Fire Raven (15 page)

“I’m delighted to see you again,
Faeilean
. Yet I would know why you are here?”

“Why are you out of bed?” she countered.

“I went out to the fields today.” At her sharp intake of breath, Morgan added, “I didn’t ride, I promise. I’m still too sore. A brisk walk did wonders for my legs. I just returned to my chamber before you arrived.”

“You will injure yourself,” Kat warned him.

“I think not. I have survived worse, and, as you know, ’tis sheer luck whether one weathers a particular storm or not.”

Morgan studied Kat. Her high color warned him of her tempestuous mood. He wondered why she returned to him after the angry words exchanged a week ago.

Nevertheless, his hungry eyes drank in the sight of her with the proud figure he loved so well. He swallowed hard when he realized his lower body had certainly not sustained any permanent damage.

“
Faeilean
,” he said at last. “I wish to apologize for the walls standing between us now.”

“That’s not necessary, milord.”

“I find it so. Do not turn away from me, little seagull. I want you to hear me out. Yea, I was wrong to mislead you about my intentions. Yet I am just a man, and men are given to be wrong at times.”
Jesu forgive me for this final lie
, Morgan thought, despising himself as he spoke.

“I behaved most dishonorably toward you, Kat. I beg your forgiveness.”

He saw her lips tremble; her lashes lowered over her brilliant green eyes. “There is nothing to forgive.”

“Say I am forgiven, then.”

She did not speak. He let out a sigh.

“Then ’tis as I feared. You have every right to be angry with me. Can we not part as friends?”

Friends?
Kat recoiled from the notion. Why, she would lay down her life, her soul to be with Morgan! She started to turn away from him. His hand caught her sleeve.

“Oh, nay, little Kat. Not like this. Never like this.”

Step by step, Morgan drew her back to him. She trembled when his hands moved to cup her face, and his callused thumbs brushed the tears from her cheeks in a familiar, loving gesture. A second later his lips brushed hers, light as gossamer, exquisitely gentle, but with an unmistakable passion.

Her mouth opened as a flower to the rain. Their tongues touched. With a groan, Morgan pulled her flush against him.

Kat felt the lean angles of his body through her thick velvet gown and arched up against him, hungering for something she did not understand.
Morgan!
her heart cried.
I must be with you. Oh Love, do not turn me away again …

He seemed to sense Kat’s agony as keenly as his own. “Jesu forgive me,” he muttered, to her and to the heavens, and resumed the passionate kiss, trailing his lips down the fragile column of her throat, till he found the precious pulse beating there. Fresh tears sparkled on Kat’s face; he raised his head again to kiss them away, one by one.

“Morgan,” she whispered, as her hands rose to mold his face. She smoothed back a stray lock of hair from his brow. “This time, do not stop.”

“I can’t this time,” he echoed raggedly. “Beg off now,
cariad
, if you are wise.”

Kat shook her head, gasping when his hand traced the curve of her breast. She did not protest when he unhooked her bodice, nor when cool air kissed her exposed skin. Her nipples hardened at his touch and throbbed in the fashion of tiny heartbeats when he raked his thumbnail across the ruby peaks.

“
I will wind thee in my arms ... so doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle gently entwine
,” he recited softly, and drew a pointed nipple into his mouth. Kat cried out as he suckled her. She felt as if a burning silver cord ran from her breasts to her belly. Her head fell back in ecstasy, her unbound hair brushed the floor.

Morgan gathered Kat up in his arms. Moving slowly with respect for his recent injury, he carried her to his bed. He lowered Kat there, as if she were a priceless treasure, and cradled her against his heart until the last possible second. He removed her clothing, piece by piece, until she lay before him, her sole coverlet a swathe of luxurious hair.

Morgan mused a moment upon Kat’s flawless beauty. Her skin glistened, like the finest ivory, by firelight. She looked at him searchingly, green eyes so intent that he was almost certain her sight had been magically restored. He shuddered at the thought and half turned away.

“Morgan.” Her whisper drew him back like a moth to a flame. The fire would destroy him in the end, he knew, but he was powerless against its hypnotic effect.

She made a soft noise of frustration. “I want to see you too, Morgan. ’Tis not fair.”

“Ssh,” he soothed, joining her on the bed. “If you look closely, you can see me in your heart.”

Kat realized he was right. She clung to her image of Morgan with fierce intensity. She visualized his magnificent body as he lowered himself beside her, saw each lean angle and muscular curve defined by firelight. He gleamed in her mind’s eye like the bronze statue of a god. She closed her eyes and surrendered to an erotic feast of the senses.

Morgan nuzzled her neck. Kat outlined every contour and angle of his form, defining the bones of his face. When he flinched, she did not notice. Her fingers rested on the birthmark once; there was only innocence in her touch.

“Love me,” she requested simply.

As if he would not. Morgan sighed and buried his head between the luscious swell of her breasts, content as he had never been before and conversely feeling twice as damned. So damned, he almost wept. He tested the sweet saltiness of her skin and realized hell had its consolation.

Kat drew him up for a fierce kiss as they joined as one. The dew of her readiness greeted Morgan as he settled himself between her thighs. He forgot his conscience, his flawed face, all but the woman in his arms.

“There will be pain,” he apologized.

“Then I shall weather it with you, my love.” Kat suddenly arched into him so he drove true and deep.

He released a wondering cry as he sank deep into her willing warmth. She met him without a flinch, trusting and without reserve. Only a soft keening sound marked the intensity of their joining. At once, they moved in rhythm, the exquisite sensations carrying them both beyond the confines of the room, of their sheltered lives.

