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  “I would go with you.”

  “Nay, Kat. ’Tis best you stay here in your condition.”

  Kat sighed and nodded. She reached up to touch his face with her hand. “Be careful, my love.”

  Less than an hour later, Morgan and a dozen men left Falcon’s Lair in search of Merry Tanner. Lloyd Carey went along, as did Evan Howell. To Morgan’s surprise, some of the men from the village showed up on the road and volunteered to go along on the search for his sister-in-law. So had his staff spread the word hither and yon, across hill and dale. For once, Morgan was pleased Mrs. Carey was such a well-meaning gossip.

  From the window in her bedchamber, Kat watched Morgan and his men depart. She fought off a sudden chill, a premonition of sorts concerning her twin. She closed her eyes and leaned against the window casing. She sensed Merry was not dead. But she also knew her sister was in some sort of danger. Mayhap the raven amulet would protect Merry. She was glad she had forced Merry to take it before she left.

  Winnie entered the room. “La, you’ll catch your death of cold standing there, milady.” She hastily moved to shut and latch the window. “Come over to the fire. You must take proper care, now that there’s the wee one coming.”

  Kat smiled and allowed Winnie to settle her in a comfortable chair with a woolen throw. “I’m worried about Merry,” she confessed to the housekeeper. “’T’isn’t like her to be late for anything. I know how anxious she was to return to London and meet her intended, Sir Wickham.”

  Winnie paused at the door. “I’m sure she’s all right. She seems a hardy girl.”

  “Strong-willed, perhaps, but Merry’s not known for her common sense.” Kat sighed, extending her chilled hands to the crackling blaze. “Merry has a sharp tongue, y’know. It has been known to get her in trouble from time to time.”

  “Fancy that,” Winnie tartly remarked, remembering how Mistress Merry had marched around Falcon’s Lair, snapping endless orders at the staff. She much preferred Lady Katherine. The realization surprised her. Winnie looked with new respect upon the Master’s young wife.

  Kat sensed the woman’s thoughtful regard and glanced over at Winnie, her own gaze equally warm. “I missed you when I was in London.”

  “Did you, now?” Winnie inquired. “I’d have thought, with all those fancy affairs at Court, you would be bored here.”

  Kat shook her head. “Falcon’s Lair is home to me now. Here with Morgan and all of you.” She paused, studying Winnie a trifle anxiously. “Is it possible for us to be friends again?”

  Winnie smiled. “Methinks we already are, dear.”

  MORGAN WHEELED HIS PRANCING roan about and studied the myriad of tracks in the mud. “This way.” He motioned to his men, and they quickly followed his lead northeast.

  They rode at a hard gallop, racing the sun and an unknown enemy. Morgan had ascertained that the Tanner coach had been driven from its course by a party of four, and his immediate thought was the same as Kat’s: brigands.

  God’s teeth! Once the rogues discovered Merry Tanner was unchaperoned but for an elderly driver, there was bound to be trouble. Knowing Merry, the vain little dolt was clad, head to toe, in Court frippery for her journey. She probably sported a display of valuable jewelry, beside.

  Morgan gritted his teeth and dug his heels into the roan. The horse extended its neck for more speed. The horses splashed noisily through huge mud puddles left by the recent rains.

  Suddenly, they came upon the coach. It was rocked up on one side, half-buried in the muck. Morgan drew his lathered animal to a sliding stop in the ankle-deep mud and vaulted from the saddle. His men followed suit.

  Lloyd Carey arrived, puffing at his side. “What d’you think happened, milord?”

  “Trouble,” Morgan succinctly said. He poked his head inside the empty coach, emerging from it with an ominous shake. “No sign of the driver or Mistress Tanner. Most likely the work of brigands.”

  “Or cutthroats,” Lloyd gravely rejoined, accompanying Morgan and the others in a brief, fruitless search of the surrounding area. An hour later, they were no closer to having answers than before.

  Young Evan joined his master. “What do you think happened to them?”

  “We may never know, Evan.” Morgan massaged his aching temples. Another storm was coming in. He dreaded the news he must impart to his worried wife. Just then, he glimpsed a tiny bit of color on the ground. The bulk of it lay battered by hoof prints into the mud.

  Morgan bent to retrieve it — A blue silk kerchief unfurled in his hand, fluttering gaily in the wind. Daintily stitched in one corner were two initials: G.L. Morgan thoughtfully regarded the embroidered initials.

  “What did you find, milord?” Evan eagerly asked.

  Morgan was silent a moment. He tucked the kerchief into his jerkin pocket beneath his cloak.

  “It remains to be seen, Evan,” he said, with a glance at the roiling sky above them. “Pray God ’tis a clue.”

  Epilogue

  LADY TRELANE DASHED PAST the great hearth with its crackling Yule log. She rounded a corner and peeked back at her pursuer from the other side.

  “Come here, wife!” Morgan ordered, lunging after the flying red taffeta with a growl. Laughing, Kat wheeled in the reverse direction, darted through the kitchen, and bowled directly into Morgan on the other side. He had taken a secret short cut to intercept her. His arms closed around her in triumph. She squealed in mock protest as he rained kisses all over her neck and face.

