Samantha James (25 page)

The babe’s mouth stopped working. Tiny black brows drew together in a frown of displeasure. Then all at once she latched onto her mother’s nipple anew, so fiercely that Glenda started.

The laugh they shared was husky.

Her smile abrim with joy, Glenda traced the arch of tiny black brows. “She looks like you,” she mused, then sighed. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Aye,” he agreed, but now his gaze was only for his wife. His mouth quirked. “Though I wonder that you can say she resembles me and then call her beautiful.”

“Oh, stop! You are quite handsome, and well you know it.”

Egan considered his scarred countenance, not certain he could agree with her. Still, it pleased him that she would say it—it pleased him greatly.

“We need a name, Egan. And I must tell you now, I will not consider Patsy. Or Anna or Mary—”

“Ah. Perhaps Louise, then.”

His grave deviltry earned him a surprisingly solid thump in the chest.

“I was thinking…Elizabeth.” She regarded him with mock suspicion. “Or is there a woman named Elizabeth in your past?”

Lord, no
, he thought.
There’s only you, Glenda. It’s always been you
…

“I like the name Elizabeth.”

“Excellent. We shall call her Elizabeth, then.” Her smile was filled with the brilliance of a thousand suns. The babe had finished nursing and now slept against her breast. Much to Egan’s regret, Glenda tugged her gown back over her shoulder. She gazed raptly at the sleeping infant, but very soon her lashes began to droop.

Egan could see her battle to remain awake. A tender hand smoothed a tangle of hairs from her temple. “Glenda,” he murmured, “you need to rest.”

“I know.” Her arm tightened around her precious bundle. “’Tis silly of me, but I don’t want to let her go. Egan, please, not just yet—”

“She can sleep beside you for now.” Holding her—holding them both—he eased her down so their daughter lay nestled against her side.

Glenda’s hand crept to the babe’s crown. She looked up at him suddenly. “She’s so small.”

He felt the fear in her. “Healthy, though, Nessa assures me.”

She trembled. “Egan, when the pains began, I was so afraid she might be stillborn…”

His heart twisted. “I was afraid, too,” he said huskily. “But you are here, and she is here, and I am thankful for both of you.”

“Egan—” She gazed at him, searching his face, her lips parted. He bent close, thinking she wanted to say something, but her exhaustion overcame her. Her lids fluttered closed and she spun away into the nether-world of sleep.

A tremor went through him. He straightened, but he did not leave. Instead he watched the pair sleep. Mother and daughter. Wife and child.

His mind churned, along with his heart. Was Nessa right? Should he reveal his love for her, a love that seared his soul to ashes?

I have not the words
, he thought.
I have not the heart. I have not the courage
, he admitted at last. For what if his love was not returned?

What if she still loved Niall?

He sighed. His gaze returned to his wife and child. They slept on peacefully, unaware of the turmoil in his soul, the turmoil in the keep.

He was on his knees beside them, unaware of even moving. With his knuckles he traced the curve of Glenda’s cheek, down the graceful line of her jaw. A powerful hand cradled the head of his newly born daughter.

A fierce protectiveness shot through him. He would allow no harm to befall them, he vowed, either of them. He’d gladly forfeit his own life in order to save theirs…

Though he prayed it would never come to that.

Glenda’s recovery from the birth was not as swift as she would have liked. Lying abed for so long had left her weak and depleted. She would scarcely allow Elizabeth out of her arms those first few days—most assuredly not out of her sight! Nor would she permit a wet nurse to feed the bairn.

When she held her child, such love and happiness brimmed within her that she felt she could burst with it. It was as if pure, brilliant sunshine poured into her. Though Elizabeth was healthy and thriving—and seemed to grow daily—there was still a dark, hidden corner where that shining brightness could not reach—a part of her that was still so horribly afraid of losing her child.

