Chapter 17

Morgan felt steam building in his ears. He lowered his gaze pointedly at the finger prodding him in the chest. The lass might look as appealing as a warm hearth, with her eyes blazing and her cheeks aflame. But like a poker, her insolent finger stirred the coals of his anger.

He reached up and curled his fist tightly around her offending digit, trapping her.

“Ye’ll do no such thing, lass,” he said. “This is my keep and my land. If ye’re civil and honorable, ye may stay as a guest.”

She clamped her lips and tried to jerk away, to no avail.

“If not, ye’ll remain a prisoner.”

“I can’t be a prisoner in my own castle.”

“’Tisn’t yours, lass.”

“The hell ’tisn’t!”

Morgan hadn’t been jesting when he’d said he was weary. He was brain-drained and bone-tired. He had no desire to engage the lass, either this eve in a battle of words or on the morrow in a clash of swords. So he cast her finger back at her.

“Ye’ll go back to my chamber now…and stay.”

“Oh, aye, I’ll stay,” she bit out, “but only because I vowed to my cousins I wouldn’t leave them in the hands of savage Highlanders.” She sneered the words, “Not because you’re commanding me like a hound.”

Deep in his throat came an impatient sound that was half-sigh, half-growl.

She headed toward the window.

“Not that way,” he said. “Through the door.”

She turned and raised her chin. “Fine.”

Striding past, she pointedly snatched her hem aside so it wouldn’t touch him.

He shook his head in chagrin. The lass was wearing his leine, after all.

He followed at her heels, giving a farewell nod to the maidservants. He hoped he could trust them to be discreet about what had happened here. The last thing he needed was a crowd of his clansmen gathered at dawn, wagering on a match rumored between the new Laird of Creagor and a helpless, pesky flea of a wee lass.

He steered Jenefer back into his bedchamber. He was tempted to slam the door after her, just to emphasize the seriousness of his order.

But he didn’t wish to wake Miles again. So he closed it gently and sighed as he looked down at his makeshift bed of fleece just outside the door.

Miles.

Now the pushy wench had him calling the lad Miles.

He had to admit it wasn’t a bad name. When the bairn was grown, his full title would be Laird Miles mac Morgan. It was a good name, a strong name.

Still, it rankled at him that the lass had brazenly attached a name to the bairn, not even knowing whose it was.

He’d change it, he decided as he stretched out on the fleece. There were plenty of good names that would suit the son of Morgan Mor mac Giric. Maybe he’d christen the lad Allison, in honor of Alicia. Whatever he chose, he’d be damned if he’d let a headstrong warrior lass name his firstborn.

Yet to his annoyance, after several hours of blissfully undisturbed sleep, his first thought upon waking the next morn was gratitude that wee “Miles” had slept through the night.

With a self-mocking grimace, he rose up on one elbow. He yawned and raked his hair back from his brow.

As he blinked the cobwebs of sleep from his eyes, he heard stirring on the other side of the door. At first it was just the scraping of coals on the hearth and the patter of feet on the floor. Then he heard a flurry of female whispering.

He sat up with a sniff, stretching his arms carefully over his head. Yesterday’s fight with Colban had left his ribs bruised and his shoulders aching. And his nose was still tender from the wench’s punch.

The whispers were increasing in volume and agitation, though the words were too muffled to understand.

He’d have to sort everything out soon. He’d never taken hostages before. He was not in the habit of dealing with lasses much at all. Especially lasses as hostile, outspoken, and prone to squabbling as these Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch.

He didn’t want to hold them any longer than necessary. With any luck, the documents from the king would arrive today, proving his claim. By afternoon, he could return the maids to their proper home and put all this behind him.

Then he could proceed with settling in to his new keep—exploring the land, purchasing provisions, finding a more suitable chamber for Miles, where his cries wouldn’t disturb Morgan’s sleep.

He frowned. It seemed the name Jenefer had given the bairn was going to stick.

He didn’t care. Not really. The bawling bairn could be called Jehoshaphat, as far as he was concerned. He just didn’t like the self-satisfied lass who believed she was the Laird of Creagor to think she could issue commands in his household.

From the other side of the door, he heard the self-important lass now.

“Aye, ’tis my handiwork. But you can see I’m still here,” Jenefer was insisting. “Don’t try to blame me for this!”

He couldn’t hear her cousin’s reply.

But Jenefer’s response was, “I hope her da’s knights do come. I told you from the beginning, we should have used force. Now maybe we’ll get somewhere.”

That brought Morgan to his feet.

He flung open the door.

The dark lass called Feiyan was standing beside the open window. In one hand was looped the rope of bedsheets Jenefer had made.

Jenefer wheeled toward him, her arms akimbo, her gaze defiant. Despite her rebellious expression, by day, she was even more captivating. The light of dawn filtered through the pale saffron of the leine, outlining her body in tempting relief. Her tawny tresses looked as inviting as sunshine.

Then he noticed the enticing flash in her emerald eyes. A flash that told him she kept a fatal secret.

“What have ye done?” he asked, afraid of the answer.

“I haven’t done a thing,” she said smugly.

He turned to Feiyan. “What’s happened?”

Before Feiyan could reply, Jenefer responded with a silky, self-assured smile. “Exactly what I warned you about.”

“Jen,” Feiyan scolded.

Jenefer clucked her tongue. “You shouldn’t have taken what wasn’t yours…Morgan.”

She’d omitted the “Laird” just to annoy him again. But he wasn’t going to take the bait.

He turned to Feiyan again. She might at least give him a straight answer. “What are ye two up—”

He stopped abruptly as a swift perusal of the room told him what was wrong.

He narrowed his eyes. “Where’s the third?”