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He fixed his stare on the wall opposite, remembering long-ago meals. The arguments and screaming matches. The angry weeping and the cold brittle silences. If events had not sprung him from the death spiral of his marriage, would he have simply snapped? Ended it his way?
He told himself it would never have gone that far. But in the darkest watches of the night, the doubts surfaced. And he couldn’t be sure.
In the end, Charlotte hadn’t been sure either. Which is probably why she did what she did.
“Don’t you see?” he urged. “It’s in me now. The brutality’s a part of me. I can’t rid myself of what I know. What I’ve done.”
“Then embrace it,” she answered softly, bringing a hand up as if she wanted to catch him to her. Stopped before her fingers brushed his cheek.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that for good or ill, this is who you are now. There’s no going back. But you decide what you do with this knowledge. Not them.”
“And that’s supposed to make everything better?”
“Not better,” Morgan conceded. “But you did what you had to, to survive.”
“Perhaps. But as it turns out, there are far worse things than death.”
The map of London had long since dissolved into a wavy jumble of lines and squiggles. Names and numbers. But Morgan kept at it. Waiting for that instantaneous spark that would let her know what Doran was up to. Why he’d escaped to the city.
Cam had left her at it hours earlier. Mumbled something about going out, a swift bark of an order to stay put just before he slammed the front door. No doubt, he thought she’d disobey. But no. Two weeks was their agreement. And for two weeks, she could bite her tongue.
It was just as well. A dull ache pressed at the base of her skull, the drone of mage energy saturating the air, penetrating the earth. It pushed upon her from all sides, making it nearly impossible to concentrate. She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. Wished she were back on Skye. Climbing the peaks around Dunsgathaic. Watching the roll of breakers, smashing against the cliffs with the force of thousands of miles of ocean behind them. Not so many people. Not so many warring magics shouting in her head.
“’Tis all right, Susan, I promise. I’ll just pop in and say good afternoon.”
A voice in the hall—but not Cam’s. A stranger. Though one comfortable with the household if he knew the housekeeper by name.
Morgan swung around as the study door opened. A man stood on the threshold, dwarfing the doorway with his stature, the perfection of his features enhanced by the somber cut of his clothes, his dark hair pulled back in a soldier’s queue. Even among the dazzling good looks of her brothers and cousins, this man would stand out. And tower over.
Ducking to enter the room, he laughed at the expression she must have shown. “I owe it all to a simple diet of bannocks and mutton stew. And a wee dram of whiskey before bed.”
She shook off her surprise. Stepped forward, seeking to turn off the charm before he started. She wasn’t in the mood for gallantry. “I’m Morgan Bligh—forgive me, Sinclair. The colonel and I just wed.”
“Did ye, now?” He surveyed her, frank admiration in his gaze, and a slow knowing smile lit his gray eyes. “Cam’s mystery redhead,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry?”
He offered her his hand. “Captain Brodie MacKay. The roguish best friend. And if ye were able to drag Cam back to the altar, you’ve got a will of steel.” His eyes narrowed, more to his glittering gaze than boyish charm. His grip upon her hand tightened. “But I’m thinking mayhap it’s all a hum. And you and Cam aren’t quite as shackled as ye say.”
She pulled away, aware of the heat that spread up her neck. Burned her cheeks. How the hell had he guessed? And now what was she going to do?
Faced with this formidable Highland giant in front of her, she wasn’t sure, though the same storm-cloud intensity of his stare that unnerved her, also dared her to call his bluff. Mayhap she’d reveal the truth. See what happened. “You’re right. I’m Morgan Bligh. Sinclair and I are…traveling together.” Let him make of that what he wanted.
“Captain MacKay. You’ve gone and frightened the young lady,” Susan scolded from the doorway.
Morgan jumped. Prayed Susan hadn’t overheard.
But she bustled in with a tea-laden tray and scones fresh from the oven, seemingly unaware of Morgan’s confession.
Brodie scooped up a scone as she passed. “Do ye think so? Somehow, I dinna think this young lady frightens very easily.” He caught Morgan’s eye. “Or am I wrong?”
She squared her shoulders, a sly smile curving her lips. “You’ve been correct on every count. Are you a gambling man?”
He offered her a teasing smile. “Me? I only wager what I can afford to lose, which makes me a very dull boy since I’ve barely a feather to fly with.” He crossed to the table, grabbing a second scone.
Susan stood back, hands on hips. “Now, don’t go running yourself down, Captain. Riches aren’t everything in this world. You’re as respectable as the next.” She slapped his hand away before he could take a third. “You eat them up so fast, you won’t even taste them.”
