Fire Raven Page 24

  “TELL 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?”

  “Nay,” he said quietly. After a moment’s hesitation, he rejoined her in the bed, slipping under the covers on the far edge of the bed. He lay back and slung an arm crosswise over his face.

  Frustrated, Kat propped herself up on one elbow and tried to make out his expression. “What’s wrong?” she asked, moving to touch his cheek in a gesture of comfort.

  Morgan flinched and rolled over on his side, away from her. She quelled the bitter pang of rejection and laid back beside him, staring at the lacy patterns of moonlight dancing upon the ceiling. Neither of them slept.

  BEFORE DAWN BROKE, MORGAN had already left the bedchamber. Kat heard nothing; she was startled by his stealth; he moved as swiftly and quietly as Ironbreaker on the wing.

  Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she reluctantly faced a new day alone. She was Lady Katherine Trelane now, though clearly against Morgan’s wishes. What would he do? Her mood plummeted when she remembered Morgan’s violent reaction to her deceit. She was certain he loved her; there must be something, beyond his mother’s death, serving to keep them apart.

  She rose and dressed in an elegant gown of straw-colored taffeta, with exquisite lace edging; one of Merry’s courtly cast-offs that had been lengthened by a sempster to fit her taller frame. The petticoats were embroidered in gold thread, as were the gartered hose.

  As she moved to wash her hands in the pitcher on the stand, Kat’s gaze fell upon the simple gold band Morgan had slid onto her finger last night. She would treasure it always, even if their marriage was annulled.

  She dashed cold water on her face, gasping as it brought her fully awake. A moment later, she grabbed a cloak of black silk grosgrain and left the house. The Trelane London residence, Hartshorn, was a modest but stately mansion on the Strand. It had been closed for years and was dusty from neglect and its owner’s disdain.

  Kat knew Morgan rarely came to London. His father had been the last Trelane to entertain, and that was in King Hal’s time, judging by the period furniture and dated outfits she glimpsed in the wardrobe.

  A small handful of staff had maintained Hartshorn over the years, but they seemed indifferent to its potential and to the new Lady Trelane, as well. Kat made a mental note to secure her sister’s advice on hiring competent staff and restoring Hartshorn to some semblance of its old glory — if she were allowed to remain Lady Trelane for more than a day, she mused.

  Morgan had long since departed, but his man in the stables protested his ignorance as to where his master had gone. Kat demanded he drive her to St. Ethelburga’s in the rickety but serviceable coach. She did not doubt that Morgan was attempting to wrangle an annulment from the priest.

  MORGAN WAS NOT AT the cathedral, however. He still intended approaching Father Benedict about an annulment; surely the unusual circumstances warranted one. First, he went to Ambergate, in search of answers. He demanded an audience with Sir Christopher Tanner.

  He was shown to a cozy parlor where Ambergate’s owner preferred to receive his visitors. Sir Christopher appeared shortly. He did not seem surprised to see Morgan.

  “Good morn, milord,” Sir Christopher said cheerily. “May I offer my belated congratulations on your marriage?”

  “What you may offer, sir, is your heartfelt apology,” Morgan thundered. He faced the other man without hesitation. He had bandaged his cheek to hide the hideous mark from view, and, had it not, Sir Christopher had doubtless already heard the tale of the Trelane family’s curse.

  The other man appeared unruffled by Morgan’s rage. “If you wish an apology, you shall certainly have one, milord,” he mildly said. “Though I doubt my niece would take kindly to the notion she is regarded as a burden.”

  “Kat, it seems, has many untoward notions about me,” Morgan retorted, “beginning with the assumption I wished to wed her.”

  Sir Christopher’s auburn eyebrows rose. “Methinks Kat is wiser than you give her credit for, Trelane. At least wiser than your own heart.”

  Morgan reddened at the polite insult. “’T’won’t work, I tell you. This marriage must be dissolved. Immediately!”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Come on, man, you must have heard what they call me, whether at Court or in the remote reaches of Wales: The Devil Baron! My God, you nearly sacrificed your own daughter to such gossip. Do not insult my intelligence by feigning ignorance of such tales now.”