  “There, there, and there.” He planted kisses on her forehead, nose, and lips with satisfaction. Kat smiled saucily up at her husband. A second later her expression transformed to one of shock.

  “What’s wrong, Faeilean?”

  Morgan followed her gaze. He noticed her skirts and his boots were soaked.

  “Winnie!” he bellowed.

  The housekeeper hurried into the room. “Milord?”

  “Lady Katherine’s water just broke. We’d best hurry.”

  Both ignored Kat’s protests that she was fine. So did everyone else in the household.

  Panic broke loose. It was nigh three decades since a babe had been born at Falcon’s Lair. Servants rushed to and fro, crashing into each other in the halls. Evan ran outside to find Ailis. Huffing and puffing and muttering, as she was herded back into her domain, Cook snapped at Evan to help her heft a cauldron full of water over the hearth. Lloyd Carey stepped into the midst of the confusion and was immediately enlisted to find more wood.

  In the midst of the chaos, Kat stood and chuckled. Morgan suddenly swung her up in his arms and marched upstairs. She beat her fists upon his crimson velvet doublet.

  “Put me down, you blackguard! I’m not some broodmare who must be tied down in her travail.”

  Morgan lowered her gently onto their bed. “Nay, but you are precious to me, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Despite her ire, Kat smiled at the love shining in her husband’s dark eyes. She kissed the fingers cradling her shoulder. She sensed the worry underlying Morgan’s words.

  “Tanner women are strong, milord,” she assured him. A moment later Kat sobered. She thought of Merry again, of the weeks, now months, that had passed since her twin’s disappearance. There had been no word of Merry’s fate. Yet there was no proof she was dead, either.

  Morgan smoothed the damp hair from Kat’s forehead, as if he read her thoughts. “Merry would want you to concentrate on bringing our child safely into the world, Faeilean. She is here with you in spirit, if not in flesh.”

  “Aye,” Kat murmured. She felt her first true labor pain. Her eyes went wide. Morgan grabbed her hands and held them in his own. When Winnie appeared and tried to shoo him from the room, he wouldn’t leave.

  “Men,” Winnie grumbled but briskly set about her business.

  Less than eight hours later, just as dawn peeped above a glittering white Cader Idris on Christmas morn, their first child was born. Morgan stared in awe at the tiny human being Mrs. Carey swaddled
and placed in his arms.

  “Well, milord?” Winnie asked, beaming as if she had done all the work herself. “What shall we name the wee laddie?”

  Morgan was still shaken by the miracle of birth. He could hardly respond for the emotion gripping his heart. He looked at his wife. “The decision is yours, cariad.”

  Kat smiled tiredly, weary from her travail. “Owen, if it pleases you. Morgan and Rhys must serve as middle names, of course, and Tanner and O’Neill, to honor my parents.”

  “God’s nightshirt!” Morgan glanced down at his son. “He’s surely too wee a mite to bear so many grand names.” He paused a moment to reflect. “Aye, I favor Owen Trelane well enough. ’Twill suffice for now.”

  “Be thankful ’twas not twins after all, milord,” Kat mischievously said. “I chose Madoc for the second born. Mayhap next time?”

  Morgan groaned in protest, as he settled the babe in Kat’s arms. Their son yawned and snuggled into his mother’s warmth, a tiny cheek pressed against her breast. The proud father realized something else. Morgan’s gaze had scoured the newest Trelane for sign of anything unusual from the moment Owen was born. He found nothing. Nothing at all.

  “He’s perfect,” Morgan whispered, blinking back sudden moisture from his eyes.

  “Of course,” Kat said, sounding sleepy and somewhat indignant.

  Gazing upon his beloved wife and son, Morgan smiled.

  ###

  Author’s Note

  Dear Readers,

  Once again, the myth and magic of the British Isles has captured my heart and kindled my imagination. I hope you were enchanted, too. Kat and Morgan’s story is the second book in my Raven series. It follows Sea Raven, the tale of Kat and Merry’s parents, Slade and Bryony.

  Never fear, I didn’t abandon sweet Merry Tanner to such a dismal fate. In her story, Snow Raven, I invite you to travel with me deep into the wilds of Scotland. Anger and honor rule the mighty Wolf of Badanloch. When love in the form of a certain feisty redhead threatens to disarm a passionate Highland warrior, you’ll have a front-row seat for all the fireworks.

  I also write under the name Brit Darby with author Fela Dawson Scott. If you love Celtic characters and settings, you’ll be enchanted by Emerald Prince, a medieval set in the day of the dastardly King John. With Dragons She Walks is a historical romantic fantasy peppered with Picts and Vikings aplenty. Please join me for blog and book updates at www.britdarby.com

  Best regards,

  Patricia McAllister

  p.s. I love hearing from readers. If you want advance notice of future releases, please drop me an email at [email protected] and ask to be added to my notification list. Rest assured your contact info stays private.

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