Morgandy's Lover

Brenda Williamson

MORGANDY’S LOVER

BY BRENDA WILLIAMSON www.VenusPress.com

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The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

MORGANDY’S LOVER Copyright © 2006 by Brenda Williamson ISBN: 1-59836-367-0 Cover Art © 2006 by Dan Skinner All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without permission, except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. Printed and bound in the United States of America. For information, you can find us on the web at www.VenusPress.com

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Dedication:

To the Members of Brenda Williamson’s Romance Party, a great bunch of friends who make everyday fun on my chat group! To those that love with passion.

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Chapter One

Morgandy sat on her horse and stared in amazement at the naked man lying facedown on her land. Not truly hers, she still considered it her home after ten years. In a week’s time, she’d marry the man that did own it. Everyday, she rode across Lord Peregrine’s vast estate. Never had she encountered anything odd, and to say, a naked man sprawled out on his belly is normal, would be a lie. By far, the sight indeed fell under the category as the most unusual. She slipped from her saddle, entranced by the mass of lovely carved out muscles on the long figure. Men were always clothed in her presence. Besides fingers and faces, she didn’t know much else about a man’s anatomy other than from what she knew of a child’s, or what she had felt under the covers from her deceased husband. She knelt with a curious need to touch him. Her tongue ran the rim of her lips, wetting them with the wicked thought of licking his skin—just once, to see if he tasted salty sweet. The marvelous sight made her head swim with memories of her nighttime dreams. Fantasies only a woman with limited knowledge about sex could conjure. Her husband had not interested himself in schooling her, so each night she let her mind dance with a devilish lover she made up. Her mind drew images from things she'd heard or witnessed amongst the servants. She had created a faceless man with a hungry appetite to pleasure her flesh. Morgandy made a complete survey of her naked man’s backside. It came so easy to think of him as her man. After all, he lay in her pasture, and she didn’t see anyone else around to claim him. She bit into the tips of her riding glove, snatched it off her hand, and then did the same to the other. She stretched her fingers out and touched one cheek of his ass. Smooth and hard, she delighted in the texture of the extremely delicious attribute. She conceded she had done her imaginary man a disservice, in failing to give him the splendor she trembled before. Moving her touch from his splendid bottom, she followed the crease of his spine up to the solid wings of his shoulder blades. Her inspection had no bounds, no limits. She 5

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brushed her palm over his silky back and over one of his muscled arms. But it was the rounded cheeks of his ass that attracted her the most. "Exquisite," she hummed with delight. Morgandy's strokes followed the curves and she returned to the more intimate area of his nakedness. She glided her finger in the crack and stopped at the bulge of his testicles wedged between his thighs. She didn't dare touch him there. Gently petting the shapely rump, a hot trickling of wetness slid from her center. Her insides quivered. Her breath shortened. His silent repose aroused her, and her skin flushed with a thirsting awareness she normally satisfied alone in her room. His body had no marks of injury from what she could see, and she’d studied him well. From her viewpoint, he had magnificent lines of masculinity. While in comparison, her husband had been rotund, pot-bellied, and not what one would consider overly attractive. Her secret desires emerged with another glide of her finger between his legs. She really couldn't leave the pinnacle of her curiosity un-examined. Although, from the angle, the best she could see, didn’t satisfy her need to gain knowledge. While lodged between his legs, his scrotum sat plump and a bit purpled from either the chill in the air or the way his balls were squished, she couldn't see his cock. The sinfully abundant dreams of fornicating with a man, who actually appealed to her, leaned her ever closer. So near, she felt the heat radiate from his back. “Silly me, I should see if you’re alive or not,” she whispered. Morgandy lifted her hair and put her ear between his shoulder blades. A shiver blazed beneath her skin, as the scent of his musk-laden flesh spiraled into her nostrils. She inhaled every intoxicating morsel into her lungs. He smelled wonderful, and she wondered about the flavor of his beautiful ivory-tan skin. She pushed out her lips and barely brushed his back. She sat up and bit her bottom lip in anticipation of him waking, startled by her touch. To her joy and concern, he didn’t move, yet he breathed shallow and steady like a peaceful sleeper. With no one in sight to help or witness her enchanting situation, she put her hands on his thick arm and pulled, rolling him over. In spectacular awe, her eyes widened. As beautiful as his backside was, the front captivated her in awe. Her eyes lingered on the manliest part of him—his cock. It lay thick, heavy, and limp in a nest of ebony hair. The thatch of coarse curls thinned where it swept to his groin. Fine, short hairs sprinkled their way up the center of his stomach and fanned out over his chest. Swirls of black ringed his dark nipples, and yet the hardened bumps remained prominent on his muscled chest. 6

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Morgandy sighed. She didn’t know men came so notably handsome. Then, with an amused consideration, she laughed. She hadn’t yet looked at his face before deciding no one could be more beautiful. The body of an exquisitely sculptured God could very well have been attached to an ugly face. Her wandering gaze lifted slowly from the inspection of his sleek rippled torso. Normally, his face would be the first place she looked, but how often would she encounter a completely naked man? Especially one so sound asleep he didn’t know her gaze perused him with an elated leisure. Over every outstanding contour she appreciated his immobile slumber. It allowed her a divine pleasure of immoral behavior. Morgandy leaned further. On his temple she saw a crusted spot of rust-colored dirt. Her exam went close to his forehead and into his hairline. She determined the dirt was in fact, dried blood. “This is not good.” She stood and looked around to see if there was even one groundskeeper within shouting distance. But, she stood alone in the vast rolling land. With a flock of sheep to the south and some cows to the north, the green pastures swept the wide countryside for miles in all directions. Nothing marked nature’s land except for the spires of Peregrine Manor. Though, with the walls near covered in ivy, the structure hardly stood out of place in the landscape. Lowering back down to her knees, she saw he clutched something in his hand. From his grip, she pulled a smooth piece of bone with a rune symbol carved crudely deep into one side. The insignificance would normally be overlooked, but in his case, she felt it had to have meaning for him since his fingers held it tight. “You will have to wake to help me get you home,” she whispered. His once shaven jaw had just a hint of stubble. It scratched over her fingertips, and a prickling sensation skittered through her arm. The idea of him opening his eyes held reserve in her voice. All too soon, she’d not have the splendid view of his finely chiseled body. An artist’s work could not fashion a man so beautiful in stone, but she saw God had done a superb job in his endeavor. “You have to wake up,” she told him, ever so low. She put her hand on his chest. The strong heartbeat thumped against her damp palm. Her wayward fingers made a smoothing pass over his brawn. She stopped on the small pebble of his nipple, and with a mindless fondling it knotted bigger and harder. The effect made her breasts tighten, her body ache, and her lungs burn from the breath she

