Page 100 of Bride of Fire
Jenefer scoffed. “She’s half my size. Wispy. Weak. Trembling. Fearful.”
“Not a warrior maid.”
“Hardly. If an English lord had raised a hand like that to one of us, he wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale.”
“Exactly. So the last place this poor, abused lass will want to live is within easy reach of her abuser.”
“True, though I doubt her abuser will live long. Not if Morgan Mor mac Giric has anything to say about it.”
Feiyan held up a finger. “Ah, but the king may have sent Morgan here to secure the border and keep the peace. The Highlander wouldn’t dare start a war.”
Feiyan had a point.
But Jenefer scarcely had time to mull it over before Bethac and Cicilia entered the nursery.
Cicilia had brought cups of ale for them. Seeing that Miles was asleep, she quietly stirred the fire.
Bethac shooed them off the bed and began straightening the bedlinens.
Feiyan took a long swallow of ale and casually asked Bethac, “Now that Lady Alicia has been found, will your clan return to the Highlands?”
Jenefer held her breath.
“Nay,” Bethac said, quashing her hopes. “Laird Morgan is the rightful heir to Creagor.” The maidservant’s gaze landed and lingered an extra moment on Jenefer, as if to challenge her claim to the keep. Then she lowered her eyes and resumed smoothing the sheets. “Besides, Lady Alicia will not wish to return.”
“She won’t?” Feiyan said.
Jenefer blinked. “Why not?”
Bethac opened her mouth, but didn’t answer her at first. “Cicilia, take the bairn’s soiled linens down to the laundress, will ye?”
“Aye.” Satisfied that Miles was sleeping quietly, Cicilia left with the pail of laundry.
When she was gone, Jenefer repeated the question. “Why would Lady Alicia not wish to return?”
Bethac’s lips were taut as she replied, “The lass never cared for the Highlands.” She swatted at the coverlet, brushing away lint. “She was always pinin’ for her home.” She continued, aggressively fluffing the pillows. “Complainin’ o’ the cold. Weepin’ that she was weary o’ bein’ kept among…” Her lips thinned. “Among savages.”
Jenefer grimaced. Though she knew better now, that was the very wordshe’donce used for Highlanders.
Bethac pulled the linens as tight as her lips. “Morgan was too kind, sayin’ her condition made her weepy. He said she was like a tender rose, too frail for the Highlands. But I think…” She stopped herself.
“What?” Jenefer asked. Her heart was pounding. “What do you think?”
Bethac wiped her hands on her skirts. “’Tisn’t my place to say.”
“Oh, go on,” Feiyan urged. “We won’t tell a soul.”
Bethac glanced at them both, as if measuring whether she could trust them. Her desire to confess apparently outweighed her need to keep the secret. “I don’t think she’s half as frail as she claims to be.”
“Why?” Jenefer asked.
Bethac skewered them again with her gaze. Then she beckoned them near and confided, “Lady Alicia may have skin like silk. But she’s got a spine o’ steel when it comes to gettin’ her way. And she’s got the laird on a tight lead.” She clucked her tongue. “Morgan, bless his soul, is blind to it.” Then her voice took on a tart edge. “O’ course, now the lady’s got what she wants. She’s in a warmer clime and among civilized folk.”
Feiyan lifted a brow. “Things couldn’t have turned out better for her if she’d planned it.”
Bethac didn’t answer. But her eyes were hooded when she looked at Feiyan, and she said no more, returning to tidying the chamber.
Jenefer blinked. Planned it? That wild idea fired into her brain like a swift and impactful arrow.
