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And now Morgan knew it too.
She’d been right to keep her distance. Hadn’t the general come right out and said what Cam had only suspected? That the brigade had been a collection of criminals and madmen? So where did that leave him?
He closed his eyes, knowing sleep wouldn’t come easily. Disgust soured his stomach. Rose in his throat like bile. Lifting his hands, he studied the calloused palms. The strength in the long fingers. Morgan had witnessed all these hands had done in the name of war. Had used her magic to steal his memories for herself. Betrayed his trust by taking from him a time he wished only to forget. She’d watched the murders he’d committed. Some deserved. Some not. He could imagine her horror—her loathing. Was it any wonder she cringed at giving herself up to him? He was as much a beast as the man tonight. A hired gun. A natural-born killer.
The dead man’s face swam into view alongside so many others. But this time Cam recognized him. His features clicked into place like so many puzzle pieces.
Devonshire. Outside Ensign Traverse’s house.
The scarlet-jacketed officer.
That connection made, another leapt forward. Stunning him with its implications. Bringing a sheen of cold sweat to his body.
The man at his uncle’s house with Euna. The man at the Abercrombies’ tonight. He’d been the bawdy drunkard at Mrs. Cabot’s brothel.
A coincidence? No. Cam didn’t believe in coincidence.
Doran had upped the ante. He didn’t just seek to destroy Cam and Morgan. He looked to destroy any and all around them.
That Cam would not let stand.
He’d bring this fight to Doran. Take his chances against the goddess blade. And immortal or not, if success should be his that day, he’d stick to his plans.
Finish this last mission and retire to Strathconon.
Alone.
Unable to sleep, Morgan found her way to the kitchens. Thankfully, unscarred by the attack and still neat as a pin. Just as Susan had left them.
Daggerfell’s kitchens had always held the power to soothe, and many an hour she’d spent with Cook, her arms to her elbows covered in flour. Or pounding dough as if she practiced in the tiltyard.
A cup of tea and a buttered roll later and she’d managed to eat away the worst of her guilt. Cam had been right to be angry. She should never have ventured to scry his cross. To delve into thoughts and memories not freely offered. It had been a break of faith. A lapse in honor.
So what had prompted her to go against her better judgment? Risk his wrath? Had she done it to convince herself of the Cam she knew? The conniving, lying aristocrat who’d tempted her with everything and brought her nothing but pain and humiliation.
Perhaps in part.
But what she’d found had only confused her. Instead of a scion of an ancient house who wielded his wealth and position with the cutting strength of a blade, she’d seen a boy as wild as the Highland mountains. Wanting only to fly from his responsibilities. To feel the wicked pleasure of freedom. A boy who’d become a man. Crushed within a loveless marriage. Trapped by duty and family. And later by war and the guilt that followed.
She swirled the cold tea around and around in her mug.
Was it wrong of Morgan to need surety in a mate? To have no what-ifs before she took a step that could end the life she’d carved for herself? Was that kind of confidence in her decision an impossibility? Did anyone truly know the future before they pledged themselves? The questions hurricaned through her head. If nothing else, taking her mind from the biting sting in her arm.
Her cousin Conor had wed with the belief that he’d not see another dawn. His bride, Ellery, had agreed with the understanding she’d be a widow within hours—days at most. And yet they’d ignored the future they’d seen and taken that final step. Found a treasure beyond price if the lovesick way they looked on each other was any indication.
Cam too might be facing such a fate, though Morgan refused to believe it. To imagine Cam struck down would only undermine energy best used for fighting Doran. She’d ignore the niggling fear. Concentrate on what she could change. Not what lay outside her power.
Love isn’t a chain. It’s our greatest strength.
The thought once within her head couldn’t be shaken. Where had she heard such before? Gram? Uncle Owen? It sounded like both of them and yet she was almost sure neither one had ever said such a thing to her.
But the words remained. The force of the truth undeniable.
And with a flash of insight that burned away all else, she knew what she needed to do.
Chapter 26
Cam came awake to the snick of a turning lock. A rush of cool air from the hallway.
