Chapter 67

Beneath the tangle they’d made of the coverlet, Morgan felt Jenefer arch in ecstasy.

Her fingers clawed at the bedlinens.

Her astonished mouth fell open.

Between his legs, he felt the blood surge to his hungry beast, caught within the cage of her womb.

She moaned in need.

He growled in impatience.

They gasped together in growing wonder.

Then, just as he feared another instant of delay would make him explode, she shook with tremors of rapture, releasing him to shudder in his own welcome relief.

Their passion spent, they fell back on the bed in happy, breathless exhaustion. Again.

It wasn’t the first time he’d made love to Jenefer in the week since their battle with the English.

It was, however, the most comfortable location. With a fire crackling on the hearth and morning storm clouds outside the window, his bed—her bed now, he reminded himself—was definitely his favorite place for bedding.

Last eve, they’d trysted in the straw. Jenefer had lured him to the stable, telling him she wanted his opinion on enlarging it to accommodate knights for the tournaments she planned to hold.

Yesterday morn, they’d discussed reorganizing the armory and wound up swiving on a pile of targes.

The day before that, she’d led him down to the pond, explaining how it could be dug deeper for bathing. Naturally, she’d had to show him how shallow it was, peeling off every stitch of her clothing and wading into the freezing water. He’d had to warm her up afterward in a nearby thicket.

What she lacked in experience, the lass made up for in ambition. And her creativity was keeping him distracted from his responsibilities.

Yet the longer he delayed getting his clan ready to leave Creagor, the less he felt like leaving.

He could definitely get used to this.

If he lingered much longer, he’d have to get used to it. The lass’s appetite for love, like her appetite for food, seemed insatiable.

But he was running out of excuses to remain. And he knew it was pure selfishness that made him wish to stay.

He sighed as he glared up at the ceiling.

Yesterday, a small contingent of servants from Rivenloch had arrived to complement Jenefer’s household. In addition, her mother had gifted her with a flock of sheep, a few cows, assorted fowl, a pair of oxen, and even a handsome destrier. Six knights and six archers had moved into the armory with their weaponry.

Soon she wouldn’t need his protection.

Meanwhile, Morgan only tortured himself with procrastination.

Disgruntled, he rose up on his elbows. “I should go.”

“Go? What do you mean, go?” Did he imagine the subtle note of panic in her voice before she tempered it with a coy smile? “Don’t be daft. We haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

He had to smile at that. “After breakfast then, I suppose.”

But he knew he couldn’t delay the journey home forever.

“You’re not thinking of leaving today, are you?” Her voice seemed artificially bright. “I mean, look at the clouds. There’s sure to be a downpour. If you go now, your clan and your livestock will be forced to slog through the mire and sleep in the mud.”

He glanced out the shutters. To be honest, the clouds looked no more threatening than on most days in the Highlands.

But the temptation in the bed beside him—Jenefer’s wide emerald eyes, her rosy lips, her lush tresses, the gentle curve of her bare shoulder—proved too great to resist. He supposed one more day couldn’t do any harm.

“Perhaps on the morrow then,” he said, content to blame his delay on the weather.

“Aye, tomorrow,” she said. “Or the next day. Though it does seem like winter has set in.”

“Does it?”

“Oh aye.” She shook her head. “When I think of you stranded in the mountains in the ice and snow with Miles…”

“Perhaps we should stay a while longer.” He pensively scratched his jaw. “For Miles’ sake.”

“Aye!” she cried. Then she tempered her enthusiasm with a shrug. “I mean, you’d certainly be welcome to stay here.”

“Just until the weather clears.”

“Of course. Once the weather clears, you’ll want to be on your way. I’m sure you’re eager to return.”

But that was just it. He wasn’t eager to return. He’d come to Creagor with all intentions of staying. That hadn’t changed. If anything, he had more of a desire to stay than ever.

He was even fairly certain she wanted him to stay. Why else would she be swiving him in every corner of the keep? And why would she be making the flimsiest of excuses to keep him at Creagor?

If she wanted him, why had she not asked him to marry her? After all, Morgan was free to wed, now that Alicia was gone.

The question was, did Jenefer want him for a husband? Did she envision him as her loyal, lifelong companion? Or was he only a pleasant diversion?

She must realize he couldn’t go on being her lover. He was too proud for that. He wouldn’t disgrace her by keeping her as his mistress. They’d taken enough liberties in that quarter as it was.

For the sake of honor, they had to become husband and wife.

And it had to be her idea.

Otherwise, no one would ever believe he was marrying her for love. They’d assume he was marrying her to reclaim Creagor.

Nay, as inconvenient as it was, it had to be Jenefer who proposed marriage.

Jenefer sighed in equal parts bliss and frustration.

How much more seduction would it take before the stubborn Highlander proposed marriage?

She let her gaze roam over the man in the bed beside her, the bed clearly meant for two.

Loki’s rod, Morgan was devilishly handsome. Incredibly gifted. Breathtaking and mouthwatering. But more than that, he was noble and good and strong and fair. Any woman would be lucky to have such a man in her bed.

To have him as her husband…

Damn it, she was getting desperate.

She was running out of excuses to keep him at Creagor.

Every night, she found herself praying for bad weather.

And as wicked as it was, she even considered breaking the wheel of one of his carts or setting fire to his supplies to delay him.

She watched him as he stared at the ceiling, deep in thought.

Not for the first time, she wondered why she couldn’t confront Morgan the same way she confronted everything else. Without hesitation. Without artifice. Directly. The same way she released arrows. Straight and to the point.

Why was that so difficult when it came to addressing Morgan?

She should look him in the eye. Stand firm. Speak frankly.

But the truth was she was afraid of his reply. She was afraid he might not feel the same way she did.

What if his heart didn’t race every time she walked into a room?

What if his breath didn’t catch every time she smiled at him?

What if his soul didn’t ache at the thought of never seeing her again?

Delaying that conversation kept hope alive for her, she realized. Hope of a lifetime with him. Hope of being a mother to Miles. Hope of adopting this clan as her own.

She’d been utterly charmed by Morgan’s son. She’d grown terribly fond of Bethac and Cicilia. She’d bonded with the mac Giric archers as if they were her own men. And Morgan… There were no words to describe the love she felt for him.

How could she watch them walk away forever?

If Morgan refused her, they would walk away. And all her hopes would be dashed.

But why wouldn’t Morgan wish to go home? He’d lost his wife, and he already had an heir. What use did he have for another? In the Highlands, he probably had a whole bevy of willing lasses he could swive to his heart’s content, without commitment or even affection.

Jenefer hoped he wanted more than that. She wanted to believe he loved her.

He’d told her so once.

But words spoken in the heat of battle couldn’t be trusted.

She swallowed down fear. She couldn’t put off the confrontation forever. The longer she waited, the harder it would be.

“Morgan!” she blurted before cowardice could curb her tongue.

He turned to her in startled concern. “Aye?”

His captivating eyes, still smoldering from passion, made her stumble over her words. “I… I…”

She glared at the ceiling. She couldn’t do it. She suddenly realized it was too soon. It would be too easy for him to tell her nay.

If she could only keep him at Creagor a little while longer. Maybe until spring. Long enough to fall in love with her…