Morganna (The Brocade Collection, Book 4) (28 page)

“
Now the blouse. Unfasten my placket. Where I have buttons, yours is
laced with silvered ribbon. Verra different. Verra much the same. Feel my
buttons, Morganna. Hard. Slick. Smooth. Slide them from the holes. Do it,
Morganna. Do it, now.”

Her fingers didn’t feel like their own, and seemed clumsy. He didn’t have that problem, however, and he had the ribbon out, and was tying his hair back with it before she had his final button out.

She shivered.

“’Ti
s chilled, FitzHugh,” she whispered.

“
Oh no, ’tisn’t. You’re with me. It canna’ be cold. ’Tis verra
warm...heated...hot.” He opened his mouth wide and exhaled heated breath
about her throat. Then he did it again, moving his mouth to the back of her neck,
caressing her shoulders with his breath. Then he was at the base of her throat,
breathing warmth all over the exposed skin and warming her clear to her heart.
“’Tis that way because I am here, Morganna. We are here. We are together.
We are one. Forever. I vow that, too.”

She made a short cry of denial, but he hushed it with insistent lips on her
throat where the sound needed movement in order to be made.

“
Now, doona’ move, Morganna, my love. Close your eyes and doona’ move.”

She closed her eyes as he’d said, and leaned against the cold stone at her
back. There was a whisper of cloth, a sound of movement and then his breath
beside her ear again.

“Open them slowly now, Morganna, love. Slowly. Let the moonlight do
all the talking. Slowly now. Slowly.”

He had his head lowered a fraction, shadowing those blue eyes into black
and sending the same shadows to his lips. Morgan sent her eyes over him, where shadows were carving out the cleft in his chin, molding to the mounds of his
chest, the thick sinews of his arms and shoulders...his hips.

Morganna slit her eyes and looked, and kept looking. Zander was a
creature of moonlight and mist, highlighted by one, caressed by the other. She’d
known he was handsome. She just didn’t know how handsome. He was
absolutely beautiful. Her lips opened a bit to pant the reaction. Zander didn’t
have to say a word.

“I was created for you, Morganna. You, and only you. Go ahead, look.
’Tis everything I am, and all that I am, and ’tis all yours...now and
forever...yours.”

The cry she gave came from the depths of her soul, and had a wounded
sound that couldn’t be denied. She knew Zander would hear it, but couldn’t stop
it. He didn’t reply, though. He simply stepped closer, almost touching, but not
quite, and he started breathing heated warmth all over her neck, to her nipples, to
the depths of her.

“Zander?” she whispered.
“’Tis too strange. I doona’ ken—”

He put a finger to her lips and it easily silenced her, since her knees jerked
forward the instant his flesh touched her. Then, he was on his knees before her,
lifting the embroidered hem of her shirt and bringing it to his lips.

Morgan had to close her eyes to stop the tears. It took three deep
breaths before she had them sufficiently captured. When she opened them again, he was standing, moving the blouse with him, until he had it over her head. She
didn’t realize that he’d taken the under-tunic, too until cool night air touched
bare flesh everywhere on her. Morgan immediately moved to cover herself, one
arm across her bound bosom, the other to her loins, with the most feminine
gesture she’d ever used. Zander didn’t stop her, but he was beside her again,
breathing heat onto her and waiting.

“Oh lovely Morganna. Beautiful, womanly Morganna. Reach out,
Morganna, love. Touch me. Put your hands on me. Reach out and touch all that I am. Touch me, Morganna. Put your hands on me and touch all of me that you can reach. Touch
my belly, my chest, my arms, and mold your fingers to them. Do it now, Morganna...now.”

His voice was more mesmerizing than before, and then he added to it by
holding his mouth close enough to hers that she could actually sense it by the space between their lips. She closed her eyes, shuddered, and then did what he said to do, moving her hands from covering her, to covering him.

“I am the largest in my family, Morganna,” he told her mouth, his breath
hotter than ever. She felt the reaction clear to her toes. “I am the strongest. I
am the most handsome. I am the most sought after by women. I doona’ say these things lightly, or as a braggart. I say them because they are all true.”

