Chapter 47

“We’re going to need weapons,” Jenefer decided, pacing the nursery as she chewed on a piece of barley bread.

“Hold on,” Feiyan said. “What?”

“You said it yourself. This is war.”

“Not all wars are fought with arms. What happened to amor vincit omnia?”

Jenefer rolled her eyes. This again. “What’s the point of knowing how to wield a blade and shoot a bow if you’re not going to use them?”

Feiyan challenged her with crossed arms. “And how are you going to use them? Will you shoot Bethac and Cicilia? Will you threaten to cut Lady Alicia’s throat?”

Jenefer scowled. That last suggestion held some appeal. But she supposed Feiyan was right.

“Nay,” continued Feiyan, “we need a plan first.”

“Fine. You plan. I’ll collect the arms.”

The situation might not require weapons. But for Jenefer, losing her bow felt like losing a limb. Under such uncertain circumstances, she wanted to be prepared. It was clear by now that Hallie wasn’t bringing the army of Rivenloch to the rescue. Her cool-headed cousin was no doubt patiently waiting at the keep for their parents to return.

Jenefer couldn’t hold off that long. Knowing now what cruelty Lady Alicia was capable of, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the woman meant Morgan some harm.

What made things worse was that Jenefer was in love with the damned Highlander. Every hour that Morgan spent alone with his wife felt like a mortal blow to her heart.

Jenefer peered into the cradle, where Miles sighed in his sleep. She thanked the stars Lady Alicia had shown no interest in her son. At least Jenefer was able to keep the babe safe.

The sun had reached its zenith and only begun its afternoon descent when Jenefer started thinking about the evening to come, anticipating a new torment. She couldn’t help but muse about the couple in the bedchamber next door.

Would they swive tonight?

Would Morgan touch his wife with the same gentle care and desperate need that he’d touched her?

Would she stroke his luxuriant hair? Kiss his supple mouth? Run her fingers across the warm, muscled contours of his chest?

Would their bodies come together like the smoothed feather of a well-fletched arrow?

The thought gnawed a hole in her heart.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the painful images.

From the window, Feiyan called out softly, “Longbow practice again. Care to watch?”

Jenefer would welcome any distraction. And when she joined Feiyan, peering past the shutters to the ground below, she was relieved to see Morgan commanding his archers. After all, if he was on the field, he couldn’t be in the room next door with Alicia.

As she observed the four archers, she had to smile. It seemed Morgan had taken her suggestions. At least the arrows were striking the target more often. The one lad still couldn’t draw his string back far enough. But Morgan had him practice pulling the bow without shafts to strengthen his arm.

After half an hour, Bethac tiptoed in to bring them ale.

“What are ye lookin’ at?” she whispered.

“The archers,” Feiyan said, taking an ale.

Bethac handed a second ale to Jenefer. Her eyes lit up as she peeked out the window. “Och, that’s my William down there.”

“Where?” Jenefer asked.

“That’s him,” she said with a proud nod, “the handsome lad with the fiery red hair.”

“Ah.”

“He is handsome,” Feiyan said, to be polite.

Jenefer had been watching the lad. He had decent form, but he always aimed too high. A few slight adjustments would fix that. If she had her bow…

Suddenly, an idea struck Jenefer.

She narrowed her eyes at the lad. “He’s…fairly skilled.”

“Fairly?” Bethac echoed in concern.

“Aye. He’s young yet. Give him time.” Jenefer wrinkled her nose. “Anyway, he wouldn’t be fighting on the battlefield yet, right?”

Bethac’s brow creased with worry. “I…I don’t know.”

Jenefer shrugged. “Well, as long as he’s posted at a distant wall and not in the thick of things, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Bethac peered past her to the archery field. “What’s wrong with him? Is something wrong with him?”

Feiyan caught on quickly. “Nothing’s wrong with him. He’s just, well, a novice.”

Bethac blinked rapidly. “He’s been an archer for two years now.”

Jenefer and Feiyan exchanged a look of discomfiture.

“I see,” Feiyan said. “Well, Jenefer is right. I’m sure the laird knows where his talents can best be used.”

But Bethac was now neck-deep in fretting.

“What if he doesn’t, though?” she said, half to herself, wringing her hands. “What if the laird sends him to battle?” She looked at Jenefer. “He’s my only grandson.”

Jenefer nodded and placed a consoling hand on Bethac’s shoulder. “Listen. If you think you can keep a secret,” she murmured, “I may be able to help.”

“How?”

“I told you I was a master archer, aye?”

“Aye.”

“I could give your William a few suggestions, a wee bit of guidance, enough to keep him safe.”

“Ye could?”

“Jenefer is the best archer in her da’s army,” Feiyan chimed in. “Your William could have no better trainer.”

Jenefer nodded to the field below. “We can practice right here, below this window, so you can keep an eye on him.”

Bethac’s face relaxed with hope. “Ye would do that?”

“Of course,” Jenefer said. “There’s just one wee problem. The laird took my bow and arrows.”

She wasn’t sure that was entirely true. But they’d been with the rest of her things in the forest, and he’d brought her clothing to her. He must have done something with her weapons.

“He did? Why?” Bethac asked, narrowing her eyes. The maidservant may have been easy to manipulate when it came to her grandson. But she was also observant and shrewd. She trusted Morgan’s judgment. If he’d confiscated her weapons, he must have had a good reason.

