Morganna (The Brocade Collection, Book 4) (21 page)

“What is it?”

“I am going to correct the wrongs I have done. Though they were not intentioned, they were still done. I will na’ be able to rest in my own grave if I doona’ correct it. I will need you alive to
do so. After I have finished, you may seek death if you wish. I will join you.
Now give me the blade, Zander.”

“You must not miss again.”

“I dinna’ miss before. I did what you said to do. I was aiming for a crack
in the rock. I hit it.”

He sat up and flung it toward her. Morgan was as astounded as he was when she moved
in that direction and caught it. She held it up to the light and
watched the ruby in the firelight.

“Do you believe in magic, Zander?” she asked.

“I believe in illusion,” he replied, with a ghost of a smile.

She shrugged. “I will think on that instead. Seek sleep now. You are
going to need it. I will be back in this room before the sun sets tomorrow.”

‘Where are you going? To who? If you seek out that harlot, Sally
—”

Morgan put her hands on her hips and lowered her eyebrows, and gave him another I-am-so-disappointed-in-you look. “Zander FitzHugh, I have told
you more than any other soul on earth knows. Doona’ press me now.”

“You will come to no harm?”

“I am the FitzHugh champion of weapons. Harm? What fool would
attempt it?”

“
Where will you be? How will I find you?”

“I will not leave the castle. You have my word. Rest. Bathe yourself.
Ask Plato for any assist. Find a
feile-breacan
befitting the most handsome of the
FitzHughs, and dare to dream, Zander. I promise you magic. Not illusion.
Magic. Until tomorrow.”

She opened the door and slid out. Then, she went looking for Sheila and the Lady Gwynneth to make a woman out of her.

~ ~ ~

The bath they filled for her was a pleasant experience, once she got over
three women all assisting her. Sally Bess wasn’t going to be left out of the
creation of Morganna, the mysterious one.

Lady Gwynneth had been surprised and pleased at Morgan’s request, and
Sheila had been open-mouthed and astounded, and giggling non-stop at what
Morgan had done, and the lads she had bested. Sheila no longer wanted to be
a fat, lazy whore, either. She wanted to be of service to Morganna, wherever that
would be.

They also exclaimed their dismay over the amazing wealth of
muscle in Morgan’s abdomen, her back and her shoulders. Not to mention the
thick cording of them at the backs of her thighs and her buttocks. While Lady Gwynneth clucked her tongue over muscles no woman should have, she
discovered that Morgan’s legs weren’t any larger than her own, and her waist
was much smaller.

The last was a surprise to the Lady Gwynneth who had a length of heavy,
black satin that was being formed into a dress for her. It hadn’t been hemmed yet, and it was pronounced just the thing Morgan should wear for her seduction of
Zander FitzHugh. Then they set about oiling Morgan’s hair and skin, curling her
tresses and even making her drink a concoction of herbs and spices guaranteed to
calm her enough to sleep the afternoon away.

Whe
n she was awakened, she strapped the dragon blade and kilt square to her thigh despite any arguments, was dressed in a frail, almost see-through shift they called a chemise, had woven stockings rolled into place up her thighs where
they kept slipping, and was wrapped in the black satin. Sleeves were laced on. Black cording was crisscrossed about her ribs and the slimness of her stomach, and ribbons were woven through her hair. Then, she was finally
pronounced ready, and escorted under heavy veiling to the chamber.

That’s when her courage very nearly failed her. The ladies must have
known, too, for they simply ripped the veil from her, opened the door and pushed
her in, amid a great deal of giggling. Then there was complete and absolute
silence.

Zander was off his chair and across the floor and in front of her before
Morgan could take a breath, and the one she managed when he stopped right in
front of her, was more a gasp. Those midnight-blue eyes were large and shocked and stunned, and very, very pleased. She could tell.

“Oh...dearest God,” he said, going to his knee before her. She watched him pick up her hem and hold it. She watched the hand shake. Then, his
shoulders. “Tell me I am not dreaming. Please, God?”

Morgan dropped her hand to the top of his head, running her fingers through
his hair, until she had strands of hair where she usually kept dirks. “You are na’ dreaming, my lord FitzHugh. My father had two daughters. Elspeth, whom I
told you of...and Morganna,” she whispered.

“Oh Morgan, you wretch. You complete and total wretch. When I think
of the nights, the images I’ve had, the—”

“Would you waste time telling the floor of past frustrations, my lord?”

“Oh Morgan, I canna’ believe you’re real.”

Morgan pulled her hands from his hair and held them out, palms up.
“Zander, if you doona’ come off the floor, I’m going to search out Plato and ask
him what else I’m supposed to do to make you believe! I am as female as any
other. I always have been.”

