Page 56 of Bride of Fire
“Oh nay,” Bethac said with a chuckle. “He’s come a long way to claim his rightful place as Laird o’ Creagor. He won’t surrender his inheritance.”
Jenefer’s jaw tensed, but she hid her disappointment. “Then I hope he’s a good fighter.” For his own sake, she silently added.
“Oh, aye,” Bethac gushed. “He’s a great champion. No one is fiercer with a claymore.”
That was the last thing she wanted to hear. But she supposed it was little surprise, considering his massive size.
Bethac continued. “I remember the first time Morgan held a sword. He was a lad o’ three years, and the sword was a wee thing his father made out o’ wood. But he waved it around with such ferocity that he knocked his da in the knee.” She laughed. “To this day, Laird Giric bears a scar from the blow.”
Jenefer lifted her brows. “Three years old? Have you known him so long?”
“I was with Lady Hilaire when she gave birth to him,” she said with pride. “I’ve watched him grow from a mischievous lad to a magnificent laird.”
Magnificent. Jenefer had to admit hewasthat. Tall, handsome, and arresting. With a natural air of command. He would set any foe’s heart to quivering.
But she felt a sinking in her chest. She’d never imagined Bethac might be loyal to the snarling Highlander. If she cared so much for the man, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to convince her to stay behind.
“And what about ye, Miss?” the maid asked.
“Me?”
“When did ye first learn to fight?”
She shrugged. “I can’t remembernotknowing how to fight.”
At that moment, one of Miles’ flailing hands smacked her jaw.
“Oh ho!” She chuckled. “So you’re a fighter as well, aye?”
Bethac beamed. “He’ll be a fine warrior like his da.”
Jenefer caught Miles’ fist in hers and gave it a shake. “Is that so, Miles?” Then she turned to Bethac. “And whoishis da?”
The color drained from the old woman’s face. For an instant, Jenefer would have sworn she glimpsed panic in Bethac’s eyes.
But just as quickly, it was gone. Bethac turned her attention to Miles, giving him a fond smile and patting him on the back.
“Oh, he’s a braw swordsman, he is.”
“So he’s alive?”
“Oh, aye.” Bethac cleared her throat. “Very much so.”
She frowned. “Then why does he not visit his son?”
Bethac hesitated. “He…does.”
“But how? I’ve never seen him.”
The maidservant seemed suddenly fixated on the hem of Miles’ gown. “Are ye certain?” she asked, smoothing the edges between her fingers as she spoke. “Because he comes most every day.”
“When?” Jenefer had stayed up with Miles half the night and a good part of the day. The only men she’d seen were Morgan and the guard.
“Oh, at different hours. He may have come when ye were sleepin’.”
Jenefer didn’t think so. She’d hardly slept at all.
Bethac moved away to tend to the hearth, speaking over her shoulder. “He’s…he’s in mournin’, as ye might imagine. ’Tis difficult for him to look at the bairn. ’Tis why the poor wee lad has gone so long without a name.”
