Chapter 66

It was hard for Jenefer to feel sorry for Lady Alicia. After all, the woman had fallen on her own dagger in the act of trying to stab Jenefer.

But her gaze flew to Morgan in concern. He’d been the one to push Alicia aside. Would he think she’d died because of him?

His expression was grave as he stared down at his dead wife. For a long while he didn’t speak. No one spoke.

Finally he muttered, “Take her away. I don’t want Miles to see her like this.”

Three servants rushed to do his bidding.

“Miles doesn’t need to know,” Jenefer assured him. “’Twas an accident. Bury her in hallowed ground, someplace he can visit her when he’s grown.”

He didn’t reply.

“Morgan,” she insisted.

Still he didn’t answer.

“’Twasn’t your fault,” Jenefer murmured. “You know that, aye?”

He said nothing, only staring bleakly at the ground, stained by his wife’s blood.

It would take more to jar him from his spiraling guilt.

“Morgan, listen to me,” she said, seizing his arm. “I know you. You’re a man of honor. I know you gave her everything you had. A home. A title. A child. I know you tried to make her happy.”

He swallowed.

“And how did she repay you?” Jenefer asked. “With petulance. Disloyalty. Dishonor. Betrayal.” She shook her head. “For the love of God, the woman feigned her own death. She broke your heart. She abandoned her own son. She murdered her lover and then blamed you for it. She threatened to kill Miles. And if you hadn’t prevented her, she would have…” Her voice caught as the truth of how close she’d come to death sank in, then added under her breath, “She would have killed me.”

Morgan blinked, awakening from his daze. He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.

“Jenefer,” he sighed. He knitted his brows in concern. “Are ye hurt?”

She shook her head.

“I’m alive,” Jenefer told him in no uncertain terms, “because you did what you had to, to save me.”

Then there was no more time to discuss what he’d done and why he’d done it. Rivenloch was coming through the doors.

For Jenefer, it seemed like weeks had passed since she’d been among her clansfolk, months since she’d seen her parents. In the last few days, a lifetime of events had forged her into a different woman.

So, in light of the tragic situation, it was with measured cheer that she greeted her kin.

“Morgan Mor mac Giric, this is my clan,” she said. “The laird, Deirdre, and Pagan Cameliard, Miriel and Rand la Nuit, and my parents, Helena and Colin du Lac.

He nodded respectfully. “My thanks for your help.”

“Of course,” Deirdre replied.

Her mother, Helena, stepped forward, sizing him up from head to toe. She crossed her arms and arched her brow. “Unlike you Highland folk, constantly quibbling among yourselves,” she told him with a sniff, “we Lowlanders always fight together against the English.”

“Hel!” Deirdre gave Helena a chiding cuff on the shoulder. “Put your sword away. The battle’s over.”

Her uncle Pagan scowled at Morgan from beneath stormy brows. One hand rested casually on the hilt of his sheathed sword. “So you’re the one who took our daughters hostage?”

Jenefer’s father, Colin, ever the peacemaker, came between them with a disarming smile. “Now, Pagan, if I know my daughter, she likely fueled the fire.” He gave her a wink.

Before Jenefer could issue a halfhearted protest—he was right, after all—her aunt Miriel spoke. “We would have been here sooner, but Feiyan advised we approach with stealth.”

Her uncle Rand perused the courtyard. “’Twas a wise decision, daughter,” he said to Feiyan. “Aside from the doors, the castle is largely intact.”

“Feiyan!” Jenefer cried as Feiyan wove her way through the ranks of Rivenloch knights. She’d never been so glad to see her pesky cousin. “How did you escape? When did you…?”

“I saw soldiers in the woods last night,” Feiyan said. “I thought it was Rivenloch, come to rescue us. I went out to warn them not to attack.”

Morgan stopped her. “Went out? What do ye mean, ye went out?”

Feiyan shrugged. “’Twasn’t hard to get the palisade guards to fight. While they were quarreling, I slipped out the gates.”

Her answer didn’t please Morgan. He frowned.

