Return of the Rose Page 14

  “I will not have you coddling a worthless animal before my men. That is a weakness your mother possessed. How many times must I tell you not to get attached to anyone or anything?”

  “But he was mine, a gift to me.”

  His father finally looked into his eyes and said dispassionately, “The blade sliced through the beast’s throat so swiftly it hardly suffered. Now be off with you before I am forced to call one of the servants to deal with you instead.”

  Derek’s stomach knotted and his blood surged at the remembrance of his father’s hate: a detached, emotionless hate so strong that even the disciplining of his only son was left more often than not for others to handle.

  “I’m sorry,” Morgan said as she touched his arm. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It is nothing,” he said. The caring in her voice was like hot iron to his skin. He drew away and went about retrieving his clothes from the floor.

  “Can’t you stay for a while longer?”

  He looked at her and sighed. “Is that disappointment I see in your eyes?”

  “Me? Disappointed? You’ve got to be kidding,” she said. “Not me. I’m happy as a lark.”

  He exhaled as she tried to convince him she cared not in the least that he had no time to linger.

  “For your information, Lord Vanguard, I happen to be resistant to disappointment.” She shook her head and laughed in an exaggerated attempt to show him how unaffected she was by his leaving so abruptly once again. “It so happens that I, too, have better things to do with my time than dawdle in bed with you.”

  “‘Tis good to know,” he said as he shuffled through the pile of clothes on the floor.

  “Derek?” she said after a few silent moments passed between them.

  “Hmmm?” He turned toward her, smiling when he caught her staring. “‘Tis something you see to your liking?”

  Her face heated and she quickly looked away. He felt himself growing hard again. “Look what you do to me,” he said. “‘Tis unladylike for you to be ogling me every chance you get.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she said, gazing at a tapestry on the wall. “I wasn’t ogling you.”

  “Call it what you will, but I fair say your eyes stroked me with such heat that I am afraid I will not be able to tie my breeches now.”

  She sighed, and then quickly changed the subject. “I was going to ask you if you plan to go through with this marriage business. We both know you don’t want to marry…so why go through with it?”

  “Because it is my duty to do so,” he said evenly, tugging his breeches upward.

  “What if I were to let you off the hook somehow?”

  “It is kind of you to offer but it is too late. You are no longer a young, innocent maiden and no one else would have you.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I could have anyone I wanted.”

  He shook his head. “‘Tis too difficult for a husband to train a bride of so many years. You are far beyond the usual age. Perchance you are right, though, and there is a feeble old knight somewhere who would show interest.”

  Frowning, she said, “I could find someone. And,” she added indignantly, “he’d probably pay a king’s ransom to have me. It’s not important, though, because I don’t need a man to make my life complete.”

  Derek hid the smile that threatened to come forward. The woman had an inner feminine strength about her that made him want her even more. He also knew she was right about the king’s ransom.

  “Is your life complete?” she asked, apparently unable to let a moment pass without chatter.

  He sat on a stool and put on his woolen stockings. “I have not the time to ponder it.”

  “Are you happy?” she asked.

  “Nay. How could I be when no one allows me to get any work done?”

  “Now that I’m better, I’ll be able to help you with your work.”

  He came back to her and pinned her to the bed with his body, using his elbows to keep his weight from crushing her. Gazing upon her with admiration, he brushed a light kiss on her forehead. Unable to stop there he slid his mouth down over her soft cheek until he reached her lips. He pulled away a moment later and went back to finding his clothes, unwilling to accept the fact that she drove him mad with desire even now, so soon after having his fill of her.