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held. A commotion much like a storm, stirred in her belly while another part of her clenched with tiny sparks starting a blaze of tremors. He moaned, and Morgandy sat back on her heels. Her eyes shifted to the movement on the fringe of her peripheral vision. She watched the one part of him come awake, and it was nowhere near his head. Shamefully vigilant with her observation, she reached a hand toward his thick cock. With a magical bounce, it lengthened, and rose from the eddy of its black nest. She knew very little about a man’s body. She never had a fascination to see her husband’s, and thankfully, he never offered to show her. Their sexual acts remained in the dark of night, under several layers of covers. They were brief, and left her unfulfilled. Questioning him once, he responded that propriety and discretion for her feminine frailty did not allow him to have such a conversation with her. She never asked again. It didn’t seem important. Her fingers hovered within inches of touching. Her other hand lay lightly on his stomach still fisted with the rune piece. He grabbed her wrist with a hawk’s swiftness “Let go,” she squeaked in utter surprise. She turned her head and looked into green eyes more brilliant than any pasture. She felt a strange familiarity in his bold stare. Did she know him? “You’re hurt,” she barely managed to say, giving a reasonable pull to her arm caught in his grip. “Yes,” he answered. “And you can give me relief.” He tugged her hand until the very tips of her fingers touched his stout erection. She didn’t own velvet so soft and warm. She had an instant wish to rub her cheek to the smooth knob of quivering burgundy flesh. Her eyes stayed on his. He guided her finger over the dimpled hole on the end of his cock then around the rim of the burnished cap. His slow pace had an eccentricity about it. He shamefully used her fingers, and she shockingly let him. He moaned again, and she whimpered. Her vaginal muscles twitched violently. His eyes shut and broke the lock of their gaze. She looked to his hand dragging her fingers down the rigid hot flesh. She considered maybe she missed something in not touching her husband. The pulsing vein on the side captured her inquisitive attention. Immersed in her reverie, she allowed his guidance to rub the throbbing length. “That’s it, my lovely temptress,” he praised.

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His deep voice wrapped her in the splendid warmth of sexual desire, chasing a shuddering chill of excitement up her spine. Her forefinger eased a stroke across the robust tip and the thrill of her exam leached into her pulsing veins. The caress rushed the fiery wet warmth between her legs that she only knew from self-examination. Her nipples toughened to rounded spikes on her swelling breasts. She dreamt of a man arousing her with his touch. She never thought he could be real, or that she could find stimulation in handling him. With the persistence of her finger circling the head and fondling the shaft, a glistening crystal bead formed in the dimpled hole. “Taste it,” his graveled voice beseeched. She’d never...she couldn’t think to...she did. Morgandy leaned over him with an excited breath and ran her tongue lightly across the tip. The sweet droplet clung instantly to her taste buds. She closed her eyes and savored the flavor. She wished for more. “You liked the taste, didn’t you, my little angel,” he groaned. She favored him with another long wet lick. Her zestful swirl skirted the rim of his flesh. The exhilaration made her ache in ways she didn’t understand. “Yes, again,” he encouraged. A ragged sound accompanied the jolt of his cock. She tasted the hint of his delicious essence. It possessed her with a growing need for more. She pushed her lips over the wide cap and sucked, drawing the juices one drop at a time onto her hungering tongue. His hands clasped the sides of her head and guided her up and down on his shaft. She took him in deeper. Her throat closed when she swallowed, and he ground out a sound of excruciating pain, which she quickly learned was his pleasure. Morgandy plunged down on him until the crinkled black hairs tickled her nose. She wished she were in a position to stroke her wet sex. The unruly nerves quivered just enough to make her insane with a need to complete the cycle. She imagined his thick, long fingers doing it for her. His probe would find her slick with the copious juices forced from her under the violent spasms of her body. Her gulps of air came in shallow, winded gasps, until they met with his. Her efforts of having all he offered up paid off when a bountiful burst of his body’s liquor filled her mouth. She grabbed his shaft to suckle the sweet, warm solution. She drank him in until her tongue dried the very last drop from his skin. She attempted to sit back, but his hands held her head. His hips lifted with a jolt. One last spurt hit the roof of her mouth. He collapsed back with a sated sigh of his discharge. She breathed heavily enlivened by the experience. 9

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“What is your name, my Sweetness?” “Morgandy,” she panted. “Morgandy Fairfax.” He lifted his head and looked at her strangely. “Sweet hell, you could have said something before now!” “Whatever are you going on about?” She fell back on her bottom when he abruptly sat up and came too close. “Who are you?” Her eyes widened farther when he rose to his feet and stood in front of her. Prone, she had been awed. Upright, her heart thumped for the majestic stretch of his muscles. Her attempt to give him a coy stare lessened beneath his hard gaze, so she looked at his feet. Elegant lines defined his stance and she found an odd delight in looking at his toes. “Give me your hand,” he demanded. She hesitated, unsure why she felt soaked by anxiety. Her fist clenched, and she realized she held the piece of bone. “What are you hiding?” he asked. “Not hiding, holding.” She offered the piece to him. “It was in your hand.” He smiled, and a slash of white teeth gleamed in the morning light. “Come with me, little one,” he invited in a gentler tone. Something wonderfully memorable in his voice thrust her fingers into his open palm. He put no effort into pulling her from the ground. His hand drifted to her face. It turned over and she didn’t move from the stroke of his cool knuckles on her heated cheek. “I’m your Guardian, Hunt Peregrine, and you Sweetness, are not a child anymore.” His long fingers swept firmly under her jaw and tipped her chin up. “I’m married,” she stared up at him. “I mean I was...and... You’re dead, or you were said to be.” “Married, huh?” He took his hand away and placed it on his hip. “Who gave you permission to marry?” “Your brother arranged it in your stead, Milord Peregrine.” She bit her bottom lip. “He had word you were dead shortly after you went away. He took guardianship of me.” Ten years without seeing him dulled her memory. However, not enough to forget his generous care with her for the six months she knew him. She felt a wave of happiness for his return and a painful hurt he had left her with his brother, Clive. “And your money, did it buy you this husband?” “No, but…” “It’s gone, nevertheless.” He finished her sentence as if he could read her mind. 10

