all sorts of promises, and although I know now what they were worth, at the time, I really wanted to believe him. I really wanted my marriage to work, maybe just on principle.
“I thought we had reached the bottom and all those promises, well, they had me believing everything could be fixed. Where there’s a will, there’s a way and all that.” She swallowed. “So, I trusted him.”
“And he lied to you,” Alasdair interjected savagely.
Morgaine’s expression was full of disillusionment. “Yes. It seems so obvious now. He kept doing what he was doing, but he didn’t rage at home anymore. He still ‘worked late’ and everything, though. I guess I was too stupid to see the signs.”
“’Tis not stupidity to trust someone held within one’s heart.”
Morgaine’s gaze locked with his own, and Alasdair feared she saw more deeply into his heart than he might have liked. Her lips parted, as though she would say something, then she shook her head and concentrated on her interlocked hands.
“It was our anniversary. Two whole years together. And I thought we had weathered the storm, that things were getting better and that we had a rosy future to celebrate. I was finishing my degree that year and had an offer for a full-time job. Everything looked great.”
“But ’twas not.”
“No.” Morgaine swallowed. “I came home early from class, planning to make a great dinner as a surprise. I had bought a bottle of sparkling non-alcoholic wine and some flowers.” Her eyes misted with unshed tears. “I think I might have been singing, probably quite badly.”
Her lips thinned and her voice turned hard. “I walked in on him humping some woman in our own bed.”
Morgaine plunged on with the telling before Alasdair could even blink.
“Well, all hell broke loose. I dropped the wine, so there was no mystery that I was there, and it splashed all over the place. The woman ran out half-naked. Matt started to yell at me for interrupting him, if you can believe it. And I finally snapped.”
The sorceress flung out her hands. “I couldn’t believe that he had lied to me like that. I couldn’t believe that everything I’d hoped for wasn’t going to happen. But I had to believe it. It was literally laid out right in front of me.”
Morgaine drew herself up taller. “And so, for the first time, I told Matt exactly what I thought of him and what he was doing. He yelled and”—she flushed—“I yelled back.”
Her gaze flicked to Alasdair. “That was when he hit me. He punched me in the eye.” She swallowed and frowned. “It was like time stopped. We stared at each other, both of us stunned at what he had done. I don’t know how I did it, but I just turned and walked right out of there. I went straight to a hotel, hired a lawyer, and never set foot in that place again.”
“He must have tried to speak to you.”
Morgaine’s lips set stubbornly. “After what he had done, there was nothing to say.”
“Aye,” Alasdair acknowledged and leaned forward to reassure her. He touched her shoulder, alarmed to find her trembling. “There is no excuse for striking a woman, whatever tale such a man might concoct. You are well rid of him and his kind.”
Morgaine’s lips twisted with the bitterness of what she had borne. She looked up at him, doubtless showing more vulnerability than she might have liked. Alasdair’s heart twisted.
“Aren’t all men of his kind?” The words were uttered softly, as though her scar demanded she ask the question, but her eyes were filled with the hope that Alasdair would prove her wrong.
He captured both her hands in his own. “Never would I strike a woman or break a pledge.”
“But you might twist out of it on a technicality.” Her expression was sad, and Alasdair suddenly understood the full weight of the damage this Matthew had wrought. Here was the measure he had to prove himself beyond.
She propped her chin on her hands, the very image of disappointment. Alasdair could well sympathize with the shattering of her dreams, for marriage had fallen short of his own expectations.
He felt a curious bond with the sorceress.
“You leave the inviting to bed up to me, so that you won’t be the one to actively break your wedding vows,” she observed quietly. “In the end, it’s all the same, isn’t it?”
“Nay, ’tis not at all the same,” Alasdair declared with resolve.
“Why not?”
“Because Fenella is dead.”
Morgaine blinked.
But Alasdair had no time for her surprise. He ran a hand through his hair as the guilt flooded through him anew. He had to tell her how it had been.
“Yet you must understand, my lady, Fenella’s death eats at my very soul. Though never I struck her, her blood stains my hands all the same.” He met the gaze of the astonished sorceress.
“’Twas I who killed my wife, as surely as if I had fitted my hands around her neck.”