Fire Raven (5 page)

“Have you crops to look after, as well?”

“Little enough. This part of Wales is mostly grazing land, fit for pasture rather than food.” Morgan wiped his moist palms on his breeches. It was getting harder and harder to effect a quick escape.

“I would fain see everything,” she whispered. “The land, I mean. I hope my sight comes back soon.”

“I’ve no doubt ’twill. Winnie knows all about the healing ways of plants.”

“I adore her. She’s so kind and funny. Pray tell, what does she look like?”

“Well, let me think a moment. She’s plump and fussy, rather like a mother hen in manner. She has bright red hair and freckles.”

Kate clapped her hands. “That’s exactly how I pictured her in my mind!”

Despite his mood, Morgan couldn’t help but chuckle at her obvious delight. “How d’you imagine me?”

The minute he asked the idle question, he regretted it, but then it was too late. Her bandaged brow was already furrowed in thought.

“Why, you’re tall, of course. Quite muscular, but lean.” At her quizzical, waiting look, Morgan shifted uneasily but remained silent. Her guess was uncannily accurate.

“My coloring?”

“Dark. Quite dark. I don’t know why, but I’m sure your eyes and hair must be nearly black.”

“Are you sure you can’t see me?” he teased, his gut twisting at the thought of her staring horror-stricken at his face.

She shook her head. “Then I’m right? How odd. ’Tis almost as if I can see you with my mind, rather than my eyes.”

Count your damned blessings
, Morgan thought. He changed the subject. “You must be famished. Here, I’ll set the tray on your lap.”

Carefully, he settled the silver salver in place. He guided her hand to the utensils but she remained frozen, not attempting to eat.

“What’s wrong?” he inquired.

“I’m afraid I’ll make a mess of things. That’s meat broth I smell, isn’t it? I’ll spill it all over the bed.”

Devil take you, Wynne Carey
, Morgan thought as he picked up the spoon for her. His housekeeper must have known the girl wouldn’t be able to feed herself, either.

“Here,” he said, setting aside the tureen lid and lifting a spoonful of broth to her lips. “I’ll help you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered and opened her mouth to swallow the broth.

This continued for several minutes until the broth was gone. Morgan smiled in satisfaction to see her appetite.

“You’ll be good as new in no time. There’s some fresh bread here as well. Would you care for a wedge?”

“Oh yes, please. It smells heavenly.”

As he buttered one of the thick slices and handed it to her, their fingers inadvertently brushed together across the sweet cream butter.

When she raised her hand and licked each finger free of butter, Morgan silently groaned. Sweet Jesu, it was such a sensual movement, though unconscious on her part. As she sank her straight white teeth into the soft bread, he rose to leave.

“I must go,” he muttered, scraping back the chair.

Kate swallowed and set aside the bread. “Are you sure, Morgan? I hoped you’d stay with me until Winnie returns.”

“I would,” he said, ashamed of the lie that followed, “but I fear the lambs won’t wait much longer.”

“Oh, of course. Thank you for everything.” Her sightless eyes tracked the sound of his footsteps retreating across the floor.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked her from the doorway. “D’you wish me to stoke up the fire again?”

“Fire?” A visible shudder went through her at the word. Her face drained to chalk white in seconds. Morgan rapidly crossed back to her bedside again.

“What is it?” he demanded. “Did you remember something?”

Her lips formed each shivering word. “Fire. Flames. Smoke.” She moaned and clutched at the bed sheets in a spasm of terror. Morgan removed the tray and set it aside. In another moment he grasped her shaking hands in his own.

“I’m here,” he said. “Hold tight.”

“Oh, Morgan!” she suddenly sobbed, shuddering and clutching his hands in return.

When she was calm again, he said, “There must have been a fire at sea. ’Twould explain much.” He hesitated, then confessed, “I also found a peculiar amulet around your neck. I would fain describe it for you, then let you feel it, to see if it stirs some memories. Tomorrow, perhaps, when you’re feeling stronger. Meanwhile, I’ll ride down to the shore again and try to find some more clues. Right now, you mustn’t think of anything but getting well. You require much quiet and rest to recover.”

“I can’t help it,” she whispered, her blind gaze seeking his. “If I was on a ship which burned and sank, there must have been others who were with me. Friends. Relatives. Oh, Sweet Jesu, what if my whole family was aboard that doomed vessel?”

“Ssh, little one, won’t do any good to fret about it now.” Morgan reached out and stroked her head until she calmed down again. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and leaned against him. His arm curled around her shoulder; he marveled at her instinctive trust of him. Even as he exulted in their closeness, he knew it could never materialize into anything more. He felt a pain greater than anything he had suffered before, a searing agony deep as his wounded soul.

“Morgan,” she begged him, turning her damp face into his linen shirt, “Oh, Morgan, don’t leave me yet. Please.”

There was no question of it. He held her tightly, safely, in his protective embrace, till at last she slept.

“T
HERE, THAT SHOULD DO
it,” Winnie proclaimed with satisfaction, securing the last of the compresses in place and stepping back from her patient. “There now, Katie love, I want you to keep the ointment in your eyes. Blink as little as possible. We’ll change the dressings twice a day.”

“’Tis soothing,” Kate admitted, raising a hand to touch the soft linen wrap over her eyes. “What’s in it?”

“Eyebright, golden seal, and witch hazel. An old Welsh remedy for sore eyes. A week or so and you should be right as rain again.” Winnie wiped her hands on her apron and observed her patient with a motherly air. “In the while, I want no undue moving about. You’re bruised enough as ’tis.”

