Midnight for Morgana (7 page)

She slipped into the chair while he poured the wine, then sat opposite her.  “‘Twas thoughtful of you, Keir, to have wine waiting for us.” Gods, could she do no better than this? She was trembling inside, agonizing over what was to come, worried that she would disappoint him. They sounded like two actors, rehearsing their lines. The dim light from the fireplace and the candle flame danced around the room, revealing his face in darkness, then in light. One moment, his hair appeared black, the next, its true chestnut hue.

“‘Tis good to get away from the others, don’t you agree? To have this time to ourselves?” Not giving her a chance to reply, he continued. “Now let me tell you a little about my family and my kingdom. I am the oldest, with two sisters and a younger brother, which means I shall inherit the throne. May my father rule forever, for he, and indeed, my whole family, means much to me.” His expression said it all, how dear his family was to him. And in time, would she come to mean much to him, too?

Time sped past as he spoke of his country and its customs and what awaited her in Glennamin. In surprise, Morgana looked at her wine glass and found it empty, a sure indication that Keir had done much to alleviate her uncertainties.

He indicated the empty glass. “Would you like more wine?”

She shook her head. “I fear I’ve had too much to drink already, what with the wine at our wedding feast.” And what will happen now? Would he tear all her clothes off, throw her on the bed, then have his way with her? No, she felt sure he wouldn’t; so far, he’d exhibited only kindness toward her.

She needn’t have worried, she thought later after Keir had extinguished the candles and helped her discard her dress, so that she lay in bed clad only in her shift. By the firelight that flickered in the room, she saw him shed his clothes and slip into bed beside her. She felt the bed shift with his weight and caught his scent of spicy soap. She gave silent thanks to all the gods for the chamber’s dimness, for she had never seen a naked man before.

What would happen next? Her heart pounded so hard; surely he could hear it.

“Morgana,” he whispered. He eased her closer to him, his touch light and gentle. His hand skimmed over her body from her breast to her thigh, cupping her buttocks, drawing her ever closer. Something hard pressed against her thigh, and a myriad of questions hurtled through her mind. Tentatively, she touched his chest with its light matting of hair, her fingers straying to his well-muscled arm, wondering whether he considered her too bold or too shy. Above all, she regretted she’d had no one to tell her what to expect on this momentous night of her life.

“You don’t need this.” He eased her shift up her legs while she raised herself and pulled the garment over her head, tossing the linen, where it fell in a heap onto the floor. Her heart pounded faster, faster, drumbeats thudding against her ribs. He feathered kisses on her cheeks and neck, his breath warm against her skin, his fingers roaming her body. His lips met hers, kissing her lightly at first, then with a hungry insistence, drawing her closer, closer, that hard part of him pressed against her stomach. In a brief moment of inquiry, she wondered why his very secret part had changed, for surely this wasn’t its normal size, else she would have noticed.

Despite her doubts and fears, she found herself responding to him as a surge of warmth spread throughout her body, lodging in her most feminine essence. His fingers on her breast, cupping, kneading, the touch of his hand on her thigh and buttocks, helped her forget her qualms, forget everything but the thrill of wanting him, a feeling so new, so unexpected, so welcome! Lost in the here and now, in the kaleidoscope of new sensations and a passion that surprised her, she returned kiss for kiss, touch for touch, seeking, yearning, needing to give and receive pleasure.

Keir raised himself on top of her and murmured in her ear, “This time it will hurt, but never again.”

And yes, she did feel pain, but his cheek against hers, his encouraging words in her ear, his movements inside her, aroused her to such a peak of expectation that she all but cried for release. She tightened her arms around his back, her thrusts in rhythm with his, her breath coming faster, faster.

Then rapture burst inside her, more brilliant than a thousand rainbows, her pleasure and his together. It was a joy like nothing she had ever imagined, a treasure to hold and keep, so that no matter what adversity faced her in the coming days and weeks, she would have this night to remember. 

Chapter Five

Morgana, Prince Keir, and the sisters, accompanied by Keir’s servant, Ferris, arrived at Lord Muir’s lodge in the late evening, after stopping by an inn for the mid-day meal. With Keir’s help, Morgana slid painfully from the saddle. The horses snorted and pawed the ground with their hoofs, impatient for rest after the long trip. Tired from riding and sleepy from the previous night–when Keir’s lovemaking had given her but little chance for slumber–Morgana was ready for bed . . . to sleep. Besides, with so many hours in the saddle, she ached from her neck to her back and down her legs. She hoped her sisters were ready for bed, too, for truth to tell, their constant chatter had gotten on her nerves.

On the long journey, during one of the few times she’d had a few moments alone with Keir, she had told him about Gwenith, whose magic had brought them together. He had expressed pleasure and surprise, but above all, gratitude. “I fear I would never have met you, had it not been for her.” His words brought a warm glow to her face and joy to her heart.

Intending to hunt game, Keir had brought his bow and arrow, also a javelin; a vast forest full of game stretched for miles to the west of the lodge.

“I’ll see to the horses,” Ferris said, after everyone had dismounted at the front door.  Morgana remembered the stable at the back of the house and to the west, a long stone building with a few small windows, ample room for several horses. Lord Muir had told them there should be a plentiful amount of hay, for a local couple kept the stable and lodge well-supplied in return for favors Lord Muir had done them in the past.

Hand-in-hand, Morgana and Keir entered the lodge, with Alana and Nola trailing behind, their booted feet clicking on the wooden floor. For a few minutes, they left the front door open, allowing the light of a full moon to pool into the parlor and reveal all of its furnishings. Morgana spied two oil lamps atop the fireplace mantel, along with a tinder box, and in a few moments, a dim light revealed a leather sofa, chairs, a bookcase, and an oaken table. Loosely-placed dust covers protected the furniture, everything appearing clean and well-cared for.

