Fire Raven (12 page)

“Kate, what do you remember?” he demanded when he determined she was calm enough to respond. “Tell me what you saw.”

The reminder sent another shudder through her. She raised her tear-streaked face to his, her green eyes glittering like peridot.

“I remember,” she whispered, and was silent long enough for him to become frightened, “I remember watching him drown.”

Morgan swallowed hard.
Dear Jesu
. Yet he had to know. “Who, Kate?”

“Rory. That’s all I know. His name, his face. Sweet Jesu, his face.” She shut her eyes and he watched tears seep beneath her lashes. “I remember he called me ‘Kat.’ Not Kate …
Kat
. ’Tis similar to the name you’ve given me, for lack of any other.”

Morgan did not answer her. She forged on, choking on her tears.

“’Twas horrible, Morgan. Rory begged me to help him. He couldn’t swim well, you see, but I couldn’t … couldn’t hold him up …” Her words rose to a keen of pure agony, a sound to rend the heart of the heartless. “Ahh, Jesu, why did I fail him?”

“Ssh,
Faeilean
, it does no good to blame yourself,” Morgan murmured as he stroked her head. Her shaking subsided at the sound of his voice. He had the power to calm her thus. Trelane magic, they might have called it centuries ago; now it was nothing less than a curse. Morgan’s voice thickened with emotion as he continued speaking to her in a soothing vein.

“The sea is a beautiful yet fickle mistress, so man is always at her mercy. Even today, when she seems benign and peaceful, there is always the chance she will turn on him and render both he and his measly ship afloat.”

“Yea, I know it. There is something more to this, I fear — something evil,” Kat said. She clutched the front of his doublet as if he might save her from drowning, as well. Gently, Morgan pried her hands free and held them in his grasp.

“Listen to me. You are starting to remember the accident. I vow, it will come back to you, whether you want it to or not. You will be frightened, you may be beyond terror at some point. Yet you must always come to me. I want you to promise me … Kate, Kat, my precious
cariad
. Come to me.”

“Aye,” she whispered, relieved. “Yea, Morgan, I will.”

Chapter Seven

K
AT’S LIPS PARTED, EVER
so slightly. She tilted her head back in an obvious invitation to a kiss. With aching tenderness, Morgan touched his mouth to hers. He felt her sag with utter trust and relief against him. Her breasts pressed against his doublet, violet wool and forest-green velvet the only barriers between them.

Sweet. So sweet.
Morgan’s mind whirled with emotions, agony chief among them. Jesu, she looked ripe for loving. He claimed her mouth with rising urgency, lowering them both into a grassy pool speckled with wildflowers. Her hands molded his face as they kissed. Morgan forgot the bane of his face, forgot all but the piercing waves of pleasure slamming over him.

When he raised his lips from hers, her eyes were slitted in cat-like fashion against the bright light

“Oh, my love,” she whispered. There was awe and great joy in her voice. “I never imagined —”

“Nor I,” Morgan said, gazing with hunger upon Kat’s serene face, wanting to memorize forever how she looked at this moment. He knew it was all he would ever have. His hand moved along her shoulder, slid down to her hip, and nestled comfortably in the curves nature had provided.

“Morgan,” she murmured. “Kiss me again.”

It was both a demand and a plea. He decided if a single day must last him a lifetime, he might as well make the most of this one.

“With pleasure,
cariad
.” She was no longer just his lost seagull; she was his beloved, as well. His mouth slanted down upon hers, and passion swiftly rose again, so powerfully that he was helpless against its onslaught.

Morgan’s fingers trembled as he unhooked Kat’s bodice. A sheer lawn camisole hardly concealed her breasts from his gaze. If ever woman was perfection, she was. He ducked his head to capture a rosy nipple through the material and worried it with his teeth. Kat gasped, arched up against him with the newly found pleasure. Her fingers threaded through his hair as she urged him onward with hungry little cries.

“Aye!” Her tone was urgent, pleading. “Love me, Morgan.”

He had every intention of doing so. From shattering grief to pure ecstasy, they both might fly as swift and true as Ironbreaker, now. Morgan eased down the lacy straps of the camisole, freeing her breasts to his admiring gaze. They were lovely, flawless, as was the rest of her. He painted them with his tongue. With his teeth, he drew upon the nipples until they were hard as rubies and twice as red and throbbed as insistently as his own maleness.

Kat shifted restlessly against him, drawing him up to her lips again. “Oh, Morgan,” she murmured. Her half-closed eyes never seemed more seductive nor intense than they were at this moment. “I must tell you something. I lo — ”

“Ssh,
cariad
.” Morgan cut off her confession with a swift, emphatic kiss. “Not now. I’ll not see you tumbled quick as a country wench in a haystack. Come, let me help you right your clothing. I’ll set out the repast Ailis made for us. I find salt air does increase the appetite, after all.”

Surprised, Kat thought Morgan’s abrupt departure from lovemaking must be due to propriety rather than conscience. She imagined he would have some explaining to do, indeed, if one of his serfs stumbled across the mighty baron rolling in his own fields. She giggled at the thought.

“Aye,” she said reluctantly. “Let’s sample the food, milord. Whether the salt air increased my appetite or not, I confess I find myself ravenous.”

She accepted Morgan’s steadying hand as she rose. By necessity, his assistance was also needed to rehook her bodice. Properly restored now, all but for her crushed chignon, Kat waited while Morgan fetched the luncheon basket.

Kat heard him whistle three times. His call elicited a distant, thin cry and Ironbreaker’s return. She repressed a shiver at the memories the sound evoked. Why a mere bird’s call should upset her so, triggering such a strange and painful recollection, she might never know. She knew she should be overjoyed to have a glimpse of her past, no matter how dark, how tortured. The pieces were beginning to fall in place, yet she somehow mourned the loss of innocence.

