Chapter 42

As Alicia snuggled in welcome solitude beneath the coverlet, her self-satisfied smile turned into an impatient growl.

What the devil was all that noise? What was going on next door?

After all she’d been through, she thought she deserved to sleep in peace.

No one could ever fathom what a rare and special gift for deception she had. Nor what a grueling, demanding business it was.

She’d had to employ that gift a lot lately.

Feigning her love for Morgan.

Faking her death.

Fabricating her abduction.

Inventing her harrowing escape.

And those were only the lies she’d told her husband.

It grieved her to admit that things had not gone as well as she’d liked.

But now that she’d successfully insinuated herself back into her husband’s household, her fatiguing work to cover her tracks and her arduous midnight journey had caught up with her.

And the commotion on the other side of the wall was preventing her from getting a good night’s rest.

Still, it was hard not to smile in self-congratulations after her brilliant victory. She’d made naïve Morgan believe her story. And she’d even had time to take sweet revenge on those who’d wronged her.

She closed her eyes, reliving the tumultuous events of the last several weeks.

Sick to death of the miserable and uncivilized Highlands and weary of carrying Morgan’s heir in her belly, Alicia had been desperate to find an escape. Six months ago, she thought she’d finally found one.

The English knight, Sir Edward, with whom she’d had a brief affair in Catalonia, had recently become a lord in his own right. He’d acquired a castle at Firthgate, along the border with Scotland. A few fawning letters from her reignited his affections, guaranteeing that—should she find her way back to him—a home, a title, and all the comforts of civilization would be hers. Or so he’d promised.

His offer was too tempting to refuse. All Alicia had to do was rid herself of a husband and an infant. For that, she’d enlisted her midwife. Godit had arranged her childbed ruse, declaring Alicia dead and hiding her away. Once Alicia was hale enough to travel, they planned to abandon the wretched Highlands, journeying to Edward’s holding. No one at Firthgate would ever know Alicia was once wed, and faithful Godit would guard her secret. Or so she’d vowed.

Alicia had expected Edward and Godit to keep their promises.

Their disloyalty in the form of a love affair had been an enormous disappointment.

But two days ago, fate had finally smiled on Alicia. She’d learned her estranged husband Morgan had left his dreary Highland home to inherit the holding at much more temperate Creagor. As luck would have it, Creagor was not far away, just on the opposite side of the border. Suddenly she found the prospect of life with him once again appealing.

Godit and Edward’s betrayal had made her decision easy.

How Alicia had relished watching the life slowly drain out of the midwife’s bulging eyes, holding Godit close so the young woman couldn’t free herself from the dagger Alicia had shoved beneath her ribs.

Yet it was a shame things had had to end that way. Godit had been a skilled midwife. She’d delivered scores of babes in her short lifetime, including Alicia’s own. Godit had been willing to lie for Alicia, telling Morgan she’d died in childbirth. And she’d shown Alicia how to halt the flow of milk that lingered in her breasts after she’d delivered.

The useless milk had still seeped from her for days, not unlike the blood that seeped from Godit’s wound. The dark liquid had bathed Alicia’s fingers where she gripped the hilt until Godit finally stopped scrabbling at the blade.

“You brought this upon yourself, you know,” she’d whispered to the dying woman. “If only you’d kept your knees together and stayed away from Edward, none of this would have happened.”

Godit had opened and closed her mouth like a hooked trout until her eyes began to glaze over. She’d tried, and failed, to suck in a few last, desperate breaths.

“But you couldn’t do it, could you?” Alicia had told her, twisting the knife in Godit’s bare abdomen with cruel vengeance and forcing a sickly gurgle from the woman’s throat. “You couldn’t keep your hands off of what was mine. And now you’ve spoiled everything.”

But Godit’s eyelids had already fluttered shut. The stupid wench was beyond hearing. Before she went completely limp, Alicia pushed her naked body back onto the garderobe seat.

When Alicia gazed down at the dagger protruding from the midwife’s chest, she realized it was the same one Godit had used to cut the cord when Morgan’s infant was born.

That had seemed like an age ago. It had been just over three months. That things could go so wrong in so short a time was maddening.

Yet, like a cat, Alicia always landed on her feet.

Receiving news about Morgan Mor mac Giric had shifted the winds of fate for her.

She’d disposed of the philandering midwife. Half of her problem had been solved. Once she took care of the rest of her unfinished business, she’d emerge untouched by the violence she’d wrought.

