Lord of the Isle (26 page)

“So what do we do?” Maury asked, very confused.

“I don’t know exactly, Maury. I’ll have to think about that for a while. I promise you, I’ll think of something.”

Maurice seemed satisfied by that. He raised up on his knees to put a kiss on Morgana’s cheek. His skinny arms embraced her shoulders. “You’ll think of something good,” he said confidently. “You always do. Good night.”

“Good night, love.” Morgana pulled the drapes back to watch him pad barefoot across the chamber. Her love for the brave little boy brought a smile to her lips. The first she’d felt in what seemed like aeons.

Once Maurice closed the door behind him, Morgana climbed out of the bed. She’d shed enough silly tears over Hugh O’Neill. She wouldn’t allow herself to expend any more on a hopeless cause. She crossed to the window overlooking the sea.

This wing of Dunluce, like the solar below it, was much newer than the old Norman drum towers and keep. Here the roof was gabled and steep. Huge windows graced each of the bedchambers that overlooked the sea.

She pushed the shutters wide open on a rose-hued dawn. The night was gone. Mhórning lay upon the land and spread across the mild sea.

The night rail Inghinn had provided Morgana fluttered around her body. A strong wind lifted the damp length of her hair and set it waving like pennants at her sides. She turned her head to the wind, lifting the heavier hanks at the base of her neck, spreading it to dry on the breeze.

As he came out of the bathhouse, Hugh’s focus traveled magnetically up the walls of Dunluce. Morgana stood at a
window on the third floor, staring morosely at the sea and the rising sun. Her hair billowed like a cloud around her. Hugh rubbed his plaid over his wet head and let the drape fall to his shoulder, unfastened and free.

A trellis of old ivy crept up the gabled wall to her window.

He knew himself for a damned fool then. For his hands itched to dig into that ivy and test its ability to support his weight. He searched his mind for a magical property to give to the vines.

Only an old maxim came to mind:
Where ivy grows, it guards against disaster.
That was enough protection to suit Hugh O’Neill. He put himself to the arduous labor of climbing the ivy trails up to Morgana’s window.

She jumped back, startled, when his hands slapped on the windowsill and he lifted his head and shoulders above it.

“Good morning, my lady.” Hugh grinned. “May I come in?”

“Hugh!” Morgana gasped. She looked down the sheer wall that dropped to the cobblestoned castle ward. “Are you trying to kill yourself? What are you doing?”

The wind blew his damp hair across his eyes. It ruffled his tartan as if it were a battle flag advancing before the troops.

“What on earth are you doing?” she repeated.

“Coming to my lady the most direct way possible. Say that I may come in, Morgana. I pray the vines will hold my weight for a descent if you refuse.”

Her fingers scratched at his shoulders, seeking a grip upon him. “Come in, come in! For the love of Saint Brigit, come in, before you fall to your death!”

“Ah, sweeter words I never expected to hear, my love. Move back a step, my lady. I shall join you shortly.”

Hugh put his body to the hardest work of the climb, lifting his own weight over the window ledge, hoping he did so with grace and charm.

Morgana’s eyes grew huge as she watched the big man bound over the ledge and come to stand, a towering hulk of bare-armed, bare-chested male, before her.

Hugh caught his borrowed
philabeg
to his waist. He tucked the loosened end under his belt, lest the cloth fall to his feet, leaving him embarrassingly randy and naked before her. He ducked his head slightly and smiled as he explained, “I’ve just come out of the bath. So I’m a little damp, but when I saw you at the window, I couldn’t resist coming to you. May I explain to you Elizabeth’s demands upon me?”

“Yes.” Morgana nodded. She wanted to hear his explanation, and she told herself she would believe anything.

“It’s all because of old Sorely’s war with England. I told you he’s been fighting Tudors since Henry commanded a navy be formed to make England a strong rival of Portugal. Mac Donnell thought to be Henry’s admiral. But he had enemies at court, and was denied the post he sought.”

Hugh took a deep breath before he continued. He opened his arms as a gesture of invitation to Morgana, wanting very badly to hold her against him.

She lifted her chin and said, “Go on.”