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She nodded. She didn’t like the way he made her feel at fault, and still, she tried to please him with her childish remembrance. “I hid a little.” “Hid? You suspected he would steal the wealth I left for your future?” “My husband gambled on many things before he died.” “Died?” His brow cocked. “Good, one less problem I will need to deal with.” “I do not find delight in being widowed.” “No?” He took her elbow. “After the pleasure of your lips, I’m under the distinct impression you were neglected by the man. A beautiful young woman should never be with a man that has no appreciation of her sweet kiss on his cock.” Morgandy put her cool hand to her cheek. The scorching heat singed her fingers. She knew without a doubt, her pale skin glowed red. Outrage should have came forefront of her emotions. His disdain for her part in a life she didn’t control made her ashamed she didn’t do more. The way he looked her over with an approving eye weakened her from any argument she might want to try. “I’ve never done that before,” she whispered. “I hope then, you enjoyed it, for I’ll require it often.” “But—but you are—you were my Guardian. Besides, I’m to marry your brother.” "Clive had a wife when I left." "She died milord, as did my husband, from the same illness." “Hmmm, well regardless of the past tragedies, I'll see there are no more. Thus, you will marry whom I approve.” He led her to the horse and helped her up. She found a thrill in his nonchalant attitude. She had no wish to marry Clive. Lord Peregrine's brother frightened her with his harsh reprimanding tone. The way he looked at her, often made her feel sick. With Hunt’s intervention, the weight of a worse life began to ease from her shoulders. “And who would you have me marry?” she asked. “Because if I could have a say, I would prefer not to have a husband.” Hunt’s nakedness seemed commonplace to him. He helped her up on the horse, and she took every opportunity to touch his impenetrable muscles. A hand to his chest, one to his shoulder, while she said she didn't want a marriage, she wished he’d be the one to come to her bed as her husband.

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He swung up on the horse behind her. His arms surrounded her to take the braided leather reins. His firm body pressed heatedly to her back. All the magnificent moving parts of him enticed her to snuggle into his loose embrace. “Then you would prefer fornicating in sin with me?” She didn’t know how to answer. Had her wish been granted? Her venture into wicked decadence did not produce a lightning bolt to strike her dead, so could she become a mistress instead of a wife? She enjoyed caressing Hunt’s cock with the flat of her tongue. She imagined she would like nothing better than to lick every inch of his swarthy hide. There would be an advantage to not being married. A husband she could not refuse, a lover had only the privileges she allowed. “I’d truly prefer it that way.” She saw no reason to deny her immediate feelings on the subject. “Then there is no reason to wait for me to explore your recesses, is there?” He hiked up her blue linen gown and cupped his hand between her thighs. “You’re wet.” “It happened while I was touching you.” He rubbed the drenched crotch of her pantalets. “Hmmm, and what do you suppose will happen with me touching you?” He rubbed her slow and methodically so her body rocked to the rhythm of his pace. He forced the cloth against her clit. “I’d be grateful,” she purred. “Then we’ll both be happy.” He nuzzled his nose into her hair, and his hot breath filtered through to her skin. At the base of her spine, she felt his cock snake up her back. She leaned her head to his solid shoulder. It never occurred to her to refuse his touch. She closed her eyes, letting memories of him seep into her mind. Morgandy always longed for the comfort in a man’s arms. Something told her, Lord Hunt Peregrine had always been the shadowy man she envisioned in her carnal dreams. He was the silhouette caressing her into the rapture she could not get with her husband. Now, as a matured waif taken in by Lord Hunt Peregrine long ago, she wanted to show him the extent of her appreciation. She knew how the poor lived, and she had no wish to be one of them, although, her compassion prompted her to help many people without her husband’s knowledge. She had the benefit of a fine home, and because Clive had threatened to shunt her from the place if she didn’t marry, she’d agreed to accept anyone he chose, as long as she didn't have to move away. She was adamant on that 12

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point, since in her soul, she had a strange obsession with the place. In the end, the husband Clive choose for her was the youngest son of a man with four sons. He would not inherit anything, and he had no home unless he remained on his family's estate. It suited him just as well as her to live at peregrine Manor. “Have you any children?” Hunt asked. She squirmed to the flicker of his finger over her clit. The question made her uncomfortable, and one she didn’t wish to discuss in her present position. “No, milord.” “Call me Hunt.” “No, Hun—Hun—Hunt.” Her breath stuttered. “Good, then your firstborn will be of my blood.” His finger wiggled up inside her. “You’d wish—you’d wish upon me a bastard?” Conversation had no place in her thoughts. “I wish upon you my firstborn. The legitimacy of that child is inconsequential.” “Oh, oh God, Hunt please.” Her body rattled in the circle of his powerful arms. She couldn’t stop the flow of her juices spilling into his hand. He pumped his fingers in her cunt, jerking her against him in the saddle. The sloshing pronounced the abundance of her spending. He nibbled at her earlobe and kissed delicately against her neck. She shuddered and whined without control of her limbs. “Kiss me, Morgandy.” He grasped her chin and twisted her face to the side. She whimpered to the gentleness of his mouth over hers. He softly probed her parted lips with his tongue. And accepting his entrance, his exquisite breath mingled with hers. He explored with tentative swipes to the roof of her mouth and the back of her teeth. Her tongue moved out of his way and around his, she found herself pushing to get into his mouth. He gave way and stroked lovingly at it. His lips closed, and he sucked on the tip. She twisted further, reaching a hand up behind to his neck, to hold, to hug, to embrace the sensations he created. “Hunt,” she murmured his name. He pulled his hand from inside of her and yanked at the skirting of her gown. He shifted with grunts of discomfort, and then his cock pressed her back again with only the thin layer of her chemise preventing his skin from touching hers. She barely took notice that his hand skittered up and over the bodice of her dress until his long fingers squeezed the fabric as well as her breast. He shuddered, hugging her tight, rocking against her. When his body stiffened and his stuttered grunts formed one low groan, she became aware of his climax. 13

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The warmth of moisture soaked her undergarment in the back. It continued to seep into her pantalets as his body jolted several more times. The dampness ended at the contact of her bottom, oozing slowly into the crack of her ass. Hunt's escalated breathing slowed and he nuzzled kisses to the side of her face. “Take this and keep it safe.” Morgandy felt him press the rune in her hand. His fingers closed over hers, and she felt affectionately joined with his soul.

