Chapter 52

Alicia perched on the edge of the bed, hoping she could put on a convincing show of bonding with her son.

She shuddered at the thought. She truly had no use for infants. Holding one was as appealing to her as cuddling a gigantic, writhing slug.

But she’d delayed the meeting as long as she could. She had to lay claim to the lad now, to ensure the departure of that pesky nursemaid before she could whisper any more mischief into Morgan’s ear. Mischief that might stir up investigation into Alicia’s story.

Morgan entered, securing the door behind him, and lifted the bundle up to show her their son. “Isn’t he handsome?”

There was nothing handsome about a pale, formless blob. But she gave Morgan a quick nod of agreement. Then she extended her arms, indicating her willingness to hold the infant. Her smile felt tense, and her arms felt clumsy.

He set the bundle carefully into her arms, propping the lad’s head against her shoulder and guiding her other arm beneath him for support.

Then she stared down at the lad.

And felt nothing.

Not love. Not hate. Not pity.

Only vague repulsion.

But she managed a nervous grin.

The infant stared back at her uncertainly.

As the moments stretched on, her smile grew weary.

Slowly, the lad’s forehead began to crumple.

“What is he doing?” she muttered anxiously.

Morgan peered down at the child, speaking softly. “’Tis all right, wee lad. This is your ma, the lady who gave ye life. Don’t be afraid.”

Morgan was talking to the infant. Why was Morgan talking to the infant?

“He can’t understand you, can he?”

“In his way,” he replied.

She continued to hold the squirming thing, counting the moments until she could give him back. The infant’s chin started to shiver. Then he started to fuss.

“I can’t…” Alicia began.

“Hush now, lad,” Morgan said. “Be good for your ma.”

But the infant had clearly had enough. So had Alicia.

When the lad arched his back, turned red, and began to wail, she felt every hair stand on end.

“Make him stop,” Alicia said to Morgan. “Can’t you make him stop?”

“Jostle him a wee bit,” Morgan suggested.

She didn’t want to jostle him. She didn’t want to hold him an instant longer.

“Nay, you take him,” she said, shoving him forward.

“Ye can do it, m’lady. I know ye can.”

She fought the urge to fling the screaming infant onto the floor and let Morgan clean up the mess.

Instead she whimpered, “I don’t want to do it, Morgan. Can you not get Bethac to take him?”

Morgan finally gave in and rescued her from the bawling babe. But she could see he was disappointed.

That was fine. She couldn’t please him in everything. Morgan should be happy she’d come back at all.

Besides, raising infants was what servants were for. The lad had a nurse to feed and change him and a maid to rock him to sleep. What more did he require?

When the lad was seven years of age, she intended to send him to a neighboring clan to foster anyway. And she’d not see him again until he was grown.

After Morgan bounced the babe in his arms for a few moments, the lad quieted. She watched him interact with the child. He murmured words an infant couldn’t possibly understand. He tenderly grazed the lad’s cheek with the back of his knuckle. He gazed lovingly into his son’s eyes.

Jealousy struck Alicia like jagged lightning, sending scalding current through her body.

How dared Morgan show the child the affection she was due?

The affection she’d been deprived of for so many weeks?

The affection that ensured Morgan would always provide for her?

All at once she saw the infant for what it was.

A threat.

Originally, she’d imagined a child would forge an unbreakable bond between the two of them, safeguarding their relationship as husband and wife. But now she realized it had only created an obstacle to Morgan’s attachment to her.

She’d made a tactical mistake.

Instead of dangling the promise of fatherhood before him, keeping him in a constant state of longing, she’d simply handed Morgan what he prized most.

A son to carry on his name.

And now Morgan would have no use for her.

Curse her shortsightedness. She’d made herself superfluous. Unnecessary. Expendable.

But she could fix her mistake. She’d fixed her mistake with Godit and Edward, after all. She could do the same with the infant.

