AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Morgan’s shoulders slumped.
“But”—Andraste lifted a finger—“we will do all we can to aid this young man. You have my word.”
“Thank you.” Morgan bowed her head. Sent a silent I did my best to Cam. Hoped wherever he was, he heard it.
“You have a visitor.” Gram’s voice stirred Morgan from a doze. Sent a tingle of anticipation through her weighted limbs. He’d come.
But it wasn’t Cam that peeked a shy head around the door.
White-knuckled hands squeezing her purse, a shawl draped across her thin shoulders, Euna Sinclair took a seat beside Morgan’s bed. Offered a shy smile. “They told me you weren’t at home to visitors, but I insisted.” She bit her lip. Dropped her gaze to her lap. “I never said thank you for saving me. I only wish Captain…” Her words died away.
Morgan still felt the sting of failure at Brodie’s disappearance. What must he be feeling—thinking? “Have you heard from him?”
Euna lifted her head and the sorrow and sleepless nights were visible in the flat blue of her eyes. “Uncle Josh inquired. A man resembling Brodie took ship for the continent. But nothing more’s been heard.”
“He’s alive, Euna. At least we know that much.”
“Does he see it that way? Or does he see what they did to him as simply a living death?” Bitterness stung Euna’s words. Then her chin firmed, her shoulders squared. “Forget I spoke. He is alive. Somewhere. I can live with that.”
Was there more than concern for a foster brother in Euna’s tone? Had there been feelings between Brodie and Cam’s sister severed by Neuvarvaan’s killer stroke?
Morgan reached for Euna’s hand. Squeezed it, worried at the fragile press of bones beneath the skin. “But how are you? Truly?”
Euna’s courageous smile reassured Morgan. The young woman was tougher than she looked. “Uncle Josh and Aunt Sylvie have been dears. They worry over…I mean, what husband wants…” She pressed a hand to her breast. “If I dress in the dark, I don’t see…”
Morgan fought to sit up, ignoring the spinning room, the woozy light-headedness. As an Undying, Brodie was lost to them all. And Traverse had no guarantee he’d ever regain his youth. But Euna…here was someone she could help. Or at least her grandmother could.
“Do you trust me?”
Euna tilted her head, her brows furrowed in question. “Of course.”
“Gram?” Morgan called out, knowing her grandmother remained close by. “There’s someone here I’d like you to meet.”
Alone once again, Morgan waited for Cam to come to her. And waited.
Then followed a day and a night and a day of unanswered questions, awkward silences, and sidelong worried glances when they thought she wasn’t looking.
To be honest after the first few days, she hadn’t tried over-hard to discover the truth of Cam’s defection. It was enough to know that he’d abandoned her, his promises as worthless now as they’d been last year.
She worked at furious. Not hard to do through frustrating days of lying flat on her back. Longer maddening weeks when the shortest walk could bring tears to her eyes and a spinning dizziness that sent her reeling like a drunk for the nearest chair.
She’d been a fool. A fool twice over, which made it worse. She’d fallen for the lost little boy and been blindsided by the rotten bastard of a man. In the end, all he’d really wanted was a good lay and she’d given it to him. Repeatedly.
Well, to hell with him.
She didn’t need him. Didn’t want him. Couldn’t care less where he was or what he was doing.
The anger burned bright and hard in her heart, squashing out the teeny voice that said he needed her still. That his words had been truth. His final actions that of a man who’d been pushed to the edge and over. Who ran from her in a vain effort to outrun a past he could no longer deny.
It was only in her sleep she dared to remember. When her dreams brought her visions of a windswept barren landscape, an isolated farmstead, and a quiet firelit room. His face swam before her, grief and loneliness clouding his gaze, and she ached for the calloused touch of his hand on her skin, the teasing heat of his kisses. Those nights she woke shaking with dry, wracking sobs, her throat tight, her eyes hot with unshed tears.
Autumn passed beyond her bedchamber window, Daggerfell’s woods a vibrant collage of scarlet and orange, yellow and gold. Friends and family came and went. Books read. Letters written. The little moments of life pieced together into a Cam-less existence.
The first snow fell. Heavy, wet flakes whispering in the lanes, blanketing the gardens. Morgan spent the day tramping the fields. Watching the icy hiss of white slant out across the Channel. Her lungs burned with use and the frozen air, her hands went numb in her gloves, her hair frosted white before she turned her steps toward home. Creeping to the quiet of her room, she collided head-on with her grandmother.
She motioned for Morgan to sit. “Myrgh-wynn—my granddaughter, we need to speak, you and I.”
One look at the determined glint in Gram’s eyes and Morgan squared her shoulders for the argument to come. “I wondered when you’d apply the thumbscrews.”