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Chapter Two

From the top of the knoll, Hunt looked at the large stone manor. He pulled his hand from under Morgandy’s dress and held his arm around her slim waist. He could not let his brother know of the intimacies he had with her. His impetuous actions had been so far removed from his reason for coming home his mind still reeled. “I’ll leave you to go on alone.” He slid off the horse. “Say nothing of our meeting.” “But…” Her lashes fluttered with an innocent embarrassment for looking at his nakedness again. “Just go, and I’ll see you shortly.” She nodded, and he gave her horse a slap to the flanks to speed her journey. He watched her ride down the slope toward Peregrine Manor. He’d take back his home, his ward, and anything else not squandered away in his absence. He crouched to the ground, transformed into a bird, and rose up into the sky on the flap of his falcon wings. Ten years in a prison filled with Gypsies gave him an advantage when he met one with a unique power. She claimed it a curse, but he saw the alteration as an escape. As a bird he was able to fly out of the prison to return home. Hunt swooped down over Morgandy’s head. Her horse reared, and his breath caught in his throat at the foolish error in judgment. The impressive way she maintained control brought him down to her upraised arm. Her hand, meant to shield her eyes, put her elbow up and out like a perch. He landed gracefully trying not to frighten her. Her eyes widened and a small gasp puffed the sweet flavor of her breath in his face. “Good day to you, falcon.” She smiled. The horse calmed, and she let go of the reins. She stroked the curl of her delicate finger to his chest, and brought her hand upwards near his face, very close to his eye. “You’ve been hurt.” Her head tilted to the side. “Isn’t that odd, I was just with a man that had an injury over his eye.”

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Her voice had an enchanting musical lilt he’d never tire of no matter how long she talked. Along with her grace and her good choice in sucking his cock, he knew he’d favor having her around. When her pretty brown eyes drifted away from him, he turned his hearing to the sound of a rider. The time to go had come, and he lifted off from her arm. The blinding sun hid his circling as he looked down upon the man fast approaching. His brother Clive came to a halt before Morgandy. Not much had changed in Clive’s appearance except his clothes had more of a hint of extravagance. "What have you been up to?" Clive's question to Morgandy seemed rather demanding instead of inquisitive. "I went riding. You know I go every morning." "Whom have you been with?" "No one, Clive." She lied, rather well, Hunt thought. Once she rode toward home, Hunt made his way towards the manor. As a falcon, he found travel by far the swiftest. If all went well with his plan, his clothes would be in his room, and he could present himself to Morgandy in a civilized style. He swooped into the open window and rose up from the wood floor to stand on two legs. He studied the furniture, the fixtures, and smiled. He should have known his brother would take over the master suite. More likely than not, he had to assume he no longer had clothes, so he opened the cabinet and retrieved something of Clive’s. He passed over the opulence of the garments for the least ostentatious articles he could find. From the window, he watched Morgandy while he dressed. The gait of her horse bounced her in the saddle. Her rounded breasts jiggled up and down teasing him with another hard aching erection. Her mahogany hair fluttered up, caught on the wind she stirred. The long tendrils waving like a flag were a welcome banner for his return home. He recalled the child he scooped up one cold winter morn. She’d sat alone in a doorway, in the village. No one claimed to know her, and no one wanted another mouth to feed. Something possessed him when her wide brown eyes had looked up at him. As a young man, he had no right to think he could raise her. His age had not gone many years beyond his turn into manhood. Now as he stared at her, he realized fate played a part in his choice. Maybe her lack of a good background prompted him to acquire new blood into the Peregrine family. Clive certainly had no understanding of loyalty or brotherhood. The wife his brother brought home couldn’t have been any worse than a harlot from London. 16

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Hunt waited until Clive and Morgandy were on their way into the manor before he walked the familiar hall and stood at the top of the staircase. The door opened and servants stood ready for their bidding. Clive ignored their presence with little regard to Morgandy. “I’ve told you not to ride alone.” Clive's loud voice boomed with his chastisement. “I won’t have my wife gallivanting about like a whore.” “I’m not your wife and I never will be upon...upon...” her voice trembled. Hunt's witness of Clive gripping Morgandy's arm, hard enough to make her cringe, did not set right in him. Women were gentle, delicate creatures to pamper and cherish, not maul or abuse. He took a step down to the next tread, using willpower and reason to prevent him from charging at his brother. Besides, Morgandy most certainly had an inbred gumption he was sure she utilized to her advantage. She wouldn’t give him up even in anger. “So, I return home and you have the same temperament as when I left.” Hunt paused at each tread, taking his time, allowing Clive to digest his return. His boots, no, his brother’s boots, made a thump to the wood. “Hunt?” Clive’s disbelief caused him to let go of Morgandy’s arm. “So, what reason do you have for reprimanding this lovely young woman?” Hunt took well-timed steps until he stood on the very last tread. “Miss Morgandy Fairfax, I presume.” “Yes, Lord Peregrine.” She came forward and curtsied. Her luscious dark curls fell forward, and he almost reached out to touch the silky locks. His vivid recollection of them swinging over his groin, dusting his skin with their softness, renewed his arousal. “It is good to have you home.” She smiled sweetly with a twinkle of amusement in her gorgeous stare. Instinct gripped him in the loins when he read the lust she held back behind the blinking fan of her lashes. He wished for nothing more than to drag Morgandy up against him and devour her sensuous mouth. The curve always had an air of amusement or happiness. What disturbed him was his brother’s treatment of her. “So Clive.” He skirted Morgandy and put a hand to his brother’s shoulder. “Tell me what news is the most important I’ll need to know.” “I am to wed Morgandy on Sunday.”