  Morgan stared at his backside as he rummaged through a wooden chest across the room, wondering why he was so intent on hiding his feelings. Odelia was right. He didn’t love her as she loved him. Not yet. But maybe he could if she helped him open up. He was holding back and he was stubborn. Her head ached at the thought of leaving him. She couldn’t bear the thought of going through a life of sadness and grief. She could remember the day when she’d found a trunk of memorabilia concerning her mother’s accident, the same accident that had caused her mother to lose her husband and child. When Morgan had asked her mother about that day, Cathy had told her everything. How she and her husband, Eric, and their only daughter, Ashley, had left a party early to spend Christmas Eve at home. What tore at her mother’s insides every day since was that Eric had been leery about driving in the stormy conditions. It was Cathy who’d insisted they go. A sudden deluge of rain had made the roads slippery and without warning, a semi-truck weaving out of control had blindsided them.

  Cathy awoke to the stark whiteness of the hospital. According to police, her husband could have escaped through his side of the vehicle, but instead, he gave up his life saving his wife and then trying to save his daughter. Everything was taken from Cathy Hayes in that one horrible moment. And worse, Cathy felt she was to blame.

  Without warning, Morgan had been swept through time to this century. What was to stop it from happening again?

  Morgan watched Derek slip a clean shirt over his rumpled head of hair before he gazed back at her with concern. “Did I say something to cause you grief?”

  Morgan shook her head, her annoyance with him already receding. “Where are you going?”

  “You think I can lay in idleness all day?” he questioned, tucking in his shirt.

  “I was beginning to think you enjoyed being with me just a little bit.” She squeezed her index finger together with her thumb to show him how much. “I forgot momentarily about your duties, but trust me when I say I won’t forget again.”

  “Good,” he said curtly.

  She threw a pillow at him.

  He ducked and it flew past his head, hitting the wall. As he placed his sword within its ivory sheath, his eyes glimmered with mischief and his voice was thick with lust. “Though you beseech me with your tempting lips of roses and skin of lilies in full bloom,” he said, “I decry, my fairest maiden, I have training of my men to do. Verily I could only spare the remotest slip of time to punish you for coming to the training fields dressed in a gown befitting a bar wench. Surely my men will be out of commission for most of the day with images of you floating about their unseasoned heads.”

  Morgan laughed at that. “Under the circumstances, surely the punishment you sentenced me was cruel and unusual,” she teased. “Any true knight would have employed a much kinder, gentler act of punishment. Maybe the guillotine…or a good tar and feathering.”

  Derek chuckled. “Do you dare mock my choice of retribution?” He held a hand to his chest in feigned hurt. “I sorely desire that I could stay and serve out your just penance. Mayhap when I return in a few days, the stretching device within the dungeon could be commissioned for our use.”

  Her cheeks grew warm at the thought of using his stretching device for that purpose. “When you return?”

  He stepped closer, looking handsome in his linen shirt all fine and clean and those wonderful leather breeches. His stubbled jaw gave him a touch of animal magnetism that made her want to drag him back to bed so that he could further discipline her.

  Instead he leaned down and gave her a perfunctory kiss on the forehead. “Only a few days must you sorely wait for my embrace, for I must leave before nightfall to d
o the king’s bidding. Until then, I expect you to behave.”

  “Before you go,” she said, “I have one more question for you.”

  “And perchance I can answer it,” he offered.

  “I was wondering if you have any knowledge of a man – an infamous knight who goes by the title of the Earl of Kensington?”

  Derek gave her a begrudging look. “You sorely tempt my head to throbbing, woman.”

  “What if I told you that this Earl of Kensington was a good friend of mine?”

  “I would say, my fairest lady, that methinks you have again imbibed too much wine. ‘Tis nonsense you speak,” he added, binding his leather boots tightly into place.

  “Why is it nonsense?”

  His tone made clear his growing agitation. “Because there is not and never will be an Earl of Kensington. The Kensington estates are vast lands still held by King Henry himself. The good king has decried more than once that these holdings are those that he embraces dearly. He would be sorely bereft to ever give them up…whether it be to friend or foe.”

  “Of course there is an Earl of Kensington,” Morgan declared. “He’s an honorable knight who fought hard for his people. A warrior who trusted in no one but his sword.”

  “‘Tis nonsense.”

