Morganna (The Brocade Collection, Book 4) (16 page)

“You are a worthless squire, Morgan,” he began.

She stepped back a step and didn’t need to act confused. Her entire body
was in that state.

“Do you still have your dirks?”

“Of course,” she replied.

“And the dragon blade? You let that harlot get her fingers on that?”

“I—” She stopped for a moment. How was she supposed to answer that?
Either answer was bad.

“You lost it?”

“Of course not! I have it, just like I have all my dirks. I would na’ lose
them.”

“You were stewed in ale and falling-down drunk. How do you know
what you lost and what you didn’t?”

“I dinna’ lose a thing.”

“You lost your innocence, dinna’ you?”

Morgan wasn’t about to lie. She had to resort to a shrug. “What of it?”
she asked.

“
What of it? This innocence? You can only give it once, and I recall
hearing all about the woman you were going to have. Not take, mind you. Well,
blast it all, Morgan! You didn’t have, or take. The fat harlot did the having and the taking. You were like butter to her and probably as satisfying.”

“
Now, that’s not true,” Morgan responded.

Zander favored her with a side-long glance. The midnight
-blue of his eyes
was vivid and intense with the red-tone to his face.
He was so angered, he was flushing?
she wondered.

“It’s true.” He ran fingers through his hair, shuffling it again on his
shoulders and then faced her. “I thought you were different, but you’re not.
You’re like everyone else, aren’t you?”

“I’m human
,” she answered.

“Yes. Yes, you are. Congratulations. Welcome to
Hell.”

Morgan would rather he just hit her and be done. “Hell?” she whispered.

“I was actually beginning to think you might be an angel, Morgan. An angel on earth. A vengeful, killing angel, but an angel, none-the-less. I’m a little disappointed to find out I was wrong.”

“
No one is an angel, Zander.”

“
No doubt about that, is there? I’ve the proof standing right in front of me,” he replied.

“I never said I was anything other than what I appeared.” It was true, she
told herself.

“True enough. And appearances can be deceiving. You also said that.
Angelic face, human needs.”

“I’m sorry I disappointed you,” she mumbled. She was, too. She should
have stayed at his side and hidden in his chamber, and since they were both so
drunk they were almost caressing each other on the floor in front of witnesses,
they most certainly wouldn’t have stopped once they got to his chamber. She was smart enough to know that. She and Zander would have been intimate.
They would have been very intimate. She wondered if that was why he was
angry. He wanted her...or he wanted the Morgan he knew.

“You did more than disappoint me, lad, you’ve put soil all over my ideal. I had you up on a pedestal, and right now I’m swallowing a very vinegary potion
of my own making about it.”

“I’ve never claimed to be perfect
.”

“Well, you’re are na’, either. You lost perfection when you let that harlot
cart you off.”

“I could na’ stop her. Why dinna’ you stop her if it meant so much?”

He sighed. “I dinna’ know what I felt then. I know now. I knew when I
looked down at your angelic face in the filth of her bed.”

“I’ve na’ lost my innocence, Zander,” Morgan whispered, finally.

“You lost more than that, lad. You lost all your clothing, too. That
constitutes quite a loss to me. Now, you owe me for another set. Your
servitude time has been doubled.”

“Oh,” Morgan replied. It was all she could think of.

“And after all your words about how you’d save yourself for the bonniest of lasses, a nymphet that looks like our Sheila, and what was all that?
Posturing?”

“It was
—”

“It was the ide
alism of youth, and I thought it true. Stupid me.”

“I d
oona’ understand this,” Morgan whispered.

“What’s to understand? I fell in love with an ideal. A youth above all
that’s earthy and wicked and lustful, and what happens? It gets tossed in my face by a fat harlot.”

“Sally Bess is more than that.”

“Of course you’d defend her now. I’m not even surprised.”

“But...you told them to find a lass for me. I heard you.”

“I dinna’ mean it. I would never have sent you off to find release in a
whore’s body. You’re so much more special than that. I’d have found the
perfect receptacle for you.”

Morgan felt his complete and total censure, and
was so close to tears, she hoped he wouldn’t hear it in her
voice. She didn’t know what was wrong with him. “There is no perfect
receptacle for me, Zander,” she whispered, and it was almost inaudible. She knew he heard it as his jaw tightened, sending a nerve out the side.

“This little talk is getting us nowhere, and I’ve work to do.”

“
What is it? I’ll assist.”

