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  “Aye, lambing season, is it not?” Lawrence remarked, stepping past Winnie as she closed the double doors behind him. He studied the place, pleased to note young Trelane had not changed the decor overmuch.

  There were still several suits of armor in the great hall, polished to a high shine and standing along the right wall. On the left, beautiful old tapestries of rich claret and forest green graced the cold stone walls; Morgan’s paternal grandmother, Matilda, had woven them. Lawrence remembered her fondly, a spirited beauty with great blue eyes. A true lady. She had hosted plenty of revelries at Falcon’s Lair in her day.

  Winnie took the earl’s cloak and cap from him, and ushered him into the library.

  “You’ll be more comfortable waiting here, milord,” she suggested, moving to the sideboard to pour their guest a goblet of hot mulled cider. “This will take the chill from your bones. ’Tis uncommon cold out today.”

  “Aye, I believe another storm will soon be upon us,” Lawrence agreed, as he accepted the drink and set his walking staff aside. Reclining in a red damask chair and stretching out his arthritic legs, he nursed the spiced cider and studied the room while Winnie chattered inanely about any number of things.

  Trelane men had always been a bookish lot, Lawrence mused, eying the leather-bound volumes stacked from floor to ceiling. There was no doubt of their masculinity, however. The dark wood and leather library was dotted with hunting trophies and various art works depicting the hunts and hawking outings Trelane males so enthusiastically enjoyed.

  Shortly the library doors opened and Morgan appeared. His attire was more conservative than the earl’s: black breeches and a crisp white cambric shirt embroidered with black-work at the neck and wrists. He greeted Lawrence warmly.

  “Milord Lawrence. You do us all a distinct honor. No, Henry, don’t get up. You’ve come many a league today. I see Mrs. Carey has already seen to your creature comforts.”

  As Morgan spoke, he felt the Earl of Cardiff’s hawk-sharp gaze studying him. He crossed the room to clasp hands with the older man. He wondered if Lawrence was repulsed by his birthmark. It had correspondingly grown over the years along with Morgan; if Henry was taken aback, however, he was gracious enough not to say anything.

  “Morgan, my boy, I can scarcely believe it. The last time I saw you, I trow you were still in short pants. You look the spitting image of your father when he was younger.”

  Morgan smiled politely, though both he and Lawrence knew quite well whom he favored. Rhys had been fair in coloring and half a head shorter, as well. Morgan resembled his Spanish ancestors: tall and swarthy with intense dark eyes.

  “’Tis good of you to come,” was all he said. “What brings you all the way here in such foul weather?”

  Winnie had slipped from the room and closed the double doors again, so the earl did not hesitate to speak his mind.

  “Your message, of course. I must confess, I’m damme curious about this girl you found. You said she was washed up on the shore?”

  “Aye.” Morgan nodded. “She was in bad shape, of course, though fortunately not seriously injured. She’s recovering at present.”

  “I like it not,” Lawrence said. At Morgan’s quizzical look, he elaborated. “D’you know there are still Spanish ships lurking in these waters? Aye, my boy, the bloody papists still plot Elizabeth Tudor’s downfall. The loss of Mary Stuart did not slow their ambitions one bit. Now, there’s James the Scot to contend with. I wouldn’t put it past the Catholics to send one of their spies ashore here, where she might have a safe haven and act as their eyes and ears.”

  Morgan was shocked by the notion. “Milord, I must protest such an assumption. The young woman in question is not Spanish, but Irish.”

  “Almost as bad,” Lawrence muttered.

  Morgan ignored the comment, in consideration of the earl’s age. “Moreover, she was grievously hurt. Her eyes are damaged and her memory gone.”

  “Most convenient, wouldn’t you agree, for a spy seeking to infiltrate Her Majesty’s realm?”

  Morgan shook his head and made an exasperated noise as he moved to refill the earl’s goblet. He also filled one for himself. He sensed he was going to need it. He hadn’t imagined a simple request for assistance in finding Kate’s family might lead to this. He told Lawrence firmly:

  “I insist you trust me in this matter, milord. I sent the missive to you because I hoped you might help me locate the woman’s kin. Your connections in London are more powerful than mine. I assume you still deal with the Eastland Company yourself upon occasion.”