Taking a cleansing breath, she’d ripped the dagger out of the woman’s body, oozing blood onto Alicia’s saffron skirts. But that was fine. Soon she’d be able to afford a whole chest full of new gowns.

Besides, she knew her fickle Edward would never notice the stain. His thoughts always centered solely on what was between his legs, which had finally proved to be his downfall. Once Alicia had grabbed him by the ballocks, he was oblivious to all else.

Half an hour later, in the bedchamber they’d shared, Alicia was staring down at the second part of her gruesome handiwork, amazed by how well it had gone.

It was still hard to believe how much she’d sacrificed to be with Edward. A large inheritance. A handsome husband. The protection of the mightiest army in the Highlands. And now he’d forced her to murder him.

The English lord had never truly appreciated her. Not the way he should have.

Now things were back under her control. She’d left Edward dead on their bed, gawking blindly at the ceiling, with Godit’s dagger protruding from his belly.

She didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. The betraying bastard deserved every inch of the steel she’d thrust into him.

Of course, she’d never truly loved Edward in the first place. She was incapable of feeling love. The emotion had eluded her all her life.

But she’d made plans with him.

And she hated to have her plans ruined.

The deception after that wasn’t difficult. Her bloody clothing lent credence to her story. And her injuries…

She winced now as she touched the stinging, bloody scratches Godit had raked down her cheek. Her bruised breasts and thighs ached from the hard pinches Alicia had administered herself. A convincing lump swelled where she’d intentionally bashed her brow against the bedpost.

She’d torn her skirt, drenched it in Edward’s blood, and dragged it across the floor to the window, leaving the scrap on the sill.

Those who discovered the grisly trail would assume she’d been a victim. They’d believe that whoever had killed Edward and Godit must have kidnapped Alicia.

In all honesty, she didn’t expect Edward’s people to expend much effort to find her. After all, they’d known her only a few months. She’d been his lover, not yet his wife. Surely the carrion crows in his household would be too busy deciding who was to inherit Firthgate to concern themselves with a missing mistress.

The trek to Creagor had been several miles long. But the journey had been worthwhile. She’d managed to throw herself upon Morgan’s mercy and into his grateful arms.

Now, however, she was exhausted from murder, sore from her injuries, and drained from having to play the meek, remorseful wife. All she wanted to do was lick her wounds and fall into a deep sleep.

The altercation in the next room was robbing her of that well-deserved rest.

The infant was screaming relentlessly. That was bad enough. But now she could hear the muffled voice of Morgan upbraiding the servants. Worse, one impertinent maid who didn’t know her place was squawking back at him.

If Morgan were wise, he’d knock the maid across the room. Maintaining one’s rank in the world required ruling with a fist of steel.

But beneath all that warrior muscle and bone, Morgan was cursed with a soft heart. It was why she’d always been able to manipulate him so easily.

That bloody infant, however, was going to be difficult.

Infants were selfish and needy. She despised the mewling creatures with their screaming demands and their sopping trews. If she had her way, she wouldn’t lay eyes on her offspring until they were full-grown, useful, and capable of complete sentences.

A particularly piercing cry seeped through the wall, and Alicia cringed. Her head ached from her self-inflicted crack, and that cry was like a spike driven into her brain.

At least she didn’t have to feed the shrieking beast. He’d probably love to suck the life from her and leave her with withered teats. Thankfully, she’d gone dry and had no milk to give.

Finally, the cries began to subside, though there was still much shouting and carrying on.

If only she weren’t so weary… If only Morgan weren’t there as a witness…

Alicia sighed. She would have enjoyed marching to the nursery, ripping that insolent maid’s tongue out, and feeding it to the hounds.

But she supposed she had to stifle her temper while she was with Morgan.

At last the cacophony diminished, and Alicia was able to drift into a semblance of sleep. She wouldn’t truly rest easy, however, until Morgan was by her side.

She’d been careful not to leave any evidence of her crime behind. But there was always the danger of a stray witness. Until she was in the clear, she’d have to be cautious.

With loyal Morgan Mor mac Giric beside her, she’d be safe. The gullible, able-bodied Highlander would march into the fires of Hell to protect her.

She only hoped that when he came to bed, he wouldn’t bring that miserable infant back with him. On the morrow, she’d have to look in on the child for appearance’s sake. But tonight she wasn’t up to the farce of feigning affection for her squalling spawn.