Page 4 of Bride of Fire
The worst part was the feeling that he’d failed her. A man was supposed to protect his wife. Now proof of his failure lay buried in the earth forever.
The long trek over the misty, muddy heath was silent but for the creak of wooden cart wheels and leather tack, the hushed murmurs of his men, and the occasional lowing of the livestock they’d brought.
Now and then the bairn would whimper, jarring Morgan. The wet nurse was quick to silence the infant, jostling him, cooing to him, giving him suckle.
Then Morgan would resume the numbing trudge forward.
He had no idea how many hours he passed in that mindless journey. Only when his loyal companion, Colban, seized his arm to halt him, did he notice how late the day had grown.
“We’ll camp here.” Colban grunted, making the decision Morgan could not. With a nod, he indicated a streamside clearing bordered by a copse of trees.
The soldiers and servants quickly and quietly set up camp.
The barley pottage the cook served an hour later held no allure for Morgan. He had no appetite. But Colban insisted he eat, telling him he needed to keep up his strength if they wished to reach Creagor within a fortnight.
So he forced it past his lips, tasting nothing. He washed it down with a full cup of ale. Still it sat like a lump in his belly.
Later, bedded down under the dark, featureless sky, where no one could witness his weakness, he let his eyes fill. The thick wool of his plaid swallowed his tears, just as the cold earth had swallowed his wife.
Chapter 3
“Ghosts,” Feiyan breathed. Her pale face lit up. She set her ale cup on the floor, where she sat cross-legged in a surcoat of soft gray.
Jenefer, perched on one of the oak chests, choked on a piece of oatcake. “What?”
This morn, the three cousins had assembled in a storage room beneath Rivenloch’s great hall to break their fast. It was the infamous spot where Jenefer’s mother had once taken her father hostage, the perfect place to plot in secrecy.
Hallie stopped pacing the small chamber and turned. Her skirts, which were the same woad blue color as her eyes, swirled around her.
“Ghosts,” she echoed, taking a thoughtful bite of cheese and nodding. “Maybe.”
“Wait,” Jenefer said. “Ghosts? What ghosts?”
Feiyan gave her a sly smile. “The ghosts that haunt Creagor.”
Hallie grinned, clapping the crumbs from her hands.
Jenefer scowled in disgust. “Don’t tell me you two believe in ghosts.”
“Wedon’t…” Feiyan began.
“But Highlanders are a superstitious lot,” Hallie said, her eyes twinkling like ice crystals.
“Aye,” Feiyan said, hopping to her feet. “And once the Highlander learns that Creagor is haunted…”
“He’ll hie himself back to the Highlands,” Hallie finished.
Jenefer rolled her eyes. “Look, I don’t wish to darken your sunny skies, but that’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard. How will you make him believe Creagor is haunted?” She shook her head and took a swig of ale.
“’Twillbe haunted,” Feiyan said, grinning.
“By us,” Hallie said.
Jenefer almost spewed her ale. “Us?” she squeaked.
“Aye,” Hallie replied, motioning Jenefer off the oak chest.
Jenefer gathered her five remaining oatcakes and half-finished ale and slid down from her perch. This she had to see.
