Patricia Rice (47 page)

Edward smiled genially. “It is something like
wedding-night dithers, is it not? One does not know what to expect of
this stranger you must spend the rest of your life with. Do not let your
fears rule you, Faith. We will do all in our power to make you happy.”

Faith shook her head fiercely. “It is not the same. I felt no fear in marrying Morgan. I
wanted
to marry Morgan. I
don’t
want to go to England. You can’t be Morgan, and I can’t be happy
without him. Let me go, I beg of you. I must find him. He’s doing this
out of pride; I know he is.”

The urgency and panic in her voice startled him, but
Edward’s concerned look was interrupted by a frightened cry from the
driver.

“The crazy fools—!” The driver jerked on the reins to bring the ambling horses to a halt.

Faith’s heart jumped at the sight of the cloud of
dust billowing around a trio of horses, but it took only a glance to
realize none of the riders was Morgan.

Miles reined his pony beside the wagon, glancing
nervously at the disreputable strangers blocking their path. Faith sent
him a questioning glance, and he shook his head.

The man in the forefront raised a long-barreled pistol, and as the dust settled, his features became recognizable.

Edward grunted and muttered, “Your husband doesn’t keep his bargains very well, if this is any indication.”

Faith stared at the stranger a little more closely,
finally recognizing him as the man Morgan had knocked to the floor the
day before. She shivered at the malevolent look of triumph on his face,
but oddly, she felt no fear, only curiosity. “Cousin Thomas?” she
inquired.

The men on horses looked startled by her question,
but Thomas merely gestured with his gun. “I would suggest that you step
down, dear Faith. I have a quarrel to settle, and there is no need for
you to come between.”

Miles leaned over to help her, but Faith didn’t
move. She eyed the intruder with disfavor. “You cannot settle a quarrel
at the point of a gun, Thomas. My father died by a bullet, but it did
not halt his work from going on.”

Thomas sneered. “No, it did not. That convenient
little tome helped us to find you. But it was not his work that I wished
ended; it was his life. Now, step down, dear Faith, and let me put
period to the only other obstacle in my way.”

Edward cursed beneath his breath, then gave Miles a quick look. “Get her out of here, at once.”

Not a horseman by nature, Miles glanced nervously at
his placid mount, then back to Faith’s obdurate figure. Morgan would
have swooped down and hauled her out of the seat and ridden off into the
sunset, or the dawn, or whatever. Miles would do well to climb from the
saddle and tug her to the ground. Get her out of here, indeed.

“Give me George,” Miles said.

Stunned by her cousin’s revelation, Faith did not listen to Miles but questioned Thomas. “You killed him? You
killed
my father?”

The men behind Thomas looked dubious at the scene.
Thomas ignored their impending defection. “Not I, my dear. What would I
do in a bloody awful place like Cornwall? But there were those willing
to accept my encouragement. Money has so many uses, does it not, Edward?
But now is not the time to discuss it. Get down, fair cousin, or I will
not be responsible for what happens.”

Had she a gun in her hand, Faith would have used it.
As it was, Edward shoved her from the seat and Miles reached for her
just as Thomas raised his weapon and cocked the pin.

Morgan, riding like a madman through the brush, had
time only to see the weapon raised in Faith’s direction and to realize
his sword and pistol could not save her in time. Terror, despair, and
self-loathing filled him. He kicked his stallion into a flight directly
between the wagon and the weapon.

Faith screamed as the coatless rider careened toward
them. Despite the dust clouds beneath the horse’s hooves, she had no
doubt as to his identity. When his raised sword flashed in the sun’s
light, her screams of protest froze every man there save one. The madman
with the pistol already cocked merely grinned and pulled the trigger.

The explosion of sound and sulfur polluted the
early- morning calm, sending pigeons flapping into the air and gulls
into squawking flight. The smoke and dust filled her eyes, but Faith saw
the bright splash of red against white, and she screamed.

Miles grabbed at the reins of his panicky horse,
trying to prevent it from trampling her as she ran heedlessly to the
crumpled figure in the dusty road. Another horse galloped into the fray,
as  the two miscreants who had stood behind Thomas turned their mounts in chase after his fleeing figure.

