Chapter 39

Jenefer sighed as she stole past the snoring guard and into the laird’s bedchamber. The decision was the most painful she’d ever made. But she knew she’d made the right choice.

In the end, her conscience had gotten the best of her.

Gazing at the sweet, sleeping babe in the moonlight and remembering Morgan’s adoring face as he looked down at his son, her heart had cracked, and she’d realized she couldn’t do it.

She couldn’t trick the trusting Highlander into wedding her.

Morgan Mor mac Giric was decent.

He would have done the right thing.

He would have willingly accepted the consequences of his actions.

And he would have thrown away his entire future to pay for one night of reckless passion.

But she couldn’t bear to think that his heart wasn’t in it. That he’d only be agreeing to marry her out of duty. The knowledge that she’d tricked the laird into wedding her would haunt her for the rest of her life.

Nay, she decided, if she couldn’t win his affections honestly, she’d rather win the keep in battle than betray him in bed. So she’d slipped out of Morgan’s arms, dressed, and left the nursery before the maids could return.

“Where have you been?” Feiyan whispered when Jenefer climbed into bed beside her.

“In the nursery.” She didn’t intend to confide in Feiyan, not after the argument they’d had.

“Listen, Jen, I’m sorry for laughing before.” Feiyan sounded truly contrite. “’Tis only that I’ve always seen you as a brilliant warrior, not a lover. The thought of my fierce cousin seducing a man…well…”

Jenefer couldn’t help herself. She wanted to prove to Feiyan, once and for all, that she was deserving of a man’s affections. “But I did.”

Feiyan sat up on her elbows. “What?”

“I did seduce him.”

“The Highlander?” Feiyan almost strangled on the words. “But how? What…?”

Feiyan’s amazement was almost enough to lift Jenefer’s spirits.

“Too sleepy.” Jenefer yawned. “I’ll tell you in the morn.”

“The devil you will!” Feiyan replied, giving her shoulder a rousing shake. “I want the whole story. Now.”

“There’s nothing to tell. I just used my natural feminine wiles and…” She shrugged.

By Feiyan’s long silence, Jenefer could tell her cousin didn’t believe her.

“You actually swived him?”

“Aye.”

“I mean, you…you spread your legs for him.”

“Aye.”

“And you let him put his cod—”

“I know what swiving is, Feiyan.”

Feiyan let out a low whistle. Then she quietly cheered, “This is perfect! Now you’ll make him wed you. And then you can lay claim to Creagor.”

Jenefer sighed. It sounded so uncomplicated, the way she said it. That was how it had sounded to her as well. But that was before she’d fallen in love with Morgan. “Nay.”

“Nay?” Feiyan tossed back the covers and shot to her feet beside the bed. “What do you mean, nay?”

“I can’t do it.”

“What? Why? Didn’t you just surrender your maidenhood to him?”

“Aye.”

“It doesn’t grow back, you know.”

“I’m aware.”

“But I don’t understand. Why would you…”

“I just…I won’t do it.”

After a pensive moment, Feiyan gasped. “Because he’s a savage? Is that it?” Her manner abruptly changed to fierce protector. “Did he hurt you? I swear, Jen, if he so much as raised a hand to—”

“Nay. Nay. ’Twasn’t like that, only…”

“Only what?”

Jenefer could see she wasn’t going to get any sleep until she explained. “’Tis one thing to best a man in battle when both of you are fully armed and evenly matched. But to slay a man in his sleep…”

“Lucifer’s ballocks!” Feiyan quickly lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “Did you slay him, Jen?”

“What?” She blinked. “Nay.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“He’s a good man, Feiy. Decent and kind and noble. He deserves better than to be forced to wed a maid against his will.”

“Surely you jest,” Feiyan scoffed. “After all, nobody was forcing him to swi-…” She reconsidered. “You didn’t swive him at the point of a dagger, did you?”

“Nay.” The word soured on Jenefer’s lips. Was it so hard for Feiyan to imagine a man actually desiring her?

“If he’s so decent,” Feiyan decided, “then he should be glad to marry you.”

“I don’t want him on those terms.”

“How can you say that? Wasn’t that your plan all along? What about all those sketches you made earlier? All the changes to the castle? Now you don’t want him to wed you?”

“Not by force, nay.”

“Yet you’re willing to take the castle by force.”

“Aye.” Jenefer didn’t have the words to explain to her cousin how that was different. But it was.

Feiyan threw up her hands in exasperation and flopped back into bed.

It was still dark, but nearing dawn when Morgan heard a rapid knocking on the nursery door, bringing him instantly awake. Assuming it was Cicilia coming to feed the bairn, he rose on his elbows and called out, “Come.”

But it was Bethac who stuck her head in with a candle. She looked as pale as linen. Her brow was creased with worry.

“Where is she?” she whispered.

“Who?”

“Jenefer.”

His heart dropped. Had the lass gone missing? Now that he’d decided to bare his heart and tie his fortunes to a woman, had she fled?

Bethac didn’t wait for an answer. “Perhaps she returned to your bedchamber?” she suggested.

His shoulders dropped in relief. Of course that was where she’d gone.

But how the devil did Bethac know the lass had been here with him? Sometimes it seemed like the old maid was a touch fey, the way she could winnow out the truth. And now that she’d hinted at his indiscretion, it seemed pointless to deny it.

“I suppose so, aye,” he said.

She nodded, then waved Cicilia into the nursery and shut the door behind them. The young maid rushed to the hearth to wake the bairn for his feeding.

Bethac set a bundle of Morgan’s clothes atop the bed. Her expression was impossible to read. She looked simultaneously fretful and sorrowful, aghast and confused.

“What’s amiss, Bethac?”

“Ye’re needed below,” she said urgently. “Please, m’laird, dress and come quickly.”

He lowered his brows. Bethac never made idle demands.

“Is it Rivenloch?” he guessed. Perhaps her uncle’s army had come to claim Jenefer after all.

“Nay.”

“Colban?”

Morgan would never forgive himself if something dire had happened to his right hand man.

“Nay. Only…hurry.”

With that vague directive, Bethac scurried out the door.

Morgan wasted no time. While Cicilia discreetly fed the bairn in one corner of the nursery, he threw on his clothes and hurtled down the stairs.

The clan was crowded into the great hall, most only half-dressed. A few guards held aloft flaming brands, illuminating something in their midst.

“There he is!” someone called out.

All heads swiveled to him. Their faces were full of wonder and nearly as pale as Bethac’s had been. They quickly separated to make a path for him.

By the light of the brands, Morgan could see Bethac crouched beside what appeared to be a cloaked body. Only when he ventured forward did he see the blood staining the wool.

He prayed it wasn’t the Rivenloch lass Colban had been tracking.

“’Tis a miracle, m’laird,” a woman gushed as he passed.

“God’s hand,” someone agreed.

“The stars must be smilin’ on ye,” a young lass said.

None of their comments registered. As he drew nearer to the cloaked form, Morgan felt chilling recognition shiver along his spine.

He knew this body.

Bethac’s baleful glance toward him confirmed it.

But his mind couldn’t fully comprehend what he saw. Until a soft moan came from the ground.

He froze in his tracks.

’Twasn’t possible.

He’d shoveled dirt over her grave himself.

And yet he’d wager his entire fortune that was Alicia.