ster, though, I see not why I have to defend my actions to you. Aye, she slept in my tent, next to me, so that I could prevent her escape, but—”
“Escape? Was she a prisoner?”
“God’s blood! Why should I explain these things to you?”
“She came of her own will?”
Garrick muttered a curse under his breath. Clare would be the bloody death of him. Always the questions, always the demands — oh, but if he could marry her off and send her to some remote edge of his lands! Her marriage had ended tragically, and would that he could find a new husband for her. “I have no time for arguments!” he thundered as Strahan approached. His cousin’s face was murderous, and Garrick knew in an instant that he, too, had heard the gossip surrounding Garrick’s journey home.
“A word, m’lord?” Strahan asked curtly.
Garrick motioned for Clare and his brother to leave, though both, bullheaded as they were, took their time about slipping through the curtains. Waving Strahan into a chair by the fire, he called to a page and ordered ale. His head began to pound, and he wondered, not for the first time, if Morgana of Wenlock was more anguish than she was worth. “Was there trouble while I was gone?”
“Nothing serious. A lad of fourteen was caught hunting deer in the forest, and the steward was concerned about some missing sugar and accused the cook of being careless, but all else was well.” Strahan made an impatient movement with his hands, as if to clear the air of the petty issues. “As you’ve probably heard, there was no word of Logan.”
“Aye.” Garrick’s black mood darkened. An ache settled into his heart, and he wondered if ever he would see his boy again. Was he, as everyone seemed to think, chasing a fool’s dream? Why could he not concede that his son was gone, delivered to God?
Wearily he accepted a cup of ale from a spotty-faced page and let his dark thoughts swirl in his mind as he drained the mazer. Someone had betrayed him. Someone had taken the boy. Whether Logan was alive or dead, that traitor would be found out. And he would pray with his very life.
“Garrick?”
He glanced up at Strahan and noticed the thin white lines surrounding his cousin’s mouth. “You wish to speak of Morgana,” Garrick said, resting a heel on the hearth and letting the warmth of the fire seep into his bones.
“Aye.”
“She will be your bride. Daffyd of Wenlock agreed, and I promised to pay a small dowry. As a wedding gift I’ll give you Castle Brynwydd and the lands thereabouts. I know ’tis not so grand as Hazelwood, but ’tis the best I can offer.”
Strahan’s eyes clouded at the mention of his lost home. “You’re too generous.”
“I think not. You’ll be paying a price yourself when you marry the witch.” He tried to make light of the subject, but his already black mood coupled with the thought of Morgana marrying Strahan only caused his spirits to sink still lower. What should he care whom the sorceress married, once she’d found Logan? She was nothing but trouble, that one, and though her beauty was disturbing, she would give a man little but grief.
“I know how to handle a woman,” Strahan said, motioning for more ale. He seemed satisfied, his eyes gleaming, his smile crooked and dashing. “Morgana will be no different from the others. Should she displease me, I’ll teach her obedience.”
Garrick’s fingers curled tightly over his cup. “You’ll not lay a hand on her, Strahan, no matter what she does.”
Strahan’s nostrils flared a bit. “I have never struck a lady.”
“Or wench?” Garrick asked.
Strahan shrugged. “I remember not.”
Strahan’s gaze was steady, and Garrick did not know him to lie. Yet, of late, Garrick had felt some doubts about his cousin. Strahan seemed tense and quick to anger. Ever since Logan’s disappearance the entire castle had been on edge, as if the inhabitants had adopted the gloomy anger that had surrounded Garrick himself.
Strahan rubbed his jaw slowly. “There are rumors that Morgana slept in your tent.”
“Aye. I did not want to return empty-handed.” He told Strahan about finding Morgana by the sea and of her attempts to outwit him. “I wanted to bring her safely here, and so she and her servant girl slept in my tent.”
An unspoken question lingered in Strahan’s eyes, and Garrick said quietly, “Believe no gossip, Strahan. Morgana’s virtue was safe with me.”
The tension drained out of Strahan’s shoulders, and he smiled again, showing a flash of white teeth that Garrick remembered from their younger, more carefree days when they would hunt and ride off to war together. A handsome and charming man, Strahan had no trouble winning the hearts of many ladies. His looks and sense of adventure appealed to most — though not to Morgana.
“I trust you, cousin,” Strahan said, draining his cup before clasping Garrick’s hand firmly.
“And I you.”
“If anyone on earth can find Logan, ’tis Morgana.” Again he flashed his grin before releasing Garrick’s palm.
For the first time in days, Garrick relaxed. A hot bath, a filling meal, and he would be ready to deal with Morgana again. At the fleeting image of her, he felt desire speed through his blood. Mayhap he should find a woman … but he knew instinctively no other would do. He closed his eyes and willed his lust away. He had no time for seeking pleasure of wenches or for silly fantasies about Morgana. There was simply no time to waste. He must find Logan and the traitor who had taken him.