MORGAN
CHAPTER FIVE
On a clear and sunny morrow, Morgan loaded provisions into a wagon, for Hawisia’s daily trip to the hovels. Resolved to spend time with his bride, to become better acquainted with her, he took an active interest in her schedule, as his permitted. Given Arucard’s reluctance to hear Morgan’s ideas on farming techniques, he preferred his bride’s company to the frustration of Arucard’s.
“Morgan, I have packed a delicious meal for you and Hawisia.” Isolde carried a bundle, which she passed to him. “There is a beauteous view of the ocean from the top of the hill, just south of the main road to Chichester. Do you know it?”
“Aye.” He tied the parcel to the saddle of his destrier. “What of it?”
“It is a perfect place to stop for a respite with Hawisia, whither you can share the food and conversation.” Then she stepped closer. In a low voice, she said, “And it is private, as must needs for connubial games.”
“Really?” He gave vent to a snort of mirth but quickly sobered, given her stern expression. Still, he would have never imagined Arucard engaging in such salacious behavior. “I get your meaning, Isolde, and I am grateful for your counsel.”
“And have Hawisia ride with you, as opposed to aboard the wagon, as it will foster intimacy for your outing.” She glanced at his bride and frowned. “I know not wherefore she resists your overtures, but your lady nurses deep wounds, which she has yet to share with me.”
“I am equally perplexed, as I have tried everything I can think of, yet nothing yields the usual results.” He shook his head. “Although I admire her strength, she wields it against me as a most vicious weapon, but I will not surrender the fight, as I am just as stubborn.”
And he had a new motivation, which he suspected with shock even Isolde, because somewhere in the process of wooing his wife, Morgan developed an attachment to her, and no one was more surprised than him. Yet Hawisia remained indifferent, and her lack of enthusiasm hurt him more than he was willing to admit to himself or anyone else.
In some respects, it was as though his childhood played out, all over again, and he found himself aboard another coach, bound for a place he dreaded. But he was no longer a boy, and the man could wage battle for that which he desired. And he wanted Hawisia to love him.
“My lord, are you sure you wish to accompany me to the hovels?” Ah, his lady appeared in the courtyard. Garbed in a kirtle and cotehardie of deep burgundy, the color emphasized her light amber hair, which was neither blonde nor dark brown, and shimmered in the sun. “Because I am accustomed to making my visits alone or with Isolde, and I have no need of your escort.”
“But I have a need to spend some time with my beauteous bride.” At his compliment, she blushed, and he cherished her characteristic modesty. “Would you deny me?”
“Nay, my lord.” Of course, she denied him nothing. Whatever he asked of her, whatever he required she fulfilled his every whim, without complaint. Yet she refused to grant him the one thing he wanted most—her heart. “Shall we depart?”
“Aye.” When she stepped toward the wagon, he drew her to his destrier. “If you do not object, I would have you share my mount.”
“Oh?” She blinked, and he coveted her discomfit, as she was not so immune to his advances, as she would have him believe. “Wherefore? Winter is passed, and we do not travel far.”
“Because I wish it.” He lifted her to the saddle and then jumped to sit behind her. When she fidgeted, he shuffled her to his lap and cupped her bottom, which garnered one of her sweet little gasps, and he chuckled. “Now, is that not more comfortable?” Before she could answer, he kissed her, hard and fast, flicked the reins, and heeled the flanks of his stallion.
Together, they navigated the barbican and the outer gatehouse, and then he let fly his horse, as they charged the road, and Hawisia wrapped her arms about his waist and held on tight.
Maintaining a relentless pace, with an accompaniment of soldiers and two attendants staffing the wagon in his wake, Morgan rested his head to her plaited locks and inhaled her subtle scent of rosemary water, which she favored. To his infinite gratitude, she pressed a couple of delicate kissed to his neck, as they rode, and he bent and indulged in a few tender exchanges, until the peasant village came into view.
A small crowd surrounded the wagon, as they drew to a halt amid the rustic dwelling, some of which were naught more than a few pieces of wood propped together. Children covered in dirt and grime circled about, as Morgan lifted Hawisia from the saddle, and he was stunned by the amount of poverty and hunger evidenced in the community.
“This is a travesty.” He assisted his wife, as she filled various cups and containers with rice, dried herbs, and flour. “Does Arucard know of the situation?”
“Of course, as Lady Isolde normally joins me.” Hawisia passed out several blankets. “Wherefore do you think he sends these provisions? But the great famine left behind a mountain of devastation, and he struggles to produce enough to fill the needs of those in his charge, yet he cannot control nature.”
“And still he rebuffs my attempts to increase the yield.” He swore under his breath. “It is ridiculous, when I possess knowledge that could bring an end to so much hardship.”
“Oh?” She waved to a soldier. “Prithee, have the people collect their refuse, and set fire to it, as such waste can harbor disease.”
“Aye, Lady Hawisia.” The soldier directed his men.
“You are very organized in your effort, my lady wife.” Morgan recalled Arucard’s counsel and realized a simple truth. As the leader of the Brethren rightly asserted, Hawisia could be the greatest weapon in Morgan’s arsenal, once they had their own estate, and her confidence earned his respect, in that moment. “What else do you manage, if I may ask?”
“Well, I arrange for the physic to treat the sick and the wounded, as illness can be even more lethal than hunger.” She paused to assess a scraped knee and said to a lad, “It is just a scratch, but I would have you keep it washed and clean, else it may become inflamed.”
“Aye, Lady Hawisia.” The scamp bowed and ran to play with his friends.
