Page 91 of Bride of Fire
Alicia had expected Edward and Godit to keep their promises.
Their disloyalty in the form of a love affair had been an enormous disappointment.
But two days ago, fate had finally smiled on Alicia. She’d learned her estranged husband Morgan had left his dreary Highland home to inherit the holding at much more temperate Creagor. As luck would have it, Creagor was not far away, just on the opposite side of the border. Suddenly she found the prospect of life with him once again appealing.
Godit and Edward’s betrayal had made her decision easy.
How Alicia had relished watching the life slowly drain out of the midwife’s bulging eyes, holding Godit close so the young woman couldn’t free herself from the dagger Alicia had shoved beneath her ribs.
Yet it was a shame things had had to end that way. Godit had been a skilled midwife. She’d delivered scores of babes in her short lifetime, including Alicia’s own. Godit had been willing to lie for Alicia, telling Morgan she’d died in childbirth. And she’d shown Alicia how to halt the flow of milk that lingered in her breasts after she’d delivered.
The useless milk had still seeped from her for days, not unlike the blood that seeped from Godit’s wound. The dark liquid had bathed Alicia’s fingers where she gripped the hilt until Godit finally stopped scrabbling at the blade.
“You brought this upon yourself, you know,” she’d whispered to the dying woman. “If only you’d kept your knees together and stayed away from Edward, none of this would have happened.”
Godit had opened and closed her mouth like a hooked trout until her eyes began to glaze over. She’d tried, and failed, to suck in a few last, desperate breaths.
“But you couldn’t do it, could you?” Alicia had told her, twisting the knife in Godit’s bare abdomen with cruel vengeance and forcing a sickly gurgle from the woman’s throat. “You couldn’t keep your hands off of what was mine. And now you’ve spoiled everything.”
But Godit’s eyelids had already fluttered shut. The stupid wench was beyond hearing. Before she went completely limp, Alicia pushed her naked body back onto the garderobe seat.
When Alicia gazed down at the dagger protruding from the midwife’s chest, she realized it was the same one Godit had used to cut the cord when Morgan’s infant was born.
That had seemed like an age ago. It had been just over three months. That things could go so wrong in so short a time was maddening.
Yet, like a cat, Alicia always landed on her feet.
Receiving news about Morgan Mor mac Giric had shifted the winds of fate for her.
She’d disposed of the philandering midwife. Half of her problem had been solved. Once she took care of the rest of her unfinished business, she’d emerge untouched by the violence she’d wrought.
Taking a cleansing breath, she’d ripped the dagger out of the woman’s body, oozing blood onto Alicia’s saffron skirts. But that was fine. Soon she’d be able to afford a whole chest full of new gowns.
Besides, she knew her fickle Edward would never notice the stain. His thoughts always centered solely on what was between his legs, which had finally proved to be his downfall. Once Alicia had grabbed him by the ballocks, he was oblivious to all else.
Half an hour later, in the bedchamber they’d shared, Alicia was staring down at the second part of her gruesome handiwork, amazed by how well it had gone.
It was still hard to believe how much she’d sacrificed to be with Edward. A large inheritance. A handsome husband. The protection of the mightiest army in the Highlands. And now he’d forced her to murder him.
The English lord had never truly appreciated her. Not the way he should have.
Now things were back under her control. She’d left Edward dead on their bed, gawking blindly at the ceiling, with Godit’s dagger protruding from his belly.
She didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. The betraying bastard deserved every inch of the steel she’d thrust into him.
Of course, she’d never truly loved Edward in the first place. She was incapable of feeling love. The emotion had eluded her all her life.
But she’d made plans with him.
And she hated to have her plans ruined.
The deception after that wasn’t difficult. Her bloody clothing lent credence to her story. And her injuries…
She winced now as she touched the stinging, bloody scratches Godit had raked down her cheek. Her bruised breasts and thighs ached from the hard pinches Alicia had administered herself. A convincing lump swelled where she’d intentionally bashed her brow against the bedpost.
She’d torn her skirt, drenched it in Edward’s blood, and dragged it across the floor to the window, leaving the scrap on the sill.
Those who discovered the grisly trail would assume she’d been a victim. They’d believe that whoever had killed Edward and Godit must have kidnapped Alicia.
