Page 159 of Bride of Fire
And even when the dagger lodged in her chest made it difficult to breathe and drew a filmy gray curtain over her eyes, she couldn’t help but see the black humor of it all.
She rolled onto her back, barely hearing the chorus of horrified gasps around her.
As she laughed with the last of her breath, her eyes rolled. She released her fingers from the dagger in her heart and felt blood gurgle from the wound.
Chapter 66
It was hard for Jenefer to feel sorry for Lady Alicia. After all, the woman had fallen on her own dagger in the act of trying to stab Jenefer.
But her gaze flew to Morgan in concern. He’d been the one to push Alicia aside. Would he think she’d died because of him?
His expression was grave as he stared down at his dead wife. For a long while he didn’t speak. No one spoke.
Finally he muttered, “Take her away. I don’t want Miles to see her like this.”
Three servants rushed to do his bidding.
“Miles doesn’t need to know,” Jenefer assured him. “’Twas an accident. Bury her in hallowed ground, someplace he can visit her when he’s grown.”
He didn’t reply.
“Morgan,” she insisted.
Still he didn’t answer.
“’Twasn’t your fault,” Jenefer murmured. “You know that, aye?”
He said nothing, only staring bleakly at the ground, stained by his wife’s blood.
It would take more to jar him from his spiraling guilt.
“Morgan, listen to me,” she said, seizing his arm. “I know you. You’re a man of honor. I know you gave her everything you had. A home. A title. A child. I know you tried to make her happy.”
He swallowed.
“And how did she repay you?” Jenefer asked. “With petulance. Disloyalty. Dishonor. Betrayal.” She shook her head. “For the love of God, the woman feigned her own death. She broke your heart. She abandoned her own son. She murdered her lover and then blamed you for it. She threatened to kill Miles. And if you hadn’t prevented her, she would have…” Her voice caught as the truth of how close she’d come to death sank in, then added under her breath, “She would have killed me.”
Morgan blinked, awakening from his daze. He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.
“Jenefer,” he sighed. He knitted his brows in concern. “Are ye hurt?”
She shook her head.
“I’m alive,” Jenefer told him in no uncertain terms, “because you did what you had to, to save me.”
Then there was no more time to discuss what he’d done and why he’d done it. Rivenloch was coming through the doors.
For Jenefer, it seemed like weeks had passed since she’d been among her clansfolk, months since she’d seen her parents. In the last few days, a lifetime of events had forged her into a different woman.
So, in light of the tragic situation, it was with measured cheer that she greeted her kin.
“Morgan Mor mac Giric, this is my clan,” she said. “The laird, Deirdre, and Pagan Cameliard, Miriel and Rand la Nuit, and my parents, Helena and Colin du Lac.
He nodded respectfully. “My thanks for your help.”
“Of course,” Deirdre replied.
Her mother, Helena, stepped forward, sizing him up from head to toe. She crossed her arms and arched her brow. “Unlike you Highland folk, constantly quibbling among yourselves,” she told him with a sniff, “we Lowlandersalwaysfight together against the English.”