“It all comes back to me now,” Morgana said as she and Keir explored the rest of the lodge, trying to ignore her sisters’ chatter. A kitchen and small dining room led off from the parlor, three bedchambers occupying the back of the lodge. Despite the fact that the lodge had remained unoccupied for so long, it smelled fresh and clean, prompting Morgana to recall their father had told her he’d given instructions to the caretakers to air it out often for any unexpected visits.

She nodded in satisfaction. “Papa told me the man and his wife take good care of this lodge, and I’m pleased it appears so.” She smiled at the others. “And I’ll warrant we’re all ready for bed.”

By this time, Ferris had returned from the stable, and it was decided that he would have the smallest bedchamber, with the sisters sleeping in the middle one, leaving the largest one for Morgana and Keir.

Alana and Nola headed for their room, ignoring their satchels on the floor.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Morgana called after them.

As one, they turned an inquisitive look in her direction.

She pointed to the satchels. “You’re forgetting something,” she repeated.

“I’ll carry their satchels,” Ferris offered with a gallant bow. Silently, Morgana fumed, for she could see trouble ahead if her sisters couldn’t perform the slightest task for themselves, always expecting others to do their chores for them. What was their purpose in coming here? She thought the reason was to help her, but it appeared they couldn’t even help themselves.

She and Keir entered their spacious bedchamber, the prince closing the door behind him. He looked her way, a gleam in his eye.

“Keir!” She laughed. “Let us get some sleep tonight. I’m tired and sore from our journey.”

He held her lightly and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll sleep tonight and hope for better things tomorrow.”

By the moonlight that poured into the wide window, she viewed the huge bed, a chair on each side, and a tall chest of drawers. A hip bath sat in a corner, prompting Morgana to wish she take a bath now, but the work involved in preparing a bath necessitated waiting for another time. A sheepskin rug muffled the sound of their footsteps, the fragrance of lemon oil scenting the room. She sat on a chair to remove her riding boots and dropped them with a thud as bone-tiring weariness claimed her body. Her eyelids drooped, and her hands ached from holding the reins. While her husband undressed, she slipped out of her clothes and left them on the chair, reminding herself to put them away on the morrow. In the dark, she fished around in her satchel until she found her cotton nightgown, then slipped it over her head. She crawled into bed between fresh, crisp sheets that smelled of lavender, where Keir joined her. He drew her into his arms and pressed his mouth to hers, his kiss deepening as his hand caressed her breast. 

   “Tomorrow,” she promised, and fell asleep immediately.

* * *

Bright sunlight flooded the bedchamber the following morning, a day that assured fair weather. Outside Morgana’s wide window, a gathering of raucous blue jays greeted the morning. She yawned and stretched, at first wondering where she was. Then it all came back to her: the journey from Dornach, the stop at the inn along the way, settling into bed in her father’s lodge. She turned to smile at her husband but found his place empty. A note rested on his pillow, and she picked it up to read it, the paper crackling, the note telling her he and Ferris had gone hunting for game.

Had Keir eaten breakfast? she wondered with wifely solicitude, that question leading to another: how much food did this lodge contain, and would there be enough to provide for all their meals?  She doubted there would be a plentiful supply of victuals, for the man and his wife who served as caretakers, no matter how conscientious they were, hadn’t had advance knowledge of their visit. Let’s hope Keir and Ferris have luck in finding game, she thought as she slipped out of bed, shivering in the morning chill. She rummaged through her satchel until she found her gray woolen frock and reminded herself once more to put her clothes away later. At present, food dominated her mind, her stomach growling as she finished dressing and headed for the kitchen. She noted her sisters’ bedchamber door remained closed. Stifling resentment, she realized she’d have to prepare breakfast and no doubt all their meals during their stay at the lodge. Oh, no, I won’t, she amended as she traversed the short hallway and entered the kitchen.

A large brick fireplace dominated the spacious room, with a long oaken table and chairs in the middle. A wooden counter stretched the length of one wall, a good place to prepare vegetables or game for meals, with shelves to one side. Above the counter, a large window offered a lovely view of the ocean in the distance. A quick search through the pantry to her right revealed a covered crock of oats and another one of tea, enough for breakfast this day. A covered loaf of wheat bread sat on the table, and she surmised that had served as Keir’s and Ferris’s breakfast, hardly adequate food to start the day.

Giving silent thanks to whoever had started the fire–Ferris, no doubt–she saw that two pots of boiling water already hung from trammels at the brick fireplace. First pouring herself a mug of hot water for tea, she added the oats to the other pot of boiling water and waited for the cereal to cook  In the meantime, she checked the larder again, seeing dried vegetables, potatoes, and jars of canned peaches and cherries. Looks as if we might have enough for meals, after all, she mused, especially if the men bring home game.

Not caring if the oatmeal wasn’t fully-cooked, she took up a bowl and sat down to eat and drink her tea, adding honey to both. Although clean, the oaken table showed its years of usage, with nicks and scratches, a few splinters at the corners. Laughter and chatter from the hallway told her that Nola and Alana were awake. Torn between relief that they were up now to help with the cooking and dread that they might just sit around and do nothing, as usual, she was unsure how to greet them.

They stood in the doorway. “Why, sister,” Nola exclaimed, “you’ve prepared breakfast. How nice of you.”

“Yes, wasn’t it?” Morgana took a tentative sip of the hot tea and set the mug down. Hand clenched in her lap, she struggled to hide her angry resentment. “What, exactly, was your purpose in coming to the lodge with me? Somehow, I got the impression you both intended to help me. So far, I see no evidence of your assistance.”