Chapter 43

Morgan’s revelation—that his wife was in his bed—made Feiyan and Cicilia gasp in unison. Jenefer, stunned, was struck silent. Even Miles quieted in his father’s arms.

His wife? Lady Alicia? How could that possibly be? Wasn’t Miles’ mother dead?

Morgan explained as Jenefer listened with a tightly clenched jaw. Her knuckles were white where she clutched her skirts. She hoped no one could tell that beneath her stoic demeanor, her heart was breaking.

It seemed she was destiny’s foe. By some cruel miracle, the one person in the world who could prevent Morgan from falling in love with Jenefer and making her his bride had managed to come back to life.

“Lady Alicia was…” Morgan hesitated, grinding his teeth in vengeful anger. “Imprisoned and viciously mistreated at the lord’s hands.”

Jenefer uttered not a word, for fear her voice would betray her selfish heartache.

It was selfish. She knew that. After all, the Highlander’s true love, the mother of his son, had returned to him. She should be glad for Morgan.

And the poor woman in the room next door had suffered great harm. Torn from her infant and her husband. Forced into an Englishman’s bed. Abused by her abductor.

But it was too difficult for Jenefer to get past her own misfortune at this fortunate turn of events. And it was pure torment to see Morgan’s grief-haunted eyes shining with hope.

She swallowed the bitter taste of fate and said nothing.

“Lady Alicia is in no shape to care for the bairn,” he continued. “I’m askin’ ye to watch o’er him for the night. But I’ll need your vow that ye won’t harm the lad.”

Jenefer’s hurt was so profound that it curdled into anger.

“Bloody hell!” she spat. “How could you suggest such a thing? The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch don’t prey on helpless babes.”

“Not e’en the bairns o’ their enemies?” he asked with an arched brow.

Miles’ chin quivered, and he began to whimper again. In disgust, Jenefer practically snatched him out of Morgan’s hands.

“I’ve known Miles was your son for days now, Highlander,” she snarled. “And I haven’t harmed so much as a hair on his wee head.”

He narrowed his eyes, as if gauging whether he should trust her, and finally gave her a stiff nod. He made his way to the door and, just before he closed it behind him, bit out a warning.

“I won’t hesitate to do you harm if you hurt my son.”

Incensed, she retrieved a wet rag from the tub and threw it at him. It smacked uselessly against the closing door.

The next morn, Jenefer rose with the sun and was pacing the floor by the time Cicilia gave Miles his first feeding of the day. She’d slept very little, troubled all night by the story of Lady Alicia.

Now, by the light of day, with her emotions locked away inside an armored heart, Jenefer began to question the details of the tale.

The story bothered her. Something about it wasn’t quite right. It seemed too full of coincidence, too far-fetched and implausible. For many reasons. None of which Morgan would want to hear.

Feiyan, however, might be able to help her untangle the threads.

Once Cicilia was finished and took Miles downstairs to break her own fast, Jenefer roused her cousin by pulling off her coverlet.

Feiyan protested with a weary whine.

“Get up, Feiy,” she said. “I need to talk to you.”

Feiyan groaned.

“’Tis about Lady Alicia.”

Feiyan growled and turned her back on Jenefer.

“Feiy!”

“What!”

“I need your help.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“Nay. Come on. If you get up, I’ll let you teach me that dance you do every morn.”

“’Tisn’t a dance,” Feiyan said in disgust.

“Isn’t it? Hmm. See? You’re already teaching me.” Despite her grumbling, Jenefer knew Feiyan couldn’t resist an eager student.

“Fine,” she groaned.

They pushed the furnishings out of the way. Then, while Jenefer stood behind her, mirroring her movements, she reviewed the elements of Alicia’s story.

“First,” she wondered, “why would an English lord travel all the way to the Highlands to steal a lass? How would he even know about her?”

“Maybe he knew her from before, from when she lived in Catalonia.” Feiyan peered over her shoulder. “Lift your arm higher.”

Jenefer lifted her arm. “Maybe. But she’d been living in the Highlands long enough to wed and birth a child.”

“Probably a year.”

“At least a year. So an English lord is so infatuated with a maid he met in Catalonia that he waits for her while she marries another man and delivers that man’s child. And then he kidnaps her on the very day she gives birth. ’Tis hard to believe.”

“Nay, bend both knees. Very hard to believe.”

Jenefer bent both knees. “Right?”

“Unless… Maybe he’s been stalking her for years. Maybe she’s so breathtakingly beautiful that no man can resist her.”

That Jenefer didn’t need to hear. She stiffened, losing her balance and stumbling sideways.

“Concentrate,” Feiyan said.

Jenefer bit back a retort. She didn’t want to think about how beautiful Morgan’s wife might be.

“That English lord couldn’t care for her all that much,” she reasoned, “forcing her to travel so soon after childbirth.”

“True.”

Feiyan swept her right arm before her in a graceful arc. Jenefer mimicked her.

“And why would he not take the babe as well? ’Twould have made her much easier to manage.”

“What’s curious to me,” Feiyan said, slowly lifting her knee, “is how she knew where to come.”

