Authors: Lord of Enchantment
Having galloped all the way back to Highcliffe, Pen charged into her own hall, hands twisting, body trembling. Morgan had subjected her to derision and mockery, and she wished she could take a switch to his backside. Arrogant knave. She stomped over to the fireplace and thrust her hands near the flames. The others weren’t three minutes behind her. Morgan had followed at a more tranquil pace, and she had to regain her calm before he arrived.
“Spiteful curse, evil-minded lout. If he thinks he can ride me with a whip, I’ll teach him otherwise. Hagborn ruffian.”
“Ah, you must be speaking of my raven.”
Pen swung around to find Christian de Rivers mounting the dais, followed by a man with the most glorious blond hair she’d ever seen.
“What a marvel,” the blond man said. “Morgan usually manages to trample women and yet keep them in thrall,” the blond man said.
Christian bowed to Pen. “Mistress Fairfax, well met. Viscount Moorefield, may I present Mistress Penelope Fairfax.”
Dazed, Pen curtsied as Christian continued.
“I discovered too late that the priest had indeed sailed for Penance, and so I came after you and Morgan. I
rejoice that all is well with you.” Christian’s eyes sparkled as he smiled at her. “Your good woman Nany and the lad Erbut told me what has happened.”
Before he could go on, a tidal wave of Highcliffers crashed into the hall. Scuffling and jostling, they rushed at Pen and came to an unsteady halt before her.
“He’s coming, mistress,” puffed Dibbler.
“And he’s bringing the priest,” Sniggs said.
“Penelope Grace Fairfax!”
“Ah,” Christian said, “the call of the raven.”
Morgan charged into the room with Father Humphrey in tow.
“Prepare yourself,” he snapped at Pen, never taking his gaze from her. “We’re taking vows at once. There’ll be no more sneaking about, trying to marry Cutwells.”
Pen would have answered, but the viscount stepped beside her.
“Control your tongue, little brother.”
“Derry? How came you here?” Morgan glanced from his brother to Christian and then to Pen. “Did you send for them?”
Outraged, Pen turned her back and refused to speak to him.
“Peace, raven. We came of our own will. And a fortunate thing it seems to be.”
“Aye,” said the viscount. “God’s toes, Morgan. Christian tells me you’ve managed to make an unyielding enemy of this sweet lady.”
“Sweet, my arse,” Morgan said. “What would you know of Pen’s sweetness? It’s all vanished. She only has sweetness for some phantasm named Tristan.”
Pen announced to the hall, “Tristan deserved sweetness. You, my lord, deserve bile and pitch.”
Morgan threw up his hands. “Mark you, Christian,
Derry. See what I endure? She bites and swears at me after I’ve saved her from marriage with a lover of pigs. I offer to marry her, and she scorns me. Scorns me when not a fortnight before she doted on my boots.”
Pen twisted around to face him and said through grinding teeth, “I never doted upon any stitch of your clothing, much less your useless self.”
“Where,” Morgan said, looking down at her through his lashes, “is my sweet madcap, my bright and merry mischief? Where is the woman who craved me as she craved food and drink?”
Pen raked his body with her glance. “I know not. In some bawdy house in London, no doubt.”
“Enough of this,” Derry said.
While Pen and Morgan glared at each other, he conferred with Christian. With a sweep of his arm, Christian sent Pen’s servants scattering so that the four of them were alone in moments. Then Christian took Pen aside while Derry cornered his brother. Pen slumped into a chair beside the fireplace and lapsed into misery.
“Mistress Fairfax, do you trust me?”
“What? Oh, yes, my lord.”
“You’re certain.”
“Aye, my lord. You’ve been so kind to me.”
“Then I want you to let me help you.”
“Will you make Morgan go away?” she asked as she gazed at Morgan, who was talking to his brother.
Lean and dark, his black eyes glinting with anger, he turned abruptly and walked away from Derry. His body glided, like that of a panther on the hunt. Without warning, he turned and caught her looking at him.
His brows drew together in that alarming way that signaled peril for whoever had gained his disfavor. Then he gave her one of those I-can-make-her-beg-for-me
smiles and started toward her. Derry caught his arm first and whispered something to him. Morgan glanced at her, then nodded to Derry and turned away from her. Not wanting to admit her relief, Pen tried not to sigh.
