Fire Raven (6 page)

Chapter Three

K
ATE SLEPT DEEPLY AND
awoke late. Since her arrival at the homestead where Morgan and Winnie lived and worked, she felt consolation for the first time, instead of fear. Though her eyes were still wrapped, she heard well enough to ascertain that the dreary rain had stopped at last. When Winnie tiptoed into her room a short time later, Kate’s first request was to have the windows thrown open wide.

“Mercy!” Winnie exclaimed with real surprise. “Whatever for?”

“Why, to smell the fields after the rain, of course.” Kate was surprised when a memory of rich, loamy soil came to mind. She aimed what she hoped was a winning smile in the housekeeper’s general direction. “Please, Winnie?”

“Well … ” Not approving, but anxious to please, the older woman bustled across the room. “Just for a moment, dear. We don’t want you catching a chill.”

“Thank you,” Kate whispered. The moment the hinges creaked open, she slipped from the bed and fumbled her way towards the source of the cool, moist air pouring into the chamber.

She felt each smooth, individual wooden joint beneath her bare feet and hesitated when she realized she must be on an upper floor. First levels customarily had sod floors. She didn’t know how she knew such a fact, but she did. Falcon’s Lair must be larger than she had imagined. She gripped the window ledge in both hands and leaned out, feeling her hair whip back in a sudden gust of wind.

“Oh! ’Tis breezy out. How fresh it smells!” She drew a deep, reverent breath into her lungs. Then she also caught the tangy scent of the sea. Close. Too close. Her hands tightened on the ledge, and she made a faint, choking sound. Winnie hastened to pull her away and shut the windows.

“Poor poppet! You’re shivering. Come back to bed.”

“I’d rather not.” Kate swallowed the rising hysteria the salt-brine smell had unexpectedly brought to her mind and tried to concentrate on other things.

“If you don’t mind, Winnie, I’d rather get dressed and move about. With your kind help, of course. My legs need some exercise. It seems they aren’t used to lying about.”

Winnie shrewdly studied Kate as she took the younger woman by the arm to guide her across the room. She nearly made a remark about the girl’s skin — brown like a serf’s — then thought the better of it. It was obvious Kate was a young woman of low birth, though attractive enough. Quite likely she was a dairy maid or a peasant’s daughter, judging by her knowledge of the land and her unaffected airs.

The only thing still puzzling Winnie was the girl’s speech. Kate spoke no Welsh. Her English was cultured and bordered on insubordination when she spoke to Lord Trelane as an equal. Winnie was amazed he’d let the girl get away with it.

Mayhap the Master pitied Kate. Aye, Lord Trelane was gentle in nature and with his hands, as Winnie often witnessed when he handled the newborn lambs. Morgan knew animals didn’t fear or pity him. Because Kate couldn’t see him, he apparently felt comfortable with her, too. It could not last, of course. Winnie felt sad and relieved at the same time.

“Here’s the settle, Katie dear. Now you sit tight while I go find the outfit I pressed this morning.”

She saw a delighted smile part Kate’s lips. “Why, Winnie. You were prepared.”

“Aye,” Winnie said with a touch of pride. “’Tis my place to anticipate whatever guests might need or want.” She settled Kate with firm hands onto the cushioned bench.

“There. Now stay put. I’ll bring another girl, Gwynneth, to fix your hair. We can’t leave it all tumbled down and wild.”

“Why not?” A male voice said lazily at Kate’s right side. “I rather prefer it thus myself.”

Winnie saw Kate’s face light up at the Master’s voice. The younger woman was radiant as she turned toward Lord Trelane. Winnie didn’t miss the danger signal and was quick to step between them.

“Go on with you, now,” she fussed. “This is a lady’s chamber, no place for a man to be. Send Gwynneth up, will you, on your way out. I’ll bring Katie down myself when she’s fit for company.”

Morgan’s chuckle rolled low and rich throughout the chamber. “I intend inviting our guest downstairs to share my morning repast, Mrs. Carey. And I need a yea or nay, for Cook’s benefit.”

“Yea!” Kate burst out before Winnie had opportunity to protest. With a triumphant wink at his housekeeper, Morgan turned and left.

“Goodness,” Winnie murmured breathlessly. “I’ve never seen him look so happy.”