Her hands were smoothing over all the bulges, pits and hard
knots of his abdomen, then along the center of him to his chest mounds, then her fingers slid over his shoulders, and down his arms, filling her palms with the sinews and cording of his arms.

“And I say them because I now know why. I was made this way, so that
I could be man enough to deserve to be your mate.”

Fresh tears filled her eyes and she had to take breath after breath, and that
didn’t do much good. Morganna felt the moisture slide from her eyes and down her cheeks, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

“You feel all that is unique about me, Morganna? All that is sinew and muscle, flesh and blood, heat and passion, love and pain, sorrow and joy? You feel the life that is within me?

She nodded.

“That is what I feel like to you, and that is what you feel like to me. I touch you and I feel the sameness, Morganna. The warrior heart that beats
within you, is the mate to mine. I stand before you not as your lover, Morganna.
Not even as a Scotsman. I stand before you, as your God-given mate.”

She opened her eyes.

Zander moved back, although he couldn’t have seen her reaction. He had his eyes closed, too. His hands moved to her binding, untied it and let it fall
where it may. Then, he was attending to the unbraiding of her hair. He wasn’t
satisfied until he had the length undone, and moved it to cascade over her
shoulders, separating the strands with a rubbing motion of his fingers against his
thumbs. Morgan watched him, and didn’t move one bit of her being the entire time, because she saw the streaks that were on his face, too.

She trembled with the indrawn breath, then let it out. For a heart that was bent on revenge, she had an amazing capacity to feel love, she decided, lifting her hands to cup his face. Zander stopped all motion at the touch, and
then she ran her thumbs over his cheeks, wiping the tears away.

“Come to me,” he whispered, and she stepped forward into his arms.

He hadn’t spoken lightly when he spoke of his strength, his size, or of
being sought after. She knew the truth as he lay them down on the pile of
discarded clothing and joined them, her cries and his groans blending with the
night mists. He took her with him to a place of warmth and joy, and no room for
anything but love.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“Morgan?”

“H
ush!” Morgan’s reply sounded more like a brush of wind than the
command it was meant to be, as she drew bead on a buck. It was going to be a
shot deserving of her talents, for he was hidden behind his doe, while a fawn
hovered in the spotted sunlight behind them, making it nearly impossible to see.

The buck was only
visible by his rack above the doe’s neck, and whenever
he reached his head down to pull at the grasses at their hooves. Her shot was going to graze the bottom of the doe’s throat with its motion, brush the hair
perhaps with a bit of her arrow’s feathered shaft, before it was going to impale the buck exactly where Morgan wanted it to; its eye.

She pulled the bow taut.

“Are you carrying my bairn?”

Zander said it from his indolent position right below her, startling her so
the shot went far wide. So far wide, in fact, that both deer raised their heads a
fraction at the sound, and then resumed grazing, not the least bit alerted.

Morgan closed her eyes, stilled the immediate fear and had it under
control before she glared down at the FitzHugh at her feet.

“If
you canna’ stay quiet, FitzHugh, you will na’ eat,” she answered
finally, reaching for another missile.

He chuckled. “They are far enough away, they canna’ hear a thing. Why, I dinna’ even see them at first. Aside from which, I have a sow roasting nicely
over my spit and no less than sixteen maidens cooking the rest of a nice sup for Squire Morgan and myself. I see no need for splitting that family asunder, do
you?”

“That is no family, Zander. That is an animal. One which, I might add,
we rely on for food.”

She took another aim, hoping he wouldn’t spot the slightest tremble of
her bow string, and also that it wouldn’t affect her accuracy. She’d never had such
trouble, and all because Zander FitzHugh wouldn’t let her out of his sight, and hadn’t since last night at the worship circle.

“So...do you? Carry my bairn, that is?”

His whisper was soft enough to affect her aim. This time, the arrow
quivered to a stop right at the nose of her stag, startling the entire grouping into
escape. Morgan slid her eyes down to where Zander reclined, his head on a
fallen log, one leg bent at the knee, the other prone, while his attention vacillated between a blade of long grass in his fingers, and her.