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“This is important to me, how?” He glanced over his shoulder at her, maintaining his aloof stance. “Your female companions were hardly a thing I considered important in the past wouldn’t you say?” “I thought I might mention it. She is...was your ward for a brief time. I had her marry, but illness took her husband and child, as well as my wife.” Morgandy said no children. Hunt didn’t think to ask had there ever been. He couldn’t very well question her on such a delicate subject in front of Clive either, not with her eyes instantly brimming with tears. His lungs closed with pain for her devastating loss. “So you wish to marry Morgandy?” He tapped his chin in pretense of pondering the notion. “I will be marrying her.” Clive retaliated with a defensive tone. Hunt smiled and patted his brother’s shoulder with the consoling decision. “I don’t think that would be a good match. You seemed unsuited from the second I saw the two of you together. Besides, I heard her say she wouldn’t marry you.” “She is my ward.” “She was your ward in my absence, and only until she married. The woman is free to make her own decisions.” “Then she can make them elsewhere if she doesn’t marry me.” “Is this the choice you have given the dear child?” “I am no child, Lord Peregrine.” Morgandy’s voice cut through the din of silence surrounding her. “I have married, birthed a child, and know better than to attach myself to another overbearing man.” “There you have it, Clive. The woman does not wish a husband. As for putting her on the street, well, I picked her up from one, and I’ve no wish to return her. She’s more then welcome to stay in the manor. You, nor I, will force her from a home she’s had for ten years.” “You can’t just come home and expect to run things the way you wish.” Clive ventured into another avenue of lecture. “The money is gone, and we barely stay from debtor’s prison as it is. I thought only to save Morgandy the disgrace of having no husband, and ending up in the hands of the man backing my hard work at a new venture.” “Very well, then I shall marry Morgandy to protect her, provided of course, only when and if she should need such protection.” He clasped his hands behind his back and swung his head around to look at her. He caught the slight curve of her beautiful smile before turning away. “Food. I’ve traveled far and I need to eat.” 18

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“Lord Peregrine, you have a cut on your forehead. Might I suggest tending to it first?” Morgandy lifted a hand then put it down without touching him. He had forgotten about the injury. It would explain his headache. He touched a finger lightly to the dried blood. Poachers in the forest had not quite the aim to take him down immediately with their arrows. “Very well. While I wait for a meal, you may tend me.” He picked up her hand. “Your fingers would be a welcome treat since many years I have been without a female.” “Speaking of which,” Clive interrupted. “Where have you been?” “A Romanian prison.” “Prison!” Morgandy’s hand flew to silence her outcry. “The fool country tends to not take well to foreigners in their land and throws them willy-nilly into their prison for no apparent reason.” He pulled a chair out at the head of the dinning table and sat. “If it were not for the friends I made or the things I learned, I may have never escaped the barbaric place.” “You are home now, safe, and will not have to think on such things ever again.” Morgandy cupped his cheek. A servant brought a bowl of water and a cloth for Morgandy to clean his face. “And I shan’t.” He pulled her palm to his lips and kissed the center. He couldn’t resist the sweetness of her skin or her heart. The women he remembered were nothing like the one captivating him with gentleness. Clive fumed over her attentiveness. Hunt could only appreciate the circumstances. The periodic careless caress, her smile, and her close stance between his legs, highlighted Morgandy’s choice in men. He needed a child born of his loins and it had to be his firstborn. The Gypsy made it clear that for the hex to be dissolved, it had to be his firstborn. The test of his careful past liaisons would soon prove if he had used enough precaution. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” Clive stalked away. “I do hope one of your tasks will be to move yourself out of my room?” He looked around Morgandy to see the vexation tighten Clive’s jaw. “I’ll see to it.” “Come here, my Sweet.” Hunt pulled Morgandy down on his knee. “The cut has benefited enough from the care of your slender fingers. I have other areas needing tended.” She eased into him with her arms surrounding his neck. Her mouth sought his with equal excitement. He hardened immediately with her body’s hum echoing in her 19

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kiss. He felt his heated blood rush through his veins, all to one point. There, in his borrowed trousers, his cock swelled against the fabric. It fought release, and his hand curved over Morgandy’s thigh to drag her in closer. His body, his mind, and he thought maybe, his heart, wanted her. He required a child and desired to have the woman. A prospect he hadn’t anticipated. Prison made him yearn for the feel of her supple female limbs. She had all the perfect softness he could ever need. He scooped a handful of her luxurious dark hair up and twisted it to his fist. The control allowed him to pull her face from his and attack her neck. She whined with the insistent kisses he placed upon her tender skin. The more he tasted of her delectable flesh, the more he wanted all of her undressed for his lips to pleasure. “Hunt, the servants,” she moaned a reminder. His hand glided over the smooth bodice of her dress. His thumb teased her flexible nipples so they inflated and hardened. He wanted her to be as needy with her desires as he was. She already freely displayed her generous lust in her wet slurp over his cheek. “Hunt, please. Not here.” He untied the laces on the back of her gown so he could jerk the sleeve down and expose her shoulder. Kissing across her collarbone with a feathery brush of his lips, she involuntarily thrust her bosom at him to entice his kisses lower. Her breath caught at his compliance when he sucked over the blue linen and clamped his teeth to her plump nipple. He tugged it and fabric both. “Hunt,” she moaned. He pulled the other sleeve down her arm. The scooped neck of her gown inched lower with the force of his questing mouth, and he felt the crest of her breasts against his lips. Morgandy’s head fell back. It gave him every opportunity to reach her aching need of him. He had the same gnawing in the pit of his stomach. It didn’t take much for him to push up her breast, free it from the cloth, and lave the tip of her quivering nipple. She trembled with a low and delightful whine. He pulled her closer and sealed his lips to her ivory flesh, suckling the fullness. Her cries came with a hand at the back of his head, holding him, caressing him with her adoring soul. His hearing had the keenness of the falcon, and he rolled his eyes up to gaze at Clive spying on them from the shadows of the foyer. The old Hunt would have the decency to cover Morgandy’s nakedness. The man he had become in prison had

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sheathed all forms of etiquette, manners, and courtesy. Harding himself to human emotion allowed him to survive. With a hand cupping her beautiful breast, he squeezed the flesh, making her dark nipple prominent and visible to Clive’s eyes. He sought to tease his brother with the decadent display. Instead, he pulled Morgandy up and crushed her petite body to his chest, concealing all he wished not to share. “I’ve lost my sense of civility and I want you to help me get it back.” His voice came out ragged with the volatile emotions swelling in his tight lungs. He felt her head nod in agreement. “You would also do well to remind me why I shouldn’t take of your generousness so freely.” She hugged him and kissed his cheek. “I want you so desperately. I too cannot recall how to behave like a lady.” Hunt pulled her dress back in place. She lay against him with her endearing hold as he retied the laces. “I must have you, Morgandy.” He stroked a hand along the center of her spine to ease her excited pants. "I must." “You have me, Hunt.” She fingered the hair at his collar. “I want you closer than I’ve ever wanted any man.” Hunt scooped her up. A bedchamber, any room with a mattress, hell, even a floor would do. He looked at the doorway and dropped Morgandy’s feet to the ground. The man in the archway required him to set her away immediately. “This is Lord Brimley,” Clive announced the man. “He is our banker and he’s come to foreclose on our accounts.” “He’s what?” Hunt narrowed his angry stare at Clive.

