Chapter 57

“Shall I stop her?” Jenefer called over her shoulder. As Lady Alicia stormed out of the gates toward the woods, Jenefer watched from the nursery window, her arrow trained on the fleeing woman. Even at this distance, she could kill the wench with one well-placed arrow or at least shoot a shaft into her arse to send her staggering to the ground.

“Nay! Don’t shoot her,” Bethac answered. “Morgan would ne’er forgive ye.”

Beside her, Feiyan squinted down at Alicia. “Thank God, she doesn’t have Miles.”

“Where will she go?” Jenefer asked Bethac, keeping Alicia in her sights.

Feiyan smirked in disgust. “Probably to her lover.”

“She won’t be back,” Bethac predicted.

Finally, as Alicia strode out of range, Jenefer lowered her bow. Though her aim had been steady enough, her hands were now shaking.

She’d never killed anyone. Never had to. But after witnessing the horror of what Alicia had tried to do—smothering poor wee Miles—she would have been glad to sink a shaft into the woman’s black heart.

Earlier, the three of them, crowded together at the window ledge of the nursery, had been able to hear much of what transpired in Morgan’s bedchamber. Still, Alicia’s vile shrieking before she charged out of the room had sent a ripple of shock through all of them, making them recoil from the window.

For an agonizing space of time, until she’d seen Lady Alicia fleeing the keep, Jenefer had feared the worst—that the madwoman might have taken Miles with her.

“Poor Morgan,” Bethac said, clucking her tongue. “He’s had to lose his wife twice now.”

Jenefer propped her bow against the wall and headed for the door. She needed to go to Morgan. To convince him that Lady Alicia’s desertion was for the best. And to assure herself that Miles was safe and unharmed.

“Nay, lass,” Bethac said, halting her with a hand on her forearm. “’Tisn’t the time. He needs to work things out for himself.”

A few days ago, Jenefer would have disregarded the maid’s advice. Accustomed to acting on impulse, when she wanted to do a thing, she did it. She never let reason delay immediate action.

But she’d begun to learn the wisdom of patience and the power of using persuasion rather than force. Though she hated to admit it, her aunt Deirdre might be right about using honey instead of vinegar to get one’s way.

So with a submissive sigh, she nodded in agreement and sank onto the edge of the bed.

“Morgan will come round,” Bethac confided. “Ye’ll see. And he’ll realize the answer to his woes is standin’ right in front o’ him.”

Jenefer looked up sharply. Was that approval in Bethac’s eyes? Was it possible she not only forgave, but condoned what had happened between her and Morgan?

It was almost too much to wish for. At the moment, she only prayed the maidservant was right, that Alicia would never return.

Combat had always served to help Morgan work out his frustrations and center his mind. So when Cicilia came to feed Miles, he snatched up his claymore and headed to the practice field. With each slash of his sword, he felt his despair dwindle and his resolve return.

He’d already lost Alicia once, so his grief was spent. All he felt now was disappointment and emptiness.

Yet he wouldn’t take her back for the world.

She’d betrayed him. She’d abandoned her newborn. And she’d revealed herself to be a monster.

What he would do now, he didn’t know. He was still wed to Lady Alicia. And the only way he could remedy that was to formally accuse her of her crimes. For Miles’ sake, he didn’t want to do that.

But the lad needed a mother. And, despite believing at one time that he’d never love again, Morgan couldn’t imagine living without a woman to share his life, warm his bed, and fill his heart.

He was in the midst of crossing swords with the Campbell brothers when young Danald came tearing across the practice field.

“My laird!” the lad cried breathlessly. “I bring news!”

Morgan lowered his claymore. “What is it?”

“I did as ye asked,” he said. “I inquired at three o’ the Scots keeps along the border. No one had heard of an English lord named Lionel.”

Morgan nodded. As he suspected, Alicia had lied about her lover’s name.

“But ’tis the oddest thing!” Danald’s eyes were wide with excitement. “A few days ago, Lord Edward o’ Firthgate was murdered in his sleep,” the lad said, adding in a whisper, “along with his mistress, a lass by the name o’ Godit.”

The breath deserted Morgan in an icy rush. A cold blade of dread stabbed him through the gut. He braced himself on his claymore.

“M’laird?” Danald asked in concern. “Are ye all right?”

“Aye,” he managed to croak out. “Thank ye, lad.”

But he was not all right. His world was careening like a runaway cart.

Everything he’d believed in was a lie. His faith was in ruins. His trust was destroyed.

Was it possible?

Could the meek, mild lass he’d married be a cold-blooded killer?

The prospect was too painful to consider. And so he thought of a dozen other explanations.

Perhaps it wasn’t the same Godit.

Or if it was, perhaps the murders had occurred after Alicia left.

Maybe Alicia had witnessed the murders and fled in fear.

But no matter how he tried to reason away the evidence staring him in the face, he couldn’t stop thinking about the last he’d seen of Alicia. Her crazed eyes. Her twisted mouth. The vile oaths she’d screamed at him.

She must have done it. She must have killed her lover and her midwife, and then come to Morgan for safe haven.

He trembled as he thought about his precious wee son. How he’d left him alone with her. How, if not for Jenefer’s warning, he might have never suspected what evil lurked beneath Alicia’s guileless face.

Gossip traveled quickly through Morgan’s clan. Before nightfall, Jenefer had heard the news from Bethac, who’d heard it from William, who’d overheard Danald tell it to Morgan. Alicia’s English abductor and her midwife had been murdered.

Though there was no proof, Jenefer immediately assumed Alicia had done the deed. She would never forget the horrid, emotionless cast of Alicia’s face as she tried to smother Miles. Only someone that indifferent and unfeeling could kill a man in his sleep.

She wished now she had shot the vicious wench when she had the opportunity. While she lived, the chance remained that Lady Alicia would return to do harm to Morgan and Miles.

As Jenefer lay in the nursery bed with Feiyan snoring beside her, it sent a chill through her to think that Miles had been in the clutches of a murderer. The horrifying thought kept her awake.

Suddenly, she craved the comfort of holding the babe in her arms.

She slipped out from under the coverlet, crept past Bethac and Cicilia, who were sleeping on pallets on the floor, and leaned over Miles’ cradle. Gently lifting him against her breast, she carried him back to the bed. There, she stretched out on the bed, enfolding him in protective arms and letting her lips graze the top of his warm, downy head.

She felt more at peace now, holding him safely in her embrace. And yet a mix of unexpected emotions washed over her, squeezing tears from her eyes.

Deep love and deeper sorrow.

Sorrow for what would never be.

Though Alicia had fled, she was still Morgan’s wife, still Miles’ mother.

It wasn’t fair.

Morgan deserved more than to be wed to a woman who would betray her husband, abandon her child, and commit murder.

Damn her eyes! Jenefer was the one who loved them. Who deserved them. She would have been a faithful wife and a loving mother…if only she’d had the chance.

Amor vincit omnia was a bloody empty promise.

Love conquered nothing.

For the first time in her life, fierce and fearless Jenefer du Lac wept herself to sleep.