Page 67 of Captivated
Reluctantly, he did. As his eyes darkened, he clamped a hand on Nash’s shoulder. Before Nash could shrug it angrily away, Sebastian laughed again. “By all that’s holy, he is.” He shook his head at Nash. “Why the devil did you make such a mess of it?”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Nash muttered. Absently he rubbed a hand over his shoulder. It felt as though it had been sunburned. “What I have to say, I’ll say to Morgana.”
Sebastian was softening, but he didn’t see any reason to make it easy. “I believe she’s under the impression that you’ve already had your say. I don’t know that she’s in any condition to listen to your outrageous accusations again.”
“Condition?” Nash’s heart froze. “Is she sick?” He grabbed Sebastian by the shirtfront again, but the strength had left his hands. “What’s wrong with her?”
A look passed between the cousins, so brief, so subtle, that it went unnoticed. “She’s not ill,” Ana said, and tried not to be furious with Morgana for not telling Nash about the child. “In fact, she’s quite well. Sebastian meant that she was upset by what happened between you the last time.”
Nash’s fingers loosened. When he had his breath back, he nodded. “All right, you want me to beg. I’ll beg. I have to see her. If after I’ve finished crawling she boots me out of her life, I’ll live with it.”
“She’s in Ireland,” Ana told him. “With our family.” Her smile curved beautifully. “Do you have a passport?”
***
Morgana was glad she’d come. The air in Ireland was soothing, whether it was the balmy breeze that rolled down from the hills or the wild wind that whipped across the channel.
Though she knew it would soon be time to go back and pick up her life again, she was grateful for the weeks she’d had to heal.
And for her family.
Stretched out on the window seat in her mother’s sitting room, she was as much at home, and at peace, as she could be anywhere in the world. She felt the sun on her face, that luminous sun that seemed to belong only to Ireland. If she looked through the diamond panes of glass, she could see the cliffs that hacked their way down to the rugged beach. And the beach, narrow and rough, stretching out to the waves. By changing the angle, she could see the terraced lawn, the green, green grass scattered with a profusion of flowers that stirred in the wind.
Across the room, her mother sat sketching. It was a cozy moment, one that reminded Morgana sweetly of childhood. And her mother had changed so little in the years between.
Her hair was as dark and thick as her daughter’s, though she wore it short and sleek around her face. Her skin was smooth, with the beautiful luster of her Irish heritage. The cobalt eyes were often dreamier than Morgana’s, but they saw as clearly.
When Morgana looked at her, she was washed by an intense flood of love. “You’re so beautiful, Mother.”
Bryna glanced up, smiled. “I won’t argue, since it feels so good to hear that from a grown daughter.” Her voice carried the charming lilt of her homeland. “Do you know how wonderful it is to have you here, darling, for all of us?”
Morgana raised a knee and linked her hands around it. “I know how good it’s been for me. And howgrateful I am you haven’t asked me all the questions I know you want to.”
“And so you should be. I’ve all but had to strike your father mute to keep him from badgering you.” Her eyes softened. “He adores you so.”
“I know.” Morgana felt weak tears fill her eyes again, and she tried to blink them away. “I’m sorry. My moods.” With a shake of her head, she rose. “I don’t seem to be able to control them.”
“Darling.” Bryna held out both hands, waiting until Morgana had crossed the room to link hers with them. “You know you can tell me anything, anything at all. When you’re ready.”
“Mother.” Seeking comfort, Morgana knelt down to rest her head in Bryna’s lap. She gave a watery smile as her hair was stroked. “I’ve come to realize recently how very lucky I am to have had you, all of you. To love me, to want me, to care about what happens to me. I haven’t told you before how grateful I am for you.”
Puzzled, Bryna cradled her daughter. “Families are meant to love and want and care.”
“But all families don’t.” Morgana lifted her head, her eyes dry now and intense. “Do they?”
“The loss is theirs. What’s hurting you, Morgana?”
She gripped her mother’s hands again. “I’ve thought about how it must feel not to be wanted or loved. To be taught from childhood that you were a mistake, a burden, something only to be tolerated through duty. Cananything be colder than that?”
“No. Nothing’s colder than living without love.” Her tone gentled. “Are you in love?”
She didn’t have to answer. “He’s been hurt so, you see. He never had what you, what all of you, gave me, what I took for granted. And, despite it all, he’s made himself into a wonderful man. Oh, you’d like him.” She rested her cheek on her mother’s palm. “He’s funny and sweet. His mind is so, well, fluid. So ready to test new ideas. But there’s a part of him that’s closed off. He didn’t do it, it was done to him. And, no matter what my powers, I can’t break that lock.” She sat back on her heels. “He doesn’t want to love me, and I can’t—won’t—take what he doesn’t want to give.”
“No.” Bryna’s heart broke a little as she looked at her daughter. “You’re too strong, too proud, and too wise for that. But people change, Morgana. In time...”
“There isn’t time. I’ll have his child by Christmas.”
All the soothing words Bryna had prepared slipped away down her throat. All she could think was that her baby was carrying a baby. “Are you well?” she managed.