  She looked panicked as she tried to convince him. “He’s a man who loved only one woman, but he didn’t comprehend the extent of that love until it was too late. The Earl of Kensington went in search of his true love but sadly he was killed in an ambush…east of Swan Lake. He didn’t see it coming until it was too late. I was hoping to find him, warn him of the danger.”

  All amusement vanished from Derek’s face as he towered over her. “There is no Earl of Kensington and will never be. Your fabrications grow wearisome.”

  “After his death,” Morgan said softly, unwilling to believe the earl didn’t exist, “the earl’s people placed a piece of her jewelry upon his chest before they buried him; a gemstone she’d left behind and that the earl carried with him on the day he died.”

  The mere thought of the earl’s tragic death made her eyes mist. When she looked back at Derek she saw disappointment in his eyes. “Derek,” she called after him, but it was too late. The door slammed shut behind him.

  She released a weary sigh. Until he believed her story of coming from the future, he would never understand her. And until he trusted her, nothing would ever be right between them.

  CHAPTER 10

  The night held little comfort for Morgan. She tossed and turned, finding no rest as images of a man beckoned her: an elderly man with dark hair and silvery patches at his temples. The same man she always saw in her dreams. He held a bouquet of flowers, only this time he didn’t come toward her with open arms. He seemed unbearably sad as he fell to the ground on bent knees and placed the flowers atop a pile of stones. She thought she saw tears in his eyes. As she moved closer to get a better look she heard the creak of a door.

  Morgan bolted upright in bed, fully awake.

  “Oh, I apologize, my lady,” Ciara said with a hand on her chest. “I fair say I am not nearly as soundless as I try to be.”

  “That’s okay,” Morgan said, pushing hair out of her face as she glanced toward the window. “Looks like I slept late again.”

  “Aye, my lady. I was going to leave this missive for you on the table.”

  “A note? From who?”

  Ciara handed her a tightly rolled paper, tied neatly within a thin strip of black velvet. “The missive was found by one of the scullery maids early this morn.”

  A note for me? Morgan opened it, slowly, savoring every word as she read.

  To my dearest Amanda, whose image is seen with thy every breath, whose merest smile makes me dizzy as though I had drunk a good sweet wine, whose kiss gives my soul a glorious hope and causes my heart to sing like any nightingale.

  Keep these words close to your heart until I return to your side once more.

  It was a little corny, but straight from the heart, bringing a knot to her throat. Hadn’t she told Derek that women liked to receive flowers and notes? She smiled at the realization that Derek possessed a fanciful inner side after all. And to think she made his heart sing like a nightingale’s. She sighed contentedly, satisfied to know he was thinking of her while he was gone.

  That same afternoon, dressed and well fed, Morgan followed Odelia around her bedroom, the note firmly clasped in her hands. “Would you like me to read it again?”

  “Nay,” Odelia blurted. “The note is lovely, my lady. Never a more captivating missive have I heard ere this. But I dare say I have the note well memorized myself.”

  “A little grouchy, aren’t we?”

  “If you would let me finish with my chores,” Odelia said with a huff, “perhaps we could get to the market before nightfall.”

  Morgan watched Odelia dust furniture that looked clean enough already. “Come on, Odelia, let’s go. It’s the dawn of a new day and new beginnings,” Morgan said cheerfully. Not only had she received a note from Derek, but a messenger had arrived earlier with a message from Amanda’s father. Apparently, problems with nearby manors prevented him from visiting as scheduled. The wedding would be postponed until after the king’s banquet at Windsor. She had at least another week before Derek would know the truth.

  Odelia and Matti were taking her shopping in the village. According to Matti, Derek had said he hoped to see Lady Amanda dressed appropriately when he returned. She looked back at her note. “Whose image is seen with thy every breath,” she said as if she were quoting Shakespeare.

  Odelia threw her hands up in defeat, tossing the dirty cloth into the bucket of murky water. She grabbed Morgan’s hand and off they went in search of Matti.