“Once I found out the soldiers were English,” she continued, “I fled to fetch Rivenloch.”

“And you found Hallie?” Jenefer asked. She’d seen her cousin in the battle.

Behind Feiyan’s triumphant smile, her face darkened. “Aye. She was at Rivenloch all the time, as we thought.”

“And Colban?” Morgan asked.

“Here,” his man said. The Rivenloch knights cleared a path for him.

“Colban!” Morgan cried in relief.

But judging by Colban’s face, Jenefer thought it looked like he’d lost the battle.

And when she spied Hallie in the entryway—her face smudged with blood, her eyes resolute—standing in cool silence, she couldn’t help but wonder what had happened between them.

She’d have to wring the story from Hallie later.

For now, other things were more pressing. Burying the dead. Tending to the wounded. Repairing the damage.

The two clans worked together for several hours, restoring the keep enough to make it secure. Meanwhile, Bethac had the cooks prepare supper for the hungry warriors.

It was early afternoon when they crowded into the great hall. Sitting elbow to elbow at the trestle tables, they feasted on thick mutton pottage and barley bread. And they swapped glorious stories of past battles.

Jenefer, ravenous after the skirmish, paid more heed to the stew than the boasts. But after she’d finally eaten her fill, she asked the one thing she was most anxious to know.

“What news from the king?”

Morgan’s hand tightened around his eating dagger.

He narrowed his eyes at Deirdre. If the Laird of Rivenloch had brought news from the king herself, it must not bode well for him. Glancing at Colban’s bleak expression, Morgan expected the worst.

Ballocks. After everything he’d been through over the past several days, he didn’t think he could endure more bad tidings.

Lady Deirdre’s face was unreadable as she wiped her mouth, set her napkin aside, and rose from the table.

She turned to her husband. “Pagan?”

He pulled a sealed document from his gambeson and handed it to her.

“First of all,” Deirdre said, holding it aloft for all to see, “I hope all of you understand this is the will of the king and not the decree of any one clan.” Her ice blue gaze landed on Morgan then, and her voice was forthright, sincere, and reassuring. “As far as mac Giric and Rivenloch, this document affects neither our loyalty nor our friendship.”

Morgan nodded in agreement. The two clans had fought side-by-side, after all. Nothing could break the bonds of war.

Then she turned away.

“By order of the king, Castle Creagor and its surrounding lands are hereby awarded to Lady Jenefer du Lac of Rivenloch.”

His clan’s whispers of shock and disappointment circled the great hall as she handed the decree to Creagor’s new laird.

Morgan’s heart sank.

Then bitter bile rose in his throat.

How could the king do such a thing? How could he take away the prize Morgan had been awarded?

He and his clan had traveled over a hundred miles from the Highlands to get here. They’d already settled in. He was finally beginning to feel like Creagor was his home.

God’s eyes. His clan had even shed blood in defense of the keep.

The king’s betrayal filled him with rancor. How could a beardless boy, sitting miles away in his royal robes, steal Morgan’s future with a single stroke of his pen?

His clan gave voice to his ire. There was a swell of muttering and cursing from the mac Giric soldiers that was becoming a risk, even if they were no longer armed and hot from battle.

It was up to him to rein them in. And keep them safe.

He came to his feet.

“Heed my words, mac Giric! The king has spoken and made his will known.” He held up his hand for silence. “By all rights, Rivenloch could have marched on Creagor and forced us out at the point of a sword. But they did not.”

Even as he said the words, he knew Rivenloch would never have attacked, not while Jenefer was in his ranks.

“Instead,” he continued, “they’ve been merciful, fightin’ by our side.” To his horror, his voice cracked on the last words as he recalled how proud he’d been of Jenefer’s expert command of his archers. Not daring to look at her, he cleared his throat. “We owe it to them to return to the Highlands without delay.”

“The sooner, the better!” Colban barked.

Morgan narrowed his eyes at his loyal companion. He’d never seen Colban so grim. What had happened to him at Rivenloch?

Soon his clan was joining in with comments of their own, like monks trying to make good wine from sour grapes.