Jenefer decided to tell her the truth. “I think he feared I’d use them against him.”

Bethac nodded. “Would ye?” The question was blunt.

Jenefer hesitated. At one time she would have. “Nay. Not now.”

The look they exchanged spoke volumes. The maidservant could not be unaware of what had passed between Morgan and Jenefer. Indeed, she’d practically sown the seeds of love herself—arranging that romantic candlelight bath and leaving them in bedded bliss together. Though the two of them might never allow that love to blossom, a bond still existed between them.

“I’ll see what I can learn in the armory,” Bethac promised her.

It took all afternoon. But the maid finally located her weapons. For Jenefer, the sight of her bow and arrows in Bethac’s possession was more enticing than even the fish pottage she’d brought for supper.

She immediately inspected the bow. God knew what rough handling it had received from these undisciplined Highlanders.

But it appeared whole. Her score of shafts were all there and intact as well. Her bracer was still tucked into the pocket of her quiver.

The hour was too late and the day too dark to begin training tonight.

“On the morrow,” Bethac said, “after William has finished his chores and while Morgan is busy with his midday meal, I’ll help ye slip downstairs.”

“Perfect.”

Jenefer couldn’t deny a pang of guilt over how easily she’d tricked the devoted grandmother into bringing her weapons. But she completely understood how Bethac felt. Jenefer wasalready keenly protective of Miles, and he wasn’t even blood kin to her.

At least she’d be helping William. Her efforts might serve to save the lad’s life one day.

It was plain to Alicia that Morgan expected to swive her tonight. He’d washed his face and combed his hair. He’d let the fire dwindle, leaving the room dimly lit by a single candle, just the way she preferred it. And he’d slid into the bed with such stealth that even the abbess of a convent wouldn’t have detected him.

But she was no longer interested. Her earlier fear and jealousy, her worry that the scheming nursemaid was trying to insinuate herself into Morgan’s household, had waned somewhat. She hadn’t glimpsed the pesky wench all day. And every time she’d stolen from her bed to peer out the window, Alicia had seen Morgan engaged in the field with his soldiers.

Perhaps the seeds of doubt she’d planted in Morgan’s mind had taken root after all, and he planned to keep the woman at arm’s length. If so, she had nothing to worry about. Consequently, she felt less of a necessity to bed him.

When he sidled up next to her in the bed, she moaned, half in feigned pain, half in annoyance.

He froze. “Have I hurt ye?”

“Nay,” she said, her voice tight. “’Tisn’t anything you’ve done.”

“What can I do to make ye feel better?” he murmured against her ear.

She squirmed away from him. “You’ve already made me feel better.”

He snaked a hand beneath the coverlet and began inching up the fabric of her linen kirtle. “Perhaps I can help ye forget the pain.”

She let out a shuddering sigh and pushed his hand away. “Oh, Morgan…”

“Aye, sweetheart?”

She tugged her kirtle back down. “I fear I may not be quite ready.”

He nuzzled her neck. “I can help make ye ready, love.”

She turned her head away and rolled her eyes.

How she hated swiving. She hated the sweat, the smell, the panting, the grunting. She hated the feeling of invasion when a man shoved his member inside her. Abhorred the beatific victory on his face when he pumped her full of his seed.

For her, swiving had always been a means to an end. A weapon to be wielded strategically. A way to make a man do her bidding.

At the moment, Morgan was already amenable to her wishes. She had no need to engage in the disgusting act.

“Oh, Morgan, amor meu,” she lied, “’twould be my greatest desire to oblige you. But after my ordeal, I fear…”

“Aye?” He stiffened.

“It may be some time before…” She left the words as she intended to leave Morgan—dangling and unfinished.

She felt his heavy sigh of disappointment.

Morgan cursed his body. It hadn’t yet grasped that he wasn’t going to swive anyone tonight. His skin still felt warm and alive. His heart was pumping with anticipation. And beneath the covers, he’d roused like a bear from its winter sleep, awake and ravenous.

But it wasn’t to be.

He couldn’t blame Alicia. The poor lass had endured much at the hands of the enemy. It might be more than her body that was injured. Her mind could be wounded as well. He’d have to have patience with her in their bed. More than ever before.

He’d always needed to take his time with Alicia. She was a fragile creature, not easy to please. Extremely modest, she never removed her kirtle, nor was he to remove his leine. She wasn’t fond of kissing and insisted on trysting in the shadows. They coupled no more than once a week, less when she was suffering from her monthly courses.

As long as he followed her requirements, she was compliant enough to let him climb atop her. She would close her eyes while he made love to her, lying quietly beneath him, waiting for him to finish.

He supposed it was always thus for man and wife. Coupling was for making babes, after all. Whether they enjoyed it or not was irrelevant.

Still, tonight, as Alicia moved farther away from him, taking most of the coverlet with her, he couldn’t help but remember how different it had been, making love to Jenefer.

While Alicia’s breathing deepened into soft snores, Morgan stared at the ceiling, imagining the fiery, brazen lass who had ridden shamelessly atop him, demanding in her kisses and breathless with awe.

But even while his body stirred, that memory was tarnished by the nagging notion Alicia had slipped into his brain—that Jenefer was after him only for his title, his wealth, and his keep.