“Here I digress, for I don’t know the truth of all of it. I was not witness to those years, because I was not yet born. Some at court say the Mac Donnell sank the
Maiden Anne,
though I have never heard Sorely claim responsibility for that. I do know that when Henry declared himself head of the church in England, the schism between he and the Mac Donnell deepened to bitter hatred. It was blasphemy of the highest order to the Mac Donnell. He set himself against Henry, and has been at war ever since.

“Which brings us to Elizabeth, Henry’s daughter and queen of England. When she released me to return to Ireland, an earl sworn and pledged to her, it was with the charge that I put an end to Sorely’s rebellion in Antrim.”

Hugh dropped his open hands to his sides. “You won’t come willingly to me, Morgana?”

“Not before you finish it,” she refused.

“I ache to feel your breasts against my chest, Morgana. No other woman I have ever know has moved me as deeply.”

She parted her lips to moisten them with the tip of her tongue. That was agony to Hugh, to stand and watch and not taste. He compressed his lips, nodding, forcing himself to go on talking, to explain it all.

“As you are aware, peace is often obtained by marriage. Were you not forced to marry your father’s strongest ally when you were but a girl?”

“Aye, I was,” Morgana admitted. “I was as formless as Cara Mulvaine on the day of my marriage. Greg O’Malley treated me like a daughter, until one day when he came home from the sea and found I had grown into womanhood in his absence.”

“And so I would treat the Mulvaine—were I forced to wed her at this age in her life. No banns were written, no contracts, no betrothals made between the child and I, Morgana. It was the queen’s suggestion to me, to secure the peace between us. Forgive me for not telling you this before. It had no importance to me.

“After I first visited Dunluce, I wrote to Elizabeth immediately upon my return to Dungannon. I asked leave of the queen to forgo the match. The girl did not appeal to me. Sorely has poisoned her mind. She thinks England and Elizabeth are her enemies. Her grandfather fosters that hatred, hoping she will become a new pawn in his drive to destroy all who pledge allegiance to England.

“I walk a thin line, Morgana, over chasms more vast than one can imagine. To one hand are the desires of my people to be free of the yoke of English rule, to the other is the awesome power of the crown. Do I topple from the line in either direction, my life is forfeit.

“I will not take to wife a woman who will push me over the brink. I want a helpmate, a woman who understands the thin balance between the power of the state and my right to
rule my own lands in peace and tranquillity. All I have I offer you, but I tell you with all my heart, I have nothing more permanent than these two hands, this body and this heart. Do you understand what I am saying, Morgana of Kildare?”

“Yes.” She nodded solemnly.

“Then what holds you back from coming to me, lady?”

Morgana swallowed. Her stomach quivered as if twenty butterflies were trying to escape it. She wasn’t certain she should tell him why she held back.

“You…”

“I what?” Hugh stepped forward to her, but he checked himself immediately. “No, I won’t coerce you, Morgana. Tell me, in your own way, what I must do.”

“You haven’t said that you love me,” Morgana whispered. She ducked her head, unable to look in his eyes. She feared that he couldn’t possibly love someone so unworthy as she.

“Ah, I see.” Hugh lifted his hands and laid them on her shoulders. His hands were callused and hard, roughened from the arduous work of training with battle weapons and the interests of man. Beneath his fingers, her flesh was as soft and warm and as smooth as the cloth covering her.

He let one hand slide across her back to draw her softness into his strength. The other touched her chin so that he could gently tilt her face up to his. “I love you, Morgana, with all my heart and soul. Will you marry this man who has nothing but these hands to offer as service to you all of his days?”

Morgana’s chin nudged against his fingers. “Provided the queen will not summon you to London to be beheaded because of me, I will marry you, Hugh. But she must agree to the match. Else we are both doomed.”

“She will agree, I promise you. I know the secret of gaining Elizabeth’s favor.”

Morgana tucked her brow under his chin. Her fingers rested against his breastbone. “I have one other request.”

“If you are going to ask me to allow your brothers to remain with us, it is entirely unnecessary for you to petition me for so small a duty. They are welcome at Dungannon, at Castle O’Neill, at any holdings of Tir-Owen.”

“Oh, Hugh, thank you for that gracious gift, but that wasn’t my request.”

“It wasn’t?” His hand, at the small of her back, tightened, bringing her closer. “What would you ask of me if not that, then?”

Morgana moistened her lips. She met his gaze directly. “You must take the Mulvaine to Sir Almoy.”