Ignoring the confusion, Faith knelt beside the man
in the road, tears streaming down her face as she pulled his head into
his lap. “Morgan! Morgan, don’t go! You can’t die. Please, Morgan, I’ll
do whatever you say. I’ll never quarrel with you again. You can’t go
like this. I love you. I’ll always love you. Can’t you see? Oh, Morgan,
damn you, where’s your coat? Why aren’t you wearing your coat? Of all
the times...” She lifted her head and cried to the men clattering to the
ground, “Give me your handkerchiefs, your cravats, something! He’s
bleeding!”

As she applied the linen to the growing splash of
red in Morgan’s shirt, his black lashes lifted, revealing a glittering
green and gold. As she applied the compress, a quirk turned his lips
upward and a whiskey-smooth voice asked. “Anything? You’ll do anything I
say?”

Faith cried in relief and began to rain kisses on
his unworthy head. “Anything. You’re a madman, but you’re my madman, and
I dare you to deny it.”

“Oh, I’ll not deny it, lass. ’Tis yours I am. Let me
hear that part about love again, just to be certain ’twas you and not
the angels singing in my ears.”

“Angels, my foot and eye! If anything, ’twas the
devil breathing in your ear. Damn you, Morgan, if you ever do this to me
again...”

A brown hand pulled her head closer. “I need to teach you a few new swear words, my
cailin,
” Morgan whispered. “You’d think in all this time you’d have learned something more original. But it’s a start.”

There was nothing weak about his kiss, and Faith
succumbed to the power of it, reveling in the touch of his lips against
hers. But then, hiccuping, wrenching back her sobs of joy and fear, she
pushed away and wiped at her eyes. “Bloody, blithering idiot,” she
managed incoherently. “Miserable, rotten, scoundrelly, mangy cur. I’ll
never forgive you for this. Never!”

By this time Miles and Edward had positioned
themselves near enough to hear their exchange. They stared in
bewilderment as Morgan grinned. With none of the weakness of a dying
man, he grabbed a handful of his wife’s curls and dragged her closer,

“You always were a quick student,
cailin alainn.
Never is a long time, but I’m willing to accept the challenge. Give me a
lifetime to teach you to love me again, and I’ll rest easy.”

His eyes closed, and she felt him slipping away.
Panicky, Faith cried, “I’ll not ever forgive you if you die on me,
Morgan de Lacy!”

Dark lashes lifted again, and a smile formed. “I
love you, Faith, and I’ll always love you from wherever I go. You
needn’t fear for me, lass. That’s all I need.”

Hot tears rolled down her face and splashed against
his chest as his eyes closed. As the men lifted Morgan from her arms,
Faith whispered for his ears alone, “I go whither thou goest, my love.
Keep that in mind.”

Miles grunted at the smile on his wayward client’s
face as he helped lift him into the wagon. It was the first time he had
ever seen a gunshot man go grinning into the next world.

The late-afternoon sun didn’t reach the
wine-velvet-draped room with its gilded trimmings, marbled mantel, and
luxuriously carpeted floor. Upholstery in gold brocade adorned heavily
carved walnut furniture. The crystal glass enclosing unlit lamps
shimmered when someone drew back a curtain. The light danced over the
ornate marquetry of a writing cabinet and glimmered along a baroque gilt
console table against the wall.

The bewigged gentleman in the wide chair beside the
mantel looked singularly at one with this richly garnished environment.
Deep eyes glared from a face adorned with the crevasses of time and the
carved angles of a beaked nose and square, obstinate chin. The thick
glossiness of his wine-colored coat and gold brocaded waistcoat seemed
chosen to match the interior of the chamber, but he appeared oblivious
of his own person as he studied the delicate female occupying the room’s
center.

The object of his attention wore her russet curls
pulled simply to the back of her head. Blue silk fitted to a sweetly
curved bosom enclosed in lavish lace. She stood with hands clasped in
front of her, silver eyes boldly returning his stare. “Your offer is
very welcome, my lord, and I thank you, but I cannot accept it.”

“Cannot accept it! You cannot refuse, you little
twit! The child will be named my son’s heir. He has a place in society
to uphold.” The man in the chair was slowly turning purple at this
obstacle to his plans.