Once they emptied the wagon, Hawisia listened to the peasants’ complaints and requests and vowed to speak with Arucard, on their behalf. After cataloging a list of patients, she promised to send the physic from Chichester Castle, the following day, and thus they departed.
On the main road, Morgan noted the particular hill Isolde recommended as a place to take his ease, and he drew rein and pulled to the verge. “Drive on, as my lady and I shall stop hither.”
“Aye, Sir Morgan.” A soldier nodded once, and the small procession continued its return to the castle.
“My lord, what are you about?” Hawisia sat upright in his lap. “Are you unwell, as you do not behave as yourself?”
“Naught is wrong.” As he traversed the rise, and the ocean spread wide before him, he realized the lay of the land afforded seclusion, and he knew exactly wherefore Arucard brought Isolde to that spot. “But I would partake of a meal, and then I would take you.”
~
Hawisia knew not what to make of Morgan’s strange declaration, as it made no sense. When he pulled her from the saddle, his sly smile did naught but confuse her. Of course, naught about the day struck her as normal, because he never expressed interest in her activities.
Except, that was not true.
For some reason she could not fathom, her husband had become increasingly attentive to her daily routine. And his new habit of making love, face to face, left her little opportunity for escape. It was so easy to remain detached, as long as he shoved her nose into the pillows, so she did not have to look at him.
“Darling, will you unpack our meal, while I spread the blanket?” Morgan handed her a bundle. “Is that view not spectacular? I think we should come hither, more often.”
“You do?” She blinked and then did as he bade.
Inside the parcel, she found an ample square of cheese, grapes, dried beef, a half-loaf of bread, and vast deal more than adequate portion of sambocade cheesecake. “Did you plan this?”
“I wish I could take credit for it, but it was Isolde’s idea.” He winked. “Still, she knows of my desire to spend time with you, so I claim some responsibility.”
“You, sir, are shameless.” In light of his good mood, she laughed and relaxed. “And I wonder if you might tell me of your ideas for farming. I thought you were a sea captain, prior to journeying to England.”
“Ah, but there is more I might share with you, dear Hawisia.” There it was again, a playful term of endearment, which he had taken to using, of late, and it had not eluded her notice. “Indeed, I am not what you think, as I have a tragic history, which I will impart if you pledge to maintain my secret.”
“Of course, my lord.” Before she knew she had moved, she reached out and took his hand.
“I wish you would call me Morgan.” He furrowed his brow. “I wish you would compose a pet name for me, as Isolde refers to Arucard, as Athelyna summons Demetrius, and as Dionysia beckons Aristide. Am I not dear to you?”
“You stun me with your bold query, as I did not believe you welcomed such intimacies.” Yet the hurt in his countenance struck her as a wicked blow, and she reconsidered her tack. “Perchance, I might devise something, just for you. Pray, let us continue our discussion, which I must confess tempts me.”
As the sun danced its path across the sky, her husband detailed his history, including his life as a Templar Knight, his treacherous trip across the Channel, and his subsequent imprisonment in the tower. In a show of fealty, all remaining Templars were forced to marry, on pain of death, and that was wherefore Morgan resented his union.
In truth, his anger had naught to do with Hawisia.
“So your parents sent you away when you were but a boy of eight?” In that moment, he drew her to his lap, and she admired his features and the long lashes she could contemplate for a sennight.
“Aye.” As he trailed a series of kisses along the crest of her ear, he untied her laces. “But I learned much from my father, as I dreamed of being a farmer, just like him.” He loosened the front of her kirtle, bared her breasts, and suckled from a nipple, and she resisted not. “I longed for a wife to work at my side, and I coveted a large family.” When he lifted his head, he claimed her mouth in a searing kiss that left her breathless. “Yet, as a Templar, I was sworn to a life of chastity, and I honored the tenets, until the Order was disbanded.”
Then he eased her to her back, shoved her skirts to her waist, settled between her thighs, untied his breeches, thrust, and entered her. As was her way, she gave him what he wanted, but the position tested the limits of her control. Focusing on a tuft of white in the blue sky, she tried to keep her emotions at bay, but how he challenged her.
It would be so easy to love him; if there were a chance he might love her. But that was not possible, given his preference for Euphemia, so Hawisia guarded her emotions, but, oh, what she felt.
Delicious sensations harkened, yet she rebuked the call. Gritting her teeth, she spurned the heat pouring through her veins, because capitulation meant destruction. Still, she hugged Morgan to her, aching to console the man entangled in so much pain, because she knew well his affliction, as it was as much as her own.
He carried his parents’ rejection as baggage, just as she bore his.
In that they were a pair.
The telltale groan of completion signaled the end of their coupling, and she came alert. Relieved that she withstood his provocation, she gained her feet and righted her attire.
In silence, they returned to Chichester Castle, but her mind was anything but quiet. So her man wished to farm the land? Given his generosity and the assistance he provided in the peasant village, she decided to do something for him.
“Grammarcy, for coming with me, today.” As Morgan handed her to the ground, she took the opportunity to claim a quick kiss. “I enjoyed it more than you know.”
“Actually, I am in your debt.” He covered her mouth with his, only he lingered and caught her bottom lip in his. “While I remain frustrated with the farming situation, I appreciate the fact that you listened to my complaints.”
“Did I help?” Again, she knew not what to make of him, as he seemed a whole other person.
“To borrow your phrase.” He trailed a finger along the curve of her cheek, and she shivered. “More than you know.”
“I am glad.” She half-curtseyed. “And I will see you at supper.”
Riding a wave of benevolence, Hawisia strode straight to the kitchen. While she could not sway Arucard, there was one person who could, and she employ that individual on Morgan’s behalf.