Midnight for Morgana (5 page)

Leaving the rocky, weed-filled lane behind, he and his fellow riders took the winding dirt road through the hills and valleys, back to the Sign of the Black Horse. He had a task ahead of him, one he dreaded more than anything he’d ever done. He must write to his mother and father and tell them he was bringing a new wife back with him. He briefly considered waiting until they reached the kingdom of Glennamin to wed her there, but he feared for her reputation if three men escorted an unmarried woman back to his country. It was obvious she had no ladies to assist her or to protect her good name, and it was equally apparent that her two sisters didn’t have her best interests at heart. Besides, three men escorting three women?

And by the way, why was Morgana relegated to the role of a servant when her sisters lived a life of, if not luxury, at least ease and comfort? A sense of protectiveness consumed him. Despite a lack of love for his wife-to-be, he would see that she lived a life of ease and comfort when they returned to the family’s castle.

A cool breeze drifted across the land, bringing the fragrance of flowers and strawberries, fluttering leaves and bushes along the hilly lane back to the inn. He breathed deeply, loving this time of the year, when the bitter winter had loosened its grip on the land, and summer would soon arrive.

He turned in his saddle to face Malcolm, grateful his friend had kept silent during Keir’s long period of introspection. “Did the lady’s father say something about a lodge he owned south of Dornach?  I must confess I was so shock–er, surprised at the outcome of my search that I missed much of what the lord had to say after the lady, uh, what’s her name–?”

“Morgana.”“–ah, yes, after Morgana agreed to marry me.” He paused. “Come, let us hurry. I have much to do at the inn.” He spurred his horse to a gallop now, felt the pull of the stallion’s muscles beneath his thighs, the steady stride of the horse.

“Understandable that you might have missed a few details, such as the lady’s name,” Malcolm said with a wry grin as he caught up with his friend. “The events of the afternoon were–shall we say?–overwhelming. Yes, Kelwyn Muir mentioned a lodge he owns on the southern coast, near Dairbhreach. Strange he hasn’t sold it, if he is in such dire circumstances that his own daughter acts as a servant in his household.”

“Yes, and Morgana’s sisters are spoiled, self-centered brats.” Keir’s vehemence surprised him, yet he spoke the truth. The less he saw of those two girls–he refused to call them ladies–the better it would be. It’s a good thing the sisters all dress differently, he mused, for they all looked the same. Or perhaps Morgana was slightly prettier than the other two? Silent for a few moments, he returned his attention to his friend. “Very well, after our marriage, Morgana and I will spend a few days at the lodge and then return to the kingdom.”

“And after you marry, I fear I must head back to the kingdom straightaway, to my own duties, working alongside my father.”

Keir nodded. “I’ll be sorry to see you go, dear friend, but I understand. I, too, will return to the kingdom within a week or so after the wedding. We shall marry the day after tomorrow, for Morgana’s father said he would procure a druid to perform the ceremony. See, I do remember that much, although the rest of the afternoon remains hazy.” He drew a deep breath. “So within a couple days, I will be a married man.” A sense of doom filled him, an attitude he hoped was unjustified.

A brief question touched his mind. Was she a virgin? He would soon find out. His groin tightened, and he realized he’d gone too long without a woman in his bed. What would Morgana be like in bed? he wondered, his passion increasing. If she was a virgin, he would be tender and patient with her, hoping that her passion would soon match his. And if she weren’t chaste? No matter what, he was only too glad that he would soon have a wife to share his bed.

* * *

She didn’t want to marry him, Morgana lamented as she finished washing the supper dishes, and her sisters had departed to visit friends. She didn’t even love him, and he’d made it plain he didn’t care for her. What kind of marriage would they have, a loveless marriage with no chance of true happiness? This was not what she had dreamed, in the rare moments she’d let her imagination take flight, when she had even dared consider that some day she might have a husband. No, she had dreamed of falling in love with a kind, considerate man who returned her love in full measure, with whom she would share the rest of her days. It took no deep thought to realize what kind of man Prince Keir was–haughty and arrogant, heedless of her wishes and desires.

No, she didn’t want to marry him, this man with his sneering ways. And yet . . . and yet, here was her chance to get out of the house, to escape the monotonous drudgery that comprised her days, far from her selfish sisters and their demands. Morgana had heard of marriages that began without love, but that evolved into unions in which the man and woman had come to adore each other, so that they remained happy and devoted to each other in their golden years. Was such a marriage too much to expect? Could she and the prince achieve that measure of happiness? She would try her very best to make it happen.

She recalled his looks. Aye, he was attractive, but good looks don’t make a man, she acknowledged with a newfound wisdom that surprised her. She wanted tenderness and consideration from her husband, traits she feared Prince Keir sadly lacked.

Another problem taunted her, one she must discuss with her father. She found him in the library, as usual, settled in his easy chair, a book in his hands, an expression of deep concentration on his face. She hated to disturb him, but she had no choice. Two oil lamps were lit near his chair, for darkness had fallen outside.

She cleared her throat, and Kelwyn looked up. “Papa, forgive me for interrupting you, but I’m wondering–who will do the housework after I’m gone?” She sat on the sofa across from him and gave him a steady look, her hands folded in her lap.

He set his book down, reluctantly, she could tell. “I fear I need to sell a few more of my books so that we can hire a maid.”

“No, Papa! Don’t sell any more of your books. It won’t hurt Alana and Nola to do the cleaning, cooking, and such. It will do them good, I doubt not.”

