Teresa Medeiros by Whisper of Roses

Author:Whisper of Roses [Roses, Whisper of]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Sabrina was the first Cameron to conquer Castle MacDonnell without firing a single cannon.

Embued with the confidence inspired by her husband’s touching devotion to duty, and championed by the fierce Fergus, she watched with secret delight as Morgan’s clansmen fairly flung themselves at her slippered feet in surrender. Those who still dared to mock or insult her were more like than not to find themselves scrambling across the hall in a vain search for their scattered teeth.

Only Eve remained immune to Sabrina’s charms, but her mood was so despondent that neither Fergus nor Morgan had the heart to correct her.

Even Fergus required an occasional reminder that civilization had come to MacDonnell. Sabrina entered the hall one morning to discover his beefy fist raised to backhand a cowering boy who had spilled goat milk on Fergus’s tartan. Morgan was reaching to box both their ears, but the wry arch of Sabrina’s eyebrow was all it took to correct Fergus’s lapse of manners.

“Aye, there’s a bonny lad!” Fergus roared, fondly ruffling the boy’s hair as if it had been his intention to do so all along. “Hell, he might even be me own son. He’s got me bonny fair hair, don’t ye think?”

“A touch of your dimples too,” Sabrina agreed, pinching Fergus’s grizzled cheek and making him beam.

Morgan hid his own smile behind a hunk of the steaming gingerbread Sabrina had baked for him, declining to point out that half the children in the clan had hair of that same sunny sheen. And half of them were probably Fergus’s.

Morgan approached Sabrina’s chamber one chill evening, anticipating a rousing game of chess and an even more rousing tumble with his wife. Girlish giggles drifted into the corridor.

He eased open the door, expecting to find Enid and Sabrina engaged in one of the charming female rituals he could never hope to understand. Instead, he found Sabrina holding up a hand mirror so Alwyn could admire her reflection. Alwyn caught his flabbergasted expression in the mirror and spun around, her eyes wide with guilt.

Although Alwyn’s leggy, big-bosomed fairness no longer appealed to him, Morgan had to admit there was much to admire. She wore a clean gown of cool blue satin, marked as a castoff of Sabrina’s by its brimming bodice and ankle-length hem. Her face was fresh scrubbed and a tidy braid hung over one shoulder.

Sabrina linked an arm in Alwyn’s. Morgan felt his stomach sink as would any man faced with two women whose favors he had only too recently shared. Especially when one of them was his wife.

“Good evening, dear. I was just helping Alwyn with her hair. Doesn’t she look lovely?”

Alwyn could have been Helen of Troy and Morgan would still have been blinded by the impish twinkle in his wife’s eye. He scrambled wildly for an appropriate answer, clearing his throat, coughing, and finally settling for a grunt of approval. To his shock, Alwyn blushed. He wouldn’t have thought her capable of it.

She bobbed a clumsy curtsy. “I’d best be gettin’ along, me lady.

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