Patricia Rice (20 page)

Morgan perused the tumble of titian hair over slim
shoulders and young breasts and his body responded readily. He studied
her delicate face and read the terror there. He knew terror well enough
to call it friend. His victims were paralyzed by it. He wasn’t certain
that it was the best effect for Faith, but if it worked, it suited his
purpose. He tugged, pulling her back to the mattress and him.

“No,” she whispered, frantically pulling back, but there was only the wall behind her.

“Yes,” Morgan said firmly, applying more pressure.

Faith resisted, but the pull of his eyes held her.
He must be a demon who had possessed her and now had a hold on her soul,
for she couldn’t hold out long against that hungry gaze. Even as she
pulled back, her legs stretched toward him, touching the heated
nakedness beneath the covers where he lay.

“It’s too late to play coy, my
cailin.
Give me a kiss, and I’ll let you go.”

The devil lied, she knew. As soon as she touched
him, she would be lost. But she could see no other escape, and vaguely
she hoped he spoke the truth. Perhaps now that he’d done that to her, he
didn’t need to do it again. Perhaps now that it was daylight, he would
only want his breakfast.

Gingerly Faith leaned toward him, still clutching
the sheet to her breast. Morgan’s beard was rougher this morning, but
his lips were moist and warm and welcoming. The sheet fell from her
hands as Morgan pulled her down to his chest and filled her mouth with
his need just as he had filled her body the night before.

Then she was sprawled half across him, only the
sheet over his hips and her thin chemise between them as Morgan’s hands
reclaimed what he had taken the night before. Just the brush of his
fingers and the heat of his mouth were sufficient to rekindle the fires
that had destroyed her last night, and Faith moaned as he pressed her
closer.

“Shhh, my
cailin alainn.
There will be no pain this time. Let me pleasure you, as you please me.”
Morgan shifted to his side, returning Faith to the bed. “Kiss me,
Faith, and let me show you.”

She had no choice, but she offered no protest either
as he bent his head to hers and his big hand kneaded her breast. Her
body was on fire for him already.

How could she resist? He wore not a shred of clothing, and she was over aware of the masculine hardness pressing into her.

As Morgan’s kiss deepened, Faith shuddered and
raised her hands to his shoulders. The skin slid smooth and supple
beneath her palms, and the rippling muscles reminded her of the
foolishness of seeking escape. She was his for as long as he wanted her,
and at the moment, she could think of nowhere else she wanted to be.

His lips caressed her breast, and then the chemise
slid upward and disappeared over the side of the bed, and she was naked
to his gaze. Faith flushed at Morgan’s unabashed stare, but his touch
was reverent as he explored every bare curve. When his kisses followed
where his hand led, she squirmed in protest that turned to ecstasy.

When his hands reached the soreness between her
legs, Faith made one last effort to resist, but the invasion of his
fingers aroused the hunger he’d taught her. At the same time
embarrassment and shame swept over her, her hips rose to his touch, and
her legs opened without need of his request.

“This is our secret, my sweet,” Morgan murmured. “No
one will ever know how good you are but me. Don’t ever tell me no,
Faith, for ’twill kill us both.”

He moved over her then, and she had no chance to see
the maleness that matched her femininity before he slid into her,
gently this time, rocking carefully against her so she felt no pain.

It was more wonderful than she remembered. All the
heat and tension that had been building now centered at this place where
they joined. With each thrust, the pleasure doubled until Faith thought
she could bear no more. She struggled to meet him, needing some release
from this unbearable pressure, some release only he could provide.

His last thrust hit that height she had been
striving for, and the explosion rocked them both. Faith cried out as
hot, convulsive waves of pleasure shot through her. It was some while
later before the trembling stopped, and she realized Morgan had once
more spent his seed inside her, just like the stallion and the mare.

She turned her heated cheek aside as Morgan rose on
his elbows to kiss her brow. She could still feel him inside her, and
the knowledge that his body was joined so intimately with hers caused no
end of confusion. She knew it was wrong. She knew he had shamed her.
But the pleasure still warmed her all the way to the core.

