Magic In The Storm (7 page)

Adriana watched transfixed as Morgan and his
dog played together in the water, throwing the stick back and
forth. Morgan was so happy and carefree, so strong and
handsome.

Adriana stopped. Where had that thought come
from? She silently reprimanded herself.

But it was true.

Even as she watched, she could feel herself
become as relaxed and happy as he was. But there was something
more. There was another feeling deep inside her. Desire.

Heat was building up in Adriana’s blood, she
could feel it churning within her. The heat and tingles of desire
and happiness, like laughter, bubbled through her veins. Overcome
with her emotions, Adriana put her crayon to paper and let the heat
flow through her body and out through the crayon. Her hand
carefully, but quickly, sketched Morgan, his dog and the flowing
water.

But there was more. There was the bright sun
in the heat of the day, Morgan’s laughter, the dog’s joyful
barking, and the splashing of water. She captured it all in her
drawing so she could experience it again another day.

On another lonely day, Adriana thought,
looking at her sketch. When she was back in London, she would want
to remember this day and this time. These feelings would come back
to her when she looked at her sketch, and she would be able to live
these happy moments all over again. She was glad—these were good
feelings.

A shout of laughter interrupted her thoughts,
and she looked up to see Morgan holding the stick up triumphantly
once more. Suddenly, Adriana noticed Morgan’s back, which was
turned towards her. Long red welts stripped it, as if someone had
whipped him. Her crayon hung suspended in mid–air as she stared at
his back.

How could someone do that to him? How could
he allow it? He was such a large, strong man—and someone had
whipped him?

Adriana’s hand came to life once more, adding
in the long welts down his strongly muscled back. A tear dropped
onto her paper.

As she smoothed the black lines running down
Morgan’s back in her drawing, her hands tingled with an
overwhelming desire to run her fingers down his real back and sooth
away the hurt. Suddenly, she wanted desperately to touch him. To
run her hands over his back and his chest and along the strong
muscles of his arms. To trace the contours of his muscles with her
fingers. To feel his soft skin and its warmth. To hold him close
and feel the strength in his arms as he wrapped them around her
and...

She put her hand up to her heated cheek,
unable to even continue with the thought.

Directly in front of her, Morgan came up from
under the water, having once again beaten his dog to the stick.
This time, the dog grabbed hold of one end of the stick and began
to pull. Morgan laughed and held on to the other end with both
hands. Slowly, he began to back out of the water, dragging the dog,
who still clung with determination to the stick.

Adriana watched with fascination, flipped to
a clean page and sketched a new drawing rapidly as, step by step,
Morgan slowly revealed more and more of his naked body.

Her conscience pricked her. She should leave.
But she just could not tear her eyes away from the sight of this
amazingly attractive man.

Quickly, she worked on her drawing, copying
his lines down to his bare ankles, trying to see him purely as an
object to be sketched rather than an incredibly handsome, and
disturbingly desirable man.

When Morgan was standing at the very edge
with only his feet still covered by the lapping water, the dog
suddenly stopped tugging on the stick and let go.

Morgan took a step backward to regain his
balance and laughed, “Ah ha, you finally give up, do you,
Oberon?”

The dog had not given up, however—he had been
distracted by the sight of Adriana. He gave a bark and took a few
tentative steps in her direction. Morgan stopped laughing, and
began to turn inquiringly toward the wood where she stood.

With a gasp of fright, Adriana dropped her
sketchbook, turned, and ran.

O
beron took a step
or two towards the trees, and barked. He had seen something or
someone in the woods.

Morgan turned around in time to see a woman’s
fleeing back.
It was her!
He knew it instinctively. It was
the woman he’d saved in the forest the day before.

He ran to the edge of the trees and tried to
call out to her. He wanted her to stop running away, he wanted to
talk with her. But his voice wouldn’t come. No matter how hard he
tried, he could not get a sound out. Morgan’s throat was closed.
There was nothing he could do.