  “Fair enough. I shall not. I heard whispers long before I agreed to your betrothal with my Maggie. I’truth, I had to wonder. I am not given to be a superstitious fool, however, and I knew your father quite well. He spoke of you with great pride and affection, and Rhys Trelane was a modest man. I knew you would not hurt my Maggie. Once she came to know you better herself, I believed she would come to ignore the rumors and perhaps come to love you, in time.”

  Morgan was silent a moment, looking at the man. Sir Christopher had great poise and an ample dose of common sense. It was hard not to hear the logic in his words. It was also, Morgan discovered, difficult to stay angry with this fellow. He was refreshingly frank.

  “However,” Morgan continued, “you did not sacrifice your youngest daughter, but your niece. Why?”

  “Because only an old fool who has been in love can recognize others destined for a similar estate. Like you, I lived in misery for years, milord. ’Twas not until dear Isobel ripped the blinders from my eyes and freed me from the shackles of my own making was I finally able to live, and love. ’Tis never too late, Trelane.”

  “’Tis for me,” Morgan murmured and passed a hand wearily over his eyes. He had not slept a wink last night with Kat lying beside him. He watched her stretch luxuriously upon dawn’s first kiss. It had been difficult, nay torturous, watching the watered green silk rippling over her sweet, full breasts, then concaving at her belly.

  His instincts cried to make her his again; his sense of dignity refused to let him resort to such base behavior. She was newly widowed, for heaven’s sake. Their marriage was not only highly improper, but hardly short of indecent. Sir Christopher must know it as well, but the man’s expression was benign, almost satisfied.

  Another realization dawned. “Elizabeth Tudor will be furious,” Morgan warned the other man. To his surprise, Sir Christopher chuckled.

  “Aye, when is she not? Our righteous queen first suggested the match herself. Bess is inordinately fond of dabbling in others’ affairs. She knew we sought another title for Maggie after young Scone’s death; she also knew we dared not refuse any suggestion she made. A baron is quite a c
atch, milord — even a Welsh one.”

  Morgan gave a grudging smile. “I heard your brother wed a Welsh woman some years ago.”

  “He did, and it caused quite a scandal, too. George is your equal in rank. Lady Tanner is a busy little whirlwind and was quite delighted by the notion of your wedding our Kat. Dilys is a distant cousin of yours, I believe.”

  Morgan shook his head. “Do all of you conspire against me?”

  “Only for your own good. Now, as we are family, I must insist you call me Kit. Pray, share some port wine with me, Morgan. I vow, I can convince you of the wisdom in staying wedded to Kat, at least until the child is born.”

  Morgan stared at the redheaded man.

  Kit noted Morgan’s shocked expression and sighed. “I doubt my niece knows it herself yet. When we received word of your latest demand to marry Maggie, and Kat heard my agreement, she swooned. It did not take my wife long to figure out the true cause.

  “I believe every man has a right to know his issue. If you would still set my niece aside, Trelane, at least give the babe a name first. That innocent has done you no wrong.”

  Morgan found he had to sit down. His knees would scarce support him.

  “Sweet Jesu,” he whispered.

  “Precisely. Now do you see the depth of my predicament? I do not ask you to pretend that nothing is amiss; just give our Kat a chance. She loves you, milord, without regard for your rumored deformity or anything else.”

  Morgan drew another shaky breath. “A babe? Are you sure?”

  Kit regarded him with twinkling green eyes, too similar to Kat’s for comfort. “Reasonably so. Mayhap you wonder why my niece has no issue from her first marriage. ’Twas assumed by all the family that Kat was barren. I wager, the fault lay with young Rory, not her — a scandalous theory on my part, I trow. Yet my brother Slade noted young Rory had lain with a dozen wenches in his wilder days, before settling down with Kat. None bore bastards.”