Page 85 of Bride of Fire
Alicia coughed—a pitiful, hacking cough that shook her frail ribs and made her grimace in pain.
Morgan’s eyes watered in sympathy and rage and frustration. He took her wee hand between his, hoping to lend her his strength.
When the coughing ceased, she peered up at him with her one undamaged eye. Her brows rose in pained askance.
“Oh,amor meu,will you ever forgive me?”
His heart splintered at her words.
“Forgive ye? For what?”
She glanced at the faces gathered round and whispered so softly, he could scarcely hear her.
“For not finding my way to you sooner. For trusting Godit. For leaving you and the infant.”
A lump clogged Morgan’s throat. Alicia had always been so meek, humble, helpless. That she would somehow imagine he’d blame her for succumbing to abduction—especially when she was at her most vulnerable, having just given birth—tore at his heart. What kind of cur did she think he was?
He reached up to stroke her tangled hair. For one awful moment, he recalled honey-colored tresses, softer and silkier than Alicia’s black locks. And then he put the disloyal thought aside.
He had to put that other lass out of his mind now. Forever.
“Oh darlin’,” he murmured, “I could ne’er blame ye. How could ye even think that?”
Grateful tears squeezed from her black eyes.
Always careful with sensitive Alicia, he guarded his emotions and forced a smile of gentle reassurance to his lips.
“I’ll go fetch the physician,” Bethac mumbled, adding pointedly, “Shall I ready your bedchamber, m’laird?”
“Oh.” He blinked, startled. He’d forgotten his bedchamber was already occupied. “Aye. Can ye take care o’ things there?”
“I’ll do my best, m’laird.” She gave him a nod and hurried off.
He had no idea where Bethac would put his two guests. Certainly it wouldn’t be as secure—or as comfortable—as where they were now. But he trusted Bethac. And he believed the lasses would keep their word not to flee.
He then addressed the clan. “The rest o’ ye, return to your beds. Your mistress is weary. And there’s naught more ye can do here.”
Morgan needed his men well-rested. He wouldn’t press poor Alicia for a name tonight. But on the morrow, he intended to hunt down the English bastard who’d abducted his wife. He’d cut out the man’s black heart and bring his head home on a spike.
Jenefer bolted awake as Bethac burst into the bedchamber.
“Wake up!” Bethac hissed. Her arms were full of bedsheets. “Make haste!”
“What is it?” Jenefer gasped. “Is it Rivenloch? Has my uncle come?”
For the first time, she feared her kin might attack first and negotiate later. Two days ago, she would have been fine with that. But now she wanted as few casualties as possible.
Sleeping with Morgan had changed her. Changed the way she felt about him. She saw now he wasn’t a usurper to be ousted. He could be a friend and an ally.
Maybe even, she dared to hope, a husband.
But only by his own choice. She wouldn’t have it any other way. If she couldn’t earn him by virtue of her qualities as a wife, she didn’t want him at all.
Bethac didn’t answer. She charged into the room with her candle flickering wildly. She dumped the bedsheets on the end of the bed and yanked the sheepskins off the cousins.
“Come! Now!”
Feiyan, groggy and disoriented, groaned as she was abruptly uncovered. “What the…?”