“
My squire, Martin, tends me well enough. I could hardly wait for you,
now could I? While all else is falling down about my ears, you’re locked in with a wench, fulfilling your fantasies. Not once, mind you, but four, or was it, five
times? You’re insatiable. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“
It was five,” Morgan finally said.

He glared at her. “And I thought you were different. Stupid me.”

He turned his back on her and stalked away. Morgan looked down
at the grass where he’d been standing, and watched as it sprang back from his
footprint. She didn’t know whether to follow him, or not. Martin was squiring
him? Did that mean she was supposed to be squiring Plato, then? She supposed
she should have asked it when she had the chance.

“Your presence is requested at the earl’s private rooms, Squire Morgan.”

Morgan looked over at the small lad that stood there, an arm out and a towel draped over it for some silly reason. She frowned. “Now?” she asked.

He nodded.

She looked after Zander’s retreating back and sighed. She obviously
wasn’t needed by him. She followed the earl’s servant, her fingers flying to the
three dirks at her back and the dragon blade at her stomach, caressing her
muscles there.

If the earl wanted a knife-tossing exhibition, she’d give him one, but only
if her master approved it. Morgan took the steps easily, only the slightest ache
in her back, and then found herself in such stuffy luxury, she couldn’t breathe.

The earl hadn’t dressed yet, and his close-cropped head looked strange
without a wig. He looked her over from his position lounging on his bed, then be beckoned her closer.

“I have heard of your prowess, lad,” he said.

She colored uneasily, wondering which prowess he was referring to.

“And I wish to purchase your talents for myself. Name your price. I will
pay it.”

“I
belong to Zander FitzHugh,” she replied.

“FitzHugh can be dealt with later. Name a price, so I know how much. Together, we’ll make a fortune in London. They’ll pay so much to watch you, it
will be like robbery.”

“I belong to Zander FitzHugh, and my talents are his to sell.”

He sighed, and waved his hand at another lad holding a cloth over his
arm. “Send for FitzHugh.” He waved the boy out. Then he turned back to
Morgan. “I don’t like arguing.” he said.

She swallowed nervously and waited.
Please Zander? Please don’t sell me to this great buffoon. Please?
The litany of her plea went on and on, gaining
in cadence with her fretting.
Zander arrived within moments. Morgan wondered how they’d found
him so fast. Although he had a shuttered look about him, Morgan could tell he
was worried. She could only guess about what.

“The lad will not toss a knife unless you approve it, FitzHugh, nor will he
come into my service. I do not know where you find such loyal servants, but I
wish to purchase the lad’s services for my own. Order it.”

Zander looked at Morgan. She had her eyes wide and was shaking her
head with a quick, hummingbird-type motion, so it wouldn’t be as easy to spot.

“
Morgan will toss for you on my terms. You’ve offered a stallion from
your stables. I accept. Otherwise, I doona’. The lad’s talents are not for sale,
not for any amount of silver and not at any time. Morgan? Go to my chamber. Prepare yourself for the exhibition. You’ll have a chance to use all your weapons. Put out the word, Argylle. Invite your Sassenach friends. I would like
to show what a real Scotsman can do. Morgan? Why are you still standing
there? I gave you an order. And another thing, my lord. About the fencing
duel the other eve. I believe....”

Morgan didn’t hear another word. She was racing to Zander’s chamber.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Castle Argylle was filled to the crenellations with humanity, and more seemed to keep arriving, and no one had asked, or would let her exhibit anything,
and it had been four days. Days when Zander wouldn’t let her out of his sight. Days when she’d had to caress the dragon blade’s hilt whenever she caught his
eyes on her. Days when he’d be laughing and charming, and then sullen and
moody. Those were the days he was drinking.

Those days were the worst.

Morgan felt pulled taut, much like the string of a bow, and on the fifth day, she knew she had to get out. The castle’s walls were thick, solid,
and stifling, and the bowstring she felt she was becoming, was at the peak of flex and due to snap.

She walked out of Zander’s chamber with the remainders of the previous
night’s feast, and tripped over one of the bodies in the hall. Dishes went flying,
lads of all ages and description started up to stare at her, and several of them
grabbed for her dirtied flagons and the tray, before begging her to allow them to
serve her.

Begging?
she wondered.
Morgan backed into Zander’s chamber and slammed the door.

“
What is it lad? Enemy inside the walls?”

He probably thought he was being amusing. Morgan glared at his
reclining figure beneath the off-white, cut-work linens. “’Tis a village full of lads
in the hall.”

“The entire castle is crawling with lads, Morgan. And lasses. Let’s not
forget the bloom of them.”