“What?” Hugh jerked, astounded by such an outlandish request. “Are you out of your mind? I can’t take that child from Sorely’s house. Didn’t you listen to what I said? He sent five of his ships to Scotland and laid siege to Graham Castle to take the girl into his control. Three years ago, Sorely killed the Englishman, Carlisle, that she was betrothed to. Now you want me to incite that madman by taking the girl from him and turning her over to the Templars? Morgana, that doesn’t make sense.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Morgana said in her own defense. “You talked about King Henry.”

“All right, so I skipped some of the story. Good God, it’s an epic. It would take weeks to recount all of the tribulations of the laird of the Glens. No, Morgana, I can’t do that. Don’t make Cara Mulvaine’s fate a condition of our marriage. She has no place in our life.”

“I’ve made a promise regarding her. If you won’t accept that, then you must give me leave to act in my own best interest. I’ll speak to the Mac Donnell, reason with him.”

“Sorely Mac Donnell does not reason with women. He commands them, and they obey his orders. You would be wasting your breath and provoking his ire. No, Morgana. The matter is closed. Don’t bring it up again.”

“Do you know how self-important and autocratic you sound?”

“Aye, I do. Will you challenge my authority? Resist it? Do as you please, and provoke me when we disagree? Tell me true, for I would know if I am bringing an obedient woman to my heart.”

“There’s the rub, isn’t it? Haps I have been on my own too long, making all the decisions necessary for my brothers and my survival. Haps I won’t make you the good wife you are seeking, even though I love you. Maybe love is not enough in a wife. Or a husband, either.”

“No, there must be more. A willingness to compromise.”

Morgana trailed her fingers down his chest, to his belly. “Perhaps a willingness to search for solutions, or to find alternate means to solve problems between us, my lord?”

“Tempting my baser inclinations is certainly a creative approach, my lady, but not if you intend to manipulate me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing, sir. I’m far too direct for that.”

“And much too alluring a female. You tempt me now, Morgana of Kildare.”

Morgana’s fingers dropped to his belt buckle. “I have every intention of tempting you to your very limits, my lord, with your permission… of course.”

Hugh spread his fingers into her hair, tilting her lips to his. “Granted, my lady. I am your servant always.”

Morgana stilled as his lips met hers in a devouring kiss. It gave proof of the banked passions surging between them. She caught the tongue of his belt and yanked it free of the buckle’s hasp. Both belt and kilt dropped to their feet. His manhood surged against the soft flesh of her belly. She leaned into him, welcoming the hardness.

Hugh tore his lips from hers, crying out, “Unfair! You are clothed, my lady.”

“There is a remedy to that.” Deep dimples flashed in Morgana’s cheeks as she stepped back, out of his arms. She brought her hands to her throat, releasing the ribbon bow
holding her night rail secure. She dropped her arms. The soft linen fell to her feet.

“Splendor of the gods,” Hugh whispered. “Diana the huntress could not be more beautiful than you.”

His eyes did what his mouth wanted to do, devoured her inch by sweet and lovely inch. His hands accomplished that desire, fanning out to touch her rosy, tilted breasts. They swept down the long curve of her belly, skimmed around her hips to grasp the firm round globes of her bottom and pulled her body flush against his.

Her height made her the perfect fit to his body. Only the slightest boost would be necessary to bring her up that they might couple where they stood. Hugh cataloged that thought for another time, when he wasn’t so driven to have her beneath him. He swung one arm under her legs and lifted her, stepping over their discarded clothes as he carried her to the bed.

Morgana wrapped one arm around his shoulders, and the other she stretched out to pull back the bed curtains. “The sun rises, my lord. There will be work to be done this whole entire day.”

“We won’t tarry overlong in bed, lady.” Hugh promised as he set her down upon the feather bed. It cocooned her, swallowing her. The ropes creaked noisily as Hugh added his weight to the mattress. Her legs and arms parted in open and generous invitation to him. Despite his words, he had no intention of rushing through this joining.

Her body was so familiar to the touch of his hands and the taste of his mouth. It was a completely new experience to see that lovely body revealed to him by the clear light of day. He kissed each freckle glazing her throat, and marveled over the coral orbs of her nipples that darkened to ruby after he suckled them.