“Don’t turn away, Faith. Look me in the eye.” Morgan
caught her chin between his fingers and forced her to look up at him.
“You please me much, little one. Don’t ever be ashamed of that. That’s
what your body is for. Did you think you would feel pleasure if it were
not?”

Faith met his gaze uncertainly. She had trusted him,
and he had stolen her virtue. She shouldn’t have expected more from a
thief, but there was that in Morgan’s voice that made her glad she had
pleased him. She could read his contentment in the easing of the lines
on his face and the way the little dent appeared at the corner of his
mouth. He looked so much younger that way, almost her own age, and she
managed a tentative smile at the thought of the highwayman as a boy.

“Aren’t all pleasures sinful?” she inquired, not daring to put more of her thoughts to words than this.

Morgan wanted her again. Faith’s tender innocence
made him feel whole, like the man he should have been. He wanted to
luxuriate in it until the past was no more and the future was bright and
welcoming. He grew hard within her at just the thought. Reluctantly, he
withdrew before he damaged what she so trustingly gave him.

At her look of bewilderment, he pressed a kiss to
her brow. “Perhaps in your religion, pleasures are sin, but not in mine.
We are only doing what God has told us to do. There is just a little
matter of obtaining His blessing, but that can be arranged soon enough.
Now we had best get up before I am tempted to ravish you again.”

At her slowness to follow, Morgan turned to see her
staring in awe at his arousal. Her look brought perspiration to his brow
as he gallantly resisted the temptation to ride her one more time.

“Up,
cailin,
or you will regret it, I assure you. You are not quite ready for a gallop yet, and I would not break you before we’re started.”

Grabbing the sheet, Faith scrambled from the bed,
trying to hold the linen modestly around her. She threw an anxious look
to the wash basin.

Pulling on his breeches, Morgan solved her dilemma.
“I’ll see to the horses, little one. Take your time.” He kissed her
confused brow and fled.

Faith was washed and dressed and preparing breakfast
by the time he returned. At his entrance, she flushed, then returned to
what she was doing. The ease with which the color rose to her cheeks
intrigued him, but it was his turn to feel uncertain now. He had never
asked a woman to marry him, and she had not commented on his earlier
attempt.

If he could, he would just carry her off to the
priest and order the vows said, but he suspected there was the small
matter of her acquiescence to be achieved first.

“I like the blue on you, lass. It makes your eyes
look like the Irish skies.” Words had never been a problem for him, but
Faith’s silences were a barrier he had yet to demolish. Morgan took the
heavy pot from her hands and swung it to the table. His compliment
didn’t make her blush, he noticed. She just watched him a little more
warily.

“Will you not speak to me, then?” he inquired briskly. Goals were never achieved by hanging back.

Faith poured his mug of coffee, studying him
features without flinching. “You’re a liar and a thief, Morgan de Lacy.
Will you have me speak more?”

He grinned, relieved to be on a footing that he
understood. “Indeed, I would. I’d have you spew it all out rather than
wondering at your thoughts. I’m a rascal and a rogue and all the other
names you can think of, and some you don’t know. That doesn’t change
what we did together, nor the fact that you wanted it as much as I.”

“I did not!” Faith slammed the frying pan onto the
trivet. “I didn’t even know what it was you were doing to me. You took
advantage of me, de Lacy, and you know it.”

“I’ll not deny it.” Morgan slid onto his barrel seat
and helped himself to the eggs. The hens were laying more these days,
and there was even a flock of chickens cluttering one of the stalls,
although he had thought the rooster well beyond his salad days. Faith
had brought new life to this place, and he meant to enjoy every minute
of it.

His admission of guilt apparently infuriated Faith
more. Hands on hips, she glared at him. “How can you sit there and look
me in the face after saying that?”

He glanced up from his plate. “I don’t remember
looking you in the face when I said it, but I’d be happy to oblige. You
have a very pretty face,
cailin,
even when it goes all red with temper.”

The pewter sugar bowl went flying over his head. Morgan ducked, laughing, then rose to go after her.