Morgan stiffened. “I care not about that. Why? When is the exhibition,
and when can we be gone from here?”

“Be gone? Why? The
earl brews excellent mead, his kitchen is more than
capable, and his entertainment...well, they leave nothing wanting, now do they,
lad? Or was Sally Bess taken?”

“
We’ve been prisoners for almost a sennight, FitzHugh. I doona’ ken
why.”

“The earl wants to make certain his Sassenach friends arrive. I heard it.
They’re setting up quite a contest. Takes time.”

“I have changed my mind. I d
oona’ wish to compete,” Morgan
complained.

“You
have no choice now, lad. I spoke for you. Calm yourself and get
me another mead.”

“I canna’ step from the chamber without running over bodies.
’Tis denser than the worst battle-field. What fairy has stolen Argylle’s wits? Surely there are encampments for these lads.”

“There are camps all over outside the walls, Morgan, but everyone wants
to be here.”

“
Why?”

He raised onto an elbow to study her. She should have been in the
kitchens by now and then she wouldn’t have to see that great span of chest, naked
and immense, and contrasting nicely with the off-white shade of his sheets.
Morgan turned her face aside and hoped he wouldn’t spot the blush. It
was a forlorn hope.

“
You rosy up pretty well for a broke-in lad, Squire Morgan. I would na’
have believed it. Nor, I might add, would all your followers.”

“What followers?”

She looked back to ask it. She shouldn’t have. He was sitting now, his arms on his knees and not one stitch on. As many times as she’d seen him
thus, it was still bothersome, and she backed before she could help it.

“The lads camped at your stoop. You d
oona’ think they stay for me, do
you?”

“I have no followers.
’Tis stupid of you to think so. There must be no
other room for them.”

“
Morgan, if I dinna’ think you serious, I’d accuse you of vanity for
wanting me to notice. They are your followers. They wait for a glimpse of the young squire that bested Lord Cantor’s best swordsmen. Worse, the rest of my
servants have been regaling them with tales of your hunting skill.”

“I d
oona’ wish to be talked of that way.”

“
Worse still,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “are the lasses.
They’ve been listening to that Sally Bess. You show the same prowess between
a lass’s legs as you do on the field of battle. You’re becoming quite a legend.
Why, you’ve only to look a maiden’s way, and you’ll have your pick. I would na’ take that Sally Bess again, though. She has na’ kept to herself. Why, just
last eve—”

“
Will you cease this? I will na’ be talked of! I will na’ be discussed this
way!”

“You will na’ that, you will na’ this. Fame is uncaring of your desires,
lad. Someone should have forewarned you.”

“Zander, I need to get outside.”

“Open the drape. ’Tis airless in here anyway.”

“You d
oona’ ken! I have to get outside! I have to! I am being held
hostage, and I dinna’ do anything!” She knew her voice was rising, but couldn’t
stay it. She was barely holding in the tears.

“You bested an English champion. You sliced open his clothing, and then
pinned him uselessly to the ground by it. You didn’t harm a hair on his head, and
yet humiliated him, so he will na’ show his face. Now you say you dinna’ do
anything? The clans have awaited a champion like you for years. Mayhap longer
than that.”

“I d
oona’ wish this,” she whispered.

He waited for her to look over at him before he answered.
“What is it
you do wish, then?”

“I wish to go hunting.”

His eyebrows rose. “Hunting?”

“Surely the earl needs meat to feed all these guests. Surely there is game
in yonder forest, or I’ll go further afield.”

“All true, but why? You need to take life that badly?”

Morgan’s eyes moistened, but she didn’t blink. She was hoping he
wouldn’t notice. “I need to feel alive,” she answered finally.

“F
etch me my clothing. You wish to hunt? We’ll hunt.”

He stood. Morgan backed to the wall.

“I canna’,” she whispered.

“Canna’...or will na’?” he asked.

It wasn’t a blush any longer, it was full-out fire licking at her cheeks
. She looked above him. She looked at the floor. She looked to
both sides of him. She looked at the door. She closed her eyes for a moment, a
nd started all over again. Above him, the floor...and all she saw was the immensity of Zander FitzHugh. “Canna’,” she answered finally.

“
Morgan?”

His voice lowered and then he was walking toward her. Morgan had a
hand to the dragon blade at the same time she slid to the chamber door. Her
movements stopped him in his tracks.

“
I’ll await you outside,” she whispered and slid out before he could stop
her.