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Chapter Three

Morgandy felt uncomfortably wet between her legs. She experienced minor tweaks and spasms that built to an incapacitating climax. Hunt’s sudden withdraw put a halt to her internal storm. Clive staring at her did not help the way she felt—weak with a heated glow. Lord Brimley’s lecherous and horrid gaze at her breasts, which were still drying from Hunt’s wet kisses, made her cringe. “Excuse me,” she whispered, and escaped the room. She hesitated at the staircase and wondered what Hunt would do. She felt guilty somehow. If she had employed common sense and kept better record of how her husband squandered the money Hunt set aside for her, she’d be able to help him. She should have hidden more. “Morgandy,” Clive called to her. She turned on the third tread of the wide oak staircase. “Yes?” She looked back at him. Hunt and Lord Brimley remained in the dinning room out of her line of vision. “We’re going to lose everything,” Clive said. He sounded sincerely sad. She had to remember this was his home as well. He resembled Hunt in many ways. Even his eyes were the same shade of green when his anger didn’t darken them. She hadn’t seen Hunt angry to know if the siblings shared that small detail. “I’m used to living off Hunt’s estate, but I also have resources to get employment. He hasn’t anything to fall back on, and you should help him. He gave you a home, and you should return the favor.” Clive went on to tell her. “Oh, but I would if it were possible.” She stepped down toward him. “There is a way.” “How?” She went closer, her fingers tightening on the smooth banister. “If you were to marry Brimley, he would gladly give you this place as a wedding gift. And you could then allow Hunt to run the place.” “Marry Lord Brimley?” She felt repulsed. “Hunt would be devastated.” 22

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“By not having you?” His dark eyes narrowed. “By losing his claim to this land," she replied, ignoring his obvious knowledge of how she felt toward Hunt. "This estate has been in your family for centuries. How could you think Hunt would want to be an overseer of his own home? He grew up in possession of Peregrine Manor as the Lord and Master?” “He’s going to lose it.” She couldn’t let that happen if she had the power to prevent it. “I’ll talk to him and see what he has to say.” “He’ll ask you not to do it.” Clive grabbed her long hair and yanked her forward. Unbalanced, she fell against him. His hand cupped her breasts and his fingers pinched her nipple. She wrenched herself free of his mauling grip, but her hair remained attached to his twisting fingers. “He’s already started to turn you into his whore in the dining hall. Do you really want to hear him tell you to sell yourself for his sake?” Morgandy jerked completely free and ran up the stairs. Her emotions ran a rampant course, and topping it was Clive’s confession of observing her on his brother’s lap. The mortification of knowing Clive looked on while Hunt suckled her breast, sent shivers up her back. She hurried to her room in a whirl of confusion. Her sentiments for Hunt were rather sudden. He had not shown her one shred of common respectability in the pasture. He shamefully took her curiosity and turned it into his pleasure. Clive turned her thrilling day into one of dread. Morgandy stripped off her soiled clothes with a need to bathe. She dipped a cloth into the white ceramic basin of cool water. The first touch went to her breasts. She didn’t think of it as washing away Hunt’s kisses even though those were the last to touch her. The idea of Clive or Lord Brimley doing the same made her feel unclean. Their dirty stares clung to her skin as well as her mind. She wiped her neck, her face, and her belly, imagining Hunt’s lips in the same places. She pictured his sinewy arms surrounding her. Unconscious of where her hand traveled, the contact of the rough rag against her clit, made her shudder at the sensitivity. Mere thoughts of the man naked gave her an unrestrained sexual excitation. Her wobbly legs wouldn’t hold her. She lay on the tufted chaise, one leg on the floor, while the other she drew up. She dropped her knee to the side, and in the center of her spread legs she brushed the cloth.

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A sizzling spark of heat shot into her body. Her limbs stiffened. She wanted Hunt and no other. She could hardly think beyond the ache building in her. The scalding heat rippled through her veins and made her envision the shadowy man of her nocturnal unrest. Hunt would fill her empty loins, his seed would flood her grieving womb, and she’d love him. A moan whimpered from her throat. She already loved him. The memory, the man, and the desires she grew to imagine for a future, she’d not have with him if she married Lord Brimley. Yet, because of her love or her wild infatuation, she knew she’d sacrifice her happiness for Hunt’s. She tossed away the cloth and let her hand assuage the needs of her groping cunt. Her finger glided through the slick folds and into the clenching ring. “Hunt,” she moaned his name. Her body surged to the stimulation. In her dreams he took her in his arms and rained kisses on her face. In reality, he had shown her adulation. She thrust her finger deeper, imagining his cock rasping the walls of her drenched channel. The idea of him pumping into her, over and over again, made her quake violently with a climax. Her body convulsed in a stutter of spasms. Her toes curled. She wouldn’t remove her finger from the sensitive nub until the throes of her release were totally spent of their agonizing glory. Morgandy heaved in glorious exhaustion. She felt watched, and she turned her head to the open window. On the sill, the falcon sat. His pensive gaze locked to hers. She slid her wet fingers up her belly, to her breast, and rubbed her sore nipple. Clive’s pinch had hurt but she would not let it overpower her memory of Hunt’s hot breath. His engaging lips and his tantalizing tongue gave her the gratification she used to seek in dreams. What she couldn’t do awake, she would relive there, in sleep. She rolled to her side on the chaise and watched the falcon until her eyes drooped. Her weary mind couldn’t decide what she should do, but her well-rested one would have a plan. She closed her eyelids, and she imagined Hunt coming to her. The shadowy outline of a man stepped into the light. She brought his head down to her breast, and his tongue stroked her nipple. The sound of her joy ripped from her throat in a long agonizing whine. His mouth suctioned hard, making her cunt weep with elation. She clawed at his shoulders, claiming him. The room filled with the scent of her sex and his skin. “Hunt,” she begged him to satisfy her. “Hunt, please.”