Egan visited daily, even if only for a few minutes. Was he disappointed that she had borne him a daughter and not a son? The notion soon left her. Her heart turned over when he confided his clumsiness about holding the child. Indeed, ’twas a sight to behold, the huge warrior with a tiny babe whose body seemed smaller than his hands! Yet it was also a sight that moved her to the core. In the evening sometimes,
the babe slept on the long, lean stretch of his legs. When the infant awoke, Egan was clearly as loath to release her as she always was.

Glenda was shocked when she learned that Murphy and Holmes had been murdered. Egan looked so tired, his features lined with fatigue and strain; Glenda knew he was burdened. He had ridden out to speak with each and every tenant, that he might find some clue as to the identity of the murderers. He was determined to catch these knaves who had plundered their land and people.

It was to no avail. Even though there was no further trouble or bloodshed, the cloud that hung over Blackstone remained, dimming her joy. She was concerned for their people. What it must be like for them, seeking their bed at night and wondering if this would be the night they were rousted from their homes.

Along with that fear came another. During those days after Elizabeth’s birth, a battle warred deep within her heart and soul. She feared it was already too late…that she loved Egan. Loved him wildly and desperately. Almost bitterly she wondered if she’d been cursed. Niall was dead. Their babe was dead. Her father was gone, too…was she forever destined to lose those she loved most?

She didn’t want to love him…if only she didn’t! For she could not banish the heartbreaking fear that if she loved him…then he would die, too.

She didn’t want to hurt like that again. She couldn’t face such a loss again. She couldn’t
feel
it again.

Yet she couldn’t forget what he’d said the night of
Elizabeth’s birth.
You were the only one I ever wanted
. Her pulse knocked wildly whenever she thought of it. For so long now, she’d convinced herself he’d married her only for what it would bring him. Yet what did it mean…truly? Did he speak only of passion? She was afraid to ask—afraid of the answer. Afraid to peer within her heart for fear of what it would reveal…

Nay, she could not love Egan. She dared not.

A fortnight after Elizabeth’s birth, Glenda was startled to see the Earl of Whitley ride in. Glenda quickly put aside the little robe she’d been sewing for Elizabeth and joined Egan in the hall.

Simon was also with the earl, she saw, along with a bearded, potbellied man dressed in rough peasant wool. Her pulse leaped, but she told herself there was no reason to panic. Still, she couldn’t quite banish the feeling that all was not well.

She knew it for certain when she paused before the earl. His expression was sternly somber. Forcing a smile, she stepped beside Egan and greeted both Simon and the earl.

“My lord, has my husband offered you some repast?”

“He has, but I must decline. I’ve not come for food or drink.”

Egan lifted his chin. Like Glenda, he suspected that something was amiss. “Why, then, have you come, my lord?”

“I’ll not bandy words,” the earl said bluntly. “Simon of Ruthven has come to me about a matter most disturbing.”

Simon! A quick assessment revealed Simon’s
smirk. Ah, but he was up to no good, Egan decided blackly, though like the earl, the wretch had assumed a posture and expression of utmost gravity.

The earl beckoned for the bearded stranger to come forward. “This is William, a crofter from across the river.”

Across the river—Simon’s lands!

“Simon brought him to me that I might hear his story. He told me that you and your men attacked his family and burned his hut two nights past. What do you say to this?”

“I did not burn his hut.” Egan was unfaltering. “Nor have I seen this man before this night.”

“Why, then, would William go to Simon with such a story? Why would he tell me such a tale?”

A tale, indeed! Mayhap because the man had been amply paid by Simon to make that very claim! Egan chafed bitterly. Simon and this man might be willing to make false accusations, but he would not stoop to their level and make empty ones.

He glanced at Simon. Ah, but he could almost see Simon gloating! He knew then that Simon was responsible; no doubt the Englishman sought to discredit him before the earl. He opened his mouth to flatly deny it again, but before he could say a word, he felt Glenda step forward.

“My lord,” she stated calmly, “I know not why this man William would make such accusations, but I do know this—it was not Egan who made this attack. My husband was with me that night…the entire night.”

“He could not lay with you that night! You’ve just had a child!” It was Simon who made the outburst.

