Page 87 of Bride of Fire
Until she heard a woman answer him.
Her voice was light and sweet. Soft and vulnerable. Not menacing in the least.
Yet Jenefer suddenly felt more threatened than if she’d heard a boar letting loose with a hellish roar.
She strained to hear.
A sound of disgust came from behind her. “Jen, close the shutters,” Feiyan hissed from the bed. “You’ll freeze everyone.”
Jenefer ignored her. Feiyan let out a loud sigh, then flounced over in the bed, pilfering all the furs.
Jenefer resumed listening. She heard Bethac leave. Then she heard the gruff-voiced man bid Morgan farewell. Now there were only Morgan and the woman. Alone.
Every tender syllable that dropped from his lips was like the sharp cut of a dagger. Whoever the woman was, Morgan clearly cared for her.
And by the faint melody of the woman’s responses, that affection was returned.
Jenefer felt sick with betrayal.
How could Morgan have forsaken her? And so quickly?
Mere hours had passed since they’d trysted.
She thought their joining hadmeantsomething.
Morgan may not have lost his virginity. But he’d given her something of himself. His ecstasy. His passion. His soul.
And she’d given him all of her.
She thought he was just as affected by the experience as she was.
She thought they’d shared something unique and special and intimate.
Apparently, she was wrong.
It meant nothing to him.
Shemeant nothing to him.
Chapter 41
In her heart of hearts, Jenefer knew she had no right to feel like a victim. After all, it wasshewho had seducedMorgan. She glanced at the bed, still rumpled from what they’d done. None of what had happened there had been his idea.
But knowing he’d practically leaped into another woman’s arms while his seed was still warm inside her…
Her eyes welled. Her throat ached.
But she refused to shed a single tear for the rutting stag of a man.
Instead, she swallowed down her hurt and banged a fist on the stone ledge, turning her sorrow to ire.
It was just as she’d always heard, she decided. Highlanders were faithless beasts who sowed their seed like wild thistles. Unfeeling, uncaring brutes who took what they wanted and left a trail of destruction behind.
How could she have forgotten that?
How could she have believed otherwise?
She’d been a lovesick fool.
