Page 145 of Bride of Fire
Morgan would wring her neck when he discovered what she planned. But in the end, it just might win the war.
“Fine,” she said, lowering her shoulders. “I’ll go to the great hall.” Then she pounded his chest with the back of her fist, piercing him with her gaze. “But you promise me…”
“Aye?”
“You survive, Highlander.”
Without waiting for his reply, she wheeled and fled down the stairs and across the courtyard, gathering her weapons on the way.
In the great hall, Lady Alicia ambled through the gathering crowd. The women were flitting around the room like agitated hens.
At first, she’d been horrified to be trapped on the wrong side of the castle wall, with Morgan instead of Roger. But now she saw it might have its advantages. Like a lucky chunk of bread, she’d landed butter-side-up once again.
Without a doubt, Roger’s army would win. They far outnumbered Morgan’s forces at Creagor. And they had more provisions. Whether they chose to lay siege or attack—and knowing Roger’s temper, she would wager on the latter—they would triumph.
Since Morgan had no idea that Alicia was allied with the English invaders, she’d be perfectly safe until Roger declared victory and came to rescue her.
To ensure Morgan’s trust, she created a new tale for herself. And naturally, once she confided in a few maids, the myth spread like fire in a hayfield among the gossipmongers of the mac Giric clan.
Within half an hour, everyone had heard that poor Alicia, wrongly accused of murder, had been pursued by the English and followed here to Creagor. She’d been fortunate to elude them. And terribly grateful to Morgan for rescuing her from the avenging horde.
But there was still a problem. She hadn’t confronted Morgan himself.
He might accept her story as the truth. He might be convinced of her innocence.
But what if Roger’s knights disclosed the tale she’d told tothem—that Morgan himself had committed the murder of Lord Edward?
She chewed on her nail.
She needed a safeguard.
Across the hall, beside the fire, young Danald sat, balancing Morgan’s son on one knee. As he jostled the chuckling infant up and down, Danald was grinning like a fool.
With a calculating smirk, Alicia sauntered over to the hearth, keeping a watch out for that intrusive maidservant, Bethac. Warming her hands over the low flames, she glanced at Danald.
Forcing her lips into an indulgent smile, she sat beside him. “Isn’t he the most beautiful child?”
Danald’s grin froze at once.
Shite. He must have been warned about her. The lad gave her a polite nod and cradled the babe against his chest.
She made another attempt. “’Twas so kind of Morgan to take me back,” she said softly, running her finger fondly down the babe’s spine. “After all, a babe should be with hisreal mother.Don’t you agree?”
Danald’s face clouded.
Alicia silently cursed again. How could he agree? Danald was an orphan, raised by a milkmaid.
“Or at least,” she added diplomatically, “someone who loves him like a real mother.” She twisted a finger in the curls at the back of the babe’s neck. “And that I do.”
Danald still looked guarded.
She lowered her eyes and clasped her hands in her lap, asking gently, “You don’t believe what they’re accusing me of, do you? The English?”
Danald cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “I only know the laird entrusted me to keep his bairn safe, m’lady.”
“And you’re doing a fine job of it,” she said with a watery smile, “for which both of us are grateful. I only wish…” She broke off with a sob, then murmured under her breath, “I’m not a murderer. I swear to you, Danald. I wouldn’t hurt a soul. I wish he’d believe me.”
Danald, extremely ill-at-ease now, gulped and glanced around the hall. “I’m sure… I’m sure the laird will do what’s right.”