“I’ll be glad to be far away from the bloody English!”

“’Twill be good to see real mountains again.”

“We can be back and settled ere winter comes.”

“The siege stores will be good for the journey home.”

“…home…”

“Home.”

Morgan tightened his jaw.

His heart was breaking.

He told himself it was because he’d grown to love Creagor. He would miss its rolling hills and green grass.

He blamed the pain on all of his recent losses. The loss of his right hand man. The loss of his wife. And now the loss of his holding.

He tried to believe his sorrow was because his son would never know his mother, never grow up in his grandfather’s castle that was his birthright.

But deep in his heart, he knew the truth. He knew the source of his anguish. It had hair like honey silk and eyes of fiery emeralds. It went by the name of Jenefer.

At least she would be happy. She was getting what she wanted. What she’d wanted all along.

He sat back down, refusing to look at her. He couldn’t bear to see her smug smile. Not now. Not when he knew it would be the last he saw of her.

“Wait!” Jenefer said.

What she did next shocked them all.

She pushed the document back across the table toward Deirdre.

“I don’t want it. I don’t want Creagor.”

Jenefer had spoken on impulse. But it was true. She didn’t want to win the castle this way. Not at the expense of the clan she’d come to care for. Not if she’d be stealing it from the man she loved.

She was sure she was making the right decision.

Until her mother glared at her, her eyes flickering with dangerous fire. “What do you mean you don’t want it?”

“I mean, Mother, you can tear this up.”

The fire in her mother’s gaze flared even brighter as she leaned toward Jenefer. But Deirdre pushed her back with an arm across her chest.

“What’s happened, Jenefer?” Deirdre demanded.

Jenefer lowered her eyes, lifted her chin, and shrugged.

“Nothing,” she said. “I’ve just changed my mind.”

She wasn’t about to divulge the truth. That she’d fallen in love with the Highlander. That she adored his precious son. That his clan—Bethac, Cicilia, William, Danald, the Campbell brothers, all of them—felt like family to her.

She didn’t have the heart to take the keep from Morgan. Not after everything he’d lost.

Her mother’s temper erupted then. “Changed your mind? Changed your mind?” She pounded a fist on the table, rattling the ale cups. “Listen, lassie. Your father and I didn’t just traipse the length of Scotland to curry the favor of a king scarce out of his swaddling just to have you change your mind. Your cousin didn’t barter away—”

“Hel,” Deirdre warned. “That’s enough.” She turned to Jenefer and spoke with an air of firm but fair command. “What the king has decreed and set his name to is final. ’Twas negotiated and hard won. You cannot refuse such a gift. Not without incurring the king’s wrath.”

Jenefer knew she was testing her aunt’s patience. Her mother looked ready to carve her up with her eating dagger. Even her normally calm cousin Hallie stared at her with glacial rage.

Feiyan and her mother Miriel, however, murmured together. In unison, they crossed their arms and arched their brows. Then they gave Jenefer secret, knowing smiles.

“Of course, the English could attack again,” Miriel mused. “You’ll need a fighting force to keep Creagor safe.”

Feiyan added, “Servants to set up your household.”

Miriel nodded. “Someone to purchase provisions and livestock.”

“And probably a dozen cooks,” Feiyan said with a smirk, “to keep up with your appetite.”

Ordinarily, Jenefer would have cuffed her cousin for that remark. But she was beginning to understand their veiled message.

Maybe she didn’t need to send the Highlanders away just yet. She could definitely use their help.

When she turned to Morgan, her heart pounded, belying the casual tone of her words. “What say you? Will you stay on?”

His face was grim. Of course it was. He’d just been told that the castle he’d risked life and limb to defend had been taken away from him.

But her throat ached. What if he said nay? How could she bear the thought of never seeing him again?

“’Twill take a few days to prepare for the journey home.” His voice was ragged with bitter defeat. “But we’ll delay no more than that. We must leave ere winter comes.”

It wasn’t much. But it was something.

Jenefer would just have to use every weapon of seduction in her arsenal in the coming days to convince him to stay.