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His body lowered to her. His cock slipped into her too easy. She felt as if nothing had entered, and yet he dropped his weight onto her with a relentless force. He kept bouncing on top of her and the wind rushed from her lungs before she had a chance to take in a deep breath. Her hands were jerked above her head and held there. She thrashed in panic. The man laughed, and it wasn’t Hunt’s voice she heard. A blend of her husband’s, Clive’s, and Lord Brimley’s replaced Hunt’s shadowy figure. The nightmare screamed from her lungs. “No!” She sat up with surprise at the arms around her. “Hush,” Hunt’s voice cooed against her ear. “Hush Sweetness, it was just a bad dream, that’s all.” She gasped heavily for air and pushed her shaking hands around his waist. Her naked breasts rubbed his chest and the short hairs tickled her turgid nipples. An overwhelming wave of realness bound her to him tighter. “I want you Hunt. I want you in me.” “Hold tight, Sweetness.” He slid his hands under her bottom and stood up. She rode in the cradle of his arms as he walked to the bed. “I’ve longed to have you like this ever since I saw you hovering over me in the pasture.” He kissed her affectionately. He lowered her to the soft down-filled quilt on her bed. Heaven shrouded her in the angelic white of her pillows. Hunt came down with her. His knee brushed her leg as he climbed on the mattress. Her breasts jiggled with the movement and it caught his eyes. She liked the way he looked down and ran the tip of his tongue over his top lip. His masculine beauty held her in awe. With his ebony hair hanging in a halo of waves around his face, she watched his green eyes glisten. He had a thought in those emeralds, and it excited her. “Touch your nipples,” he said. “Caress them so that I can watch them quiver beneath your lovely fingers.” His broad shoulders twisted and turned with his repositioning. Muscles fought beneath the taut skin. All tanned with a rich, honeyed hue, his chest bulged with strength, the kind she felt safe around and weak under. Her fingers trembled with the eager pleasure she hunted for in his eager expression. She circled her dark areolas making the nipples pucker prominently. “Yes, like that.”

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The stimulation aroused her just as much, but not like she knew his lips could, had, and would again. She pulled and stretched the plump nubs with delight. Hunt in the meanwhile placed his large hand to her inner thigh, pushed her leg aside, and placed a knee between her knees. His hips flexed and his cock brushed her leg just below her hip. Each stroke of his hardness prompted her to squeeze her breasts. The length of his erection grew bolder and reached to her hipbone. “Hold them up for me.” He bowed his head and licked over one pretentious nipple, and then her other greedy bud. He lifted his leg over hers and knelt with both knees between her thighs. His body arched and pressed the velvet head of his cock against her. She felt the wiggle of his hips making the plump knob of flesh fit upon the entrance of her gapping cunt. She barely remembered what it felt like to have a man sweating and grunting on top of her. Not that the memory had anything pleasant enough to recall. He teased her with his delay, pushing but not entering. She dripped from her earlier fingering and she wanted him, sweaty or not. She didn’t care if he grunted like a rutting pig, she so needed Hunt to be close, she cried. Tears skittered down her cheeks. His lips found every last one and kissed them away. “I’ve never wanted a woman more,” he told her. She anticipated crying out at his plunge instead he only eased into her. A little more with each rock of his hips, until she felt he could go no further. Morgandy folded her arms up under his and held his back. She squirmed to the kisses on her face and throat. She needed to be touched in a special place and she couldn’t make him reach the tickle long enough. His buttocks clenched under her fingers digging into his flesh. She tried to force him tighter into her contracting center. Strength in her arms did not produce what she needed. Lifting one leg and then the other, she threw them over the back of his solid thighs. Her heels pressed into the cheeks of his ass. “Oh, harder, Hunt, Come into me harder,” she urged. He reached a hand back and jerked her leg even higher so her knee rubbed his ribcage. She drew her other leg up in the same fashion. Hunt kissed along her neck and nibbled her earlobe. She heard the whispers of her heart, but could he? His hard, lean body heaved against her. She could only hang like a dewdrop to his narrow hips. Her calf muscles tightened and she rode under him, her hips bucked in tempo matching his. She scraped her nails up to his shoulders, and lifting her head, kissed the strained cords in his neck. 26

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The fiery lightning raged from inside her and she found herself the one sodden in her own perspiration. She sounded out her elation with beastly grunts. Pleasure unleashed the guttural whines, and Hunt finally matched them. Warmth spread fluidly from her cunt. Her voice wouldn’t work, but her mouth could move. Hunt sucked the very air she needed from her lungs. Aggressively, he slurped wet kisses, his tongue swept circles behind her teeth, and she clung to the rapture of his passion. He didn’t say anything. Something she expected. The surprise she had not anticipated was his arms dragging her over his tumbling torso. He rolled to his side and brought her along. Her cramped legs stretched and her toes touched his. His foot caressed hers. The sole glided up her calf, behind her knee, and then raked back down. Their legs twined together, just like their arms. Clinging ivy on a smooth barked tree had nothing in comparison to them snuggled together for a cherished amount of security. Morgandy closed her eyes and fell asleep in Hunt’s embrace, not thinking, or expecting to have to give up the tranquil calmness.

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Chapter Four

The knock at the door woke Hunt. He slipped out of the bed and quickly transformed into the falcon to take flight from Morgandy’s room. No one needed to know of his rakish courtship. The less gossip the better, until he learned more about how the fortune he left her vanished, as well as the financial security of his estate. Clive knew how to squeeze blood from a coin. He felt it hardly unlikely his brother would lose an estate he deemed finally belong to him. Hunt perched on a tree close enough to see and hear who disturbed his angel. She moved slowly from the mattress. He smiled to see her twist and turn to work out the kinks of their jubilant lovemaking. Her innocence in bed proved further what a flop her husband had been. She knew little of how to move with a man, and it gave him a chance to give her incentives to learn. She picked up quickly on how her body could join so completely to his. “Just a minute,” she called out while rushing to find her robe. She bent over, for her slippers he presumed, and his feathered body tensed at the sight of her smooth ivory bottom wiggling in the air. The tantalizing pink of her clit peeked out just enough so only a falcon could see. With a sight like that, he would perch without food and water all day. Her parade from one side of the room to the other had a fluid grace. Her trim waist flared to the luscious curve of well-shaped hips then tapered to her thighs. Her skin glowed with the sort of unblemished smoothness not even a porcelain figurine could claim. She found her robe. Her willowy arms swung it around, and the white linen swished the air like a cloud. It billowed out and floated down, encasing her nudity in an unwelcome shroud. She cinched a wide green sash about the middle and rushed to another insistent knock on her door. “Is he in here?” Clive asked, pushing the door open and forcing Morgandy back. “No…I mean, who?” She looked around the room a bit skeptical of her own answer.

