Page 97 of Bride of Fire
“Can ye tell me now,” he ventured softly, “who did this to ye?”
“I… I…” She closed her eyes and shuddered. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know, lass, I know. But if I’m to keep ye safe, I need to know who I’m up against.”
“He won’t know where I’ve gone,” she said, her black eyes wide and naïve. “Can we not just abide here in peace?”
“Not until he’s dead and gone,” Morgan replied, with more than a little menace in his voice.
She shivered as she clutched the coverlet to her bosom. “You don’t mean to challenge him?”
“I cannot suffer the bastard to live, m’lady.” He clenched his fists. “Not after what he’s done to ye.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Nay! Please do not tangle with him,” she cried. “You don’t know how treacherous he is.” Her face was contorted with anxiety. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you to that monster.”
Bothered by the fact she assumed her abductor could best him, he replied, “Ye won’t lose me.”
“You don’t know that,” she said, “and if I lose you, what will become of me?” She ended in stifled weeping, with her fist pressed against her mouth.
“I’ll be fine,” he assured her. “I’m a good swordsman. And I know how to watch my back. I need only his name.”
He sulked, mildly insulted that he had to defend his abilities to her. She’d been his wife for two years. She’d seen him take up arms against dozens of formidable warriors. Did she have no faith in his skills?
She answered with a thin wail and more weeping, burrowing her face in her hands.
He flinched. Damn his callousness. What kind of brute was he to make demands of a lass who was clearly still suffering the anguish of abuse?
He wrapped a consoling arm around her quaking shoulders. “I’m sorry, Alicia. I shouldn’t have asked.”
He supposed revenge would have to wait. But for each instant her tormenter breathed, Morgan’s need for revenge wound tighter. Soon it would reach its limit. Then he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. He’d insist she give him the villain’s name. And blood would be spilled.
He was still fantasizing about the form his retribution would take when someone knocked on the door.
Alicia sighed in irritation.
“Who is it?” Morgan called out.
“Jenefer.”
At the sound of her voice, his mind suddenly roiled with a tempest of images.
The beautiful lass in the throes of passion. Her golden tresses lashing his ribs. Her skin glowing. Her eyes shimmering like sparks.
But then he remembered their last conversation. Her eyes blazing in rage. Her mouth twisting in mockery. Her arms tense with fury. Her voice hoarse with hurt and anger.
Warring emotions bombarded him as well. Love and regret. Lust and shame. Temptation and forbiddance. Desire and duty.
Before he could work out how he felt about her and how he should respond, she let herself into the chamber.
In the flesh, Jenefer was even more compelling and disturbing than he’d remembered. He’d been racked with guilt for comparing the spirited, vibrant lass to his muted, lackluster wife. But seeing them together, he couldn’t deny the contrast.
Jenefer’s demeanor this morn, however, was formal. Stiff. Cool. Polite.
“I thought Lady Alicia might wish to see her son.”
She ducked through the door with Miles in her arms. Morgan imagined it couldn’t have been easy for her.
“Who is this?” Alicia’s voice was terse, guarded. He supposed it was only natural that she would be defensive, considering what she’d endured.