“Isn’t he usually?” Kate asked. She knew the answer before her caretaker spoke again. There was some hidden, deep sadness within Morgan Trelane, something she sensed rather than saw.

“Nay. Himself is moody as the Irish Sea sometimes. ’Tis no wonder — ” Sensing she’d overstepped her bounds, Winnie fell silent. The tense silence was broken by the arrival of another party, the maidservant Winnie had summoned to dress Kate’s hair.

Gwynneth also brought a russet gown and kirtle for their guest. Winnie debated over what Kate might wear. The torn breeches and blouse she was found in were out of the question, as was anything finer than servant’s raiment. Besides, Winnie reassured herself, Kate couldn’t see the outfit. She suffered a pang of conscience anyway when Kate winced as the coarse, scratchy under-tunic was drawn down over her head.

Compliantly, however, she allowed Winnie to hook the bodice and adjust the whalebone stays about her waist. A stiff, plain wired collar, called a rebato, rose nearly to Kate’s ears. Worsted hose and leather shoes completed the outfit. Winnie stepped back and pressed her lips together, wondering why the sight of Kate in such thrifty attire didn’t seem quite right.

“Ah,” she nodded, mostly to herself. “Finish her hair, Gwynneth. I’ll return shortly.”

Kate was prepared to feel the deep, soothing strokes of bristles upon her hair again. The moment Winnie disappeared, however, the brushing became vigorous, borderline rough. She raised a protective hand to her prickling scalp, hoping to provide a hint of some sort, but Gwynneth didn’t relent. Was it deliberate? Surely not.

Kate had her answer when Gwynneth plucked several hairs from her head.

“Ouch!”

“Gray hairs, miss,” the maid servant said with a faint, unmistakable undertone of malice. “I’m sure you’ll be wanting me to get rid of them, now.”

Shocked, Kate was spared a reply when Winnie burst back into the room. She heard the housekeeper cluck her approval.

“The perfect touch,” Winnie said, setting a cap upon Kate’s head. She clapped her hands with delight, not noticing, as Kate did, that Gwynneth remained mutinously silent and did not echo her approval.

When Kate’s hand rose to finger the dainty lace cap, Winnie explained, “’Tis called a shadow. Most fitting for an unwed maid still wearing her hair loose.”

“Mayhap I’m married,” Kate suggested, though her mind was disturbingly blank in regard to any details about her former life.

“Methinks not, dear You wore no wedding band.”

“Perhaps I was robbed before I washed up at Morgan’s feet.”

Gwynneth made a soft sound. It sounded suspiciously like a snigger. The maid was silenced by Winnie’s disapproving cluck.

“Perhaps,” Winnie echoed noncommittally. “Now I’m sure you’ll be wanting to break your fast. Let me guide you downstairs.”

Kate nodded. She rose and took Winnie’s arm, walking carefully beside the older woman as they navigated the stone stairs. She still sensed Gwynneth’s piercing stare on her back as they descended to the first floor. She wondered what cause she had given the maid to dislike her so. She forgot the strange incident the moment she heard Morgan’s voice.

“There you are. I was wondering what took so long.” Kate sensed Morgan studying her; she also ascertained something was not quite right. Indeed, his tone sharpened. “Mrs. Carey, I wish to speak to you after the meal. I’ll take care of Kate till then.”

Morgan transferred Kate’s hand to his own arm. She felt the fine lawn of his shirt under her fingertips. The material was soft, yet the definition of his arm beneath was muscular. She took a deep breath, wondering why she felt light-headed.

“I’ll go slow. Lean against me if you wish.”

If you wish
. The words echoed in her mind and took on a different meaning. She restrained herself from doing what he suggested. Morgan’s presence was comforting, yet disconcerting at times.

His lips brushed close to her ear as he murmured, “I don’t know your tastes, so I ordered some of everything.”

“Except broth, I hope,” Kate responded with a nervous little laugh.

“Oh, most definitely broth. I should enjoy any excuse to touch those rosy lips of yours again, albeit with a spoon.”

The suggestive bit of banter caught Kate off guard. She felt a corresponding tightness in her throat. Her riposte was quick and playful. “Fie, sir, methinks y’are becoming too familiar.”

Morgan observed Kate’s high color, the rapid beating pulse on her slender neck. He didn’t know why he felt inclined to tease her in the first place. He saw how she responded. She was attracted to him. To a man she couldn’t see and didn’t know.

