Fire Raven (34 page)

The bells finished pealing. All was silent. Morgan frowned when he realized his bride had not appeared, as ordered. Had she dared defy him again?

The groaning of the cathedral doors heralded the late arrival of a third party. Father Benedict moved to greet the newcomers. Morgan turned and saw Sir Christopher enter the tiny chapel, steadying a young woman on his arm. The rest of the Tanner family was noticeably absent. Fine by him.

His virgin bride was exquisitely gowned in pearl satin and cloth-of-gold, with a train nearly a yard long. Her face was obscured by the heavy gauze veil, but Morgan glimpsed several bright red locks dangling about her shoulders. He also saw that she trembled. Suddenly he despised himself for forcing the poor, innocent creature to heel. Too late to make amends now. He had made his choice.

Sir Christopher spoke softly to his daughter, chiding her, perhaps, for her obvious reluctance. Afterward, it seemed she straightened her shoulders as she approached the altar. Mayhap her sire had reminded her of her duty or the family honor. Either way, it had worked. Mistress Margaret reached his side and continued to gaze steadfastly ahead.

Apparently sensing nothing amiss, the priest started the ceremony without preamble. Father Benedict rattled on and on about marital responsibilities and the prescribed duties of man and wife. Morgan grew restless and darted a glance at his bride.

Margaret had neither moved nor spoken during the interim. He wondered what she was thinking. He caught a glimpse of her white-gloved hands, nervously twisting together, and felt a disconcerting pang of pity.
God’s blood, ’tis not my problem if the chit does not favor her lot
, he told himself. Likely she had been outrageously spoiled by her family and was brought up short by this unexpected turn of events. Once she held their first son in her arms, she would accept her fate. Still, Morgan would ensure that she was never left alone with the child, just in case the madness that had seized his own mother might somehow overcome this delicate English wench, as well.

Morgan’s mind wandered farther afield. He suddenly realized the priest was waiting for his reply. “Aye,” he said, and he saw his bride stiffen. He repeated his vows in Latin, following Father Benedict’s lead.

When it was her turn, the new Lady Trelane barely managed a meek whisper.
What a spiritless creature she is
, Morgan thought.
Mistress Margaret will never throw the sons and daughters my Kat would have!

Nor would this Margaret ever capture his heart. He would be kind, he would be tolerant, but he would never love her. It was Kat’s bright green eyes he imagined when the time came for the nuptial kiss. He longed to lift the heavy veil and gaze into the eyes of the only woman he wanted. Yet he knew the eyes awaiting him beneath the veil were blue, not green.

To his chagrin, his lady wife recoiled and stepped back, refusing his gesture. Margaret’s veil fell back in place as she tugged it free of his grip and hurried back to Sir Christopher’s side. He thought he heard soft weeping issue from beneath the veil.

Anger seized Morgan.
Kat never refused your kisses
, an inner voice mocked him. He stared after his retreating bride as she fled to the safety of her father’s arms. She was weeping, damme her, like a woman condemned to the stake.

Morgan did not hear what Sir Christopher said to his daughter, as the priest droned meaningless congratulations at him, muffling the other man’s words. Margaret was obviously pleading with her father about something. Morgan saw the other man shake his head firmly. At least Sir Christopher was an honorable fellow; he would stick by his word. By this time tomorrow, Lady Margaret Trelane would be Morgan’s wife, in every sense of the word.

“T
ELL YOUR MISTRESS SHE
has an hour to prepare herself. No more, no less.”

Morgan spoke to the inscrutable tiring woman who had accompanied them to Hartshorn where they would stay the night before departing for Wales. Without a word, the woman nodded and moved to shut the heavy door in his face.

After Trelane’s footsteps receded down the hall, the “servant” pulled off her brown wig and shook out a mane of bright auburn curls.

“La, I feared I could not keep a straight face,” Merry Tanner cried, turning to face the other woman propped in the center of the huge eiderdown bed. “’Tis been nigh a year since I played with the mummers at Richmond.”