How difficult could it be? The thing was much smaller than Godit and completely helpless. She wouldn’t even need a dagger. She could just smother it. Infants died mysteriously in their sleep all the time.

“Would ye like to try again,” Morgan asked hopefully, “now that he’s calm?”

This time when she reached out for the child, there was genuine warmth in her smile.

“Oh aye.”

Jenefer dragged the archery target out of the way and gathered up her bow and quiver with haste. But by the time she raced up the stairs and burst into the nursery, her worst fears were confirmed.

“Miles?” she asked Bethac.

Bethac nodded toward Morgan’s bedchamber.

“Shite.”

Jenefer closed the door behind her and set her weapons against the nursery wall. She’d hoped to arrive before that viper of a woman could get her wretched hands on the babe. But Miles was already in her clutches.

Grimacing in frustration, she ran a restless hand through her hair.

“I’m sure the bairn’s safe enough,” Bethac said. “He’s with his da. And once Miles starts fussin’, she’ll likely send him away.”

Jenefer hoped Bethac was right. She began pacing, chewing on her thumbnail, obsessing over what could go wrong.

She’d faced villains before. Some were mean and brutal and some devilishly clever. Some were full of vengeful spite, others irreparably broken.

But she’d seen none quite as cold-blooded as Lady Alicia.

The woman’s eyes were flat and unfeeling. Her smile was forced and cool. It was as if she wore a mask over an empty shell.

The worst part was that Morgan seemed blind to it.

He was obsessed with the idea that his dead wife had miraculously returned from the grave. He thought he’d been given a second chance. He thought he could repair what had been done to his poor, innocent, damaged Alicia.

Any narrative that challenged his version of events was unwelcome.

And that willful ignorance was his fatal flaw.

Through the wall, Jenefer heard Miles’ faint wail. She halted in her tracks, listening.

The babe continued to cry for a long while. Finally Jenefer turned to Bethac in askance. “Should I go and…?”

Bethac shook her head. “After that interrogation ye gave Lady Alicia? Nay, lass, ye’re the last person she wants to see. And ye’ll only vex the laird. Besides, Morgan can calm the lad when he has a mind to.”

Jenefer suspected as much, despite the persistent myth that only she could soothe the lad. Morgan was the babe’s father, after all.

As for her interrogating Lady Alicia, someone had to challenge the woman’s improbable story. Even if Morgan was too stubborn to hear it.

Eventually, Miles’ crying diminished. Soon afterward, she heard the bedchamber door close and footfalls in the passageway. Morgan was returning to the nursery.

Jenefer braced herself. She intended to confront him with the truth. Give him a piece of her mind. And force him to listen.

But when Bethac opened the door under his soft knock, Morgan looked crestfallen. His shoulders sagged. The light in his eyes was dimmed by sorrow. And all of Jenefer’s bullish intentions fell by the wayside.

Bethac took the babe from him, patting Morgan on the arm. “’Twill take time, m’laird. To Mi-, Allison…she’s a stranger.” She added, “And not all mothers take to motherhood naturally.”

He looked up once at Jenefer. A tiny, troubled crease formed between his brows. But he said nothing.

“Go on back now,” Bethac said. “I’ll take care o’ the lad.”

After he left, Jenefer took it upon herself to inspect every inch of the babe, to be sure the wicked wench hadn’t pinched him or scratched him or done him any harm.

She was only slightly less worried about Morgan. He might be a mighty Highland warrior. But she saw now that his heart was as soft as clay. Easy to bruise. And easy to break.

As the afternoon hours dragged on toward evening, Jenefer grew more restless. She bit her thumbnail down to the quick. She returned again and again to the window, troubled by how quickly the sky darkened. She only picked at the generous platter of food Feiyan offered her.

Later, as she watched the moon slip between wisps of cloud, she couldn’t decide what troubled her more. The thought that Alicia might plot to kill Morgan. Or that she might plot to kiss him.