She made no attempt to avoid him. Her stiff little
figure stood proudly beneath his gaze, her eyes smoking with a fire that
should have scorched. Morgan grinned and lifted her off her feet. The
passion wouldn’t be reserved entirely for their bed, then. That suited
him well, better than silence, in any case. When she kicked out at him,
he only crushed her closer.

“You’ll be grieved at me often enough in the times
to come, little one. I’m accustomed to having things my way, and I’m not
used to listening to another. But I remember an old saying that makes
sense to me, and I hope you’ll remember it too. If we never carry our
differences to bed, my treasure, we’ll never part. Now, give us a kiss
and let’s eat before we starve.”

Faith wanted to tear his damned arrogant green eyes
out, but when his lips swept hers, all the anger seeped out of her and
she clung to his neck. He was a demon straight from hell, but he was all
she had, and she could not get enough of him.

Beaming as he set Faith gasping to the floor, Morgan
brushed a strand of hair from her face and cupped her cheek. “I’ll go
to see the priest this day, and we’ll make an honest woman of ye. Will
that take away the wrong I’ve done?”

Stunned by this pronouncement, Faith could only
stare at him. Marry? Is that what he asked her to do? Marry him? The
idea was so far beyond her ability to imagine that she could only gape.

A wry quirk lifted Morgan’s lips at her astonished
expression. “That’s not precisely the reaction a man wants to see when
he asks a maid to be his wife.”

Marry. Faith shook free of his entrapping fingers
and took her seat at the table. Marriage was for life. She had never
envisioned spending her life here. She had thought it just a temporary
haven for the winter. Then she remained to wait for her father’s papers.
Always she had thought of leaving.

She glanced up as Morgan took his seat across from
her. He looked so sure of himself, so full of male pride. All the
choices were his. He had decided she could stay. He had decided to take
her to his bed. He could decide whether or not to ride out again,
endanger his neck and leave her abandoned. She had no voice in any of
this. She was tired of always doing what other people told her to do. It
had been a mistake last time, and it would be a mistake this time. He
said they must marry, but this time she had a choice.

Keeping her smile of triumph to herself, Faith lifted her eyes to challenge his. “I’ll not marry you.”

Faith’s refusal still rankled as Morgan saddled up
his stallion. The moonless night beckoned. He had wasted weeks wooing
the stubborn wench. He wasn’t one to stand and argue when the fight was
done. He had a life to live and goals to seek, and there was no reason
she had to be a part of them.

But when he remembered the despair shadowing her
eyes as he had announced his intention after supper, Morgan’s shoulders
slumped. He had taken on a responsibility, and despite Faith’s lack of
cooperation, he had to live up to it. There had been others he had
neglected too long, until it was too late, and he remembered only too
well another time when he had ridden out, only to come back to a cold
hearth. He didn’t want that worry on his mind while he was gone.

Tying the saddled horse to a post, Morgan strode
back to the house, his boots moving soundlessly in the thick grass.
Beads of moisture had already formed on his cloak from the damp air as
he flung open the door. The hope flaring in Faith’s eyes as he entered
made him feel a cad, but he had no intention of giving up his quest for a
pair of long-lashed eyes.

“I may not be back by morn, but I’ll not have you go
to bed with anger in your heart. If it’s not marriage you want, what
would you have of me?”

He was the highwayman tonight, from the blinding
white of his lace to the gleaming polish of his high boots. Only the
eyes belonged to the Morgan she knew, the sad green that could be both
warm and tender, heated and fierce. She longed to fling her arms around
his neck and plead with him not to go, but she had her pride and he had
his.

Faith considered his question. What would she have
of him? She would have him give up his profession, but that wasn’t what
he asked, she knew. She could ask for dresses and jewels, and he would
gladly shower her with them, but she didn’t want the position of his
paid whore. He had offered marriage, but that was scarcely the honor it
should be from a man who might be hanging from a gallows tree by their
wedding night. He had nothing to lose by marrying her, and she had
little to gain beyond the name of a hunted man. What would she have? Her
independence.