Kat smiled. “You’re a wonderful actress, Merry. I don’t think he suspected a thing.” She glanced at the pile of baggage where her own red wig was stored away, and released a burble of laughter. Faith, she would never forget the crackling fury in the air when she refused Morgan’s kiss! She wanted to accept his kiss, yet she daren’t risk him recognizing her, even in the gloominess of the old chapel.

“I vow you and Uncle Kit are both quite mad. You don’t know what Trelane will do when he finds out the truth,” Merry said. “How long can you hide it from him? He seems an angry, unforgiving sort of fellow.”

“On the contrary, sister,” Kat said, as she brushed out her long, dark hair, “Morgan is the kindest, gentlest man you could ever hope to meet.”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“Of Morgan? Never.” Kat shook her head and set down the ivory hairbrush in her lap. “Perhaps he will be a trifle vexed with me for the deceit we all practiced on him today. But I know Morgan’s heart better than he does; he will eventually come ’round, I’ve no doubt.”

Even as she spoke so confidently, Kat couldn’t suppress a shiver of apprehension. Suppose Morgan was furious with her. What then? Had he truly desired the match with her cousin Maggie, or, as she suspected, merely hoped to banish the memories of their time together in Wales by rashly wedding another? Guilt did strange things to one’s conscience, she knew.

The slim hour Morgan granted her passed more swiftly than she wished, and soon Merry was forced to don her disguise again and head for the door. Before she left, Merry hugged Kat and fervently declared, “I’ll pray for you, dear.”

“Don’t you dare. Just think of me as happy, and you will know ’tis true.”

Merry nodded, looking worried, and slipped out of the chamber — not a second too soon. A rap came at the door.

“Madam?” It was Morgan’s voice, curt and low. “Are you presentable?”

Kat glanced at the dark green silk nightrail she had chosen for her wedding night and rushed to extinguish the candle on the table. “Aye,” she called out in a low voice, diving back under the covers as the door cracked an inch.

Relieved to find the bedchamber dark, Morgan entered and barred the door behind him. He stared at the unmoving lump in the bed. A weak stream of moonlight gilded the room, and his eyes took a moment to adjust. He was tired and dispirited after the events in the church. He knew Margaret had never desired his suit. He sensed the tension permeating the room now.

Briskly he unfastened his doublet. “Madam, you have my word I shall be gentle with you. I have no wish to bring dissention into our household.”

She didn’t answer him.

“Of course, as all men, I am desirous of sons. Once you provide me with several heirs, there shall be no further need of … this.” Morgan fell silent and groped for words. How did one define lovemaking to a virgin? He wryly realized he was not so experienced himself.

Again, there was only silence. Morgan found himself annoyed by his new wife’s unresponsiveness. He shrugged out of his shirt, dropped it where he stood, and stepped over to the bed.

“I find myself chilled. Kindly move over.”

Suppressing a sudden urge to chuckle, Kat slid over. Morgan sat on the edge of the bed in order to remove his boots and breeches. She gazed at the strong curve of his spine, spangled with a soft veil of moonlight. She longed to reach out and caress him, trail her fingertips down his silken flesh. She restrained herself, withdrawing as Morgan turned around. She slid hastily beneath under the covers. He made an irritated noise as he sought for her hand. She slipped it beneath the covers, too, deftly avoiding his touch again.

“Very well, Madam. You have made your distress clear. I shall not attempt to court you any further. Shall we be done with this, then?”

Kat had no heart to continue the masquerade; Morgan was agonized, no less than she. She would not prolong his suffering.

“Morgan,” she said softly. Just his name, no more. He stiffened and scrambled out of the bed, rising and staring down at it as if a viper had crawled beneath the sheets.

“By the rood — ” he began. As Morgan feared, a familiar pair of cat-green eyes materialized in the moonlight. He averted his face and shakily demanded, “What the hell are you doing in my marital bed, Kat?”

“I am here rightfully, milord — as your wife.”