  It wasn’t long before the sun’s rays warmed their backs as the three women followed the dusty path into town. Emmon came along too, but he trailed behind, evidently having no desire to listen to their womanly chitchat.

  Morgan talked about the bathing suits Ciara and Shayna were going to sew for them and the picnic she was planning for all the castle women. Morgan lectured Matti and Odelia about getting fit with exercise and good eating habits.

  As they approached the village, Morgan grew nervous at the possibility of Otgar being near. She glanced back at Emmon, glad to see that he was close by. He sat rigid and alert upon his horse, looking as mean and cruel as any young warrior could. She pressed her fingers to her hip and felt the hardness of the dagger she’d hidden beneath her dress. If Otgar showed up, she’d be ready for him.

  The village looked much different today. The structures burnt in the fire were being repaired. The homes they passed were small and unpainted. Some were grouped together, while others stood alone with briars and thorn branches intertwined to make menacing looking fences. Slops were thrown from windows and muck heaps piled up outside doorways. Thanks to a light rain the night before, unpleasant odors arose only occasionally.

  Street cries sounded as they drew closer to the vendors. They passed a man with a gray goatee and soiled brown tunic. A pet monkey clambered about the man’s shoulders and he held out a battered tin cup. Dogs waited for tossed scraps, wearing the same hopeful look as the mimes and jugglers.

  Her eyes widened as they approached a fine selection of fabrics, a kaleidoscope of colored bolts displayed upon long tables, row after row of wool, linen, and silk, and a salesman behind each table, ready to push his wares.

  After growing bored with listening to Matti’s dickering with the merchants, Morgan made her way down aisle after aisle of tables, admiring rows of hand-carved bowls and cups, iron and brass pots, wonderful elaborate chests, and so much more.

  Minutes turned to hours and soon a faint cape of darkness swept through the sky, telling her she’d been gone much longer than she’d intended. She glanced around, panicking slightly when she realized Emmon was nowhere in sight.

  Odelia and Matti were probably worried. Emmon wasn’t going to be happy with her, she thought, as she hurried bac
k the way she’d come. Weaving through tables that were being packed up for the day, she drew back suddenly when a hand darted out and grabbed her arm. She was about to scream until she saw that it wasn’t Otgar, but an old woman instead. The old lady muttered gibberish and took little excited hops, reminding Morgan of one of the patients in the movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Her hair stuck out like a porcupine, all silvery-white in disarray. Morgan tried to loosen the woman’s grip on her arm. The old lady was stronger than she looked. The few teeth left in her mouth were as yellow as the center of a daisy and her breath smelled of cow dung.

  “What do you want?” Morgan asked.

  Her answer came in the form of more high-pitched chanting.

  With a twist of her arm, she yanked free of the crone’s wiry grip and ran off.

  “The spell worked! You came back,” the woman shouted. “Aye, back from the other world as I knew you would!”

  Morgan ran faster. She glanced over her shoulder to see if the woman was following. Bam! She slammed square into Emmon, sending him sprawling to the ground. Emmon jumped to his feet, muttering and cursing as he brushed himself off, not bothering to help her up as he waited impatiently for her to follow him.

  “Emmon,” she said walking briskly in an attempt to stay at his side. “I’m so glad to see you. I lost track of time and before I knew it…it had grown dark.” She gave him a look of remorse when he glanced her way, but he was stubborn and he merely grunted.

  With a sigh, Morgan said, “Did you see that old woman?”

  “Aye. She is known as the Witch of Devonshire. Be careful of that one or she might very well put a hex on you.”

  “Forget about the hex. Her breath alone could’ve been the death of me, I swear.”

  The corners of Emmon’s mouth curved upward.

  “Ah-ha!” she said, pointing a finger at him. “I made you smile.”

  “‘Tis useless trying to ignore a ludicrous wench such as yourself,” Emmon said. “Aye, you made me smile a wee bit, but so do the foolish jesters that pass through Braddock every so often.”