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  Kat shifted restlessly against him, drawing him up to her lips again. “Oh, Morgan,” she murmured. Her half-closed eyes never seemed more seductive nor intense than they were at this moment. “I must tell you something. I lo — ”

  “Ssh, cariad.” Morgan cut off her confession with a swift, emphatic kiss. “Not now. I’ll not see you tumbled quick as a country wench in a haystack. Come, let me help you right your clothing. I’ll set out the repast Ailis made for us. I find salt air does increase the appetite, after all.”

  Surprised, Kat thought Morgan’s abrupt departure from lovemaking must be due to propriety rather than conscience. She imagined he would have some explaining to do, indeed, if one of his serfs stumbled across the mighty baron rolling in his own fields. She giggled at the thought.

  “Aye,” she said reluctantly. “Let’s sample the food, milord. Whether the salt air increased my appetite or not, I confess I find myself ravenous.”

  She accepted Morgan’s steadying hand as she rose. By necessity, his assistance was also needed to rehook her bodice. Properly restored now, all but for her crushed chignon, Kat waited while Morgan fetched the luncheon basket.

  Kat heard him whistle three times. His call elicited a distant, thin cry and Ironbreaker’s return. She repressed a shiver at the memories the sound evoked. Why a mere bird’s call should upset her so, triggering such a strange and painful recollection, she might never know. She knew she should be overjoyed to have a glimpse of her past, no matter how dark, how tortured. The pieces were beginning to fall in place, yet she somehow mourned the loss of innocence.

  Morgan barely glanced at the bloody grouse Ironbreaker brought back. He tossed it into a saddlebag, anxious to return to Kat. He hooded the gyrfalcon and secured her on Idris’s saddle before he returned to Kat’s side.

  There in the meadow, beneath snow-capped Madoc’s Craig, the two of them feasted on Welsh mountain lamb roasted in honey; fried laverbread made from boiled, chopped seaweed and oatmeal; and a hard, sharp cheese.

  He told her Ailis had sent a bottle of sweet white wine with two silver goblets. For once, Kat didn’t feel humiliated as Morgan fed her. She nipped playfully at his fingers several times. She captured his index finger between her lips and sucked upon it for a moment. He tasted of the wine he had spilled on his hands when he opened the bottle. He groaned at the sensuous action, but freed his finger at first opportunity.

  “Greedy wench,” he teased her, with a tremor in his voice. “If you’re so hungry, mayhap we should return to Falcon’s Lair so I can ensconce you in my larder right quick.”

  Kat laughed. “My hunger might be appeased in an easier manner, milord.”

  “More expedient, perhaps, though not easier.”

  Gazing into her sparkling green eyes, Morgan drew a fortifying breath of air. It was getting harder and harder to distance his emotions. He forced his gaze away from Kat’s flushed face. He knew she would not deny him complete conquest, if he so desired. It only made him feel worse.

  Sensing his downturn of mood, her smile faded. “Have I offended you somehow, Morgan?”

  “Nay, of course not.”

  “What, then? Everything seemed fine until — ”

  A whinny captured their attention. Kat heard Morgan leap to his feet. She also heard the nearby, panicked bugle of the stallion, and a sense of foreboding washed over her.

  “What is it?”

  “Get down, Kat. Get down and stay down.” Morgan thrust her unceremoniously to the grass. She lay rigid but obedient, knowing his gift of sight revealed dangers she could not appreciate. Someone was nearby. Hurting the horses?

  “Morgan?” A spiraling fear clutched her. Kat moaned, half in pain, half in fear. He did not answer.

  Oh, Morgan, pray be careful, she thought. Beads of sweat broke out on her brow. She heard an angry shout, and judged it to be Morgan’s. Then came the terrifying sound of a violent struggle nearby. She thought she heard a body fall. Nay! her mind screamed. She froze for a brief instant, engulfed in dark waves of horror and dread.

  “Morgan!” She tried to scream, yet her voice emerged a mere croak, whisked away by the brisk wind on the mountain. She crawled on all fours, hand over hand, her senses honed more keenly by the bitter taste of fear. She heard hoof beats galloping away into the distance. They faded, yet her resolve did not.

  “Morgan,” she called out again, this time in a stronger voice. “Sweet Jesu, answer me.”