Christian went on as Derry and Morgan left the hall. “Ï promise to help you resolve this turmoil into which you’ve cast yourselves, but only if you’ll promise to tell me the truth when I ask you a few questions.”
“What questions?”
“Do you promise?”
“Aye, my lord.”
Christian came to stand beside her chair. He glanced at the screen and the opening that led to the alcove behind it. Pen watched him, dreading his questions.
“Do you love Morgan?”
Her mouth fell open. Christian fixed her with a stern glance.
“Do I?” Pen avoided his gaze.
“You gave your word, mistress. The truth.”
“The truth is that he’s a—a lover of bawds. Morgan St. John wanted me to sit on this island like a mushroom while he cavorted with his women.”
“Now, Pen,” Christian said. “Perhaps I asked the wrong question. Do you love Tristan?”
“Of course,” Pen said without hesitation.
“But Morgan is Tristan.”
“He protests that he’s not, and labors not to be.”
“Nevertheless, the one encompasses the other, just as your love encompasses both.”
“But Morgan is monstrous evil to me.”
“For good reason,” Christian said. “Those who have been close to him have caused him great harm. And, after all, you did betray him, even if it wasn’t through
your own fault. Can you bide awhile, hold on to your patience a little bit longer?”
“Why?”
“If I ask it, can you?”
Gazing at Christian in confusion, Pen nodded. “Yes, my lord, as long as you refrain from asking me to abide Morgan’s foul idea of marriage where I keep vows and he does not.”
“Then come with me.”
She followed Christian up the winding stair that led past her chamber and out onto the wall walk. At the top they paused, and Christian put a finger to his lips. He pushed the door to the wall walk open so that a sliver of light appeared in the dark stairwell. He pulled Pen up beside him, and she heard Morgan’s voice.
“The truth? I always tell you the truth.”
“Then tell it to me now,” Derry said. “Did you really think to keep Mistress Fairfax on this island while you cavorted about England, spying and bedding?”
Pen strained to hear, but Morgan seemed to be muttering. Then he spoke more clearly.
“I liked not the force of my need of her.” There was a pause before he went on in a chagrined voice. “I gave not a thought to other women, and then she accused me of wanting them. Jesu, she inflames my temper with her doubts.”
Derry chuckled. “For all your skill with women, you seem to be blind about this one. Think. She knows the dominion you have over her. She’s heard of your reputation with other women. Can you censure her for being afraid you might be tempted? And you haven’t told her you no longer care about Maria and Ann.”
“What matter Maria and Ann when this morn Pen tried to marry Ponder Cutwell!” Morgan’s voice grew
louder. “I was trying to tell her I’d forgiven her, that I’d reconsidered.”
“How gracious of you,” Derry said.
“Hold your tongue,” Morgan said. “Oh, very well, I was trying to tell her I was wrong, and somehow we misunderstood each other. She wouldn’t listen to me. Later, I could have taken a whip to her when I saw her riding off like that. God, Derry, I wanted to run my blade through Cutwell’s fat gut. I wanted to—Christ, Derry—my mind went black. I never came so near to murder, not even with you.”
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why, Morgan, and remember you promised me the truth.”
Pen gripped the edge of the door and turned her ear to it as the silence lengthened.
“Damn you, because I love her. I love every maddening, addled, mischievous, obdurate inch of her. Jesu, I don’t know how I ever contemplated leaving her. Look what she’s tried to do when I haven’t even set sail.”
“Then why haven’t you told her?”
Another silence. Pen started to open the door, but Christian barred her way with his arm and shook his head.
“Very well,” Derry said. “I can read the answer in your face. You haven’t told her because of John. And because you’re too proud to admit you’ve succumbed to a woman.”
Pen had to strain to hear Morgan’s reply.
“Worse,” he said. “I was afraid.”
Pen heard him sigh.
“Do you know how frightening it is to be so, so utterly and witlessly enamored? I suppose that’s why I contemplated living away from her when I knew I
could never do it. God, Derry, I love her. Do you know how hard I tried to stop? Do you know how much power over me that gives her?”
“Of course I know. It was the same for me with Thea.”
“But—”
“I’ve but one more question,” Derry said. “Morgan, my dear, suspicious brother, can you honestly imagine that Mistress Fairfax, the Mistress Fairfax who fell in love with you the moment you washed up on her island, do you believe that this woman could ever use your love against you?”
