Authors: The Last Highlander
The best way to do that was to share the story.
Morgan had an instinctive sense that Alasdair would not judge her because of what had happened. It was time to tell someone and she wanted to tell him. Hadn’t he been the one who had insisted that telling took the sting out of bad news?
“All right.” Morgan nodded agreement. “But maybe we should get some breakfast first.”
Alasdair grinned. “Aye, I knew from first glance that you were a woman of good sense.”
* * *
The sorceress fiddled with the last of her toast as though she knew she could delay no longer. She had donned another pair of those tights that tormented Alasdair, tossing a vivid blue and green sweater over her shoulders. Her yet damp hair had been bound back in some semblance of order. The sunlight streaming through the window above the table painted blue lights in its drying curls.
But ’twas the vulnerability in her emerald eyes that tore at his heart this morning. Alasdair waited patiently, sipping at the vile brew she called tea. ’Twas clear enough that this tale would not be easy in the telling for her, and he was humbled that she had accepted his invitation to recount it.
Morgan flicked him a very green glance, and Alasdair knew ’twas time.
“I was married before,” she confessed tightly. This was part of her history that Alasdair did not recall from his gran’s tales, though he supposed he should not have been surprised. Within the eternity of an immortal’s life, surely there would be moments of love?
Morgaine sighed. “I’m not really sure why, although at the time, it seemed to be the thing to do. We met at art school, you know, and he always knew what to do when I didn’t.” She shrugged. “I guess I admired him. He had so much self-assurance.”
“Had he a name?”
She smiled quickly then, though the curve vanished almost as soon as it appeared. “Matt. Matthew James Reilly. He graduated and got a good job in an advertising agency, then he thought it was time to get married, so we did.”
Her school of arts was obviously where the great sorcerors went to hone their skills, though Alasdair had no understanding of an advertising agency. It seemed to have little import, other than motivating this Matt to propose marriage, so he did not interrupt her tale. No doubt ’twas only a sign that Matt had proven himself.
Morgaine frowned into her cup. “For a while everything was wonderful. We found a good apartment overlooking the lake and I kept on with my classes. He came home from work and we cooked together, that kind of thing.” Her lips twisted. “Maybe because it once was good, when it got bad, things seemed worse.”
Alasdair felt a pang of jealousy. There had never been a day without strife in his marriage. That it had always been strife willfully created by Fenella and for her own entertainment made the truth no easier to bear.
Morgaine leaned forward. “You see, I thought it would be nice to start a family. I really like kids.” Alasdair’s heart tightened at the sparkle that just the thought brought to her eyes.
He had to look away when the spark was quenched.
“But Matt didn’t want any ties. At all. We started to fight, about every stupid little thing. He started to not come home. I started to wonder whether those ties he didn’t want included me.”
The shadow that fell over her delicate features showed the pain that even the memories caused. Her next words were husky. “We even stopped making love. It was awful. He didn’t touch me at all. In fact, he went out of his way to avoid touching me.”
This then, was why she had such doubts of her allure. Alasdair realized why she had been so upset when he stepped away from her in the shower and wished he had known this tale sooner.
“There is naught amiss with your charms, my lady,” he assured her with passion, and that wan smile flashed briefly again.
“Well. Maybe.” She shrugged. “Anyway, when I finally worked up the nerve to ask what was wrong, things got ugly fast. Matt accused me of wanting to trick him into creating a child, but I would never have done that.” She looked sadly at him. “How could I have brought a child into a marriage where it wasn’t wanted? How could I have done that to a little baby?”
Alasdair shook his head firmly, hating that he had not been as farsighted as the sorceress before him. “You could not.”
She shook her head adamantly. “I couldn’t have done it.” She heaved a sigh and tears shone in her eyes. “But he didn’t believe me. It was terrible, being married to someone who thinks the worst of you.”
“’Twas no more than a reflection of his own heart,” Alasdair declared. The sorceress looked up, a question lurking in those wondrous eyes. “Those with dark hearts accuse all those around them of planning foul crimes. I have seen this often.”
“Maybe.” Morgaine played with her cup, and Alasdair knew there was yet more. He leaned forward and captured her nervous fingers, alarmed to feel them tremble within his grip.
