Page 59 of Bride of Fire
The X belonged to Ian Clare.
Colban’s sign was…
The pit of Morgan’s heart suddenly went cold. Colban’s claymore still hung on the wall. Which meant he’d gone into the wood unarmed.
Chapter 30
“Don’t ye fret, Morgan.” Standing before the buttery, Bethac actually patted Morgan on the arm, whispering to him as if he were a child. “The lass was up there with us most o’ the afternoon. She was only feelin’ peckish. So Cicilia and I came down to fetch her a wee crumb.”
Cicilia smiled in innocent agreement.
Morgan couldn’t breathe. The shadows cast by the torches in the great hall wavered ominously over his dozing clansmen as apprehension snaked through his veins. Did the maids not understand the peril?
Nay, of course not. To Bethac, the lasses were guests, not prisoners. But he’d given specific orders for Bethac to remain in Jenefer’s presence if she was caring for his son.
Under his breath, he said, “Ye left the warrior maidalonewith my bairn?”
Cicilia’s smile faltered.
“O’ course,” Bethac said, oblivious to his concern. “Ye’ve seen how she is with Miles. The bairn loves—”
“His name is Allison,” Morgan choked out, casting an alarmed gaze toward the nursery.
In a dozen strides, he crossed the great hall. He took the stairs two steps at a time. By the time he passed his bedchamber guard, who snapped to attention, his heart was pounding.
With no knock of warning, he pushed open the nursery door.
The flames on the hearth flickered wildly in the silent room, illuminating the honey-haired beauty curled atop the bed, fast asleep.
Cradled in her arms was the wee bairn. His eyes were closed in slumber. One tiny fist was tucked under his chin.
Morgan let out a shuddering breath and closed the door softly behind him.
Why he’d been so full of dread, he didn’t know. He should have realized Jenefer would never hurt a child. Particularly this one. As Bethac had noted more than once, the lad had a curious affinity for the warrior maid. No doubt the feeling was mutual.
Besides, Jenefer was as yet unaware that the lad was his. Morgan had sworn the maidservants to secrecy. The lass from Rivenloch would have no reason to think the bairn could be used as a hostage.
He narrowed his eyes at the child and took a few cautious steps forward.
Morgan was accustomed to seeing a screaming infant with his features contorted in rage. Now that the bairn was at peace, Morgan saw he was a handsome lad. His hair was as fine as silk thread. His skin was flawless. Dark brows arched over his eyes like drawn bows. And the lashes below them rested upon rounded cheeks. His mouth was set in a drowsy pout, as perfect as the bud of a rose. And the shape of his face…
It washers. He had Alicia’s heart-shaped face.
Of course he did.
He probably had Morgan’s features as well.
Morgan had never thought about it. In fact, he’d hardly given the lad a second glance. No matter how irrational it was, lost in his own anguish, he’d always secretly blamed the bairn for Alicia’s death.
Now, gazing at the helpless, innocent, angelic child—hischild,theirchild—his eyes filled. How could he blame the wee bairn? He’d not asked to be born. Why should the poor lad suffer from the unfortunate circumstances of his birth, when he’d had no say in the matter?
As Morgan stared down at the motherless infant left in his care, his vision blurred. How would he ever replace what he’d lost, what both of them had lost? Would Morgan marry again? Was he even capable of feeling affection for another woman?
Regret and love and grief tangled into a knot in his throat.
Jenefer always slept with one eye open. She might be wandering deep in the land of Nod, but if a wee beetle entered her bedchamber, she’d know it instantly.
So, though she gave no sign, she sensed at once that someone had come into the nursery. It wasn’t Bethac or Cicilia. They wouldn’t have opened the door with such speed and force.