“Then there has been a mistake.” Morgan said, praying his voice did not shake. Still his heart pounded wildly, and he could not deny the tiny flicker of hope. He brushed it aside, appalled at his own weakness. Kat Tanner — Shanahan — did not belong to him. She never had.

“We were wed at midnight this evening,” she said.

“If I’m not mistaken, ’twas your cousin Margaret I wed at St. Ethelburga’s,” Morgan countered. “I saw her red hair quite clearly beneath the veil she wore.”

“You saw a wig, Morgan.”

“What of the contract?”                                                                

Kat heard the tremor in his voice. He quivered with anger or hurt, perhaps both. She plunged ahead, determined to set things straight.

“The light was poor in the chapel. You desired it so, I understand, and thus contributed to your own downfall. You and the priest both signed the contract in haste, without properly noting the names. I assure you, Morgan, my full Christian name is present on our marriage papers.”

He was silent a moment. “What new deceit do you practice upon me, Kat?”

“Deceit!” she cried, sitting bolt upright in the bed. “You dare speak to me of deceit when only last week you admitted your affections, then rashly turned and demanded to wed my cousin tonight? Will you continue to lie to me and to yourself? I know not the real reason you have refused to accept our love, but I will not sit still and watch you exchange it for a loveless union with my cousin.”

Morgan raked a hand through his hair, but wouldn’t confront her directly. He didn’t seem to care that he was naked, or that she stared at him with mixed frustration and hope. He kept his face averted the entire time they spoke.

Kat started fuming. At least Morgan owed her the decency of looking her in the eye as he rent her heart again. She felt a sting of rejection lance through her so deep, it seemed to hit her soul.

“I have told you,” he said at last, “why it cannot work between us. When will you accept it?”

“Never. You never offered a reason I could accept.”

“That is foolish and shortsighted of you, Kat.”

“Aye. Mayhap the reason I cannot accept your denial is the same reason you will not accept your mother’s death,” she parried.

Kat saw Morgan stiffen. Her words had thrust home. Maggie and her sister had not been mistaken. There was some kernel of truth to the cruel rumor.

“I know how Lady Trelane died,” she said, when Morgan maintained a chill silence. “It matters not to me. Your mother was a human being, Morgan, with human failings. Elena made a foolish decision to end her life; nobody shall ever know why. ’Tis pointless to blame yourself for her death. You were but an innocent babe.”

His abrupt harsh laugh startled her. “In sooth, Kat, you offer answers so easily. Would I could accept them as you do. Alas, I cannot. To pretend otherwise would do us both a grave disservice.”

“What are you telling me?”

“I am saying, madam, this charade of yours shall not work. On the morrow, I will have this marriage annulled.”

Kat flinched. Did Morgan truly hate her so? Her heart told her otherwise. “Trust your instincts,” her own mother had said to her. “They will not fail you.” She was startled when her mind suddenly supplied the forgotten bit of advice.

“I see,” Kat said. She was quiet a moment, thinking hard. “You realize, of course, there will be questions — questions about our marriage and my unsuitability as a wife. D’you intend to accuse me of perfidy?”

Morgan cleared his throat. “Mayhap some other solution can be found. Since I was unknowingly duped into this marriage by you and Sir Christopher, ’tis not legal in the eyes of the Church anyway.”

“Do not blame my uncle. Kit but sought to save his beloved daughter, to placate his wife, and to grant me my heart’s desire, all in one fell swoop. He is frightfully soft when it comes to the women in his household.”

“Nevertheless, ’twas wrong to deceive me,” Morgan said. His voice was hard again, his manner unforgiving.

“Nothing will be solved tonight,” Kat said. Her voice softened, not with tenderness but rather defeat. “We are both tired. We need to get some rest.”

Instead he moved to gather up his clothes. “I shall seek out another chamber.”

“Oh, Morgan, desist!” she cried, pummeling her fists on the coverlet. “This is ridiculous. We are not strangers. We were lovers ... or have you forgotten that, as well?”