He sighed. “Doubtless you are right. But you know as well as I that they will constantly complain about the housework, giving me no peace.” He frowned and sighed again. “I blame myself for leaving it to you to do the housework these many years. Too late now. It won’t hurt for me to sell a few more books. Have more than I need or will ever read as it is now,” he said with a long, loving look at the bookcase, his gaze covering all the shelves.

“No, Papa, it is not too late! And I don’t want you to sell more books. Alana and Nola should learn to do housework, if only to have an idea of what it’s like to manage their own house whenever they marry.”

He scratched his chin. “Aye, you have a point there. And I really don’t want to sell more books.” He nodded. “Then it shall be as you suggest.”

Satisfied with her father’s decision, Morgana arose from the sofa and left the room. Her wedding day was fast approaching, a prospect that haunted her night and day. Should she anticipate this day with delight, or should she consider it the end of her freedom, what little freedom she’d had? She chose the former option, for it was not in her nature to be pessimistic or downcast, but rather to look on the bright side of things. Soon, she would be a married woman, with all that the married state entailed.

And just what does it entail? she wondered, her face warming. There would be more than just kisses; that much she knew. More than that, though, she had only a dim idea of strange happenings in the marriage bed, of nakedness and passionate caresses. Or would there be merely frantic gropings in the dark? She ran her hand across her breasts, shocked by her boldness. Passionate kisses might be nice, she concluded as a rush of heat raced from her cheeks to her stomach and settled in the most private part of her body.

Whatever secrets the marriage bed held, she would soon find out.

* * *

Finding that illness prevailed among the family they intended to visit, Nola and Alana returned home sooner than expected, riding their cart along the rutted dirt road.

As they neared the house, Nola tapped Alana’s arm. “Let’s go in through the kitchen door, see if our sister has washed the dishes and tidied up the kitchen. Just because she’s getting married soon doesn’t mean she can stop doing the housework.”

Alana nodded. “Yes, dear sister, but what are we going to do after she’s wed? I, for one, have no intention of cooking or cleaning or doing any of the housework. The very idea!”

With the reins in her hand, Nola winced as the cart hit a rut on the dirt road. “Papa will have to sell more books to pay for a maid. That’s all there is to it.”

Alana clapped her hands. “Good idea, sister. Let’s talk to him about it as soon as we get home.”

Nola guided the cart to the small stable behind the house. She unhitched the horse, both sisters making sure the horse was tended to. That much they would do but no more. They headed for the kitchen door, for once entering quietly, for both were too worried about their problem to indulge in laughter or idle chit-chat. Not seeing Morgana, they assumed she had gone to her room. With Alana behind her, Nola headed down the long hallway, where an occasional rushlight gave pale illumination and cast shadows on the stone walls. Both women kept their cloaks on, deriving no warmth at all in the frigid hallway.

Hearing voices from the library, Nola stopped short of that room and gestured frantically to Alana to get behind her. Both sisters stood behind the door, where they wouldn’t be seen, and listened with their ears pressed close.

Morgana’s lilting voice reached Nola, and she turned to exchange shocked glances with Alana. They waited a few moments, then hearing no more, both scooted back to the kitchen, and at another abrupt gesture from Nola, Alana followed her outside. Shivering in the cold, Nola spoke quickly, eager to return to the cozy warmth of the kitchen.

“The bitch!” Nola snarled. “Did you hear all that?”

“Of course! You think I’m deaf? But what are we going to do? I’ll be damned if I’m going to cook and clean. We’ll just have to persuade Papa to sell more books to pay for a maid.” Her mouth twisted. “And that’s what he was going to do ‘til that sister of ours said we should learn to do the housework. Huh! She’s crazy. Papa has scads of books he can sell.”

Nola shook her head vigorously and hugged her arms for warmth. “No, I have a better idea.”

Alana’s teeth chattered in the frosty air. “What is it?”

Nola smiled, a crafty look on her face. “Just listen, and I’ll tell you my plan.”

Chapter Four

As the druid spoke the words that would soon make them man and wife, Morgana slid a glance at her soon-to-be husband. How tall and handsome he looked in his deep green tunic with gold trim on the hem and cuffs of the long sleeves. His dark brown trousers fit him to perfection, revealing well-muscled legs. Aye, he was handsome, but looks meant nothing, and she had no idea what he was really like or how he would treat her, for they had shared but little time together since he had asked her to marry him. She knew she looked her best in her lavender silk gown, her locks secured atop her head with gold pins, velvet slippers hugging her feet.

Here in the spacious parlor, dozens of friends and neighbors crowded the room, the women sitting, the men standing, for they lacked chairs for all who had come to see Morgana wed. They all beamed at her, some of the women wiping tears from their eyes. Springtime flowers scented the room, freesia and hyacinth, their lovely colors blending with the tulips and fern in glass vases. Bright ribbons decorated the room, bows tied to table legs and festooned throughout the parlor, thoughtful touches created by many of the local women. How good it was to have friends and neighbors who cared. Morgana sighed. Soon she would leave all this, all those she’d known for years.

“You may kiss your wife now.” The druid’s words pulled her back to the present and brought home the reality of her new station in life.

A chaste kiss on the mouth revealed nothing of the prince’s true feelings but at least provided reassurance that he didn’t find her repulsive.

At the end of the ceremony, Malcolm approached the couple, a look on his face that blended happiness with regret. “I fear I must leave you now. I truly need to return to the kingdom and resume my duties in helping my father. ‘Tis a shame I can’t stay for the feast, but best I leave now to cover as much distance as possible before nightfall.”