Page 90 of Bride of Fire
“What does it matter?”
“Give him to me.”
“He’ll cry again,” she warned.
“Give him to me.” His eyes had lost their sheen. He was deadly serious.
“Wait.” She lowered her brows. “You don’t think I would hurt him?”
“Now,” he commanded.
His mistrust was almost as hurtful as his infidelity.
“Fine.”
She held out the babe to him. As predicted, Miles began to wail as soon as Morgan took him. Racked by new pain, she wanted to wound Morgan.
She sneered, “I’m sure your mistress will be delighted to share your bed with a squalling infant.”
Morgan leveled his gaze at her. “She’s not my mistress.” He took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. “She’s Allison’s mother. My wife.”
Chapter 42
As Alicia snuggled in welcome solitude beneath the coverlet, her self-satisfied smile turned into an impatient growl.
What the devil was all that noise? What was going on next door?
After all she’d been through, she thought she deserved to sleep in peace.
No one could ever fathom what a rare and special gift for deception she had. Nor what a grueling, demanding business it was.
She’d had to employ that gift a lot lately.
Feigning her love for Morgan.
Faking her death.
Fabricating her abduction.
Inventing her harrowing escape.
And those were only the lies she’d told her husband.
It grieved her to admit that things had not gone as well as she’d liked.
But now that she’d successfully insinuated herself back into her husband’s household, her fatiguing work to cover her tracks and her arduous midnight journey had caught up with her.
And the commotion on the other side of the wall was preventing her from getting a good night’s rest.
Still, it was hard not to smile in self-congratulations after her brilliant victory. She’d made naïve Morgan believe her story. And she’d even had time to take sweet revenge on those who’d wronged her.
She closed her eyes, reliving the tumultuous events of the last several weeks.
Sick to death of the miserable and uncivilized Highlands and weary of carrying Morgan’s heir in her belly, Alicia had been desperate to find an escape. Six months ago, she thought she’d finally found one.
The English knight, Sir Edward, with whom she’d had a brief affair in Catalonia, had recently become a lord in his own right. He’d acquired a castle at Firthgate, along the border with Scotland. A few fawning letters from her reignited his affections, guaranteeing that—should she find her way back to him—a home, a title, and all the comforts of civilization would be hers. Or so he’d promised.
His offer was too tempting to refuse. All Alicia had to do was rid herself of a husband and an infant. For that, she’d enlisted her midwife. Godit had arranged her childbed ruse, declaring Alicia dead and hiding her away. Once Alicia was hale enough to travel, they planned to abandon the wretched Highlands, journeying to Edward’s holding. No one at Firthgate would ever know Alicia was once wed, and faithful Godit would guard her secret. Or so she’d vowed.
