Page 24 of Forgotten Secrets (Secrets of the Heart 4)

“I do,” she admitted, noticing the flowers in her hand shaking. He noticed, too.

“Why do you tremble, Morag?” He released her chin. “Do I frighten you?”

“I – I am no’ sure,” she said, not understanding why this happened to her every time she was near him.

“There is nothing to fear. I promise, I will never hurt you.”

“I believe ye,” she said, boldly leaning forward and placing her head against his chest. “I dinna ken why Willow said those horrible things about ye because I can see now that they are no’ true.”

Morag felt Bedivere’s body stiffen and didn’t understand why he seemed so tense all of a sudden. She sat up and perused him. “Now it seems as if somethin’ is frightenin’ ye. What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said, leaning back and stretching out his legs as he looked up to the clouds in the bright blue sky. “I suppose I just don’t like to hear that anyone dislikes me.”

“Oh, is that all?” Morag chuckled. “It’s only Willow. She is so haughty that I am surprised that Conrad likes her and ended up marryin’ her. Dinna worry about it, I’m sure everyone likes ye. How could they no’? Ye are chivalric and honest and protective, and just like the man I want to someday marry.”

His eyes snapped over to her and his body stiffened again. “Nay, Morag. You don’t want to marry someone like me.”

“Why no’?” she asked.

“I’m not right for you. You deserve someone better than me.”

“Now who’s bein’ modest?” she asked, laughing and laying down on the ground, snuggling up to him and looking at the clouds as well. “Have ye ever been married, Bedivere?”

“Nay,” he answered after a short pause.

“Why no’? I think any lassie would be proud to have ye as her husband. I would.”

Bedivere slipped away from Morag and sat up, feeling very uncomfortable. Morag thought he was the perfect man and even hinted that she wanted to marry him. What had he done? In trying to get close to her to gain information about his next kill, he had made the girl think he was all these things he pretended to be. He hated himself right now, and hated Lord John Whitmore even more for putting him in this position. But if the bastard triplets truly were plotting against King Richard, it was his duty to stop them before they killed the king. He had to find out more.

“I’m sure your father wouldn’t like you marrying an Englishman. After all, I hear he hates the English and even hated his own father, King Edward III.”

“Aye, so he says,” answered Morag, still looking up at the sky. She brought the flowers to her nose as she spoke. “But even though my faither says he hates the English, he is English, so I think it is all an act. He just likes to pretend he’s a Scot.”

“I would think his hatred for King Edward would have died along with the king. How do your father and your uncles get along with Richard? I’m sure Richard, being of true noble blood, hasn’t quite accepted bastard uncles.”

“True,” she said.

Good. Now Bedivere was getting somewhere. If it sounded at all like the triplets hated or despised Richard, he’d have his answer. Mayhap, they truly were plotting to kill the king.

“True? So you mean . . . they hate Richard?”

“Oh, nay, no’ at all. As a matter of fact, Richard had a hard time acceptin’ them and doesna really talk to my faither or uncles at all. But they like him just fine. They understand how hard it must be for Richard since his grandfaither ended up havin’ a better relationship with my Uncles Rook and Reed than he did with his own grandson.”

“What about your father?”

“What about him?”

“Does your father hold resentment for Richard?”

“No’ at all. He likes Scotland and doesna want to bother himself with anythin’ to do with the English. Sometimes he sounds gruff, but my faither doesna mean it.”

“So he would never fight against the English king?”

“He will fight with Scotland if the English attack, aye, of course. But remember, King Richard is my cousin. My sister and Willow and Maira and I have spent time with him and that is guid enough for my faither and uncles. They like that we sometimes spend time at court even though they have no desire to go there since Edward died.”

“Really,” he said, cocking his head. “But isn’t it every man’s wish to have more? If your father and uncles were spawns of the late King Edward, mayhap they would . . . I don’t know . . . possibly want to sit on the English throne themselves?”

Morag laughed at that. “Oh, nay. That is the last thing they’d ever want.”

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