So, too, had a few women in his past risked such further knowledge, only to be shocked into screaming fits once they saw his marred face in the full light. He must harbor no illusions as to this acquaintance. It must, by necessity, end soon.

“Here’s your seat.”

Morgan’s voice was suddenly cool and impersonal. Kate felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach as his impersonal hands guided her onto the chair. Had she angered or disappointed him somehow? She felt obliged to make amends.

“Please, where are you going?” She heard his footsteps recede into the distance.

“To the other end of the table, of course. Otherwise there won’t be room for all of the dishes.” Morgan made it sound a lighthearted jest. She knew his heart wasn’t in it. She sensed his disapproval again and wondered what she’d done to displease him. Had she been too coy, too bold? Was he annoyed by her unsophisticated banter? It was obvious enough, she was no courtly beauty. She felt awkward and ugly, on the verge of tears.

Her distress was set aside when a mouthwatering smell wafted down the table. Despite her upset, she found she was ravenous.

Morgan broke apart one of the hot, steaming scones and slathered it with creamy butter and preserves. Just as he was prepared to sink his teeth into the fresh-baked bread, he caught sight of Kate sitting at the other end of the table, hands folded in her lap, patiently awaiting his help. He could hardly ignore the hint when she licked her lips.

“Damnation,” he muttered, realizing she wasn’t yet able to feed herself without a disaster of one sort or other. He rose and carried his chair and plate of scones back to the other end of the room. There he sat and extended a scone towards the stubborn, set lips of his uninvited guest.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered her. “I intend for you to sample one of Cook’s world-famous scones.”

“You don’t have to feed me,” Kate protested, her cheeks burning when she heard the resignation in his voice. She vowed she would not be treated like a child anymore, nor fed like an injured animal. But as she did so, her stomach rumbled desperately.

To her mortification, Morgan laughed. “I’m afraid you’ve little choice, madam, unless you wish to have currant jam dripping down your bodice,” he said. The instant her mouth opened with surprise, he thrust the scone halfway home. Kate choked and sputtered. The flaky pastry crumbled and melted in her mouth.

Morgan chuckled at her incredulous expression and watched her down the remaining half with an endearing greed.

“Like manna from heaven!” Kate declared, licking a dab of red jam from the corner of her lips. Morgan shared in her joyous discovery until he made a shocking one of his own. Sweet Jesu. He was aroused by every movement she made.

He sat back in his chair, distancing himself from the bewitching smile and sweetly curved lips he knew were complimented by a bright pair of inquisitive, emerald-green eyes — eyes he knew would open wide, then clamp shut with horror once Kate got a real glimpse of him.

“Cook will be pleased to hear of your approval,” he said brusquely, scraping back the chair as he rose. “I’ll send someone in to help you with the rest of the meal. I just remembered I am needed in the shearing pens.”

“Oh.” Kate tried to conceal her disappointment and confusion over his abrupt departure. “Shall I see you later?”

“I doubt it. I’m busy this time of year. By all accounts, my work will run late. If there’s anything you want or need, just let Mrs. Carey know. She’s been instructed to fulfill your every reasonable whim.”

Instructed by whom
? Kate wondered. The master of the house? Morgan had never mentioned the man who held sway over them all, the same lord who played unwitting host to her now, one who might be rightfully outraged to learn a stranger was sheltered beneath his roof for so long. She feared for Morgan and the other servants, yet she selfishly wished to stay here forever. Here, at least, she felt safe, warm, and protected.

Who knew what dreadful secrets the sea held in store for her? Kate shuddered to think of crossing those dark waters again, in search of family abroad. Morgan might be convinced she was Irish by birth, but she prayed he was wrong. There was no excuse for her to linger if her kin were found.

How reasonable was it to want Morgan to stay with her now? she wondered. She knew in her heart she was to blame for his sudden change in mood. She sought to make amends for all the trouble she’d caused.

“Morgan?” Her hand shot out blindly. She was lucky enough to capture his arm before he escaped the room.

“Thank you. You’ve been too kind,” she whispered.

“’Tis nothing,
Faeilean
. Just a passing hobby of mine, caring for little lost birds until they can fly again.” He gently pried her fingers from his arm. He held her hand for the briefest of moments in his before releasing it. As her hand dropped down to her side, abandoned, he left.