Chapter 41

In her heart of hearts, Jenefer knew she had no right to feel like a victim. After all, it was she who had seduced Morgan. She glanced at the bed, still rumpled from what they’d done. None of what had happened there had been his idea.

But knowing he’d practically leaped into another woman’s arms while his seed was still warm inside her…

Her eyes welled. Her throat ached.

But she refused to shed a single tear for the rutting stag of a man.

Instead, she swallowed down her hurt and banged a fist on the stone ledge, turning her sorrow to ire.

It was just as she’d always heard, she decided. Highlanders were faithless beasts who sowed their seed like wild thistles. Unfeeling, uncaring brutes who took what they wanted and left a trail of destruction behind.

How could she have forgotten that?

How could she have believed otherwise?

She’d been a lovesick fool.

Unwilling to subject herself to any more of the soft, crooning exchanges taking place in his bedchamber, Jenefer closed the shutters and jabbed at the fire.

There was no point in trying to sleep. She’d only toss and turn and annoy her cousin.

Instead, she paced the nursery in an angry swirl of skirts. She clenched and unclenched her fists. She muttered curses under her breath. She scowled at the wall between the chambers with enough hatred to scorch the plaster.

On one pass, she ventured too near the tub. Striding forward, she caught her bare toe on the hard oak. Sharp pain shot up her foot, wringing a gasp from her.

“Bloody shite!” she hissed, clutching her throbbing toe and hopping on her good foot.

Her oath woke Miles. Which made her utter another.

Cicilia roused to Miles’ whimpers. She sleepily patted him, hoping it was only a bad dream.

But when the young nurse suddenly spied Jenefer in the room, she gave a squeak of surprise, bringing Miles fully awake.

After that, even Cicilia’s cooing and patting couldn’t calm him. His whimpers rose to a high-pitched wail. Feiyan, half-buried in sheepskins, dug her way out to complain.

“Odin’s eye, Jen, can’t you quiet him?”

She bit her lip. She could quiet him. And it was becoming second nature to her to console the crying lad.

But if she didn’t, if she let him cry, Morgan wouldn’t be able to sleep. Neither would his soft-voiced concubine. The philandering Highlander would be forced to come to the nursery to look after his son. And she’d get the chance to show him just what fury a woman scorned could deliver.

Ignoring Miles wasn’t easy. His sobs grew more plaintive and miserable by the moment. Jenefer’s heart ached for him. Cicilia looked over at her with pleading eyes. And if Feiyan’s glares had been daggers, Jenefer would be dead by now.

Finally, just before Jenefer was about to yield to her maternal instincts and comfort the crying babe, the door swung open under Morgan’s hand.

She faced the Highlander with her chin held high and her arms crossed in challenge. Her heart knifed sideways at the sight of him, adorably disheveled from sleep, and her resolve almost crumbled.

But she steeled herself against the heartbreak. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her suffer. By God, she would confront him with his duplicity.

He looked weary, drained, and somewhat startled to see her. “Ye’re here.”

“Aye, I’m here,” she snapped. “Why? Were you hoping Bethac tossed me out on my arse?”

“Nay, but…” He glanced at Miles, screaming in Cicilia’s arms.

“Ah, that’s right,” she said bitterly. “You couldn’t throw me out. Then you’d have no one to keep the babe quiet.”

“Listen, Jenefer…”

She stiffened, hating how the sound of her name on his lips made her heart catch.

“There’s somethin’ I need to tell ye,” he said. “If ye can quiet the bairn…”

Hurt and fuming, she bit out, “If you mean to tell me our tryst meant nothing, don’t waste your breath.”

Shocked at her candor in front of Cicilia and Feiyan, he judiciously closed the door. “Naught could be further—”

“’Tis clear you scarcely waited for the linens to cool ere you sought out another lass’s bed.”

Cicilia gasped and covered Miles’ ears.

“What?” Feiyan exploded, outraged on Jenefer’s behalf.

Morgan gave her a sullen look. His fatigue was gradually diminishing, being replaced by growing ire. “’Tisn’t what it seems.”

She should have known he would make excuses. “Oh, tisn’t?” She raised her voice to a shout. “I wonder how the lady lying in yonder bedchamber feels about that.”

“What lady?” Feiyan demanded.

Morgan grimaced, raising his hands to bid them be quiet. “I can explain.”

“Can you?” Jenefer doubted that.

Feiyan skewered him with a glare. “This I’d like to hear.”

“No one can hear anythin’ with…” Morgan gestured in frustration toward the bairn, who was now screaming at the top of his lungs.

Unable to endure any more of Miles’ forlorn crying, Jenefer lifted him from Cicilia’s arms.

Jostling him against her bosom, she confided in the lad, loud enough to be heard over his wailing. “You see, Miles, what a fiend your laird is. Like a fickle bee, stealing nectar from one blossom and hastening on to the next.”

Morgan’s brows collided in aggravation. “’Tisn’t like that at all.”

“And then denying it,” Jenefer added, raising her voice again so the woman in his bedchamber would be sure to hear, “even though his paramour is right next door.”

“Will ye keep your voice down?” he pleaded between clenched teeth.

She took his request as a challenge. “Why? Are you afraid your doxy will hear the truth from me?”

“Damn it! Ye don’t understand,” he growled.

“Oh, I understand. Like all Highland heathens, you simply seize what you want.”

“Not true,” he argued.

She gave him a smoky glare and resumed addressing Miles. “But you’ll be raised in the Lowlands, won’t you, Miles? And Lowlanders are faithful.”

“Now hold on,” Morgan said, indignant.

She wasn’t in the mood to hold on. “Lowlanders don’t flit from bed to bed, stealing lasses’ virtues and breaking lasses’ hearts.”

“Stealing?” He arched a brow.

She ignored his parsing of words, cooing, “And you, sweet Miles, you’d never use a lass as you see fit and cast her aside like offal, would you?”

“Och, for the love o’…” Morgan muttered.

The babe was beginning to settle down. And it seemed as if he were paying heed to her words.

“I know you can’t help being born in the despicable Highlands, but maybe there’s time to save you from your da’s bad habits.”

She knew she was prodding at a dangerous beast. Belittling Morgan’s beloved Highlands was like yanking a tooth from a sleeping wolf.

Morgan straightened to his full, impressive height. Stabbing a finger down at her, he snarled, “Don’t ye ever insult my home and the place o’ Miles’…” He bit out an oath at his mistake. “Allison…Allison’s birth. ’Tis a fine piece o’ land belongin’ to my clan for generations. And as far as my habits, I hope he…”

He broke off, blanching. For a long moment, he only stared at her.

Feiyan’s mouth went round with surprise.

Miles silenced as well, sucking on his fist and gazing at Morgan.

Morgan spoke softly. “How…how did ye know the bairn was…”

“Yours?” She smirked. “’Tis plain to see.”

“How long have ye known?”

“What does it matter?”

“Give him to me.”

“He’ll cry again,” she warned.

“Give him to me.” His eyes had lost their sheen. He was deadly serious.

“Wait.” She lowered her brows. “You don’t think I would hurt him?”

“Now,” he commanded.

His mistrust was almost as hurtful as his infidelity.

“Fine.”

She held out the babe to him. As predicted, Miles began to wail as soon as Morgan took him. Racked by new pain, she wanted to wound Morgan.

She sneered, “I’m sure your mistress will be delighted to share your bed with a squalling infant.”

Morgan leveled his gaze at her. “She’s not my mistress.” He took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. “She’s Allison’s mother. My wife.”