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She’d live.
Cam lay inches away, so close she felt the warmth of his breath, saw the stubbled angle of his jaw. Asleep, he lost the predator watchfulness. Became for a few moments the boy on the loch, racing the geese. Enjoying the swift freedom of the wild birds. Wishing for that same independence to follow the pull of the spirit.
Reaching out a tentative hand, she traced the dark brows over the deep-set eyes, the long bones of his cheeks, and the sensual curve of his mouth. Felt the familiar tug at her heart that every moment in his presence created within her. A tug that frightened her with all it promised. With all that might be lost.
She leaned forward, daring to brush her lips against his.
His mouth opened beneath hers, his tongue dipping within to taste, then devour. His eyes flicked open, the frozen blue of his stare at once both wary and excited.
“You’re awake,” she accused, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Embarrassed as if he’d caught her at something forbidden.
He answered with a sly smile. “I am now, but I have to say that’s not how I expected to be roused.”
The night’s events rushed into her like air to a vacuum. What the hell was she doing simply lying here? Letting the stirring of her body drag her away from her purpose. She fought to sit up. “Susan and Amos…the man…”
Cam’s smile vanished, the warrior once again. The only remnants of his earlier brilliance, the gleam of his boots, the muscle-sculpting cavalry breeches. Fatigue and worry shrouded his gaze. Rage overlying all. It radiated off him like heat from a stone. “Taken care of.”
Swinging his legs over the bed, he ploughed a hand through his hair. Scrubbed his face to wake himself up. When next he met her eyes, his gaze held the power to scorch. “Do you know how frightened I was to come home to that…to you…” His jaw hardened to the point she thought she heard his teeth grinding. “Damn it, Morgan. I should never have left you alone.”
And she understood. His rage wasn’t directed at her. “I’m all right.”
Her words never sank past his own self-guilt. “You don’t understand. I could have lost you. It could just as easily have been you lying down there.”
“But it wasn’t, Cam.”
She pushed out of the blankets. Rolled up on her knees, letting the light-headedness pass. She dropped her eyes. Fumbled with the bedclothes. “I don’t fear death. Or battle.”
He took her by the shoulders, careful to avoid her arm, but still with an iron grip. “What do you fear, Morgan?”
She met his hard gaze unflinching, knowing that what Cam asked moved beyond tonight’s attack. “I fear imprisonment. The gilded cage that traps all women if they let it. I yearn for a greater life than bearing children and waiting on my husband’s attentions as a hound waits upon the word of his master.”
He laughed, though the warmth of it never reached his eyes. “You have a jaded view of marriage if that’s all you see when you look upon it.”
“And can you tell me it’s otherwise? You who hid from your marriage first in war and then in a mistress’s bed.” She refused to look away, though her eyes burned, and the throbbing in her arm seemed to move to her heart. “You’re right. I have seen another kind of marriage. One where love outweighs all else. My cousin found it. And did I see even half a hope of that kind of love, I might risk the trap.”
“And you don’t?”
Her lips curved in a sad smile. “You yearn for freedom. A life without fetters of any kind. I’ve seen it.” Her gaze dropped to the cross around his neck. “And know it’s true.”
He saw where her eyes rested. Fisted his hand over the cro
ss as if warding her off. “What have you seen?” His grip on the cross tightened until the knuckles turned white. “What have you seen? Did you scry my stone? Is that it? When? When did you do it?”
She remained silent, too weary to fight. Too confused to argue.
He leaned in, his body rigid as if he held his temper by the merest thread. “Bloody hell, Morgan. You haven’t answered my questions.”
His rage was now directed squarely at her. He seethed with it. And like a match to dry tinder, intimacy burned away, leaving naught but ash. “No, but you’ve answered mine.”
Cam lay in his bed, one hand behind his head, one fingering his necklace. His first thought had been for whiskey. His second to seek out Rastus and end the traitor’s life. Both impossible. And so he’d been left to stare into the black corners of his room. Feel the oppressive crush of memories. Imagine Morgan’s sickened reaction to seeing his deeds played out before her. Conjured from his cross just as she’d conjured the memories of Traverse at the standing stones.
He’d played a part in so many killings. So much death. The creature inside him thrilling in the hunt. Glorying in the power that came from being feared.
And the Serpent Brigade had been feared.
Almost as much by the English army as the French. Their reputation for cold-blooded brutality mixed with the secrecy and special nature of their missions made them outcasts among the ranks and pariahs among the officers.
He hadn’t cared at first. In fact, he’d enjoyed the independence of his position. Part of the lure of the brigade. A group of select men with their own rules. Their own standards. It had only been later he’d realized the cost of such freedom.
