Page 39 of Forgotten Secrets (Secrets of the Heart 4)

Chapter 12

Morag awoke before Bedivere the next morning, feeling happy and sated. Last night was wonderful and she didn’t want her intimate time with her future husband to ever end. Finally, she’d found what she’d been looking for in life. With Bedivere, Morag felt wanted and loved. With him, she would never feel left out of anything again.

Lying next to him, she took a minute to study the lines of his face and the way his bushy eyebrows turned down slightly at the corners when he slept. The morning light filtering in through the shutter made a streak across his face and bare, broad chest. He always looked handsome, but without the beard and mustache he was even more desirable. She leaned in and very gently placed a small kiss against his lips. He made a small noise and turned over in bed.

Being careful not to wake him, Morag tiptoed over to the dying fire to stoke it. As the flames reignited, she felt her clothes. They were still wet, but she donned them anyway. Feeling cold, she reached for the blanket on the floor. When she picked it up, there was a loud clattering of metal as objects that were hidden inside the folded blanket fell to the floor at her feet.

“What’s this?” she asked, reaching down to pick up one of the many blades. There were at least a dozen weapons – daggers, swords, and some that she couldn’t even identify.

“Nay, put those down!” Bedivere shot off the bed, still naked, and reached out and took the dagger from her.

“What are all these weapons?” she asked.

“They . . . they’re mine.”

“But why do ye have so many? What do ye use them for?”

“I’m a knight. Of course I have weapons.”

She looked at him from the corners of her eyes. “Bedivere, I dinna understand.”

“Morag, I tried to tell you things about me last night. But you said you didn’t want to hear my secrets and that they didn’t matter.”

“Secrets? What kind of secrets?” she asked, looking down to the weapons. Her stomach clenched. Bedivere was hiding something from her and she had a feeling that whatever it was she wasn’t going to like it.

“Brother, I’ve returned.” Percival burst into the room with another man right behind him. “Oh!” Percival stepped backward, crashing into the other man, holding his hand up to his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t know you had a . . . visitor.”

“Did ye call him, Brother?” asked Morag, not understanding this at all. “Bedivere, I thought he was yer squire.”

Bedivere put down the dagger and hurriedly dressed. “Dammit, Percival, why can’t you knock like a normal person before entering my chamber?”

“Perhaps we should come back at a . . . more convenient time?” asked the other man.

“No need. I am leavin’.” Morag hurried for the door, wanting nothing more than to leave since she felt embarrassed being caught in Bedivere’s room.

“Morag, wait!” Bedivere called after her. “I can explain.”

“Explain? What are you saying?” growled the other visitor.

“God’s eyes, Whitmore, I think she has the right to know that Percival is my brother.” Bedivere walked over to Morag, bare-chested and with bare feet but wearing breeches. He took Morag by the wrist. “I need to talk with you,” he said in a low voice.

“Nay,” said Morag, feeling betrayed by her lover. “I dinna have anythin’ to say to ye.”

“Meet me in the mews in an hour,” he whispered as he gently kissed her ear.

“Let go of me,” she snapped, running past Percival and the man called Whitmore, feeling as if, mayhap, she had done wrong by sleeping with Bedivere after all.

“What was that all about, Bedivere?”asked Lord Whitmore as he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Bedivere growled, pulling a tunic over his head.

“I gave him your message, just like you told me to do,” said Percival. “He insisted on coming here to talk to you himself.”

“I have nothing to talk about with him.” Bedivere sat on a chair to put on his shoes.

Whitmore chuckled. “Now you are starting to sound just like that tart you bedded.”

Bedivere shot up off the bed, grabbing Lord John Whitmore by the front of his tunic and pushing his face close to the man’s. “You call her a tart once more and I’ll kill you right where you stand. And I think you know better than anyone that I’m capable of doing it.”

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