  “Aye, I do. A finer trade service is yet to be found. As for the girl, Morgan, I pray you take heed of my warning. If not for your sake, then for hers. Even if her tale is true, she risks a great deal by remaining here at Falcon’s Lair any longer than necessary. ’Tis well known you live alone, and if word gets out, tongues will wag.”

  “Let them,” Morgan declared, pausing to take a long, deep draught of the spiced cider. He set aside the goblet and fixed his steady gaze on Lawrence again. “I no longer care what people think of me. As you well know, Henry, they have maligned my name for years.”

  “Wrongly so, from what I gather,” Lawrence said on a kindly note. “’Tis not what worries me, Morgan. Think of the girl. If she truly be some shipwrecked wretch, her family will demand satisfaction of their honor. If they be local folk or, heaven forbid, gentry, they will already know of your … ah, reputation.”

  “Satan’s Son,” Morgan said with a bitter laugh. “I pray they might be more creative. But I see your point, milord.”

  “Exactly so.” Lawrence obviously assumed he had won his case, and heaved a sigh of relief. “I might speak with the Mother Superior at Aberystwyth Abbey, suggest she shelter your guest at your cost until further information is found. Despite their pious airs, I’ve learned the papists ain’t adverse to little bribes now and again.”

  Offended by the remark, Morgan shook his head. “Thank you, Henry, but I must decline,” he said. “I have decided she will remain here until she is sufficiently recovered to travel. At such time, I will see her removed to London, where I will begin further inquiries into her true identity. In the while, I trust you will keep this matter in strictest confidence.”

  “Of course. I beg you to reconsider your position, my boy. The life of our queen might be at stake.”

  “Be that as it may, I will not see Kate questioned by any save myself. Her health is still precarious; such farfetched accusations could bring on complications.”

  “Kate? She remembers her name, then?”

  Morgan hesitated. “’Tis what we call her for lack of a proper Christian one.” He saw the earl’s suspicions were still strong, and immediately devised a plan. “You’ll stay the night, of course. ’Tis too long a trip to Cardiff in this dastardly weather. With your permission, I’ll bring Kate down to share our evening meal. I want you to meet her yourself, Henry.”

  Lawrence was surprised, but he agreed. He was curious about this strange woman Trelane harbored in his household. He rose with Morgan’s assistance, and the two men walked together to the door.

  “I’ll have Mrs. Carey show you to the guest chamber in the east wing,” Morgan said. “Dinner is at six this evening. Will you require a manservant?”

  “Nay, I brought my faithful Tibbs with me, though he suffers as badly from gout now as I. Ah, the years are not kind to old men, Morgan. I envy your youth.”

  And I your face, Morgan thought in turn. He bade the earl a temporary farewell. After Lawrence left, Morgan stood at the window and watched the boiling sea below. It was indeed ironic, he mused. The same sea that had snatched away his mother over two decades ago, in turn gave him Kate to care for.

  Chapter Six

  “Y’ARE A VISION,” WINNIE proclaimed as she drew the gown over Kate’s head. Belting it for her patient, she murmured her satisfaction and stepped back.

  “Milord Lawrence appreciates courtly fashion, he does.” Winnie described the gown fo
r her in detail; it was an elaborately embroidered saffron affair with a bejeweled girdle. “A pity we haven’t time to dress your hair, as well.”

  “’Tis all right,” Kate said, hoping Winnie didn’t suggest Gwynneth be invited back to brutalize her poor hair again.

  Winnie was already busy rattling around in the jewelry box. “Methinks one strand of pearls for a simple yet elegant statement. What say you?”

  “I trust your judgment,” Kate said and sensed the older woman beaming at the praise. She felt a long rope of pearls settle around her neck, reaching to her waist. She fingered their cool, satiny finish. “Who does this necklace belong to?”

  There was the briefest of hesitations. “Lady Trelane. ’Twas her betrothal gift from Lord Trelane’s father, I believe.”

  “What was her Christian name?”

  “Oh, I only knew her as the baron’s wife, dear. I was so young when I came to Falcon’s Lair.”

  “Was she comely?” Kate tried to imagine how Morgan’s mother looked, seeking to feel closer to him by encompassing his family, as well.

