Fire Raven (8 page)

“That’s not amusing, Morgan.”

“Neither is your behavior. Cease this nonsense at once, or I’ll take you upstairs to your room. You are tired and distraught.”

Distraught! When she was half in love with the cad and he knew it!
Furious, Kate jerked away from his touch when he moved to take her arm.

This was more the sort of reaction Morgan was used to. His eyes narrowed; he secured his fingers around her wrist. “There will be no hysterics in this household, Mistress Kate. You are going upstairs to rest now. ’Tis final.”

“Curse you, sirrah!”

Sweet Jesu, she was magnificent in her rage, Morgan realized. She looked a far cry from the meek, frightened creature he had rescued from the sea. He shivered at the intensity in her expression; for some reason he envisioned a line of proud warrior queens in Kate’s past. Each of them wore a pagan amulet; none of them needed or wanted a man. Morgan blinked, the vision vanished; instead he found himself faced with Kate, an ordinary if angry female.

“No arguments,
Faeilean
.”

Kate gasped with outrage when he lifted her into his arms. Her skirts fell topsy-turvy around her head as Morgan slung her casually over his shoulder, pinning her legs against his chest. His brisk stride carried her across the room, down the hall and toward the stairs. With each step, Kate beat a furious tattoo upon his back with her fists.

“Put me down, you blackguard! I’ll not be handled this way.”

Her outraged cries and threats went unheeded. Morgan didn’t pause until he met with Mrs. Carey coming down the stairs.

“Lud-a-mercy!” Winnie exclaimed, pressing a freckled hand to her ample bosom. “What’s all this?”

“Our guest was protesting her extended stay, Mrs. Carey,” Morgan answered cheerfully, though not without some effort. His unwilling baggage now pounded mercilessly upon his ribs. “’Tis clear our Katie doesn’t know what’s good for her. We had a wee tiff about it. I won.”

He grinned good-naturedly. Winnie had to chuckle at his boyish air.

“By the rood, what would your father say if he saw you now? Carrying a young lady upstairs, slung over your shoulder like a sack of grain.”

“Probably ‘congratulations.’” Morgan’s dry laughter rumbled through Kate as well. “Pray turn down her covers, Mrs. Carey. I vow our guest is nigh ready to retire. I’ll entreat you to remain with Kate and deal with all those blasted hooks and stays.”

“As you wish, milord.”

The pounding on Morgan’s back ceased.

“Lord?”

A surprised squeak issued from beneath all the layers of material.

“Y-you’re a peer?” Kate sputtered, pushing aside the velvet curtain tumbled about her head. “I don’t believe it.”

“Merely a baron, my dear,” Morgan said. “Our good queen sees fit upon occasion to grace some of her rustic relations with titles, in order to keep the Welsh provincials in line.”

“But you never told me, I never dreamed … ”

Winnie pitied Kate’s present position — not so much her undignified posture over Lord Trelane’s shoulder as the shock in her face. It was awkward enough lying for the Master these past days, and Winnie was relieved the ruse was over. Yet now the unpleasant truth was laid out for all. That was little consolation, even knowing it was for the best.

“Put the girl back in her room, if you would be so kind, milord,” she said. “I shall see to her further care.”

Morgan nodded and grimly resumed his march. He deposited Kate on her bed in her room and turned to leave.

“Morgan … Lord Trelane ... ”

Kate didn’t know if he was still there or not. Her head reeled from the shock of her unpleasant discovery. She gathered her courage and spoke into the silent void.

“Indeed, I do understand now. What would a fine lord want with the likes of me? You might have told me the truth in the beginning, milord. I need not have troubled you with my presence for so long.”

“Damme,
Faeilean
, that wasn’t the reason.”

She turned her head away, rejecting any answers or explanations. She sensed Morgan chafing with frustration. A moment later, he departed.

After he left, Kate stared into a dark void. It was devoid of light or hope as was her life. Aye, this explained everything now. Explained it only too well.

Chapter Five

“I
AM LEAVING
, W
INNIE
. I don’t intend to brook any further argument about it.”