  There was no reply save the rustling of the grass and the whicker of a horse — Patches. A sense of direction surfaced, and Kat headed toward the spot where she guessed the mare was hobbled. She paused when the horse stirred again. She might easily be trampled, and there was no way for her to ride the mare for help. Her fists clenched in frustration. Where in heaven’s name was Morgan?

  She was afraid she knew. She heard a faint groan issue from the direction of the cliff. Gathering courage into one solid knot in her mind, she started to crawl again. Her long skirts hampered her and snagged in various places along the way. Tears of frustration rose to choke her. Brambles scratched her hands, her face. She struggled along, gaining only the prick of thorns for her efforts.

  The sea. It was close now. Kat paused, sniffing the salt tang with apprehension. It threatened to bring a deeper fear to the surface again. The ship, the fire, the merciless sea.

  No! She forcibly blocked out the memory of Rory’s dying cries, the vision of angry waves closing over his head. That was the past. There was much more at stake here and now, her future: Morgan. He needed her. Inch by inch, Kat crawled closer to the cliff’s edge.

  SHE FOUND A BOOT first and followed it up the leg. She groped her way up the fallen body, then hesitated when she realized it might be someone other than Morgan. Finally, her fingers crossed the familiar velvet of his doublet. She leaned down and sniffed, just to be sure. Morgan’s scent was distinctive. Wool, horseflesh, wild mint. Aye, it was him. She felt relieved, then suffered a pang of fear again. His doublet was wet. Blood?

  “Morgan,” she whispered.

  He groaned and stirred slightly. He was not dead. Kat’s hopes were dashed when she realized she had no way of summoning those at Falcon’s Lair for help. She and Morgan were trapped high in the meadow beneath Madoc’s Craig, alone. Or perhaps they were not alone at all; mayhap someone else watched them now.

  Kat shivered. She felt an icy wind rush down off the mountain, yanking at her hair and skirts — winter’s last kiss, or spring’s subtle taunt. It was foolish to risk moving Morgan herself, without the benefit of sight. Her tumbling thoughts were interrupted by yet another realization: Beneath her braced hand, earth crumbled and fell away.

  Sweet Jesu! They teetered right on the cliff’s edge. She reeled backward with fear and caught herself at the last second. Any disturbance, however slight, might cause the entire shelf beneath them to give way. Kat swallowed and waited to feel the ground before shifting again. It was eerily silent, save for the furious roar of the wind, plucking at her skirts. No birds sang in the trees.

  Which way? Kat pondered the matter. Bit by bit, she crawled backwards on her hands and knees, down to Morgan’s feet. She wrapped her hands around his ankles and tugged. But he was too heavy for her to drag more than a few inches. A sob of frustration broke from her throat. A second later, she heard another rock crack loose from the cliff and drop to smash against the boulders far below.

  Patches snorted as if disgusted, likely observing Kat’s antics on the cliff. The curious mare wandered closer. A sudden idea was spawned in Kat’s mind. Home! Loose horses usually went home. They made a beeline for the stables, where they knew warmth and food awaited them. When a riderless horse appeared at Falcon’s Lair, someone was bound to come investigate.

  A surge of hope rose in Kat. She continued to back up until she was clear of the dangerous cliff and closer to the mare.

  How to capture Patches without getting kicked or killed in the endeavor? Kat rose, licked her dry lips, and started out, arms out
stretched as wide as they would go. She crooned to elicit the mare’s interest. She heard Patches snuffle, dismissing her presence, and resume grazing. Once Kat was reasonably certain of the animal’s location, she bent and tore up handfuls of the lush grass near the cliff’s edge.

  “Here, colleen. A rare treat for you now.”

  Proffering the grass in front of her, Kat moved forward. She stumbled, righted herself, and continued walking. She felt the mare bump her arm and lip at her offering.

  “Good girl,” she said, sniffing back useless tears. “Run home and get help. If you will, I promise you, you can have all the grain you want.”

  Kat ran her hands down her mount’s front legs, locating the hobbles Morgan had secured there. One was already broken. Her fingers undid the other knot with difficulty. She was aware of the danger, her face so near the deadly hooves. Fortunately Patches was, as Morgan had promised, an agreeable sort of beast. The mare chomped placidly upon the grass. Once free, however, Patches made no immediate move to leave.

