Lord of the Isle by Elizabeth Mayne Page B

again? He wasn’t certain his apology had reached her. He bit down on his tongue, holding all those doubts inside him.
    She left the bedchamber, and was gone way too long to suit him. “Did you find it?”
    “No.” Morgana called back through the open door. “The lights have all died out. I can’t see a thing. Where is the sideboard? On my left or on my right?”
    How am I supposed to know that? Hugh wondered.

Chapter Seven
    “T ell me—” Hugh caught hold of the door frame, needing its support “—do you think that I can actually see through walls, woman?”
    Morgana yelped, so startled by the proximity of Hugh’s voice in the dark that she dropped the decanter. The crystal crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces. Pungent liquor perfumed the heavy air.
    “Oh, no!” Morgana gasped. “Look what you made me do! How could you sneak up on me like that? I’ve broken the crystal to pieces!”
    “Lady,” Hugh grumbled as he caught her waist, staying her from bending down to pick up the broken pieces, “you are the only person I’ve ever met who could accuse me of sneaking up on them. I haven’t a quiet bone in this great, uselessly huge body of mine. Whew!”
    Hugh turned his nose away from the spreading stench of potent whiskey, lifting Morgana clear of the path of glass. “Come with me. We can’t stay here breathing these fumes. We’ll both expire in it. I’ll send a servant to mop up the mess.”
    “But I can’t just leave it,” Morgana protested. “I made the mess, and I’m certainly big enough to clean it up.”
    “Nonsense!” Hugh dismissed her concern. “I won’t have cut fingers added to your catalog of injuries. Enough is enough, lady.”
    Hugh O’Neill, Morgana was rapidly learning, was one very determined and stubborn man. His grip around her waist was as sure and steely as it had been when she dangled from one hand over the rocks and the lake. He marched in the direction of the bartizan stairwell, carting her like a sack of grain slung across his hip. “Where are you taking me?”
    “Upstairs,” Hugh answered. He set her on her feet on the steep, winding steps. From the topmost floor, the resounding chimes of his clockwork marking the hour of midnight echoed down the cylindrical bartizan.
    He paused at the landing to take a key from a pocket in his doublet, unlock a door and open it. Morgana peered around his shoulder into the cavernous dark chamber. Two dim and smoky oil lamps that were suspended from crossbeam rafters provided the smallest amount of light necessary to make out the chamber’s details.
    Hugh slipped his hand behind her back, gently nudging her over the threshold into the room.
    “Why are you taking me here?” Morgana asked. The chamber was fitted out for only one use, sleeping. A monstrously huge bed dominated it.
    “Do you hear the clock?”
    “Yes,” Morgana replied.
    “It’s midnight. It’s time we both went to sleep.”
    “But there’s a perfectly good bed already made up for me, downstairs.”
    “Aye, and you just spilled a whole bottle of whiskey in the anteroom. I’d have to wake the house to have the room cleaned and aired. To tell you the truth, Morgana of Kildare, I doubt if I could close my eyes the whole night long if I allowed you beyond the hearing distance of my ears. So, for my own peace of mind, I’ve decided you’re going to sleep right here with me.”
    “Sleep with you?” Morgana sputtered. “I will not!”
    “Aye, you will.” Hugh stepped across the threshold and closed the door. He stuck his key in the lock and turned it.Pocketing the key once more, he dusted off his hands as if to say, That settles that.
    Morgana glared heatedly at him. “I am not going to sleep in this chamber.”
    “Oh, yes, you are.” He put his fists to his hips, matching her scowl and towering temper.
    Morgana sucked in her breath. “I don’t believe this! You just said, not one quarter hour ago, that you wouldn’t harm me in any way. Now