Pen held her breath as she waited. Her fingers turned white from pressing against the door.
“I never thought of it so,” said Morgan. Then his tone seemed to lighten. “God’s breath, Derry, you’re right.”
“Now,” Christian said, and he pushed Pen through the doorway.
She stumbled into the sunlight, then shrank back against Christian as she saw Morgan turn and gaze at them in surprise. Then his expression blackened.
“Damn you, Christian, you’re playing at being a god again.”
Ignoring Morgan, Christian went to Derry and clapped him on the back. “I’m hungry, my friend. Shall we find that cook with the absurd name?”
“Interfering bastards,” Morgan said quietly.
Pen joined Morgan in staring at the two as they vanished down the stairwell and closed the door after them. When the door shut, Pen tried to look at anything but Morgan—the battlements, the sky, the tips of her riding boots. Her gaze fastened upon a scuff in the leather.
“Pen.”
She jumped at the nearness of Morgan’s voice. He’d come close while she wallowed in confusion. Flushing, she managed a nod, but couldn’t make herself raise her head.
“Pen, mayhap we’ve been tricked to our own good. I—I heard what you said to Christian.”
She looked up, startled, then retreated from the tenderness she found in his eyes.
“Pen, Pen, don’t be afraid.”
She felt his fingers graze her chin and tried to turn away from him. He stopped her by putting an arm around her shoulders. She heard him draw in a long breath, as if girding himself for some act of courage.
“I was wrong,” he said. “Pen?”
Frightened, Pen heard herself stutter. “H-how can I believe you?”
She felt a tug on her arms. Morgan dropped to his knees in front of her while holding her hands.
“I give you my vow, Pen. Mayhap I’ve been lying to myself. I am Tristan. I think, yes, I think I was afraid to admit it to myself. I’m Tristan as much as I’m Morgan, mayhap more. And, my love, if it will bring me your love, I’ll be Tristan until Judgment Day and after.”
At this, Pen found the courage to look at him. To her surprise, Morgan was looking at her with apprehension. All at once she understood that he feared losing her as much as she feared losing him. An uncertain smile began to curl about her lips. At its appearance, Morgan rose, taking her with him in a sweeping movement that lifted her off her feet.
“Pen!” he shouted. “Pen, Pen, Pen. Marry me, my madcap star.”
She shrieked as he whirled around in a circle. When he set her down, she tottered with dizziness and fell
into his arms again. He squeezed her until she gasped, then chuckled and kissed her.
“Oh, Morgan.”
“Yes, my joyful madcap.”
“Those women.”
“What women?”
She put her hands on either side of his face. “I should have listened to you instead of falling into a fit, but when you spoke of leaving me here, I just knew it was because of those other women.”
Morgan turned his head and kissed her palm. “You’re the only woman who has ever become more necessary to me than my own life.”
“I—I know what I look like compared to your fabulous court ladies, a nettle among lilies.” Pen stepped away from him and hung her head. “That’s the truth of why I was grievous vexed. You see, you’re so wondrous, and I am such a plain old shoe.”
Morgan grasped her hands and kissed the tips of her fingers. “You have to believe me, and not yourself. You’re my bright and wondrous siren, and I’ll hear no more talk of nettles and plain shoes.” He pulled her closer. The tip of his tongue touched her ear. “What luck for you that you rouse me so with your vexation.”
She shivered, and she was turning red again. Someday she would learn how to keep her cheeks from displaying her passions. To distract him and herself, she ducked her head so that he couldn’t continue his seduction of her ear.
“Um, Morgan, what of Highcliffe? It’s all I have, you know. Hardly a proper dowry for you.” Her voice lowered so that he had to lean down to hear her. “After all, I’m only Mistress Fairfax.”
“Pen, look at me.”
She tried, but her gaze seemed pinned to the floor. He sighed, then drew his sword, knelt, and held it hilt up like a cross. He raised his voice.
“Upon mine honor and before God, I say that Mistress Penelope Fairfax is a match of unparalleled richness.”
“Oh, Morgan, get up! You’re making me seem foolish.”
“Not you, your fears.”
Her worries faded as she perceived the indignation upon his face. “But there are still my Highcliffers to consider.”
“Ah, yes.” He kissed her cheek. “You know, my love, that not one of your servants has anything more than pig slops for wits. And I do have lands of my own.”