Jenefer copied the movement. “What do you mean?”

“She claims to have escaped her captor, aye?”

“Aye.”

Feiyan brought her left elbow in against her side, making a fist. So did Jenefer.

“How did she know to come to Creagor?”

Feiyan lunged forward on her right leg.

Jenefer froze.

“How did she know to come here?” she wondered. “Morgan only arrived a few days ago.”

“Exactly.” Feiyan turned with a smug smile that vanished when she saw Jenefer had stopped doing the exercises. “If she was abducted and hidden away from the outside world, as she claims, with no way to get messages in or out, how did she learn that Morgan had come to the Lowlands?”

“Right.” Jenefer looked at her cousin with new respect. “But she knew. She knew he was here.”

Feiyan nodded and swept her right arm up while drawing back her left. Jenefer sat on the edge of the bed to think.

“’Tis highly suspect,” Feiyan agreed, making a half-turn and a lunge. “And yet, there’s no disputing the fact the woman is Morgan’s wife and Miles’ mother.” She drew back, pressing her hands together, palm to palm. “Which means your latest plan will have to be abandoned.”

Feiyan had been mercifully vague about Jenefer’s plan to beguile the Highlander. But she was right.

In the end, it didn’t really matter how improbable Lady Alicia’s story seemed. Morgan’s wife was alive. And well. And here.

Jenefer’s heart might be fractured. But she had to look after her own best interests. If she couldn’t win Creagor by marrying the Highlander, she’d just have to go back to her plans of taking it by force.

If Rivenloch ever arrived to lend aid.

And if the king’s messengers didn’t bring bad news.

Jenefer was still mulling over the troubling details when Bethac returned Miles to the nursery. A kitchen lad followed with a tray of food, accompanied by two brawny men who emptied the bathwater into the chute of the garderobe and carried the tub out of the chamber. Bethac collected the candles that had been burned to stubs, and followed the men downstairs.

While Miles slept, Jenefer nibbled on the rim of an oatcake. But she was too distraught to eat much more.

Gazing down at the sweet child with the soft brows and pouting lips, her heart sank. A flood of melancholy washed over her. How would she go on without the wee babe?

She’d spent a pathetic amount of time over the past day, imagining her life as Morgan’s wife and Miles’ mother. She’d dreamed about the things they’d do together. Uniting their clans at the wedding. Drawing up plans for the castle modifications. Training warriors for tournaments. Teaching Miles how to read and write, to ride and fight. Making more babes until they had a dynasty of Scots champions.

Now she was paying for her foolish dreams.

Her throat ached from choking back an unexpected sob.

She couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing the babe wave his tiny fists again.

Never hearing him gurgle out words of his own making.

Never feeling him fall asleep in her arms.

Curse the gods. She hadn’t been this close to tears since the time she’d accidentally jammed an arrow point into the heel of her hand. What was wrong with her?

Miles started fussing. Soon he’d be weeping all the tears she could not. And that would do neither of them any good.

So she sniffed back her sorrow and picked him up, trying not to think about how accustomed she’d become to holding him, how perfectly he fit into the hollow of her shoulder.

Feiyan murmured, “You aren’t still thinking of stealing the babe, are you?”

“Maybe,” she lied.

“Shite, Jen,” Feiyan bit out. “You can’t do that, now that you know he’s Morgan’s heir. You’ll be branded an outlaw. Hunted as a fugitive.”

Jenefer knew all that. Miles had two capable parents now. She could no longer justify taking him. And her destiny was to be a laird of her own keep, not an exile.

Still, she couldn’t bear to accept that she was going to lose this battle.

Feiyan crossed her arms. “You can’t always have your way, Jen.”

She scowled at her chiding cousin. “I know.”

But was that all it was? Was she only upset because she was accustomed to getting her way?

All her life, she’d taken what she wanted.

As a tot, she’d stolen arrows out of her father’s quiver.

As a child, she’d proclaimed herself the owner of a newborn colt in the stables.

As a young lass, she’d secretly competed in an archery tournament.

And now she’d set her sights on Creagor.

Was she just vexed to be thwarted?

Whatever drove her, in this instance, she had to yield. She had to sacrifice personal victory for the sake of the child. The young lad’s fate was at stake. As much as it pained her, she had to wean herself away from Miles. Or Allison. Or whatever the hell his mother intended to call him. And the sooner, the better.

Feiyan said gently, “You’ll have babes of your own one day, Jen. I know it. And you’ll be the best mother ever.”

Jenefer gave her a fleeting smile. It was a kind thing to say. But at the moment, though she’d developed a new respect for babes, she couldn’t imagine letting a man near her again.

She’d given Morgan her honor. Her trust. Her virginity. Her heart. To think it had all been for naught…

Her eyes misted, and she bit back bitter sorrow.

She wouldn’t think about it. Not now. For now, she would do the right thing.

Straightening her shoulders by strength of will and preparing for a deed that was far more challenging than any bout with a blade she’d undertaken, she perched the babe on her hip and headed for the door.

“Be a good lad now, Miles. ’Tis time for us to meet your rightful mother.”