“Do you think that’s the only use a man has for a woman—a husband for his wife?” With quiet dignity, she spoke. “A man can give comfort, lend his strength to his wife when she is in need of it.”

Simon’s jaw thrust out. “Do you call my man a liar, then?”

“I do not call him a liar. But the attack was at night, was it not?”

“Yes.”

Glenda folded her hands demurely before her. “Then, in the dark, perhaps William was mistaken. Mayhap the men who attacked him covered their faces that he could not see them clearly. Mayhap, with the frenzy of the fire, he mistook Egan for some other knave.”

Dear God! Egan wasn’t sure if he should kiss her or throttle her. Did she know what she dared? Simon’s self-satisfied smile had frozen. Egan didn’t miss the tightness about Simon’s mouth.

“Mayhap the fiends who burned William’s hut are the same who have been terrorizing Blackstone lands these many months.”

“Let us not forget, now mine as well!”

Coolly Glenda’s gaze resided on him. “Odd, is it not, Simon, that your lands have only recently begun to be razed? Indeed, ’tis ridiculous to lay the blame at my husband’s feet, when two of his own men were found murdered. And let us not forget, these attacks began while my Uncle Rowan was ill, long before Egan’s arrival.”

Egan’s voice joined hers. “I would lay odds that the rogue behind these attacks believes he is cunning and clever. Yet I say he is weak, afraid to show his
face. What true man would stoop to preying on others—harried, defenseless people? Whoever does this is a coward.”

“I quite agree,” the earl said grimly. “If this waste does not end soon, I may consider sending my own men to roust the man responsible—and when I do, he will regret the day he ran afoul of me!”

“You will not find him here, my lord.” Glenda slipped her fingers into Egan’s elbow. “I tell you again, my husband was with me that night.”

The earl nodded. He raised a hand, a signal to one of his men to bring forth his mantle.

Simon’s face had turned a mottled red. “What of William? I tell you he saw this man!”

William had turned a pasty white. “’Tis just as the lady said,” he whined. “’Twas dark and I fear my eyes may have betrayed me.”

Simon cursed. The earl whirled on him. “That is enough, Simon! I will hear no more. I do not doubt this woman, nor should you.”

In seconds, Simon, the earl, and his men had gone from the hall, leaving a rush of cold air swirling in their wake.

After the others left, Egan turned to Glenda. A brow arched high. “You,” he accused without heat, “are quite an accomplished liar.”

“’Twas not entirely a lie. A man can give comfort and strength to his wife”—her eyes grazed his—“and you have.”

In truth, Egan was touched beyond measure by the way his wife had stood up for him.

“But not that night. You know not where I was.”

Glenda shook her head. “Oh, but I do. You were
in your bed”—she gathered all her courage—“when you could have been in mine.”

Egan’s eyes darkened. A hard arm caught her beneath her knees. She felt herself borne high in his arms and carried toward the stairs. She was set on her feet in her chamber. His hands were warm upon her waist.

“Lady, you may regret inviting me back.”

“I have no regrets,” she said, and knew it for the truth. Almost shyly, she placed her fingertips on the broad sweep of his shoulders.

Egan sucked in a harsh breath. When she looked at him like that…Tangling his fingers in her hair, he turned her mouth up to his.

For Glenda, it was heaven. This was the first time he’d kissed her, really kissed her for weeks now, and the sweetly fierce pressure of his lips upon hers made her spine turn to water. A wailing little cry from the cradle in the corner finally broke them apart.

Glenda nursed Elizabeth in the chair before the fire, aware of Egan watching from the bed. After lulling the babe back to sleep, she crawled in to join him.

Strong arms engulfed her. Glenda melted against him with a breathy little sigh. Egan rested his chin against the shining cloud of her hair. He knew there could be no intimacy between them this night—it was too soon after Elizabeth’s birth—but it was enough to hold her close, to feel the yielding surrender of her form pressed tight against the hardness of his.

It was the same for Glenda. She gloried in the power of his arms tight about her back, the steel-
edged muscle of his chest beneath her cheek. Yet all at once a shudder coursed through her.

