“But you are promised to Strahan.”
She felt the warm afterglow surround her like a cozy coverlet that would protect her. “You can change that, Garrick. You have but to say the word and I shall be free of Strahan.”
He stared at her, his pride hardening his expression. “I do not go back on my word.”
“But—”
“I will not, Morgana,” he said swiftly, and her heart cracked. “I hope you did not lie with me in an effort to persuade me to change my mind and break my vow to my cousin.”
“No, but—”
Again he caressed her face, but this time she rolled away, not wanting his hands or his glorious body to touch any part of her. She felt suddenly soiled and dirty. He’d lain with her and had no intention of ending the betrothal! “I trusted you!” she said, shivering and rubbing her arms. Her dignity shattered, she searched the ground for her clothes. What a fool she’d been — a silly, lovesick fool! Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she hurriedly pulled on her tunic.
Garrick watched her, his eyes troubled. “As I said before, I’m not a good man, Morgana. I lusted after you. I wanted you as I’ve never wanted a woman, even though you were forbidden.”
“By your own tongue!” she cried, discovering one of her boots and yanking it onto the wrong foot. “Curse it all!”
“This — this lovemaking — ’twas a mistake,” he said, and the words seemed to echo through the forest and pound in Morgana’s brain. She dropped the second boot. One of the slumbering horses, tethered near the camp, stamped a hoof and snorted while the creek gurgled and rushed nearby.
“A mistake,” she repeated dully, knowing that her betrothal to Strahan was sealed and that the love she’d felt stirring in her breast wasn’t returned. As her grandmother had predicted, she would become the bride of Hazelwood. Discovering the missing boot again, she pulled it on her foot, cramping her toes. Oh, she’d been a twit all right, a ninny, to think Garrick of Abergwynn could care for her.
He touched her lightly on the shoulder, but she drew away from him as if his very touch repulsed her.
“Morgana—”
She didn’t answer him, didn’t look over her shoulder. Tears washed from her eyes and clogged her throat. She heard him behind her as he struggled into his clothes, but still she stared away into the forest. Even when he grabbed her and spun her around, forcing her chin up with his fingers, she avoided his eyes.
“There is no other way,” he said.
“Of course not, Lord Garrick. ’Tis your way or no way,” she declared bitterly. She raked her gaze over his disheveled clothes and shook her head. “So I am to marry your cousin. What will he say when he discovers I’m not a virgin, I wonder? What will he do?”
Garrick winced.
So Garrick knew of Strahan’s cruel streak. And yet he would wed her to him! “Leave me alone, Garrick, and do not worry about tonight. ’Twas nothing.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “If I could change things—”
“You can, and yet you will not, because of some foolish sense of loyalty to your cousin. Let it lie, m’lord, for at least we now know where we stand with each other. And trust me, I will never breathe a word of this to anyone!”
Chapter Twenty
Abergwynn is lost, Abergwynn is lost, Abergwynn is lost … lost … lost …
A chill wind, blowing low through the trees, tickled the back of Morgana’s neck. She opened her eyes to see the light of dawn just beginning to chase the stars away. The moon was still visible, three-quarters full and sending light through the fog rising off the creek.
Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled. Her skin prickled, and she heard a soft-voice droning through her mind. Her throat closed for a second, and she rolled off the pallet to face the breeze. A cool current pressed itself intimately against her face and lifted her hair from her neck. Several dark strands blew across her eyes, but she didn’t notice.
The fate of Abergwynn is in your hands.
“But how?” she whispered, hardly daring to believe the voice. Was it her imagination? Was her silly mind playing tricks on her? A foggy picture formed in her mind, and she saw the stone hallways of Abergwynn spattered with blood. Women screamed and men cursed and Wolf howled piteously. “Oh, God, be with them,” she prayed, her throat dry with fear.
Morgana, why have you abandoned us? Glyn’s voice rang with terror. Help us please. Our Father, who art in heaven …
Morgana fell to her knees as the vision faded. “Glyn, oh, Glyn,” she whispered, her fingers clenching in the dirt and grass. “Please be safe. God, please let them be safe!”
Only you can save the baron’s son and his domain. The voice was cold and commanding. She lifted her face, expecting to find a messenger from God standing before her, but she saw only the trees of the dark forest.
“Logan? Where is he?” she asked the voice, but heard nothing. Then a vision, soft around the edges, showed her the face of a small boy, his hair matted, his face streaked with mud and tears. He was in darkness, and water dripped steadily down the slick stone walls of his prison. Morgana’s heart beat faster. “Where is this? Logan, can you hear me?” she cried, but the vision started to fade. “No! Where is this dungeon that would imprison a child so small?”