“D
id you miss your prey?” he asked, softly.

“I was na’ aiming for it,” she lied.

“Truly?” He swiveled his head in time to catch the flicker of white tail
and moving brush that clearly marked her stag’s escape.
“That was noble of you, Morgan.”

She made the best sneer she could. “Noble? When we go hungry? How
is that noble?”

“
He was a grand stag, full of rut, proud of his doe, and of his offspring.
He was a thing of beauty, posed for our delectation at what a glorious creature of
nature he is. I am glad you let him live.”

She shrugged.
“He will be taken down by the next hunter, Zander. He is
too great a prize not to be. Come. There are fresh tracks of an elk. We passed
them on our way here. I will try for one of them.”

“
We have enough game, Morganna,” he said softly.

“There is never enough game, FitzHugh. I know this to be true. I have
gone hungry. I don’t believe you ever have.”

He sighed. “That much is probably true. I was spoiled and held, and
loved and adored, and my head filled with how wonderful I was, probably from
the moment I left my mother’s womb. What of it? There is still enough game
already taken. We have no need of more.”

“I have a hankering to hunt
,” she replied.

“Why?” he asked.

She put her bow tip to the ground and leaned a bit on it, and thought
about his question. “You have asked this of me a-fore, Zander, and the answer is
the same. I doona’ ken why I hunt, I only know I need to. Why is it so
important to you?”

“B
ecause there is something there, Morganna. Something only you see and
feel. I want to ken what it is, so I can understand you.”

“
Nobody understands me!” She gave the snort every bit of her disgust
and turned to check the elk tracks. His hand on her ankle stopped her.

“I am still glad you let him live,” he whispered.

“Live? Nay, I let him wander about until the next hunter, with more
need, takes him down. I did him no favor.”

“You gave him another glorious afternoon with which to enjoy the living.
That is what you gave him.”

“
How did you ever bring down game to feed yourself, FitzHugh, with
sentiments such as these?”

“I hunt when necessary, Morgan. For food.”

“’Tis the same as what I do,” she replied, “and if you doona’ release me,
we’ll go without the elk, too.”

He blew the sigh out that massive chest of his, and she watched it rise and
fall with it. She had to close her eyes for a moment and force the vibration that
went through her at the sight, to a halt, though. It had been bad enough
worshipping him in the midst of a field of strangely erected stones, surrounded by
mist, and covered with darkness. In the dappled sunlight of their forest glade, it
was impossible to cover over, or hide from.

“D
o you enjoy the killing, Morganna? Does the thought of stopping a heart
from beating thrill you? Is that what hunting does for you?”

Tears glittered in her eyes, but she’d never let him know of it. She
shrugged. “What if it is?” she asked.

“I think not. I think
’tis your talent you are flexing.”

“My talent is a gift from God! Why do you revile it so?”

Zander looked up at her, and his other hand had her calf, now, holding her in place. “I doona’ revile it, Morganna. I revere it. I worship it. I am in awe of
it.”

“Then why do you pester me with the why? Isna’ it enough that
’tis?”

“I said it wrong. That is strange, for I have a gift of speaking second only
to The Bruce. I meant, you have this talent, and I think you have to use it,
because you have it.”

Morgan shook her head. “It will be dark a-fore we return, Zander FitzHugh, with speech such as you do. Meantime, my elk trots away.”

“
Let him,” Zander replied. “I like that you dinna’ wear the loin-wrap,
Morganna. ’Tis verra inviting of you. Your lord and master thanks you for such a gift.”

He was looking up her kilt, and since he had one leg solidly in his grasp
there was nothing she could do but stand and suffer the blush. She knew he
wished it so, too.

“You are only lord and master because of the accident of your birth, Zander,” she said.

“The accident of my birth? I am fairly certain my parents were overjoyed.
Not that they dinna’ wish a lass, but I am a bonny sort, you know.”

He displayed that physique for her to look at, and Morgan rolled her eyes,
instead.
“You’re a fine male, FitzHugh. You doona’ need me to speak of it, for
you already have a swelled head with it.”