“He will uphold it elsewhere, my lord,” Faith
insisted. “I cannot accept your hospitality and I will not leave my
child. It is unfortunate that our families were separated, and I would
heal the breach were it in my power, but not at the cost of my child’s
happiness. We will be returning to the colonies as soon as practicable.”

Mountjoy turned to another occupant of the room. “Tell her she can’t leave. Explain this the way women do.”

The slight woman on the only delicate piece of
furniture in the room smiled at her beleaguered granddaughter. “You are
quite right to wish your child’s happiness, my dear. I only wish I had
considered your mother’s more, and possibly none of this would have
happened. But what’s done is done. Can you not think of any circumstance
that might persuade you to find happiness here among us?”

The man leaning against the draped windows did not
need to see the rebellious look in Faith’s eyes to know what she was
thinking. Crossing his arms over his chest, wincing only a little at the
movement, he intruded for the first time in this argument. “Do you
really wish to number an Irish highwayman among your family? I think
not. Faith, you needn’t be polite with these people. They’ll not listen
to anything but their own wishes.”

Mountjoy pushed up from his chair, brandishing his
fist before falling back with a grimace of pain from his gouty foot. The
curse he emitted caused the woman in the corner to blanch, but Faith
only smiled at this almost- human reaction from the gargoyle she called
grandfather.

“Damn your moldering Irish hide to hell, de Lacy!” he roared. “Were it not for you, she’d be happy to stay here.”

The flash of fury in Faith’s eyes was easily
detected, but before she could reply, still another voice intruded. The
languid figure lounging across the settee lifted a hand of dismissal.
“Were it not for him, you’d have neither granddaughter nor heir. He took
the bullet meant for me. He took Faith in when no one else would. And
he is the father of young George, if you’ve not forgotten. I’d say you
were obliged to listen to the man.”

Mountjoy settled back into his chair, growling. “I still cannot believe Thomas—”

Edward spoke more sharply. “Believe it. Your
handsome nephew had the soul of Satan. Had he succeeded in removing me,
he would have hurried your demise too. And do you think he would have
allowed Faith to walk off with half the wealth? I cannot be sorry he
broke his fool neck falling from that horse. It saved us all a great
deal of trouble.”

While this argument continued and drew attention
away. Faith allowed her shoulders to slump wearily. Before she could
give in to despair at the bickering, Morgan arrived at her side,
strengthening her with his arm, leading her to a seat near her
grandmother. Lady Carlisle sent him a grateful look and patted her
granddaughter’s hand comfortingly.

“They do this all the time, my dear. It is their way
of showing affection, I suppose. They cannot live together, but they
cannot live apart either. They really are not very bad men, just
thoughtless. Can you ever see it in your heart to forgive them?”

Faith offered Lady Carlisle a weary smile. Of all
the people she had met since returning to London, this woman was the
warmest and most honest. She would be delighted to keep her company and
claim her as family if it were not for the querulous Montagues. In the
weeks of their voyage, she had learned to admire Edward’s intelligence
and feel sympathy for his lonely state, but he was not the kind of man
one warmed to. And his father... She shook her head and returned her
attention to the loud voices on the other side of the room.

“So he’s an earl! Why should I waste good money on
some Irish bog just so he can call himself lord? By Jove, Edward, I
think you’ve lost your wits this time. Did you not hear him say it? He’s
a blamed highwayman! Let him go back to the colonies and raise his
bloody horses. There’s nothing but thieves and doxies there anyway.”

Faith drew a scandalized breath, but once more
Edward overrode her fury. “In that case, I think I’ll buy some land over
there myself. I was quite struck by the fertility of the soil. There’s a
fortune to be made in the colonies. You won’t object should I take an
extended leave to see the property properly placed into production?”

“Bigawd, and where do you think you’ll get the funds from? You’ll not see a single cent until I’m dead!”

Edward buffed his nails against his coat and admired
them. “Oh, I think I shall be quite all right in that. Gambling is
rather a boring pastime, really, but when the proceeds are invested
wisely... It’s quite amazing what one can do. Morgan, we’ve talked of
this before. Do you not think I have sufficient to adequately establish a
plantation?”