“Then leave me be.”
“Unfortunately, it is done. Your father and I have come to an agreement, Morgana. All you must do is live up to your part of the bargain and you will be a wealthy woman, mistress of your own castle, wife to one of my best—”
“No!” Morgana tried to wrench away from him. Oh, if she only had a dagger, she would risk God’s wrath and spill this knight’s blood in the chapel!
“You have no choice, m’lady.”
“You’re a beast!”
“So some say.”
“And a heathen!”
His lips thinned dangerously, and the fingers around her upper arm were punishing.
The man was pure poison! “How is it, Sir Garrick, that you have been knighted and have pledged your faith in God, yet you mock him? Did you not kneel before the altar and swear to defend God’s honor with your very life?”
Garrick’s eyes glowed with an angry fire. “God has seen fit to take my wife’s life in giving me a son, only to wrest that son from me as well.”
“It is his will.”
He yanked on her arm and drew her to him, his lips curling in disgust. “Do not speak to me of God’s will. It is His will that I find my son and that you help me, witch,” he said, and she knew she’d pushed him too far, ignited a temper that was deadly. “So I care not if you are pious or pagan.” His breath, sweet with wine, filled the air. “Naught matters save Logan.”
“What if I can’t help you?”
“Oh, you will, for your father and I have struck a deal. You are to ride with me on the morrow and help me find my son. For this I have promised that you be wed and wed well.”
Cold fear slid like ice through Morgana’s blood. She knew she should hold her traitorous tongue, but she could not. “Nay, I’ll not—”
“Fear not, your future husband is my most honored knight and friend. He will serve you well, and you could do no better than my cousin.”
A relative of this black devil’s? Never! She tried again to wrench away, and Garrick, as if sensing that he was about to lose control, released her arm. “Have you not already met Sir Strahan?”
The name brought foggy but unwelcome memories into Morgana’s mind. “I think not. I know no one by—”
“Strahan of the House of Hazelwood,” Garrick said impatiently. “He was here not two summers past.”
Morgana’s fear crystallized, and her future, already bleak, grew all the darker at the memory of the man to whom her father had so casually betrothed her. “Nay,” she whispered, shaking her head and trying to draw away. “I will not.”
“God’s teeth, Morgana. Most women would count themselves lucky to be his chosen, and he seems fond of you—” He stopped short, as if he had no reason to explain his decision. “Strahan’s better than most who would offer themselves to a woman who deals in magic.”
“Then I’ll not marry.”
“You would defy me?” Again his anger flared.
“Aye, if you force me to marry against my will.”
“Who says your will matters?”
“I’ll not—”
“You will marry Strahan,” Garrick growled, his face drawn taut. “As soon as you find my son.” As if he foresaw the protest rising in her throat, he clasped both hands around her arms and pressed his face next to hers. “And you will find my son, Morgana.”
“If it’s God’s will—”
“It’s my will, witch, and you will make it happen!” he whispered harshly, and again his eyes, in the shadowy chapel, were dark with despair and torment. For a fleeting second Morgana’s heart went out to a man who was so obviously wretched with grief. “Logan is not dead,” Garrick stated, forcing himself to believe that his boy was still alive, “and you will lead me to him or your vision will indeed come true. All that you love, all this” —he motioned broadly, and she realized that in his darkest desperation, he was dooming the entire castle— “will cease to belong to your family.”
“You cannot…” But her voice trailed off, for this man could do as he pleased. Her throat closed in upon itself. “So it’s true. You are the danger from the north.”