For one single, wondrous moment, Morgan felt his invisible fetters drop off. He was but a man, linked in an ancient dance with the woman he loved.

“
Cariad
. Look at me, beloved.” Morgan rained feather-light kisses on Kat’s fluttering eyelids. She answered his fierce request. When their mutual crisis came, her jeweled eyes flew open, hazy with passion, drugged with the potent wine of love.

Intoxicated by her taste and scent and feel, Morgan shuddered with emotion. “You’re the most precious woman on earth.”

“Your woman,” Kat whispered, and smiled when his lips descended to confirm the fact. For the remainder of the night, they rejoiced in their secret love, sharing passion and the essence of their souls again, in the manner of a timeless boon between man and woman.

K
AT SMILED SLEEPILY, AND
snuggled deeper into the warm eider of her own bed. Her bed? She opened her eyes wide and was shocked to see the faint but distinct outline of a white bolster near her head. Her tousled head rose with a jolt.

“Morgan?”

The whisper echoed in the chilly stone chamber, empty now, save for herself. She was back in her own bed. The space beside her was empty. She had no need to feel it for herself. Sweet Mother and Mary.
She saw it.

“Morgan!” Kat shouted his name, as she sat bolt upright in bed. She was startled to discover she was no longer nude. She wore a long white nightrail embroidered with Michaelmas daisies.
Daisies
. Kate stared with wonder at the tiny flowers intricately woven into the cambric. She wept as she called for Morgan again.

A moment later the chamber door opened. A blurry but recognizable figure hurried into her room.

“Saints, child, what is it? ’Tis barely dawn and here you’re shrieking like a banshee.”

“Winnie,” Kat cried. She scrambled from the bed and startled the other woman as she dashed barefoot across the floor. She flung her arms about the stout housekeeper. “Oh, Winnie, Winnie, I can see!”

“Truly, now?” Winnie seemed astounded, perhaps dubious as well. She held Kat at arm’s length, studied her patient’s tear-filled eyes. When Kat’s gaze met and followed her own without mishap, she wept, too. “Praise be to all the saints and the mighty Lord himself! I cannot believe it.”

“My eyes are still weak, but I can see now. I can see you at last … your red hair … your kind, wonderful, dear face. Oh, Winnie, you’re every bit as beautiful as I imagined.”

Touched, the other woman clasped Kat to her plump, motherly bosom. “There now, dearie, mustn’t greet. What did I tell you before? ’Tis a happy day indeed. It calls for a celebration, not tears.” Winnie’s order was issued through her own tears. Kat laughed and hugged the woman.

“Aye, you’re right. The first to know of my recovery after you shall be Morgan. Where is he?”

Winnie withdrew and pursed her lips. “Ah, Katie, I’m sorry. Milord and his men rode out first thing this morning. There was a wee bit of trouble late last night in the village. Some looting and burning — probably the work of those devils who attacked the Master.”

Kat’s hands rose to her mouth. “Oh, no.”

“Don’t fret, dearie. He’ll be safe this time. Milord’s not alone. He’ll be back long before nightfall.”

Though disappointed Morgan was not here, and worried about his welfare, Kat reasoned Winnie was probably right. She was too delighted with her recovered sight to stay sober for long. Kat spun around in a circle, and got her first good look at her room where she had stayed in for over a month.

The four-poster bed was carved of heavy mahogany and gleamed in the morning light that slanted through lead-paned windows. The bed’s wine-colored velvet canopy was roped back with golden tassels, and matching damask chairs flanked either side of the hearth. There was also a marble-topped table, and a green velvet settle.

A portrait hung above the fireplace. The more Kat blinked, the clearer her vision became. She stared at the beautiful young woman in the painting. The lady was garbed in an elegant black velvet gown and simple ivory lace mantilla. Such stark colors only served to foil her dramatic beauty. Her dark eyes looked haunted and sad.

“Who’s that, Winnie?”

“’Tis Elena Trelane, milord’s mother.”

“You said you did not know her Christian name, Winnie.”

The housekeeper fidgeted. “Faith, I suppose it came back to me now.”

“She looks so young.” Kat crossed the crimson Turkish carpet and studied Lady Trelane from various angles. “Was she Spanish?”

“Aye.”

“Then Morgan — Lord Trelane — is half-Spanish.”

“Aye.”

Kat glanced at Winnie. “He’s dark like his mother, isn’t he? Why does he never speak of her?”

Winnie pressed her lips together. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”

“Was this her room?”

Winnie only nodded, as if not trusting herself to speak.

Kat passed beneath the portrait, and then strolled the length of the bedchamber to one of the four windows, where she looked out over the shimmering sea. For a moment, she simply watched the waves crashing against the cliff. She shivered and turned away. Memories of the sea, and what it had cost her, were still too painful.

“I wish to get dressed and see the rest of Falcon’s Lair.”

“Of course, dear.” Winnie seemed relieved at the change of topic. “I’ll have something suitable brought in. Wait here.”

Kat had no intention of going anywhere just yet. She sank down into one of the chairs, drawn again to gaze at Lady Trelane’s portrait. There she hoped to find some answers to the hundreds of questions flooding her mind.

Chapter Nine

K
AT WRAPPED THE WOOLEN
cloak more closely about herself, shielding her eyes from icy rain while she paced the parapet along the north tower. From her vantage atop Falcon’s Lair, she might peer between the crenellated stones and gaze upon the distant fires of the village.