  Time was of the essence. Kat regretted the necessity of her actions, yet there was not a moment to be lost. She estimated where the horse’s rump lay and lashed out with the flat of her palm. The stinging slap sent poor Patches thundering off, as she’d hoped. Would the animal simply circle back to resume grazing in the rich meadow?

  Kat held her breath and waited for the sound of returning hoof beats. She nearly wept with relief when they didn’t come. Maybe there was a chance, after all. She dropped to her knees again and began the tedious crawl back to Morgan’s side. She was with him, come what may. If he died, the cliff might serve such a convenient purpose for her, as well.

  LLOYD CAREY WAS THE first one to spot the mare trotting back towards Falcon’s Lair. The stable master always kept an eye out for the Master’s horseflesh. He recognized Patches at once. When he sized up the dragging reins and empty saddle, he set off at a run.

  Patches’s ears pricked forward, as she caught wind of her handler’s scent. Lloyd was a kindly master; she came willingly to his whistle. After he secured her in the stable with buckets of warm mash and water, Lloyd set out on a fresh mount with a brace of men at his side.

  Winnie had suggested where Lord Trelane might have gone. Luckily, she was right. The men from Falcon’s Lair rode into a scene from a nightmare. Rigor mortis had already set into Trelane’s black stallion. Ironbreaker soared free, her jesses broken in the scuffle. The Master himself was stretched out unmoving on the crumbling lip of a cliff.

  Then Lloyd noticed the young lady. At first he thought she was dead, too. She lay unmoving beside Trelane, her arm wrapped about the Master’s waist. As Lloyd approached, he saw her eyes open, and she tensed at the sound of his footsteps.

  “’Tis Lloyd Carey,” he announced from a few feet away. “What in the name of Our Blessed Mother Mary has happened here?”

  Kat told him as much as she knew. Her concern for Morgan was first and foremost. She waited, with baited breath, while Lloyd knelt and examined his master.

  “’S’blood,” Lloyd exclaimed with dismay, as he studied the gaping wound in Trelane’s chest. “He’s been stabbed, miss. Brigands, were they now?”

  Kat shook her head, frustrated. “I don’t know. I only heard the horse scream, then Morgan shout. Mayhap they were trying to steal the horses and he stopped them.”

  Lloyd grunted at her useless recollection. It was not the girl’s fault she could not see. She obviously didn’t know the Master’s horse had been stabbed, too, and now lay dead. He didn’t see any purpose in telling her. Instead he reached out and gently grasped her arm.

  “Come along, Katie, away with you. One of my men will take you back now.”

  “But Morgan — ”

  “I’ll see to milord, never you mind. ’Tis a sore wound, to be sure, but not mortal. I’ve dressed worse before.”

  Kat sagged with relief when Lloyd Carey took calm control of the situation. His voice was gravelly, yet not unkind. She allowed herself to be led away by one of his men.

  Though still in shock, she would never forget the return ride to Falcon’s Lair, the nightmare of being impersonally handed up and down from a horse by invisible hands, removed from any knowledge of Morgan’s welfare.

  Even Winnie’s familiar, soothing croon and warm embrace did not banish the fear in Kat’s heart. Winnie confirmed Morgan’s safe return to Falcon’s Lair a short while later, yet told Kat little more than the fact that he still lived.

  “His lordship needs his rest, he does,” Winnie repeated after Kat’s third request to go to Morgan’s side. “As do you, Katie dear.”

  “Call me ‘Kat,’ please. At last I’ve started to recall my past.”

  “Kat, then. ’Tis a sorry day, to be sure.” Winnie clucked her tongue.

  “Morgan’s dying, isn’t he? That’s why you won’t let me go to him.”

  “Now, why would you think such a thing?” Winnie sounded shocked and hurt. “’Tis for the best if the both of you get some peace and quiet.”

  Kat was not convinced. She threw off the quilts Winnie had wrapped her in before the fire and stood up.

  “I am going to him,” she announced. “Kindly show me the way, or by all the saints, I vow I shall scream until you do.”

  “Oh, dear,” Winnie murmured. She sighed with surrender, then moved to take Kat’s hand.

  “Come along, then. I see no point in arguing.”

  “Most sensible of you,” Kat agreed. She accompanied the woman down the hall to Morgan’s bedchamber. Winnie entered without knocking.

  “How is he?” Winnie asked a third party present.