Winnie was lacing a dark green brocade gown for Kate. She did so as slowly as possible, in order to give the Master ample time to return from the fields. What would Lord Trelane say when he learned the girl had wandered off alone, blind, into the wilderness? Winnie already knew. He would be furious with both of them, but she alone would remain to take the brunt of his anger.

“Are you sure ’tis wise, Katie? These hills are full of brigands. A blind traveler doesn’t stand a chance. Especially a maiden without an escort.”

“Just direct me toward the nearest abbey. If I must, I shall crawl along the roadside until some kind wayfarer takes pity enough to guide me the rest of the way. What I won’t do is suffer any further charity from Mor — Lord Trelane.”

Winnie sighed. There was nothing to be done for it Kate had her dander up; like most of the Gaelic, she could be pigheaded beyond reason.

“As for this gown,” Kate continued, “I intend to assure Lord Trelane is recompensed for its loss. Just as soon as I find my family, I shall see he is compensated for every last coin spent on my behalf.”

“What if you don’t find your kin?”

Kate paled and lifted her chin. “Then I must secure some sort of work, of course, and send milord payment as soon as possible. I have only my word to offer, if he can accept the vow of a lowly Irishwoman.”

Winnie did not take the bait. She gave another sigh of surrender. “’Tis raining again, dearie. You’ll need a warm cloak, as well.”

“Is there one here? I shall, of course, pay for it as well.”

“Aye, I’ll fetch it.” Resigned, Winnie went to retrieve the cloak. It had belonged to Lady Elena, too. No other women, save for herself, Cook and a few maid servants, had lived at Falcon’s Lair since Morgan’s mother died.

Winnie fetched the cloak from the wardrobe and stroked the soft, fine black wool cape with its French hood. Cloaks did not go out of fashion as quickly as gowns. She crossed the room and draped it about Kate’s rigid shoulders.

Kate sniffed with faint surprise. “It smells of damask rose.”

“It belonged to Lord Trelane’s mother. ’Twas her favorite scent.”

“His mother? He never mentioned her. Where is she now?”

“Lud, she died, miss. Long ago.”

As Winnie hoped, Kate asked no more questions.

“If you’ll be so kind as to help me downstairs one last time, Winnie, I will be on my way.”

“Best let me fasten the cloak for you, dear. ’Tis chilly outside.”

It didn’t occur to Kate to be suspicious about Winnie’s complacent assistance, not even when she was bid a calm farewell and left outside in the drizzling rain. Winnie kindly turned her in the right direction before she left, yet the moment Kate swiveled about to wave goodbye, she was disoriented. She felt dampness from the soggy earth already seeping up through her thin leather soles. Rain drizzled down her neck. She tugged the hood of the cape up over her hair.

Despite the chill and miserable weather, it felt good to be thumbing her nose at Trelane’s hospitality. Her break for independence restored a little of her dignity as she took a deep breath and set off with determination — and blundered into a bramble bush. The thorny branches pricked her hands and tore the cloak as she struggled to get free.

From the doorstep of Falcon’s Lair, Winnie observed Kate’s progress, if it could be termed thus. She shook her head sadly and watched as Kate plucked the last of the thorns from her palms and set off again.

This time, Kate reached the rocky path leading down to the sea. Her smooth soles slipped in the thick mud. A second later, she tumbled halfway down the hill. Morgan rode over from the wainwright’s cottage just in time to glimpse Kate rolling head over heels down the slope.

“What the devil!” he exclaimed, directing a sharp glance of reprimand at Mrs. Carey before he dug his heels into the gray mare he was riding.

When she ceased tumbling, Kate sat up and spat out wet grass and leaves. A moment later she heard the dull thud of approaching horse’s hooves.

“Are you hurt?” Morgan called out, as he dismounted and hurried to her side.

“Nay,” Kate lied. Her left ankle throbbed, her palms were scraped raw from the desperate attempt to break her fall. She was drenched to the skin and her teeth chattered from the cold. She felt Morgan grasp her arm, but she shrugged off his silent offer of assistance. “I can handle things myself.”

