He smiled a little, his spirits lifting.
Mayhap he was falling in love? Morgan quelled the mad notion at once. He assured himself he was merely desperate to snatch up the first crumbs of kindness any woman tossed him. He felt a tic of irritation tug at his cheek and wrenched his hungry gaze from Kate. From then on, he gazed steadfastly ahead.
“D OWN YOU COME , F AEILEAN .”
Hands on Morgan’s shoulders to steady herself, Kate leaned into him as he lowered her to the ground. He did not immediately release his grip on her waist. He steadied her against his chest, and she felt the butter-soft velvet of his doublet beneath her palms. Then the mare jostled them and restored reality, and Morgan set her down.
“I’ll lead you over to the rocks. I’m sure you’d prefer to sit, whilst I ready the bird.”
Kate had all but forgotten about the hawking. She felt breathless from the moment she was in Morgan’s arms. “Aye,” she agreed, wishing she might amend the word when his hand released her waist. He took her hand instead and guided her to a large boulder where she might perch out of the way.
She reached out and felt warm stone beneath her fingers. It felt delicious to sit under the blessed warmth of the sun; it seemed she had been so cold for so long. Despite the pleasure of the outing, she discovered she missed Morgan’s company when he left to ready his falcon.
Kate heard him secure the horses nearby. Then a faint, harsh scream raised gooseflesh on her arms.
“I call her ‘Ironbreaker,’ “ Morgan said. Kate realized he referred to his bird. “She broke free of the manacles her former owner kept her in. Not once, but twice. The second time, I found her on my property, suffering from abrasions and a broken wing. When the owner turned up to claim her, I sent the brute packing. She’s a devil, this bird. I wager it makes her a proper Trelane.”
“Nay,” Kate protested. She heard the gyrfalcon scrabbling for a hold on his leather glove, and imagined its proud, fierce glare swiveling in her direction when she spoke. Mayhap the bird was blinded by a hood, unable to see her, yet she sensed its presence strongly.
“You’re no devil,” she added, for Morgan’s sake. Though he was silent, she knew he heard what she said. “No devil would care few a complete stranger as you have me.”
Still, Morgan did not reply. Instead he turned to concentrate upon the day’s hunting. He did not trust himself to respond to Kate’s observation. There was no true generosity in his heart, he knew — merely selfishness. The same selfishness kept him from searching too urgently for Kate’s family or her true identity. He wanted her here, with him. Heaven curse him for his actions, but he could not bear to let her go. Not yet.
He spotted his quarry: a brace of red grouse in a nearby copse. He signaled Ironbreaker with a high-pitched whistle and tore the hood from her head. The magnificent predator let out a shrill cry as she rose from his hand and unfurled her golden-buff wings. True as an arrow, the gyrfalcon soared toward the sun, higher and higher in a dizzying spiral, until she gazed down upon her hapless prey.
Morgan watched with mixed emotions. Usually the hunt exhilarated him, entertained his mind long enough for him to avoid any more painful forages into his memory. This time, he was distracted. His gaze slid from the bird to Kate seated nearby, her skirts spread out over the mossy rock in a violet pool. She held her face to the sky as if she watched the hunt in progress. A smile danced upon her lips. Damme those lips. They haunted him day and night. As he already well knew, they were red as snow berries and twice as sweet …
High above them, Ironbreaker let out a triumphant scream. Morgan saw Kate shiver at the sound. He did not know her spasm of fear issued not from the sound itself, but rather from the sudden memory it evoked.
A man’s agonized face flashed before Kate’s mind. She saw his hands
Mayhap he was falling in love? Morgan quelled the mad notion at once. He assured himself he was merely desperate to snatch up the first crumbs of kindness any woman tossed him. He felt a tic of irritation tug at his cheek and wrenched his hungry gaze from Kate. From then on, he gazed steadfastly ahead.
“D OWN YOU COME , F AEILEAN .”
Hands on Morgan’s shoulders to steady herself, Kate leaned into him as he lowered her to the ground. He did not immediately release his grip on her waist. He steadied her against his chest, and she felt the butter-soft velvet of his doublet beneath her palms. Then the mare jostled them and restored reality, and Morgan set her down.
“I’ll lead you over to the rocks. I’m sure you’d prefer to sit, whilst I ready the bird.”
Kate had all but forgotten about the hawking. She felt breathless from the moment she was in Morgan’s arms. “Aye,” she agreed, wishing she might amend the word when his hand released her waist. He took her hand instead and guided her to a large boulder where she might perch out of the way.
She reached out and felt warm stone beneath her fingers. It felt delicious to sit under the blessed warmth of the sun; it seemed she had been so cold for so long. Despite the pleasure of the outing, she discovered she missed Morgan’s company when he left to ready his falcon.
Kate heard him secure the horses nearby. Then a faint, harsh scream raised gooseflesh on her arms.
“I call her ‘Ironbreaker,’ “ Morgan said. Kate realized he referred to his bird. “She broke free of the manacles her former owner kept her in. Not once, but twice. The second time, I found her on my property, suffering from abrasions and a broken wing. When the owner turned up to claim her, I sent the brute packing. She’s a devil, this bird. I wager it makes her a proper Trelane.”
“Nay,” Kate protested. She heard the gyrfalcon scrabbling for a hold on his leather glove, and imagined its proud, fierce glare swiveling in her direction when she spoke. Mayhap the bird was blinded by a hood, unable to see her, yet she sensed its presence strongly.
“You’re no devil,” she added, for Morgan’s sake. Though he was silent, she knew he heard what she said. “No devil would care few a complete stranger as you have me.”
Still, Morgan did not reply. Instead he turned to concentrate upon the day’s hunting. He did not trust himself to respond to Kate’s observation. There was no true generosity in his heart, he knew — merely selfishness. The same selfishness kept him from searching too urgently for Kate’s family or her true identity. He wanted her here, with him. Heaven curse him for his actions, but he could not bear to let her go. Not yet.
He spotted his quarry: a brace of red grouse in a nearby copse. He signaled Ironbreaker with a high-pitched whistle and tore the hood from her head. The magnificent predator let out a shrill cry as she rose from his hand and unfurled her golden-buff wings. True as an arrow, the gyrfalcon soared toward the sun, higher and higher in a dizzying spiral, until she gazed down upon her hapless prey.
Morgan watched with mixed emotions. Usually the hunt exhilarated him, entertained his mind long enough for him to avoid any more painful forages into his memory. This time, he was distracted. His gaze slid from the bird to Kate seated nearby, her skirts spread out over the mossy rock in a violet pool. She held her face to the sky as if she watched the hunt in progress. A smile danced upon her lips. Damme those lips. They haunted him day and night. As he already well knew, they were red as snow berries and twice as sweet …
High above them, Ironbreaker let out a triumphant scream. Morgan saw Kate shiver at the sound. He did not know her spasm of fear issued not from the sound itself, but rather from the sudden memory it evoked.
A man’s agonized face flashed before Kate’s mind. She saw his hands
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