Egan felt it. “What is it?” he murmured, turning her face to his.

“Simon killed Murphy and Holmes, didn’t he?”

For the longest time, Egan was silent. “I know not if he did the deed with his own hand,” he said slowly, “but aye, I believe he was responsible. I feel it in my bones.”

Her gaze was cloudy. “It was foolish of me to have baited him. I was just so angry that he dared to bring his man forward and accuse you of such a horrible thing—and before the earl yet.”

“He didn’t count on you coming to my defense the way you did,” Egan admitted.

“He was furious. I could see it.”

Simon was more dangerous than Egan had ever foreseen. The deaths of Murphy and Holmes had proved that. “We may have forced his hand.” He voiced his thoughts aloud. “Mayhap it’s just as well. I think the earl has finally begun to see him for the snake he is.”

Glenda shivered, suddenly as cold as death. The foreboding had not left her; indeed, all at once she found herself pierced by the sensation that something awful was going to happen…

“Egan…” She clutched at him.

“Hush, sweet. All will be well, you’ll see. I won’t let any harm come to you.”

His concern made her want to cry. “’Tis not me,” she told him raggedly. “I fear for you, Egan. Murphy and Holmes are gone. What if Simon decides you will be next?”

He suspected Simon had already decided he would be well rid of him. But this was something he decided was best kept to himself. He passed it off with a shrug and a false lightness. “’Tis better to know one’s foes, sweet, for it makes it far easier to guard against them.”

“I hate this!” she cried suddenly. “I hate this waiting. Not knowing what will happen…or when…”

“Hush, sweet. It will pass. Now sleep, for soon it will be morn.” With lips and arms he soothed her, until at last they both slept.

The wait was not so very long after all.

The evening meal had just been concluded when Alfred rode through the gates two nights later. He leaped down from the nag he was riding. “Where is Egan?” he cried.

A guard gestured over his shoulder toward the keep. “In the counting room, I believe.”

Alfred bounded up the steep stone stairs two at a time. Egan was just striding into the great hall when he burst inside.

“Have you heard the news?” he cried. “The Sutherland farm was rousted. But the Sutherland boys were able to catch the leader. They’re holding him there!”

Egan grasped his shoulders. “Where did you hear this, Alfred?”

“In the village. A man just rode in.”

Egan’s heart leaped. They had him, they had him at last! He shouted for his horse and men and weapons. Within seconds a dozen figures were darting across the hall toward the bailey. He whirled to find
Glenda standing near, holding Elizabeth in her arms.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

He went to her and gripped her hands. “We may have him. We may finally have him!” He told her the news Alfred had relayed.

She wet her lips. A huge lump had lodged in her throat, so that she could scarcely speak. “You’re going to the Sutherland farm?”

“Aye.”

Though she ducked her head, he didn’t miss the sudden tears that misted the beautiful gold of her eyes.

Her distress made him groan. His arms came around her. He held her within the protective binding of his embrace. “Glenda, don’t! ’Tis almost over.”

“I know.” With her free hand she curled her fingers into the front of his tunic, struggling for composure, seeking to be brave, as he was brave. Though she longed to throw herself against him, keep him here through whatever means it took, she sensed his impatience to be off.

Her hand stole to his mouth. “Egan,” she whispered. “Be careful.”

“I will, love. But methinks the danger is past.” He kissed the tips of her fingers, her lips, the top of the babe’s dark scalp, then spun away.

She watched him tear through the gates and down the muddied track, he and his men. As she turned away, a desolate wave of bleakness broke over her. He was gone…he was her husband and she loved him, loved him desperately…

And she’d never even told him.

Hard as she tried, Glenda couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that all was not right. Elizabeth must have sensed her mother’s anxiety and began to fuss as well, even though she’d just been put to the breast. Glenda managed to lull her back to sleep and put her in her cradle; then she made her way back to the hall. She knew better than to try to sleep. She would not rest until Egan had returned, safe and unharmed.