He pursed his lips.
“You are taking an awful long time today to
recognize and appreciate it, too.”

“You were birthed a male, Zander.
’Tis the males who are lord and
master. That is the accident I speak of.”

“A woman has all the power, though,” he replied.

The sound she made voiced all her disgust, and more. “What power does
a woman have?”

“The power to sway males.”

“
You have shown me I have this power, but ’tis na’ due to my gender,
but my aim. Why, if it became known that I am not a lad, The Bruce would be a target for ridicule and embarrassment.”

“It’s not that kind of power, Morgan
na. Would you twist all my words
today? You are verra difficult to speak with.”

“As you are to hunt with. Yonder elk escapes while you delay me with
worthless words.”

“
Worthless. Worthless, she says,” he replied. “I have a talent with
words, and she calls it worthless. I think I am insulted. With more thought, I
realize I am insulted.”

Morgan giggled. “You are a fetching male, Zander FitzHugh, and you have a great orator voice, which is your gift. Now, if you would unhand me, I
will use mine.”

“
Let the elk go, Morganna. He deserves it. Let him live another afternoon,
perhaps another full day.”

“Why?”

“If I say, you will anger at me. So, I will na’ say.”

“Zander FitzHugh!” she exclaimed loudly.

“With a reaction like that, there will na’ be game within a league, oh great
god-of-the-hunt, Squire Morgan.”

His voice was still calm and seductive, and he had moved his fingers to
the back of her knee. Morgan had to concentrate on keeping that part of her leg
stiff and unbending.

“Have you decided the why of your hunt, yet?” he asked, peeling her sock over her knee and running his fingernail from the back of her calf, to the highest
point on her thigh he could reach.

“My hunt?” she replied.

“
You are showing off your talent. We doona’ need the meat, although I
doona’ mock what you do, any meat you bring would be put to use. It is just you
hunt, because you can.”

“
You simplify everything. Nothing is...that simple.” She was whispering
the words at the end, and it was his fault.

It felt like he was sending sparks, straight from his dark blue eyes directly
to her heart, and didn’t even realize it. The bairn must know, though, for it
twinged, stronger this time, and Morgan hadn’t the expertise to hide it. She was going to carry and birth a very active babe. That much, wasn’t in doubt.

She watched him watch her, and he didn’t appear to blink. She forced
herself to breathe evenly and normally, and very carefully.

“It isna’ simple, Morgan
na, and yet it is, at the same time. You are gifted in
targeting, shooting, and hunting. You hunt because of this talent. You may not
even like it, but you use it, because you know what a special gift it is.”

“You spoil my hunt, and talk nonsense. You are a strange hunting companion, Zander FitzHugh,” she replied, surprised she had a voice.

He smiled, and an ocean of sound roared through her ears at the sight of it, and the bairn did antics in her belly again. Morgan caught her breath and silently
begged the babe to cease. She very nearly flicked her gaze to it, too, since the
slightest swell of her kilt betrayed her, and it was in her line of sight to the gorgeous FitzHugh at her feet. If she did such a thing, however, she knew he’d
know.

She just didn’t know what he’d do.

“God could have given this gift to a hundred...nay, a thousand others, but
he dinna’. He gave it to you. Therefore, you must use it. Otherwise, it was
wasted. So, I think you hunt because you can. Simple.”

“And, that must mean you talk because you can. Regardless if your
words have meaning or sense. You fill the day with words because you can.”

“I am going to get insulted yet, Morgan
na. I want you to know this a-forehand.”

She giggled.

“There could be another reason to your need to hunt, Morgan. Have you
thought of that?”

“I try not to do too much thinking. My lord and master does too much of
it for me already,” she replied, and grinned.

“You are learning to tease, Morgan
na. I am proud of you,” he replied
quietly.

She was going to have to look elsewhere, or she was going to give
everything away with the baby’s continual twinging, and the effect of the love and pride in his eyes. She also wondered if she did look elsewhere, if that would
give it away. She gulped.

“
I have changed my mind, Zander. I doona’ wish to finish this hunt. You
have won. Yon elk can live another day. Or another hunter can bag him. Now,
release my leg.”