“Aye, Mum,” Kate agreed, with a grin for the scolding undertone in Winnie’s voice. “I hope your order doesn’t rule out any calls of nature. After all the tea you’ve brought me, I’m nigh close to bursting!”

A short time later, Winnie saw her patient settled for the night, and departed for her own cottage nearby. Kate lay in bed listening to the gentle drizzle of the rain outside, wondering why she couldn’t sleep. She knew the answer.

He
was in her heart, and he also had a name: Morgan Trelane. She rarely stopped thinking about him. She must admit she was fascinated by the man. His voice, his hands, the rugged contours of his face. She remembered how his face had felt to her touch: the proud aquiline nose, the high cheekbones, the thin yet sensuous lips. Morgan was smooth-shaven. She liked that, too. She saw him in her mind’s eye right now: his brown velvet eyes gazing down at her in the bed; an ebony lock of hair spilling boyishly over his brow. He was smiling …

“Faeilean?”

The deep male voice seduced her from the edge of consciousness, and she murmured with sleepy pleasure:

“You called me
Faeilean
. Is’t my name?”

Morgan chuckled. “Nay. ’Tis the Gaelic for ‘seagull.’ That’s what you reminded me of when I carried you upstairs, looking for all the saints like a wee, drowned bird washed up with the tide.”

She smiled, and Morgan’s heart contracted in his chest. A hoarseness entered his voice.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t disturb your rest. I’ll leave — ”

“No! I mean, please stay. I’m glad you came up to see me again.”

Morgan swallowed hard and pulled up a chair. It was a mistake to linger, he knew. All the while his mind reasoned, his gaze devoured Kate in the bed. Tonight Mrs. Carey had dressed her patient in a deep blue nightrail. The color brought out the lustrous highlights in her dark hair.

“I’ve brought the amulet along, as I promised. Here, hold out your hand.” She did so, and he placed the cold disk in her palm, curling her fingers about it.

“’Tis red-gold, well-crafted, and looks ancient,” Morgan informed her as she explored the object with her fingers. “It is strung on a simple cord, one rather well-worn, from what I can tell. I imagine ’tis a talisman, either meant for protection or has some sort of pagan significance. I believe the bird carved in it might be an eagle, mayhap a raven.”

“’Tis a raven,” Kate whispered, not aware of such knowledge until she spoke. Startled from her reverie, she clutched the amulet to her breast It comforted her, somehow, just knowing it was a part of her mysterious past, whatever her past was — a link to an unknown family.

Morgan made no move to take it back from her. Instead, he offered:

“I wondered if you wish me to read you a story. I thought a familiar book might bring back pleasant memories to you.”

“Aye, I should welcome it very much.”

He reached out, found, and held her left hand, while the other still clutched the amulet. He found her fingers every bit as calloused as his own. He drew her hand along with his to rest atop the leather cover of the book he had brought.

“Let’s see if you can guess what I have here.”

She smiled at the challenge. “’Tis thick. Is it the Bible?”

“Ah! Our first clue. You were raised in a Christian household. This is working better than I imagined.”

She shook her head, puzzled. “But you said the amulet appears to be pagan in design. What does it mean?”

“Mayhap nothing. Often the two are combined. For instance, many here still celebrate Beltane and Samhain, the old Celtic festivals, along with Christmas and Lent.”

She relaxed, then tensed with excitement again. “Let’s see if I know how to ‘read’ the letters, as well.” She drew her fingers over the gold leaf in the leather. Counting out the spaces, she concentrated a moment and then laughed with triumph. “
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
!”

“Correct,” said Morgan. Her laughter was so sweet and spontaneous, he could not resist joining in. “I take it, then, you’re acquainted with Shakespeare. Shall I read a bit?”

Kate nodded eagerly and leaned towards Morgan as he read from the book. It was one of her favorites. She knew it somehow, just as she knew Morgan’s rich, deep voice was suited to reading aloud:

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,

Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,

Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,

With sweet musk-roses with eglantine:

There sleeps Titania sometime of the night

Lull’d in these flowers with dances and delight

For an hour, she sat mesmerized as he recreated the scene of Shakespeare’s fairy kingdom. Its queen, Titania, chose a flowery woodland bank for her bed, whereupon she seduced her lover, Nick. It mattered not that fairy magic transformed Nick into a lower creature; the same blissful magic blinded Titania to her lover’s defects.

Bedecking Nick’s crown with flowers, Titania murmurs love words in his ear. Kate imagined two twining vines, the pair of entangled lovers on their grassy bank beneath a swaying canopy. Her heart beat faster, as Morgan leaned close and murmured Titania’s words from another time, another place:

“Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms ... so doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle gently entwist.”

She closed her eyes, wishing she might confess her growing feelings for Morgan, praying he might somehow sense her need and thus respond. She heard him shut the book.

“You must get some sleep. I didn’t mean to keep you up overly late.”

“Oh, I loved every moment. I wished we didn’t have to stop,” she said wistfully. “I dread the thought of going to sleep again. Whenever I do, I have the same nightmare.”

“The fire?” His voice held obvious concern.

“Aye, and something more. There’s cold water rising around me. I’m trying to swim, yet I can’t. I’m too tired. I keep thinking ’twould be so easy to slip under the waves and find peace ...”

Morgan drew the blankets up around her shoulders. “You’re tired, is all. Sleep now, and I’ll have Mrs. Carey check on you first thing in the morning.”

He rose to leave, and she heard him pick up the taper holder from the table beside the bed.

“Sleep well,
Faeilean
,” he murmured, lulling her to sleep with his gentle Welsh burr. “Know I’ll let no harm come to you, while you’re in my care.”