Page 131 of Bride of Fire
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 shehadshot 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.