He stood, sucked in air and looked very carefully from the top of her
head to the slight shadow between her breasts that he could see, down to the tips of her stocking feet, since Lady Gwynneth’s closets hadn’t any slippers of a sufficient size, and then he brought his gaze the same way back up. He was close
enough to touch, but refraining from it. It didn’t matter. It had the same effect,
she decided.

“
Oh. You will na’ get that far from me. And you will na’ search for Plato, or
any other man again. Ever. I doona’ want another soul in this room. Not
tonight,” he reached behind her to drop the bolt, and came back around. “
Mayhap not even tomorrow.”

“You are being wed tomorrow, Zander.”

He frowned and looked her over. “Only if the bride is you,” he finally
answered.

“You canna’ break a betrothal, Zander.”

“You come into my chamber, promising everything I’ve been afraid to
envision and tell me to wed another? Jesu’ Morgan, make up your mind! I will
na’ take you except upon promise to be my wife. I swear it.”

Morgan’s eyes filled with tears. He was asking the impossible, but he
didn’t know it. Only she did.

“
Besides, Plato told me the truth about them. He loves the lady
Gwynneth, and she him. He will take my place. He told me I would na’ regret it.
He was right. I doona’. I may even miss his wedding. Oh, Morgan, have you
eaten?”

He still wasn’t touching her, and Morgan kept the same distance he
seemed to wish as he turned to show her the table. There were grapes, cheeses,
wine, and a blood pudding on his table. There was also a fresh linen on his bed,
and it was in deepest red. Her eyes widened. He watched where she was
looking and smiled.

“P
lato was in on your surprise. He designed my chamber. There may
even be musicians later to serenade us. Will you mind?”

“I d
oona’ understand, Zander.”

She watched him walk over to the table, pick up a goblet and fill it for
her. Then he brought it back. Her eyes were brimming with tears, but she
wasn’t about to weep. Zander FitzHugh was wearing his family kilt, a black
doublet and wide-sleeved blouse. He was absolutely amazing, but he was acting
differently than she’d expected. He had the complete right to touch her, and he wasn’t?

He held out the goblet for her. Morgan reached for it, and he shied away
from the minute contact of her fingers, flushing strangely as she watched. She was shaking so badly she had to hold it with two hands.

“
What doona’ you understand, my sweet?”

“You d
oona’ touch me,” she replied, then it was her turn to
blush as he stared at her.

“I d
oona’ dare,” he finally answered.

“I
am still Morgan, the squire,” she whispered.

“Aye, and I will be an unleashed beast if I touch you
right now. I have been too
long denied, Morganna. I know myself. I am not touching you for a reason. A
very good reason. Now. Sip your wine, and cease looking at me with those big,
gray eyes, while I kick myself for not seeing what was right in front of my own.”

She choked on the first sip of wine, and he chuckled, leaving her to pour
his own. Morgan walked across the chamber, allowing every bit of swing of her hips that the ladies had instructed her on, while she did so. Zander’s reaction was
like a balm as he pulled his head back and opened wide, shocked, midnight-blue
eyes to her antics. Morgan decided there were a few things about being female that she could come to like.

“I would like to try some of your pudding, I think,” she said when she reached the table.

He was serving it on a platter to her before she was seated, and
then he watched as she broke a piece off with her fingers and raised it to her
mouth. Then, she half-lidded her eyes and licked at her fingers before she
chewed. Zander closed his eyes and gulped. Morgan nearly giggled.

“You are na’ eating?” she asked when he opened his eyes again.

“I doona’ think I’ll be able to swallow,” he replied. Then he proceeded to show that for a falsehood by draining his goblet of wine and putting it back on
the table. “Jesu’ Morganna, you are the loveliest lass I’ve ever seen. I canna’
believe I’ve had you with me night and day for almost five sennights and never
guessed it. I canna’ believe I was so blind. I canna’ think! I can only close my
eyes and welcome the shivers. Jesu’!” He finished the impassioned speech, and
Morganna picked up another bite of her pudding.

“Open your mouth, Zander,” she whispered.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Zander opened both his mouth and his eyes, and she watched the stunned
expression as she placed the morsel on his tongue. Then, she put a finger on his
upper lip and commanded him to close it and eat. He was trembling beneath her fingers. Morgan felt and saw him do it, and decided it was very satisfying to be female, actually. Then, she drank from her own goblet, allowing a few
drops of the red liquid to sit on her lips before licking them off. Zander was choking at that. She sucked in on her cheeks and smiled.

She picked up a grape next, and rolled it between her fingers. “Zander?”
she whispered. “Open your mouth again.”

He flinched and pulled back a fraction. Then, he was shaking his head in
almost the same humming-bird fashion she’d done in the earl’s chambers not a
fortnight since. Morgan did giggle then. She couldn’t help it.

Zander reacted by picking up her goblet and draining it, too. Morgan
watched him do it. “Are you thinking to avoid me by getting yourself drunk?”
she asked.