His mother’s command! It was her command
stopping his voice!

He hit a tree in frustration, and hurt his
hand.

He hadn’t sought her out. She had found him.
Didn’t that count? Morgan supposed not, since she was running away
from him.

But why was she running away? Why hadn’t she
come and spoken with him? If she had come all this way, why hadn’t
she... Oberon gave another bark to draw his attention to something
on the ground.

It was a book, a sketchbook. Morgan picked it
up and turned it over. His skin prickled at the drawing of a naked
man pulling on one end of a stick while the other end was held
firmly by a large black Labrador. He could almost hear the sound of
the man laughing in his game of tug–of–war with the dog. He knew
immediately this was a picture of himself and Oberon as they were
just moments ago.

She had been watching!

He continued to look at the picture, even as
this knowledge sent an excited chill down his body. But there was
something more here. There was something else in the picture,
beyond the simple representation of him and Oberon, which,
admittedly, was excellent.

A feeling came over him as he stood staring
at the picture. It was a feeling of happiness—no, not just
happiness, but contentment and joy. He felt like laughing once
again at the good feelings embodied in the sketch. And he felt...
he felt a stirring in his nether regions as heat rushed to that
part of his body. Yes, he felt desire. But it wasn’t desire for the
woman who had drawn the picture—although he couldn’t help but admit
to some of that as well.

It was more that she had been feeling desire
for him when she’d drawn the picture.

He didn’t know how he knew that, but somehow
underneath the lines and smudges that made up the picture were
these feelings. He felt all of her feelings as he looked at her
sketch.

It made absolutely no sense. He had never
felt emotions and feelings when looking at pictures before. Why
would he do so now?

Morgan walked toward the river bank and sat
down on the soft grass, still examining the drawing.

The scars on his back caught his eye. He had
never seen them before, but naturally, he knew they were there. His
mother had lashed out at him, scolding him and berating him so many
times the marks were now permanent. He had never allowed her words
to hurt him emotionally, but looking at the drawing, he knew that
just seeing his scars had hurt the young woman.

He felt bad, and wished he could have soothed
her, told her that it was all right, really. But she was gone. An
empty feeling of frustration settled in his gut.

Out of curiosity, he turned the book over and
turned back a page.

There was another picture of him and Oberon
playing. This time they were in the water. His hand was reaching
out for the stick while Oberon’s mouth was nearly on it. Morgan
knew that he would snatch that stick right out from under Oberon’s
nose and laugh heartily over the dog just missing it. But that
knowledge was not because he had just experienced it, it was
because the drawing told him so.

He shook his head in disbelief. It was a
drawing, a sketch. And yet, he felt as if he were there watching
this happen. He could feel the warmth of the day, hear the sound of
the splashing water as he and Oberon swam about.

Morgan looked around to see if he could
possibly be experiencing something that was really happening. But
the river was quietly rushing past as always, and the sun had
hidden itself behind a cloud.

He looked back at the drawing, and heard the
splashing sound again. He could almost see the water in the picture
undulating with his movements and Oberon’s. And once again, he
could feel the happiness the woman had felt as she had watched them
play. But there was another feeling in this picture as well. Not so
much desire, as there had been in the first drawing, but something
more akin to embarrassment. Yes, she had been embarrassed at seeing
him naked.

That was why she hadn’t come and spoken to
him! She had been embarrassed by his nudity! Morgan nearly
laughed.

He turned back another page in the book and
stared directly into his own face. Suddenly the hollowness he had
felt the other day was filled. It was an amazing likeness.

This drawing too was filled with
emotions—wonderment, curiosity, interest, and the same feeling of
familiarity he had felt when he’d first seen her in the woods the
day before. He longed to find out how they both had this feeling,
and where it was coming from. He knew they’d never met before, and
yet, he’d felt so right being with her. He’d felt...complete and
happy. He needed to feel that again.

But there was nothing he could do until she
came and actually spoke to him instead of just drawing pictures of
him.

