Enchantress (Medieval Trilogy 1)

“Oh, but I’ve missed her,” Morgana admitted, surprised that she could feel such emotion for Glyn. Beautiful, prideful Glyn with her false sense of piety and perfect sense of duty. “’Tis true that we fought like hens in the yard at times, but…” Her throat clogged up a bit, and as the amusement died from Garrick’s eyes, she felt a deep pain at the thought of her family and her father’s cruel words.

“But…” Garrick encouraged softly.

“But she is my blood, and I … I’ve missed her,” she repeated swallowing the thick lump in her throat. She felt a dozen emotions deep inside, and though she didn’t want to think about the fact that this man who had once kissed her so wantonly was now restraining her again, she couldn’t ignore the heat from his body, so close. She had to bite her tongue to keep from licking her lips in nervousness.

Garrick, too, seemed suddenly aware of her nearness. He released her suddenly, as if her mere touch burned him, which, indeed, it did.

Morgana nearly stumbled, but she caught herself, and with one last glance over her shoulder, she whirled away. In a cloud of purple damask she hurried out the door.

Garrick couldn’t help but smile. The excitement in her round green eyes had replaced the torment he’d seen brewing so often in her gaze. For the past few days he’d wondered about her silent agony. Was it just that she missed her family, or was she worried that she would not be able to locate Logan?

Logan. If only he could find his son. As each day passed with no news of the boy, his frustration grew. He was impatient and angry, and since Morgana’s “vision”, he seethed all the more.

What if she could not lead him to Logan? Rubbing the back of his neck, he remembered threatening her in the chapel at Wenlock. Well, she’d asked for it, hadn’t she? Baiting him and belittling his men. But his words had been harsh, and she didn’t know that he would never attack Tower Wenlock. She’d pushed him, and he’d struck back.

“God’s blood,” he muttered as another thought assailed him, a thought much more worrisome. Was the darkness in her gaze because she, too, had been tortured over the unbidden passion that had erupted between them that night when he found her in the stables? He’d only kissed her, for the love of Mary, but ever since, he’d spent many sleepless nights dreaming of Morgana, imagining what her soft curves would feel like against his own harder lines. Aye, he’d wakened with an ache in his loins so hard that he’d thought he might burst.

He’d been tempted to go to her, to kiss her again and see where the kissing might lead. But he had not. By his own code of honor he was forced to keep his hands off her. She was Strahan’s. He himself had made it so. This black lust that crept into his blood was his own punishment for betrothing her to a man she so obviously despised.

And his desire for her could never be quenched. He’d considered lying with another woman, but the thought of taking a wench or a servant girl left a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew instinctively that he wanted Morgana not only for her body but because he needed more than the feel of her limbs entwined with his; he wanted to reach her spirit, to meet the challenge that she threw at him every time she tilted her chin upward or tossed her hair off her shoulders or gazed steadfastly into his eyes, daring — no, defying — him to touch her. Even now the image of her running down the steps caused a hardness between his legs that no other woman would satisfy. Oh, Morgana, why do you torment me so?

“She’s beautiful, is she not?” Strahan’s voice brought Garrick up short, and he shifted quickly, hoping that his cousin would not notice the swelling that caused his breeches to bulge. Strahan cocked his head toward the steps down which Morgana had flown.

“Beautiful, aye, but dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Strahan barked out a laugh as they headed into the bailey. “Don’t you know? I like my women dangerous.” His eyes flashed with a dark flame. “It adds fire to the coupling. A little resistance, a little pain, makes the taking all the better.”

Garrick’s reaction was quick. His fist tightened, and he nearly hit his cousin, prodding him into a fight.

Strahan glanced at him from the corner of his eye. A cold smirk curved his thin lips. “We have guests,” he reminded Garrick.

“Just be careful, cousin,” Garrick warned. “The wife you’ve been promised is not a common wench. She’ll need a gentle touch.” With all his effort, he uncurled his fingers. Ignoring the tightening in his gut, he walked swiftly across the spring grass to meet the new arrivals.

Morgana nervously shifted from one foot to the other as Glyn slid gracefully from her saddle and hopped nimbly to the ground. “Isn’t it grand?” she whispered to Morgana as she stared at the towering hall rising at the far end of the bailey. “I’ve never seen such a castle!” Glyn’s voice was filled with awe, and her eyes positively shone, until her gaze drifted downward to land upon Wolf. “Oh, no! Did that mongrel actually find his way to you?”

“Aye. Thank God.” Morgana rumpled the thick fur at the back of Wolf’s neck.

For a second Glyn’s smile faltered, but she forced it in place again as she glanced up at the battlements of Abergwynn. “I do believe this is heaven.”

“Heaven? It’s a pain in the arse if you ask me,” Cadell commented under his breath as he leapt to the ground from his mud-splattered mount. However he managed a thin smirk as Garrick strode up and greeted his guests.

Glyn, dressed in a white and gold tunic and an emerald green mantle, smiled up at him. Her blond hair was braided into thick plaits and coiled at the back of her head. The golden strands were sleek and gleamed in the su

nlight. “Lord Garrick, your castle, it’s … breathtaking,” she said, sounding as if her breath had indeed been stolen from her throat. When Garrick kissed her hand, Glyn blushed and sent Morgana a knowing look.

Morgana stood frozen, her blood at once hot and cold with jealousy. Why should she care if Glyn flirted with the baron, and why should it matter that he offered Glyn a kind smile instead of the dark, hostile looks he trained on her? Glyn and Cadell were here, and that was all that mattered.

Glyn slipped her small arm through Garrick’s, and they started toward the steps leading to the castle.

“Looks as if Glyn is set upon becoming mistress of Abergwynn,” Cadell whispered to her as George ushered him away.

Morgana was left in the bailey, Wolf whining anxiously at her side. “Shh!” she scolded him before she noticed that Strahan was watching her intently.

“You’re happy that your family is here?” he asked, flashing her a handsome grin.

She nodded, not trusting his charm.

“So am I.” He nodded toward the doorway through which Garrick and Glyn had disappeared — the very doorway where Garrick had kissed Morgana with a hunger that had seemed to melt her vey boots. “It seems your sister can make Garrick smile. It’s been a long time since he’s done so.” Thoughtfully, he rubbed his chin. “It would be a great relief to me to see Garrick happy again,” he said with surprising candor. “Since Astrid’s death, he’s not been himself, and now the tragedy with Logan…”