  Kat was shocked and a little jealous to hear the maid Gwynneth reply.

  “He’ll live,” the girl said. Kat sensed Gwynneth’s gaze scouring her from head to toe. “Utter foolishness, if you ask me. Riding out alone … ”

  “’Twas a lovely day,” Winnie interrupted in a mild tone. “One can’t blame himself for wanting a brief respite from the lambing. How is the wound? Let me see.”

  Kat chafed with silent frustration while Winnie examined Morgan’s injury and murmured her approval of its care.

  “We’ll change the dressing in the morn, Gwynneth. Mix up a paste of marigold and comfrey for me tonight. ’Tis a right angry wound, yet seems to be healing already.”

  “Has he wakened yet?” Kat asked.

  “Aye,” Gwynneth answered. “I gave him some sleeping herbs so he might rest again. He shouldn’t be disturbed.” There was a warning in her flat, harsh tone.

  Weary of the girl’s constant challenges, Kat decided to meet this one without reserve. “I’ll sit with him now, Gwynneth. There’s no need for you to stay.”

  There was a stricken, challenging silence. In the end Winnie asked Gwynneth to leave with her and help Cook with supper. Not daring to dispute her superior, Gwynneth moved to depart. The last look she threw at Kat before she left was nothing short of hate-filled. Kat didn’t have to see it. She felt it clear down to her bones.

  AT THE SOUND OF the door closing, Morgan stirred. As he roused to full consciousness, he felt cool fingers move across his brow.

  “You’re safe now, my love,” Kat whispered, relishing for a moment the reversal of their roles, the sensation of his smooth skin under her fingertips. She rather liked the role of caretaker. It was preferable to that of the invalid.

  “Faeilean?” he murmured drowsily, to her delight.

  “Aye. Don’t try to rise.” Kat felt his muscular shoulders bunch and strain beneath her hands, and she eased him back against the bolsters. “You’ve been hurt, Morgan. A chest wound, though fortunately it struck no vital organs.”

  “I was stabbed,” he reflected with some surprise. She imagined his eyes were open now, if a trifle sleepy from the herbs. Then he remembered all. “Idris! Damme them!”

  “Them?”

  Morgan laughed, a bitter sound. “Aye, Kat, there were more than one. I’ve noticed cowards always travel in packs, like bloody wolves.”<
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  “I don’t understand.”

  “They killed my horse, Faeilean. They murdered Idris right before my eyes.”

  Kat gasped in horror and outrage. “Dear Jesu, why?”

  She felt his shoulders shrug beneath her hands. “Because I’m a peer. Because I’m their master and they resent it.” Because of my cursed face, Morgan added silently.

  “Why attack you, too?”

  “An opportune moment, I daresay. They had me alone. There was a good chance I’d die before help arrived. No, perhaps all was not planned. I’d wager, we were followed there. I believe ’twas a warning of sorts.”

  “Of sorts, indeed! What manner of men would abuse their lord so? Oh, Morgan, I’ve heard nothing but good about you since I arrived at Falcon’s Lair. I refuse to believe you are cruel or unfair to those in your care. These men must be sorely misled.”

  “Misled or not, they take their grudge quite seriously.” He released a weak laugh, and tensed with pain. “Jesu, what I wouldn’t give for a draught of my own fine brandy right now.”

  “How can you be so cavalier?” Kat cried. “Your fine stallion was murdered and you were attacked and almost died, but for the grace of God. I shall not entertain such thoughts any longer, Morgan Trelane.” To the surprise of both of them, she burst into sudden sobs.

  “Ahhh, cariad. Don’t.” Morgan’s hand stroked her bent head. “I’m not worth the tears. Hush now, and come up here beside me.”

  Still sniffling, Kat lay alongside him in the bed, on top of the covers rather than beneath, yet close enough for Morgan to awkwardly drape his arm about her shoulders.

  “There. That’s better. Already I feel a new man.”

  She gave a grudging chuckle and gently poked his arm. “You’re not out of the woods yet, sirrah.”

  “Morgan,” he reminded her, punctuating his Christian name with a kiss upon her forehead. “Stay here with me, get some rest. For some reason I suspect you’ve had precious little of it until now.”

  “I couldn’t sleep, not knowing if you were suffering or wanted me by your side,” she confessed. “I decided I must be with you, no matter what Winnie said.”