on the very day you want to be there. No questions asked. We will just go. You and I. All right? Will you accept my word on that?”
Her head moved ever so softly under his hand.
“Is that aye?” Hugh asked, resting against the cold stone wall.
“Yes,” Morgana whispered.
“All right.” Hugh accepted that as answer enough. He wrapped both his arms around her and held her, asking for nothing more from her.
Some while later, the chill of the stone wall at Hugh’s back roused him to the discomfort of stiffening, pressurenumb limbs. Morgana’s breathing was as even and effortless as a sleeping kitten’s.
“I’m not asleep,” she told him.
“You were,” Hugh said, challengingly.
“No. I’ve been thinking, that’s all.”
“Thinking? Next you’ll tell me I was snoring.”
“You weren’t. You’ve just been very quiet, waiting for me to say something.”
“I told you. You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“I must be at Dunluce by high tide on May the tenth. Grace O’Malley is going to meet me at the Mac Donnell’s stronghold.”
“I see.” Hugh took a deep breath, filling his lungs at the same time he told his numb legs to go back to sleep. She was a tall, full-bodied, flesh-and-blood woman, no sylph.
“Dunluce is twenty leagues north,” Hugh continued. “I could ride that in a day, if pressed. We will leave Dungannon on the seventh, if that suits you. With you riding with me, I can afford to make a more leisurely progress. If it suitsyou, I’ll have Susana’s seamstress make you clothes for the journey—a new riding habit and gowns, to impress Sorely Mac Donnell. He’s a right terror of a Scotsman, and deserving of his title of the laird of the Far Isles. He’s been at war with England personally for fifty-eight years, and his rebellion has cost him two sons and three wives. He’s a good example of how not to rule one’s lands. I didn’t know he was friends with Grace O’Malley.”
“They aren’t friends. O’Malley trades with him,” Morgana explained. “I think I’d better get up now. My legs have gone to sleep.”
“Oh, Morgana, what am I going to do with you?” Hugh said, more for himself than for her. He shook his head and let his arms drop. A moment passed before she moved off his lap. The rush of blood to his ankles was absolute agony. He didn’t so much as breathe. She sat beside him, stretching her legs out, bending at the waist to reach down to her feet and rub them.
“I don’t think I can stand up.”
“That makes two of us,” Hugh admitted, gnashing his teeth. “Just wait. It will pass.”
Morgana sat very, very still, grimacing when the needle-and-pins sensation peaked. “Sweet Saint Brigit,” she gasped.
“I second that.”
Hugh rubbed his knees hard with his hands, but didn’t dare press farther down, toward his deadened feet. He cast a longing glance across the room to the guttering candles on the gateleg table. A half-full bottle of wine enticed him to try getting onto his feet. There was whiskey in the solar, if he could drag his useless legs that far and snare the decanter off the sideboard.
“Would you like something really strong to drink? Something that will blot out everything else? I would.”
“What would that be?” Morgana asked.
“Whiskey,” Hugh said grimly. “It’s in the solar. My legs are rubber. I can’t get them to work.” He could feel nothing from his knees down. Nothing.
“I’ll get the bottle.” Morgana managed to stagger to her feet. They felt very peculiar, hot and numb at the same time, but she could stand. Hugh’s sort of collapsed, even though he was only picking one leg up, behind the knee. “Don’t. I’ve heard of people breaking bones when they tried to walk on sleeping limbs. I’ll bring the bottle to you.”
Hugh didn’t want her to step out of his sight. That was the trouble. How was he going to sleep, if he had to watch her day and night? What if she got it into her head to jump
Her head moved ever so softly under his hand.
“Is that aye?” Hugh asked, resting against the cold stone wall.
“Yes,” Morgana whispered.
“All right.” Hugh accepted that as answer enough. He wrapped both his arms around her and held her, asking for nothing more from her.
Some while later, the chill of the stone wall at Hugh’s back roused him to the discomfort of stiffening, pressurenumb limbs. Morgana’s breathing was as even and effortless as a sleeping kitten’s.
“I’m not asleep,” she told him.
“You were,” Hugh said, challengingly.
“No. I’ve been thinking, that’s all.”
“Thinking? Next you’ll tell me I was snoring.”
“You weren’t. You’ve just been very quiet, waiting for me to say something.”
“I told you. You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“I must be at Dunluce by high tide on May the tenth. Grace O’Malley is going to meet me at the Mac Donnell’s stronghold.”
“I see.” Hugh took a deep breath, filling his lungs at the same time he told his numb legs to go back to sleep. She was a tall, full-bodied, flesh-and-blood woman, no sylph.
“Dunluce is twenty leagues north,” Hugh continued. “I could ride that in a day, if pressed. We will leave Dungannon on the seventh, if that suits you. With you riding with me, I can afford to make a more leisurely progress. If it suitsyou, I’ll have Susana’s seamstress make you clothes for the journey—a new riding habit and gowns, to impress Sorely Mac Donnell. He’s a right terror of a Scotsman, and deserving of his title of the laird of the Far Isles. He’s been at war with England personally for fifty-eight years, and his rebellion has cost him two sons and three wives. He’s a good example of how not to rule one’s lands. I didn’t know he was friends with Grace O’Malley.”
“They aren’t friends. O’Malley trades with him,” Morgana explained. “I think I’d better get up now. My legs have gone to sleep.”
“Oh, Morgana, what am I going to do with you?” Hugh said, more for himself than for her. He shook his head and let his arms drop. A moment passed before she moved off his lap. The rush of blood to his ankles was absolute agony. He didn’t so much as breathe. She sat beside him, stretching her legs out, bending at the waist to reach down to her feet and rub them.
“I don’t think I can stand up.”
“That makes two of us,” Hugh admitted, gnashing his teeth. “Just wait. It will pass.”
Morgana sat very, very still, grimacing when the needle-and-pins sensation peaked. “Sweet Saint Brigit,” she gasped.
“I second that.”
Hugh rubbed his knees hard with his hands, but didn’t dare press farther down, toward his deadened feet. He cast a longing glance across the room to the guttering candles on the gateleg table. A half-full bottle of wine enticed him to try getting onto his feet. There was whiskey in the solar, if he could drag his useless legs that far and snare the decanter off the sideboard.
“Would you like something really strong to drink? Something that will blot out everything else? I would.”
“What would that be?” Morgana asked.
“Whiskey,” Hugh said grimly. “It’s in the solar. My legs are rubber. I can’t get them to work.” He could feel nothing from his knees down. Nothing.
“I’ll get the bottle.” Morgana managed to stagger to her feet. They felt very peculiar, hot and numb at the same time, but she could stand. Hugh’s sort of collapsed, even though he was only picking one leg up, behind the knee. “Don’t. I’ve heard of people breaking bones when they tried to walk on sleeping limbs. I’ll bring the bottle to you.”
Hugh didn’t want her to step out of his sight. That was the trouble. How was he going to sleep, if he had to watch her day and night? What if she got it into her head to jump
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