The sorceress did not pull her hand away, but she did not look at Alasdair either. “He, um, started to drink. I mean, he always drank, but he drank a lot more.”
This then was the source of her concerns about whisky. Alasdair closed his hand firmly over hers and hung on.
“And he changed so much when he was drunk. He was awful, shouting accusations and throwing things, storming out and not coming home all night. All I had to do was ask how his day had been to set him off. It was horrible.” Morgaine grimaced as Alasdair watched. “But it was worse when he wanted to have sex.”
“When he was fou as a puggie?”
Morgan frowned, clearly not understanding.
“When he was drunken,” Alasdair clarified.
Morgaine smiled slightly, though the merriment did not reach her eyes. “Well, it didn’t work most of the time. You know how it is. And he blamed me for that, calling me all sorts of names.” He voice caught. “Then I found out that he was sleeping with other women. We had a huge fight. I refused to let him into our bed.” Her expression turned rueful at the recollection.
Morgaine fidgeted but Alasdair did not release his grip on her fingers. She unwillingly lifted her gaze to his, and he saw the truth he would have her utter aloud.
“Did ever he strike you?”
A tear shimmered in her luminous eyes. “Just once.”
Anger erupted within Alasdair. She was so finely wrought, so tiny and perfect, even the fingers trapped within his grasp were delicate beyond all. How could any many lift a hand against her? What manner of boor would see the need to strike such a creature?
“Once is once too often, to a decent man’s way of thinking!” Alasdair angrily leapt to his feet. “Tell me where I should find this Matthew James Reilly that he might be taught what is right and proper!”
He glared down at the sorceress in outrage, his hands on his hips. She looked up at him and slowly smiled, as though she barely dared to believe his anger on her behalf.
“You really would, wouldn’t you?” she asked softly.
Alasdair’s heart twisted that she had been so poorly used. “Aye. Do you doubt my pledge?”
Morgaine looked at him for a long moment but did not answer his question. “Sit down,” she urged, “and I’ll tell you what happened.”
Alasdair did as he was bidden, but his indignation was not so readily dismissed. He wanted dearly to break the nose, if not more, of this Matthew, but he fiddled roughly with the cutlery instead. ’Twas not within him to sit still while his anger boiled, but he forced himself to do the lady’s bidding.
Morgaine folded herself up on her seat, and her gaze slipped off to the distance. “Things had been really bad, but then suddenly they started to get better. He made all sorts of promises, and although I know now what they were worth, at the time, I really wanted to believe him. I really wanted my marriage to work, maybe just on principle.
“I thought we had reached the bottom and all those promises, well, they had be believing everything could be fixed. Where there’s a will, there’s a way and all that.” She swallowed. “So, I trusted him.”
“And he lied to you,” Alasdair interjected savagely.
Morgaine’s expression was full of disillusionment. “Yes. It seems so obvious now. He kept doing what he was doing, but he didn’t rage at home anymore. He still ‘worked late’ and everything, though. I guess I was too stupid to see the signs.”
“’Tis not stupidity to trust someone held within one’s heart.”
Morgaine’s gaze locked with his own, and Alasdair feared she saw more deeply into his heart than he might have liked. Her lips parted, as though she would say something, then she shook her head and concentrated on her interlocked hands.
“It was our anniversary. Two whole years together. And I thought we had weathered the storm, that things were getting better and that we had a rosy future to celebrate. I was finishing my degree that year and had an offer for a full-time job. Everything looked great.”
“But ’twas not.”
“No.” Morgaine swallowed. “I came home early from class, planning to make a great dinner as a surprise. I had bought a bottle of sparkling non-alcoholic wine and some flowers.” Her eyes misted with unshed tears. “I think I might have been singing, probably quite badly.”
Her lips thinned and her voice turned hard. “I walked in on him humping some woman in our own bed.”
Morgaine plunged on with the telling before Alasdair could even blink.
“Well, all hell broke loose. I dropped the wine, so there was no mystery that I was there, and it splashed all over the place. The woman ran out half-naked. Matt started to yell at me for interrupting him, if you can believe it. And I finally snapped.”