And then he noticed at the bottom of the
drawing, in one corner, she had written her name, Adriana
Hayden.

Adriana. What a beautiful name for such a
very beautiful and talented artist.

Adriana, if only you had not been so
embarrassed and had spoken with me, he thought. Morgan closed the
book with a sigh. I will meet you, Adriana Hayden. And I will find
out who you are, because, clearly, you are a very special
person.

<><><>

The knock on his cabin door later that
afternoon interrupted Morgan’s musings. He had gone back to staring
at Adriana’s sketches. He couldn’t stay away from them—looking at
them made him feel close to her. It was almost like being with
her—only that, he knew, would be much, much better.

Reluctantly, he slid the sketchbook under the
mattress of his bed and then went to open the door. As he had
expected, it was his cousin, Kat.

She came to visit him nearly every day.
Usually, she was filled with good cheer as she laughed and told him
all the gossip from the abbey. Today, however, she looked odd, as
if she didn’t know whether to smile or be upset.

Morgan had always been very sensitive to
Kat’s moods, ever since she had moved into their home when they
were only six years old. Born on the same day, their mothers as
close as two sisters could be, Morgan and Kat had a bond even
stronger than most siblings. They understood each other, and had
done so ever since the first day Kat was at Vallentyn, and they had
banded together in the fight against his older sisters’ attempt to
rule over them both.

He moved to his table where, earlier, he had
been grinding some herbs for the potion to cure the animals. He was
fully confident she would tell him what had happened without him
having to ask—she always did.

She followed him, and began to
absent–mindedly separate some dried flowers from their stems.
Morgan looked over at her, but she remained silent, lost in her own
thoughts and her mindless task.

He wondered if he dared to ask Kat about
Adriana. His cousin would surely know who she was. If Kat hadn’t
seemed so very upset about something, he would have. And he still
might, but first he had to be patient and allow her to tell him
what was on her mind.

Just as the silence was beginning to become
awkward, she said, “I heard about your meeting with your
mother.”

“It is my own fault,” he acknowledged.

She stopped her work and looked up at him.
“You did the right thing, Morgan. No matter what your mother may
think.”

Morgan gave her a little smile. He knew he
could always count on Kat to take his side. “Thank you. I believe
so too. You should have seen her, Kat. She looked so beautiful,
even though she was in such pain. And she was brave—she didn’t
scream or cry hysterically or carry on. She just sat there crying
softly. But I could feel her pain. I just couldn’t have left and
not helped her.”

Kat was looking at him with a very worried
look on her face as he spoke. She didn’t say anything, but only
looked more and more upset.

Morgan leaned toward his cousin and spoke
more gently. “What is it? Why are you looking that way? I know I
shouldn’t have healed her, but...”

“No, that’s not it. As I said, I’m glad you
healed her, it’s just...”

“Just what?”

Kat shook her head, but didn’t say
anything.

Morgan had never seen her so upset
before.

A flower crumbled to dust in Kat’s trembling
fingers. She pulled her hands away from the delicate herbs and
wiped them on her dress while turning away from him.

“It’s what I came to tell you about.” She
crossed her arms protectively over her body.

Morgan stopped grinding the herbs. He touched
her arm gently, and was shocked to see a tear making its way down
her cheek.

“It can’t be that bad,” he said, trying to
give her an encouraging smile.

“Oh, Morgan, it is! And it is all my fault.”
She hastily wiped away her tear, and took a deep breath.

Turning to him fully, she said, “Your mother
was... was so angry yesterday after she returned from speaking with
you. I’ve never seen her like that. She, she said things...” Kat
paused, and took another deep breath.

Lowering her voice to a near whisper, as she
did anytime she spoke of magic, she continued. “She said that very
soon you would no longer be a threat to me, or to anyone. That in a
little over a month, you would lose any powers you have and become
just an ordinary man, and then the time would be ripe for me to
take my rightful place. Your destiny would be mine for
certain.”