He put the goblet down and lowered his head. Her ears filled with a roaring sound so loud, he should be able to hear it, too.

“Oh, there will be no avoidance tonight, Morganna. I love your name,
Morganna. Morganna...beloved of Zander FitzHugh. Morganna, mother to
FitzHugh bairns. Morganna, uniter of the clans, champion of weapons. How
many things you are, and will be, Morganna, my love, and I’ve just touched on
the tip of them.”

She had to shut her eyes or he would spot the way his words assaulted
her, wounding her to the bottom of her soul. She was none of those things, nor would she ever be. She wasn’t going to speak of it, though. She was taking care
of her vow. That was all she was doing. All the things Zander said she was, and
wanted for her, they were for a Morganna that didn’t exist.

She sucked in on
her pain. She wasn’t here for love and she knew it.
She was here to whore herself. It was what she had to do to right her wrongs.
She was saving Sheila from herself, Plato from a loveless, hate-filled existence,
Gwynneth from a self-inflicted death, and she was clearing the demons from her
beloved Zander’s head, because he was too silly to see the truth for himself.
None of it was real. It couldn’t be real. It wasn’t illusion, either. It was magic,
pure and simply magic.

She opened her eyes. Zander responded by tipping his head and slurping
the grape from between her fingers. Morgan snapped them away the instant his
lips started sucking, for the contact burned hotter than had the pinpricks of blisters on the backs of her legs.

“Zander?”

“I would like another grape, I think,” he replied, tipping his head, and
opening his mouth.

Morgan plucked one and held it gingerly atop his open, grasping mouth.
Lips again burned, only this time he nipped a bit at the underside of her forefinger. Her eyes widened as he brought his head back up, to catch and hold
her gaze.

“Another,” he commanded.

Morgan was clumsy, and lost the first one she plucked off. She was
forced to grasp another and was shaking long before she had it hovering above
his mouth. This time he had her wrist in his hand and she couldn’t move as he
sucked the fruit from her fingers, and then kept sucking until he had the tip of her
finger in his mouth. Morgan’s eyelids drooped half-way of their own accord, her knees started quivering and her lips opened to pant for breath before he let go of
her hand and released her.

“Another one,” he commanded.

Morgan’s fingertips weren’t just burning, they were tingling with
sensation and felt scorched raw with every contact from his mouth, then cooled
with the shape and texture of the grape. She dropped two grapes before she
managed to hold onto one this time, and her hand was hesitant when she held it
out.

Zander’s hand had her wrist, he had the grape, and then he had his tongue
on the sensitive part of her palm making miniature circles in the midst of it before
she could gasp a reaction. Then he released her.

“Another one,” he commanded.

“I think...I need...to sit down,” she whispered.

He grinned, and went to his knees to make it easier for her. Morgan
looked down at him, and swayed before catching herself against the table. Zander had his eyebrows up and a sparkle to those dark eyes before she fell into
the chair, put one hand to her breast and caught the tremor.

“
What is happening to me?” she whispered.

“Oh
…that. ’Tis what you’ve fought against for years. ’Tis all that horrid
love stuff. That is what’s happening to you. All that you denied yourself. All
that is life. All that is play. Come along, Morganna, play with me. I have hunger for another grape, and I want you to feed it to me.”

He put his head on her knee and tipped it up to watch her. Morgan turned into the consistency of the pudding at the contact. Her eyes closed, she
felt herself trembling
, and when she opened her eyes back up, Zander’s midnight-blue gaze was still waiting for her. She got a grape, although the bowl rattled with the contact of her hand.

She was hesitant about giving it to him, though. Her hand moved out a
bit, then a little further, before pulling back, and on the third try, he caught at it, had
the grape sucked from her fingers, and his lips on her inner wrist before she could
jerk it away. Morgan squealed, then quieted as he lapped at her skin, giving her bumps of shivers all the way to the centers of her freed breasts. Her eyes flew open at it, and she looked down at herself with no small amount of fear. All of
which had Zander laughing delightedly when he dropped her hand.

“Another,” he commanded.

“I canna’,” she whimpered.

“I want another grape, Morganna, my love, and I want you to feed it to
me. Now.”

She tipped the bowl sideways with her motion, and couldn’t quite get her
fingers to work. It took three tries just to get one grape in her fingers. These
same fingers that were so sensitive they could feel, aim and perfectly toss a knife,
were having trouble with grapes? Morgan looked at her hands in surprise and a
slight bit of dismay.

“
My grape?” he asked.

“Zander?” She began, looking from her hand to him and back again.
“My fingers...feel strange. I doona’ ken why.”

He laughed again, and caught her wrist before she had a chance to hold it
over him. He had the grape sucked free and pushed her sleeve out of his
way until he reached the sensitive skin of her inner elbow. Morgan squirmed on
the chair, her head back and her mouth open as he tongued little designs into her
flesh and then he lifted his head.