  “Aye. Dark she was, like some Moorish princess. She had a fiery temper, too, and a will as strong as iron.”

  It was hard to imagine such a woman dying young. “How did she and Morgan’s father meet, Winnie?”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t know, dear. Look, ’tis already half past. The men will be waiting for us downstairs.”

  Winnie distracted her charge by leading Kate out of her chamber, down to the great hall. Kate tried to quell her own misgivings by planting a smile upon her lips. She didn’t understand why the Earl of Cardiff should wish to meet her, but if Morgan desired her company at the table, she would comply.

  She heard two chairs scrape back as the men rose in her presence. Winnie murmured a last reassuring word and left her.

  Morgan moved to guide Kate to her seat. “You dim the sun rising over the sea,” he complimented her, his gaze lingering on her dark beauty foiled by the golden velvet gown. He was certain Henry Lawrence would not fail to be charmed by Kate.

  “Mistress Kate,” he said aloud, “may I present the Earl of Cardiff, Henry Lawrence.” He turned her in the older man’s direction.

  “Milord,” she said, and started to attempt a curtsey.

  “No need, m’dear,” Henry Lawrence said, sizing her up and surprised by what he saw. Now he understood why young Trelane was smitten. The wench was lovely, though her sightless stare was demmed unnerving. Her eyes seemed to gaze right into one’s soul. Green they were, like a pair of perfectly matched emeralds with a bit of blue flame flickering in the core. He was intrigued against his will.

  Morgan assisted Kate with her chair. The first course was brought out. Kate hardly ate, feeling embarrassed by the fact Morgan must sit beside her to help with the utensils, and feeling humiliated by a certainty the earl was staring at her all the while.

  She took a few bites and shook her head when Morgan offered her a roasted wing of capon. “Please forgive me. I’m already quite full.”

  “Why, you hardly ate a thing, m’dear,” Lord Lawrence observed. “Don’t you find Welsh fare to your liking?”

  “Nay, milord. The dinner is excellent. I fear I am just not hungry this evening.”

  “Her recovery must needs be gradual,” Morgan said. “The entire episode was a shock.”

  “Indeed,” Lawrence murmured. “I understand you remember nothing of how you arrived here, Mistress Kate.”

  Kate hesitated before she answered. “I remember fire, and rising water,” she said at last, faltering at the memory of her recurring nightmare. “Nothing else. I’m not certain I wish to, either.”

  “Surely you wish to remember your family,” Lawrence pressed her. Morgan saw the earl looked surprised and a little discomfited when her intense green eyes flashed in his direction.

  “On the contrary, milord. They may have died in the shipwreck. Then I shall be forced to accept the fact that I am alone in the world.”

  Lawrence seemed subdued by Kate’s spirited retort, Morgan noted with satisfaction. The earl cleared his throat and the meal was finished in virtual silence.

  “I TRUST YOUR FEARS are absolved,” Morgan remarked after Kate had retired for the evening. The two men were enjoying their spirits and a game of chess in the library.

  “I admit I feel somewhat foolish to have imagined a mere slip of a girl as an enemy of England. Yet there is something about her story that bothers me.” Lawrence paused to take a puff on his cigar, and considered the position of his ivory castle on the parquet table. He moved his bishop instead.

  Morgan captured the other man’s knight with his ebony queen. “What concerns you specifically, Henry?”

  “Her loss of memory. She seems to have knowledge of everything but who she is, where she came from. Why would she forget the most important parts?”

  “Perhaps the shipwreck was too traumatic,” Morgan suggested. “She must have seen others dying as the ship sank. If, as I suspect, she was traveling with her family, then she watched them drown as well.” He didn’t mention the fact Kate was found wearing men’s clothing, a puzzling and inexplicable fact. It would not serve to allay the earl’s misgivings in any way.

  Lawrence studied the chessboard, then sat back with a sigh. “You have me there, my boy. Your father would be proud.”

  Morgan picked up the pieces and rearranged them in their starting positions. “Would you care for another game?”

  “Methinks not.” The older man stifled a yawn. “’Tis growing late and I need to set out early on the morrow. Would you be offended if I retired now?”

  “Of course not, Henry.” Morgan rose and stretched out his legs. “I confess I am weary myself. Those newborn lambs command a lot of attention.”