Morgan barely glanced at the bloody grouse Ironbreaker brought back. He tossed it into a saddlebag, anxious to return to Kat. He hooded the gyrfalcon and secured her on Idris’s saddle before he returned to Kat’s side.

There in the meadow, beneath snow-capped Madoc’s Craig, the two of them feasted on Welsh mountain lamb roasted in honey; fried laverbread made from boiled, chopped seaweed and oatmeal; and a hard, sharp cheese.

He told her Ailis had sent a bottle of sweet white wine with two silver goblets. For once, Kat didn’t feel humiliated as Morgan fed her. She nipped playfully at his fingers several times. She captured his index finger between her lips and sucked upon it for a moment. He tasted of the wine he had spilled on his hands when he opened the bottle. He groaned at the sensuous action, but freed his finger at first opportunity.

“Greedy wench,” he teased her, with a tremor in his voice. “If you’re so hungry, mayhap we should return to Falcon’s Lair so I can ensconce you in my larder right quick.”

Kat laughed. “My hunger might be appeased in an easier manner, milord.”

“More expedient, perhaps, though not easier.”

Gazing into her sparkling green eyes, Morgan drew a fortifying breath of air. It was getting harder and harder to distance his emotions. He forced his gaze away from Kat’s flushed face. He knew she would not deny him complete conquest, if he so desired. It only made him feel worse.

Sensing his downturn of mood, her smile faded. “Have I offended you somehow, Morgan?”

“Nay, of course not.”

“What, then? Everything seemed fine until — ”

A whinny captured their attention. Kat heard Morgan leap to his feet. She also heard the nearby, panicked bugle of the stallion, and a sense of foreboding washed over her.

“What is it?”

“Get down, Kat. Get down and stay down.” Morgan thrust her unceremoniously to the grass. She lay rigid but obedient, knowing his gift of sight revealed dangers she could not appreciate. Someone was nearby. Hurting the horses?

“Morgan?” A spiraling fear clutched her. Kat moaned, half in pain, half in fear. He did not answer.

Oh, Morgan, pray be careful
, she thought. Beads of sweat broke out on her brow. She heard an angry shout, and judged it to be Morgan’s. Then came the terrifying sound of a violent struggle nearby. She thought she heard a body fall.
Nay!
her mind screamed. She froze for a brief instant, engulfed in dark waves of horror and dread.

“Morgan!” She tried to scream, yet her voice emerged a mere croak, whisked away by the brisk wind on the mountain. She crawled on all fours, hand over hand, her senses honed more keenly by the bitter taste of fear. She heard hoof beats galloping away into the distance. They faded, yet her resolve did not.

“Morgan,” she called out again, this time in a stronger voice. “Sweet Jesu, answer me.”

There was no reply save the rustling of the grass and the whicker of a horse — Patches. A sense of direction surfaced, and Kat headed toward the spot where she guessed the mare was hobbled. She paused when the horse stirred again. She might easily be trampled, and there was no way for her to ride the mare for help. Her fists clenched in frustration. Where in heaven’s name was Morgan?

She was afraid she knew. She heard a faint groan issue from the direction of the cliff. Gathering courage into one solid knot in her mind, she started to crawl again. Her long skirts hampered her and snagged in various places along the way. Tears of frustration rose to choke her. Brambles scratched her hands, her face. She struggled along, gaining only the prick of thorns for her efforts.

The sea. It was close now. Kat paused, sniffing the salt tang with apprehension. It threatened to bring a deeper fear to the surface again. The ship, the fire, the merciless sea.

No! She forcibly blocked out the memory of Rory’s dying cries, the vision of angry waves closing over his head. That was the past. There was much more at stake here and now, her future: Morgan. He needed her. Inch by inch, Kat crawled closer to the cliff’s edge.

S
HE FOUND A BOOT
first and followed it up the leg. She groped her way up the fallen body, then hesitated when she realized it might be someone other than Morgan. Finally, her fingers crossed the familiar velvet of his doublet. She leaned down and sniffed, just to be sure. Morgan’s scent was distinctive. Wool, horseflesh, wild mint. Aye, it was him. She felt relieved, then suffered a pang of fear again. His doublet was wet. Blood?

“Morgan,” she whispered.

He groaned and stirred slightly. He was not dead. Kat’s hopes were dashed when she realized she had no way of summoning those at Falcon’s Lair for help. She and Morgan were trapped high in the meadow beneath Madoc’s Craig, alone. Or perhaps they were not alone at all; mayhap someone else watched them now.

Kat shivered. She felt an icy wind rush down off the mountain, yanking at her hair and skirts — winter’s last kiss, or spring’s subtle taunt. It was foolish to risk moving Morgan herself, without the benefit of sight. Her tumbling thoughts were interrupted by yet another realization: Beneath her braced hand, earth crumbled and fell away.

Sweet Jesu! They teetered right on the cliff’s edge. She reeled backward with fear and caught herself at the last second. Any disturbance, however slight, might cause the entire shelf beneath them to give way. Kat swallowed and waited to feel the ground before shifting again. It was eerily silent, save for the furious roar of the wind, plucking at her skirts. No birds sang in the trees.

Which way? Kat pondered the matter. Bit by bit, she crawled backwards on her hands and knees, down to Morgan’s feet. She wrapped her hands around his ankles and tugged. But he was too heavy for her to drag more than a few inches. A sob of frustration broke from her throat. A second later, she heard another rock crack loose from the cliff and drop to smash against the boulders far below.