“As I said, ’tis done.” Despite his weakness, he gathered her into his arms and kissed her like a man who was starved, as if in holding her he gained strength.
She returned his kiss, and tears streamed from her eyes. Tears of sorrow. Tears of happiness. Tears of relief. “I thought I’d lost you,” she whispered brokenly, her fingers curling in the coarse fabric of his shirt.
“I’m not easily lost,” he teased, kissing her eyes, her cheeks, her throat, though he could barely stand.
“But Logan is safe at Tower Wenlock. My mother waits for word that he can be returned to you.” Swiping at the tears in her eyes, she managed a smile.
“So you are a witch after all.”
“Nay.”
“A sorceress, then,” he said, twining his hands in her hair before he buried his face in her dark locks. “I love you, Morgana of Wenlock,” he finally admitted. “I’ve denied it for a long time, but I love you, aye, mayhap more than life itself.”
Morgana stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “As I love you, m’lord, though now I know ’twas not you but Strahan who was the danger from the north.”
His footsteps were not steady, and she helped him limp through the great hall to the inner bailey, where servants and soldiers had escaped from the smoke and gathered in clusters. In a hoarse, little used voice, Garrick ordered the wounded to be tended and Strahan’s and Springan’s bodies to be buried outside the castle walls. That done, he turned to the mass of people whom he had once commanded.
“Hear you now!” Garrick said as loud as possible, his rasping voice ringing with an authority belonging only to the rightful baron of Abergwynn. “The fire is dead, as is the traitor who led some of you against me and the king. I am once again baron of Abergwynn, and anyone who betrayed me had best step forward now, for his punishment will be much less than later when I discover his treachery and lies.”
There was
a murmur of voices, a rustling and shifting of feet, but no one spoke. Still leaning on Morgana, Garrick scowled down at his men. “Know you this: I will marry Morgana of Wenlock. You are all to bow to her and treat her as the lady of Abergwynn, for that is who she will be!”
“M’lord,” Morgana whispered, her throat thick with tears, her heart filled with love.
“Should I have asked?”
She smiled, and her eyes brightened a bit. “’Twould have been nice,” she replied with some of her old devilment.
“And what would you have said?”
“That I cannot wait. Will not the priest marry us now?”
He grinned, and his mouth hurt a bit as it stretched. “Are you so eager?”
“Oh, yea, m’lord,” she replied. Lifting a dark brow, she added saucily, “I find it impossible to wait another night without warming your bed.”
“Wench,” he growled with a laugh and swatted her fondly on the rear. “We need not be married for bed-warming tonight.”
She smiled up at him, loving him. Lady of Abergwynn. Wife to Garrick. Mother to Logan. Aye, ’twas all she could ask. The fates that brought her here she no longer cursed, but thanked Almighty God for the gift that had led Garrick to Wenlock so many weeks before.
Slowly the men in the yard stepped forward, and knight after knight laid down his shield and sword, swearing his fealty and accepting Garrick as his lord and Morgana as the new lady of Abergwynn.
Garrick was about to talk to the priest about a marriage ceremony when shouts rang out. “My lord!” a sentry yelled. “’Tis soldiers!”
“Father!” Morgana cried. “He followed me here, and I fear he’ll be angry with me.”
“’Tis as it always is,” Garrick said with a chuckle, then yelled, “If the army belongs to Daffyd of Wenlock, open the gates!”
Within minutes the soldiers passed inside the castle walls and, upon spying her father, Glyn screamed joyously and ran toward him.
“What’s this?” Daffyd demanded, spying her shaved head, as he dismounted.
“Oh, Father! Father! Thank God you are here!” She threw herself into his waiting arms and sobbed with joy against his shoulder. “’Twas awful! So hideous!”
“There, there.” He patted her scraped scalp and held her closer. “’Twill be all right.”
“Nay, never!”