She spoke curtly as she came to her feet. Morgan had no way of knowing she was furious with herself, rather than him. Her humiliation complete, Kate shook the thick mud from her hands and realized there was no recourse but to return to the keep. She had hoped to escape before Morgan’s return. No wonder Winnie seemed unconcerned about letting her leave.

Morgan persisted. “You look unsteady. Here, I’ll help you.” He took her elbow with one hand, slid his other arm around her waist. Kate did not deny the support was welcome as they trudged up the steep incline.

“Now,” Morgan demanded, “just what the devil is going on here? You were to remain inside till you were recovered. Why wasn’t Mrs. Carey with you?”

“’T’wasn’t her fault,” Kate said. “I ordered her to let me leave the household. She was wise enough not to argue … well, not overmuch.”

Morgan made an exasperated sound. At the top of the hill he did not release her immediately. Instead they stood pressed together, buffeted by the wind from the sea. A few moments later the rain stopped. A mist drifted in and curled about them in the fashion of a cloak. Kate felt its damp kiss upon her face.

“We need to talk,
Faeilean
.”

“There’s nothing more to be said, milord. I’m leaving. ’Tis my final word. Even you cannot force me to stay.”

“Mayhap I can persuade you instead.”

Morgan’s words rumbled like gentle thunder across the Welsh hills. Kate felt a tingle of anticipation when he tilted her face up to his.

“You’re not wearing the wrap about your eyes,” he said. He sounded uneasy. She knew how much Morgan had worried about her eyesight. She felt an unexpected warmth course through her. Despite her anger at being deceived, she found his concern for her touching.

“Winnie said it might come off today. I insisted upon it.”

“Can you see anything yet?”

She shook her head. “Just shadows and vague shapes. Winnie assures me my sight will return, however. Along with my memory, I trust.”

He was silent a moment. “How long does Mrs. Carey think it will take?”

“The memory, or my eyesight? Both might be days yet or weeks.” Kate shrugged more bravely than she felt. “Or, mayhap never. There is some chance my vision will not be restored. My eyes were sorely burned, Winnie admitted. There might have been some damage from smoke or flying sparks, and saltwater.”

Kate heard Morgan swallow. How repulsed he must be by her sightless eyes, blindly staring up at him! She averted her gaze and sought for a safer topic.

“I hear the sea hissing at us. One might suppose it an angry cat.”

“Yea, we’re close to the cliff’s edge. You might have had a misstep and met with disaster.” Morgan’s arm tightened about her waist. “I vow you’re a match for the sea,
Faeilean
. You hiss quite well yourself, when provoked.”

Kate chuckled. “I do seem to be rather strong-willed, don’t I?”

“Rather,” he dryly agreed.

“Did I really look like a drowned seagull washed up with the tide?”

“Nay. More a wet kitten, ready to sharpen her claws on the first man she saw.”

“Oh! A helpless kitten, milord?” Kate’s voice held a challenge, and jeweled green eyes swung back to him with unerring accuracy.

Morgan gazed down into her beautiful eyes with a mixture of trepidation and hope. Was it possible the shadows she saw were enough to expose him? He steeled himself for a scream. Her lips parted in a soft chuckle instead.

“Cats have a great deal of independence, you know.”

“As well as nine lives, according to legend. Perhaps I should release you to see if you totter off the cliff, after all.”

The threat was halfhearted and Kate knew it. She laughed again, more freely this time.

“I didn’t manage to land on my feet the first time, so you’d best keep a good grip on me now.”

“You’re not used to it, that’s all. Had you been blind from birth, you should have got along quite well.”

“I daresay you’re right, milord.”

“Pray don’t call me ‘milord’ anymore. ’Tis a dry and irksome title used by old men. I have a Christian name, one you used willingly enough before last night.”

“Morgan.” She repeated his name in a reverent whisper. He felt a corresponding ache in his breast. An ache which was becoming all too familiar.

“’Tis an unusual name for a man.”