“Another
,” he requested.

“I canna’!” she cried.
“Doona’ make me! I doona’ ken what is happening.
I dinna’ think I like it! Oh, Zander, help me!”

He had her plucked from the chair and held to him before she said another
word, and his mouth told her everything she was crying out for. Morgan felt his
hands shaking, where they were holding her beneath her arms, she felt the bulge
of him where he held her atop him, and she felt the insistent demands of his lips as he plied hers open, his tongue grasping, demanding, and seeking.

“Oh, my sweet, my innocent, my love!” He was the one breaking the
contact, pulling his head from hers with a furious motion while he glared at her, with eyes so blazing blue, she felt the burn clear to the deepest pit of her where
her own body seemed to twinge. Her own eyes widened as she felt it.

“Zander?” she asked.

“
Lovely Morganna. My Morganna, mine!”

He had fistfuls of her hair and was inhaling the perfumed oils the ladies
had combed through it. And he was shuddering. Morgan felt every bit of it as
the hardest part of him changed, softening a little, and she worried. She was still
worried when he lifted his head.

“What is it, love?” he asked.

“You doona’ desire me...either?” she asked.

He chuckled, and arms wrapped about her, holding her close. “I desire
you more than life itself, my love, I have to gain control of myself. I am na’ a young cock, able just to please myself. I want you to experience every bit of
pleasure I can give, you ken?”

She shook her head. That seemed to make him even happier, and then he
was kissing her again, every bit of her he could reach. Her nose, her throat, her
chin, her shoulders where the dress slid.

Morgan was in a whirlwind no rainstorm could approach, then she was back in the chair, the hard wood beneath her contrasting to the warmth she’d just left, and the solid wood arms feeling vacant and cold. Her eyes flew open.

“Zander?”

“I thought I told you to feed me a grape, Morganna,” he commanded, his
voice lower than she’d ever heard it.

Morgan reached to pluck one, but got two, and the stem, and then she was holding them out to him, watching her own hand shake. She concentrated
on controlling it, but then he was sliding a hand up one of her legs, and there was
no stopping the tremor. Then he stopped, and rolled his eyes as he came into contact with the dragon blade.

He didn’t move his gaze as he untied the bow and pulled the bundle of knife, binding, and kilt square out. Morgan held her breath, but all Zander did after glancing at it, was wrap the binding cloth about the blade and the gray fabric swath, before putting it atop the table.

“’Tis unsafe to unwrap you, Morganna, and you feared needlessly. We’ll na’ want to use it tonight,” he whispered and then he winked.

If he’d stopped there, she could have breathed out the gasp
. Instead, he grasped her ankle and started up her leg again. Morgan slid on the wood, one foot against his chest
while he slid a hand all the way past her knee, until he reached the top of a
stocking. Morgan shook with whatever it was. She moaned aloud with it, losing what seemed like her one chance at another breath at the same time. She was melting in
place. Her every limb turning into gruel, while he ran fingers back down her leg, taking
the stocking with them. And when he had it off, he tongued the arch of her
foot, gaining himself screams of frightened reaction.

“Zander? I d
oona’...I canna’..,” Morgan panted. Then she squealed
again while he chuckled, breathing hot air on the moistness he’d just left on her
ankle.

“You remember showing me balance
?” he asked, one hand buried deep
up her skirt where it flirted with the top of her other stocking, and just barely
brushed at her other thigh at the same time.

“
Bal—ance?” she asked, gasping out the word.

“
Well, this is your first lesson in the world of off-balance,” he finished,
and rolled her other stocking off.

Morgan had the presence of mind to pull both legs beneath her the moment he finished, and she had both hands out, palms toward him. “Oh no,
Zander. Oh no.”

“Oh yes, Morganna,” he replied. “Oh, yes.” Then he grinned, stopping her heart, until she had to gasp to restart it. “I believe I owe you a lesson in
sensitivity, too, doona’ I? Let’s see...how did it go?”

He caught both her palms and proceeded to show her exactly how
sensitive they both were, with tongue licks, sucking and nipping every part of them. Morgan was in an agony of sensation, her every part attuned to what he was doing. Then he let both hands go, stunning her into dropping back against
the chair as he began unbuttoning his doublet.

“Zander?” she whispered.

He grinned. “Frightened?” he asked.

“Aye, terrified,” she answered.

That got her a bigger grin, and then he shoved the doublet off. Morgan
couldn’t take her eyes off the sight as he lifted the shirt from his torso, rising on his knees to do so, and showing her very definitely that he desired her, and very
much so. Morgan’s eyes were wide, her breathing gaining her less than usual
amounts of air and her hands gripping both sides of the chair hard enough to raise her above the seat.

Zander took it all in and grinned harder
as he unfastened his
feile-breacan
.