Page 45 of Bride of Fire
If that had happened, Colban would be trapped in enemy country. Alone and defenseless, it wouldn’t be long before he found himself at the mercy of the Laird of Rivenloch.
Once the laird found out his nieces were being held hostage at Creagor, he’d not only send his entire army to lay siege. He’d likely try to hold Colban as counter ransom for the Warrior Daughters.
For Morgan, Colban was not a pawn to be sacrificed. So if Rivenloch captured him, Morgan would no longer have leverage. And without the king’s decree in his hands, he stood to lose Creagor.
But there was little more he could do at this point. The castle was as well-defended as it could be. There was nothing to do but wait. Either Colban would show up with Hallie in tow, or the army of Rivenloch would arrive to storm the gates.
In the meantime, he needed Bethac to supervise the maids who were stockpiling the harvested crops.
Bounding up the stairs, he approached the nursery with stealth. All was quiet, so he eased open the door. The wet nurse was slumped in a chair, fast asleep. Miles was nowhere to be seen.
Softly closing the door behind him, he scanned the chamber again, sure he’d missed something. The bairn had to be here somewhere.
His brow furrowed as he peered cautiously under the coverlet. Nothing.
His breath grew thin as he searched every inch of the rush-covered floor. Nothing.
His heart was pounding as he opened the wooden chest at the foot of the bed. Nothing.
The wet nurse awoke with a gasp. “Oh! M’laird!” She staggered to her feet and bobbed a curtsey.
“Where is he?” Morgan asked, lowering the lid of the chest with trembling fingers, astonished at the raw edge of fear in his voice.
“Who?”
“My s-,” he breathed. “The bairn.”
She looked around the room in confusion.
“Whereishe?” he demanded, fast losing his patience and his sanity.
She blinked, and then shook her head as if clearing the cobwebs from her brain. “Ah, I remember now. Bethac has him.”
Relief softened his rage. Nonetheless, his temper was tested as he bit out, “And where is Bethac?”
“In your bedchamber.”
“My bedchamber?Mybedchamber? With the prisoners?”
“Wee Miles wouldn’t stop cryin’,” she explained, “and Bethac said that the Lowland lass was the only—”
His growl silenced the nurse.
For God’s sake! Didn’t he have enough to fret about? Losing his wife. Leaving his home. Holding onto his castle. Protecting his clan. Now he had to worry that his son had fallen into enemy hands.
He wheeled and left the nursery. Five angry strides brought him to his bedchamber. His dark glower convinced the young guard to stand aside.
When he barreled in through the door, it was as he’d feared.
The three women stood in clear defiance of his wishes, consorting together.
The scheming Jenefer had taken possession of his son. The innocent, trusting infant dozed against her breast.
And as loyal a maidservant as old Bethac was, the dreamy expression on her face told him she’d been gulled by the Lowland lass as well.
“What are ye doin’ here?” he demanded of Bethac.
He almost saw the hackles rise on her neck as she straightened in challenge. He should have remembered that though old Bethac was a trusty servant, she’d also known Morgan when he was a suckling bairn. She wasn’t easily intimidated by him, even with “laird” attached to his name.