She was surrounded by more lads than she could count, and all clamoring
to be near, touch, and possibly serve her. One actually asked if she needed a squire.
A squire to a squire?
she wondered.

She was back in the chamber before Zander had his under
-tunic pulled
down. The door slammed behind her and he looked over. Then he laughed.
Morgan knew her eyes were huge. “I have decided to await you in here,
FitzHugh,” she said.

“You having a bit of trouble with your popularity?”

“I dinna’ ask for it and I will na’ accept it. I want them to go. Make
them go.”

“I canna
.”

“You are my master. You must protect me. I dinna’ wish followers. I will na’ accept this fame. I will na’!”

Zander yanked on his shirt, hooked his belt, had his
feile-breacan
on, and
was sitting to pull on his boots before he spoke to her again. Morgan watched
every movement, every time the sinew beneath the skin twinged in his forearms,
every time he drew breath with that great chest, and she wondered what it would feel
like to be in those arms, and against that chest, and protected by someone else for
the first time in her life. She shook her head to clear it.

“I don’t see much choice for you, Morgan. I canna’ send your followers
away.”

“You have to keep them away from me, though. You have to!”

“Having others awaiting you frightens you, does na’ it?”

‘‘Nothing frightens me,” she answered.

“Verra well. I’ll stay here, while you hunt alone.” He lifted his foot to
take the boot back off. Morgan rushed him.

“Nay, Zander! You have to get me out of here! You have to get me
through all of them.”

“I do, do I? Seems to me, I only have to go back to sleep. I d
oona’ have an urge to go hunting. I doona’ need to escape my Lord Argylle’s hospitality. I doona’ have leagues of followers awaiting my every movement and word. I
doona’ seem to have half your problems.”

“Please?” Morgan whispered.

He rolled his eyes and stood. “Very well, Morgan lad. We’ll gird
ourselves to deal with your followers together. I only wish it was me they were
waiting to see. I could use every one of them to sway their clans.”

“Take them,” Morgan said.

“You canna’ take followers, Morgan. Followers go where they wish. That’s the beauty of swaying them to a cause. They follow, and they are na’
easily dismissed. The English are finally learning that, thanks to our king,
Robert.”

“Then, use your big orator
’s voice and speak with them. Sway them. Tell them I am nothing, save your squire. Tell them I am what I am, thanks to you.
Go on, tell them.”

“My big orator
’s voice?” The smile was in his voice. Morgan grabbed his
arm.

“You must use it! I need deep, gulping breaths of air, and I canna’ get
them in this stuffy castle. I need space! I need the exercise. The little you have
me do in here is not enough! I have to get out! Zander?”

He was looking down at where her fingers were still wrapped about his bicep. “You should na’ do that, Morgan
,” he said, and his voice was lower and deeper than before.

Morgan lifted her eyes to his and sucked in breath
. “But I need to get
out. You should understand, of all men.”

“Lift your hand from me
,” he whispered.

Morgan gulped, lifted her hand, and pulled the dragon blade half out with
the other, as she backed away.

“
Now, let’s see to getting you through all your followers,” he said and
walked out.

It was a frustrating and very long day.
Those who Zander called her followers
were everywhere, in the bushes ahead, the trees behind, practically falling over themselves to see Morgan take an animal in its eye, and they were scaring off any
kind of game. And that was just the lads. She was frustrated and angry when
Zander called it a waste of a day, although they’d walked a league and a half, and
soaked up enough rain water to fill one of Argylle’ s wells. Then, she had to get through the sea of lasses awaiting her.

Morgan colored and stayed at Zander’s heels as women of all ages, sizes
and shapes called for her, and what they were offering made her face flame.

“Your Sally Bess does have a large mouth, does na’ she?” Zander
remarked. “At least, for talking. I’ve no idea what she does with it while she
beds, although I can guess.”

Morgan glared at him.

“You doona’ hanker for another lass, Morgan? You are the strangest lad.
Any other that had the breaking-in that you did, would na’ just leave it. Yet you
have done naught but keep me company and hide. Look about you, lad. You
can have any lass here.”

“
Pray cease this and get me to your room,” she replied.

“I recollect you wanted out of the room. You certain you would na’ wish a pint of ale? Another joint of good Scots beef? Yonder wench seems ready to serve. In whatever service you need.”

“If you dinna’ get me to your chamber, I—”

“You’ll what?”

He stopped and she did, too, and all that happened is they were
surrounded. Morgan groaned as she was hemmed against him.

“You wish another bout like you had with Sally Bess?”