The sorceress flung out her hands. “I couldn’t believe that he had lied to me like that. I couldn’t believe that everything I’d hoped for wasn’t going to happen. But I had to believe it. It was literally laid out right in front of me.”
Morgaine drew herself up taller. “And so, for the first time, I told Matt exactly what I thought of him and what he was doing. He yelled and” - she flushed - “I yelled back.”
Her gaze flicked to Alasdair. “That was when he hit me. He punched me in the eye.” She swallowed and frowned. “It was like time stopped. We stared at each other, both of us stunned at what he had done. I don’t know how I did it, but I just turned and walked right out of there. I went straight to a hotel, hired a lawyer, and never set foot in that place again.”
“He must have tried to speak to you.”
Morgaine’s lips set stubbornly. “After what he had done, there was
nothing
to say.”
“Aye,” Alasdair acknowledged and leaned forward to reassure her. He touched her shoulder, alarmed to find her trembling. “There is no excuse for striking a woman, whatever tale such a man might concoct. You are well rid of him and his kind.”
Morgaine’s lips twisted with the bitterness of what she had borne. She looked up at him, doubtless showing more vulnerability than she might have liked. Alasdair’s heart twisted.
“Aren’t all men of his kind?” The words were uttered softly, as though her scar demanded she ask the question, but her eyes were filled with the hope that Alasdair would prove her wrong.
He captured both her hands in his own. “Never would I strike a woman or break a pledge.”
“But you might twist out of it on a technicality.” Her expression was sad, and Alasdair suddenly understood the full weight of the damage this Matthew had wrought. Here was the measure he had to prove himself beyond.
She propped her chin on her hands, the very image of disappointment. Alasdair could well sympathize with the shattering of her dreams, for marriage had fallen short of his own expectations.
He felt a curious bond with the sorceress.
“You leave the inviting to bed up to me, so that you won’t be the one to actively break your wedding vows,” she observed quietly. “In the end, it’s all the same, isn’t it?”
“Nay, ’tis not at all the same,” Alasdair declared with resolve.
“Why note?”
“Because Fenella is dead.”
Morgaine blinked.
But Alasdair had no time for her surprise. He ran a hand through his hair as the guilt flooded through him anew. He had to tell her how it had been.
“Yet you must understand, my lady, Fenella’s death eats at my very soul. Though never I struck her, her blood stains my hands all the same.” He met the gaze of the astonished sorceress.
“’Twas I who killed my wife, as surely as if I had fitted my hands around her neck.”
* * *
Alasdair had killed Fenella?
Surely Morgan had misunderstood!
But the highlander was staring at the floor, his expression pained. He got to his feet and paced the width of the room and back, as restless as a caged tiger.
It couldn’t be true. Morgan just knew it. “What happened?”
“I wanted a child, much as you did,” Alasdair confessed hoarsely. “But my lady, I fear I did not show your foresight in thinking of that child’s future.”
He shook his head suddenly, frowning down at his feet. “But let me begin with the first of the tale. I met Fenella Macdonald first on the day of our nuptials, but I had long heard repute of her wondrous beauty.”
Alasdair scowled in recollection and Morgan’s blood ran cold. “Never will I forget the sight of her when she swept from her sire’s ship. She was blonder than blonde, as fair as the new snow, with lips as red as blood. Fenella was tall and straight, slender and supple as a willow. She moved with the grace of a queen and smiled at all who turned their faces upon her.”
He swallowed visibly. “She was more beauteous than any might have warned me. I was stunned she would be my bride.”
Morgan fought against an irrational wave of disappointment. Fenella was dead, she reminded herself fiercely, but couldn’t help thinking that Alasdair’s heart was buried with her.
It shouldn’t have bothered Morgan, she knew it.
But it did.
She fought to sound disinterested. “Why was she?”
Alasdair shot a bright glance Morgan’s way. “Fenella’s sire took fearsome risk in taking the side of Robert the Bruce in those days. The MacAulay legacy is a powerful one and the wily old man saw advantage in having yet more warriors to his banner. ’Twas the blood of Olaf the Black her sire wanted in the veins of Fenella’s sons and ’tis that very blood that courses through mine. My chieftain declared the match fine and my fate was made.”