  “Your dedication has always paid off, Morgan. Your wool is the finest in these parts. I insist upon nothing else in my household.”

  “You are too kind.” Lawrence’s compliment brought a rare smile to Morgan’s face. Had he not been titled at birth, Morgan knew he would have chosen husbandry. Animals were uncritical and undemanding, as his fellow humans were not. He enjoyed caring for the weak and helpless. His smile faded as he thought of Kate upstairs. What a joy she had been to him, how he would miss her when she left. Soon she would be strong again. Strong enough to fly free, like one of his falcons. Soon she would be gone.

  “The moment I have any word about your unexpected visitor, I will contact you,” Lawrence said, before he retired upstairs. “In the while, please reconsider my suggestion. I believe the girl would be better off in charitable, if need be papist, hands.”

  Morgan smiled. “What am I if not charitable, Henry? She has nothing to fear from me.”

  Nothing except my misbegotten affections, he silently added, pausing to take one last stiff shot of golden brandy before he went up to bed.

  “WHIST, KATIE DEAR, WAKE up.”

  Kate felt someone shaking her shoulder. She muttered into the pillows.

  “Himself wants you downstairs first thing,” Winnie whispered.

  Kate stirred and stretched in her bed. She was so tired she still didn’t open her eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Just past dawn. Himself wishes to know if you feel up to riding.”

  “Riding?” Kate yawned, certain she hadn’t heard aright. “In this beastly weather?”

  “’Tis a rare, lovely spring morn, clear and sunny as a dream. The Master thought you might enjoy some fresh air.”

  Riding with Morgan! Kate’s eyes flew open. She was awake. She sat up in bed and self-consciously smoothed her tangled hair. “What can I wear, Winnie?”

  “Here’s a lovely violet wool trimmed with black braid. I’ll call Gwynneth for your hair.”

  “Nay, don’t. I mean, please, can’t you just brush it out for me? There’s no need to go to any trouble.”

  “Nonsense,” Winnie pertly said. “I shan’t have you looking anything but splendid today. I can’t weave silk ribbons in your tresse
s like Gwynneth.”

  Kate braced herself for another assault upon her head, but with Winnie present, the girl didn’t step out of line. Soon she wondered if she’d only imagined the previous incident, for Gwynneth was as gentle as a lamb this time. Winnie instructed her to thread violet ribbons and silk Parma violets throughout the elegant chignon to match the gown.

  Kate’s formal hairstyle complimented the chosen attire. The woolen gown sleekly hugged her curves. Winnie described it to Kate with rising excitement, sounding proud. She said its huge slashed sleeves revealed purple silk pane inserts, and the skirts were daintily embroidered with violets.

  “There, Katie. With your hair out of the way, this light wool cloak, and those sturdy boots, you’ll do fine. Now, we’d best hurry. Himself doesn’t care to be kept waiting.” The housekeeper bustled off.

  “Nay,” Gwynneth agreed, her tone low and suggestive, for Kate’s benefit. “He surely doesn’t.”

  Kate hadn’t imagined the animosity, after all. She pretended she hadn’t heard the maid’s comment. She moved to follow Winnie. Suddenly she tripped and nearly sprawled across the hard floor.

  “Careful, miss,” Gwynneth said with barely concealed malice. “There’s another piece of furniture there.”

  Furniture, indeed! Kate knew she had stumbled across something else — a human foot. Nevertheless, she righted herself with dignity and straightened her skirts.

  “’Tis kind of you to be so watchful for me, Gwynneth,” she pointedly remarked before Winnie returned to take her arm.

  “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry. I keep forgetting you can’t see,” the older woman apologized.

  “Never mind, Winnie. I wasn’t hurt.”

  “Praise the saints. Take my hand, dearie, and I’ll take you the rest of the way.”

  “I’m sorry I’m such a burden,” Kate murmured.

  “Nonsense. If ’twas any difficulty for me, I’d have let you know it long before this. Here’s the railing, now, on the other side.”

  Kate carefully navigated the stairs, supported by Winnie on one side and a smooth banister on the other. A short while later, she raised her face to the warmth of the sun, inhaled the earthy scent of nearby horses.