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She had to know he didn’t hide under the bed. Did she think he left evidence behind? “Hunt, as if you didn’t know.” Clive stalked to the very corners of the room. “So, have you thought about what I told you?” “About marrying Lord Brimley?” she asked. Morgandy clutched the collar of her robe closer to her swan-like neck. She appeared nervous and frightened. Hunt wanted to glide from his tree limb to stand before them in her room. He didn’t appreciate Clive making her tremble. “Yes, I thought about it,” she finally answered. Hunt cocked his head when he noted she already knew what his brother spoke of. “And?” Clive’s impatience continued to irritate him. “Do I have to decide today?” “Lord Brimley expects an answer this evening,” Clive grumbled. Hunt couldn’t believe what his hearing picked up. Morgandy came to the window and looked straight at him in the tree. She appeared sad, and she didn’t have to be. She needed to turn around and tell Clive no. Whatever his brother planned, Morgandy did not have to be involved in the matter of his return. “I suppose if it’s the only way I can keep Peregrine Manor for Hunt, I will marry Lord Brimley. However, I insist he turn over the financial note to Hunt before our wedding.” A head for business, Hunt liked that. He also liked her selfless sacrifice for him. Not a necessary one, since he could manage holding onto his own estate. It would be just the thing to expect from Clive. His vengeance always had a twist of the unusual, and it also blinded him to the flaws. Clive left Morgandy’s room. Hunt thought he’d fly to the far side of the manor and enter the third floor window he departed from. However, Morgandy’s sob breaking the silence pulled him from his perch and he swooped down to the windowsill. “It’s you again.” Her wan smile barely uplifted the corners of her pretty mouth. “Are you lost? I don’t remember Clive mentioning having a falcon. He doesn’t like the outdoors much.” She stroked her hand over his feathered head. She had a gentle touch and a kind heart. He’d not give her up to Lord Brimley, nor would his brother take pleasures with her lusting body. She belonged to him. “Maybe Lord Brimley?” she questioned. “He mentioned acquiring a hawk.” 29

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She turned away and untied her robe. It slipped from her silky shoulders with a shrug and fell in a puddle she hurried to kick away. Her dark hair swung just to the dimples of her spine. He inhaled the sweet hint of rose from the bottle she opened. She splashed the fragrance on her skin with little concern that he watched. Then, as a bird, she had no reason to hide her toiletry habits. His eyes widened a bit more when she stood in front of the mirror and examined her very fine pair of breasts. Her fingers teased the soft tips making her nipples distended into succulent beads. Her hand froze, and he looked up to read her expression. Her eyes were on him with some sort of regard. “You naughty bird,” she wheeled about. The sight of her caught his breath. Her mahogany locks burst over her shoulders. They cascaded forward over her breasts and parted for her nipples to poke through the curtain of hair. But the thatch of curls at the crux of her legs gathered his attention more. “Go on with you.” She swung her arms. Her breasts swayed with a cute bounce, and he held his place until she came close enough for him to smell her ripening sex. The sun streaming through the window from behind him glinted off the dewy wetness she hadn’t suppressed trickling from her cunt. He tasted the rich ripeness without touching, and he flew off to find a way to rejoin her as a man. The approach of Lord Brimley’s carriage turned Hunt to spook the horse and give the portentous man a fright. He dove into the path of the trotting mare and surprised the animal with a screech. The horse whinnied but stayed on course so he circled to come at the horse from another angle. Brimley stopped the carriage. “Magnificent,” he voiced with awe. Clive rode toward him on his horse and looked up. “I do believe that is a falcon, and such a unique specimen. I must have one for my collection,” Brimley told him. “Your collection, Lord Brimley?” Clive watched the sky. Hunt continued to circle the men. “I have a great interest in falconry, and I have many different breeds of hawks. I had no idea you had such an interest.” “I don’t.” “Surely that falcon does not live here out of pleasure? Your brother, Lord Peregrine, did he bring it home with him? I must speak to him about obtaining the bird. I’ll pay him handsomely for the creature.” 30

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Clive gave his usual lackluster attention to the sport of kings. But it gave Hunt an idea, a very ingenious plan to get his estate from the man. If he understood the obsession Lord Brimley had, he could control Morgandy’s dilemma. “Forget about the bird and let’s discuss Morgandy.” Clive said. “If you want her, you can have her, but there’s a price.” “Is she agreeable?” “She has agreed.” “Then price will not be a problem. For years I’ve watched that young lady blossom. I still think it shameful you did not come to me first when you wanted to marry her off. Have you seen the ripe fullness of her breasts when she bends over? Just last week, I dropped a napkin from the table and made sure it was too far for me to reach. The angle I had allowed me to see the very hint of her delicious nipple. I near spent myself thinking about the little button against my tongue.” Hunt watched the man rub the crotch of his trousers. No doubt, adjusting his cock from the self-induced arousal he got thinking about Morgandy’s luscious flesh. He flew off to the backside of the house and went into his room still filled with his brother’s belongings. His feet hit the floor with a thud and his eyes flew up to the figure stepping from the shadows. “I don’t understand?” Morgandy’s face wrinkled with perplexity. “You’re the falcon, but how?” “Magic.” He took one step forward, and she took one back, so he didn’t move again. "How did you know?" "I didn't. I recognized the clothes as those of Clive's. I came here looking for you when he left the manor." The mere sight of her made his cock grow heavy. His testicles throbbed with the jolt of blood working through the enthusiastic veins crisscrossing paths with his singed nerve endings. The last thing he needed was to explain things very unexplainable. Once he had a child, he would be free of the self-sought curse. “You’ve watched me touch myself,” she commented without emotion. “And I’ve enjoyed every minute.” “I should feel some embarrassment from my self-indulgence.” Her cheeks tinted with a crimson blush making her eyes sparkle. “If you had any discomfiture, I wouldn’t think you’d be here in my room with just your robe on, my little vixen.” Her fingers gripped the collar of her robe as she had done with Clive. 31

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“Take the robe off,” he requested. “Is your magic sinful?” She held the robe tighter. “Not nearly as much as the way I want to lick between your legs until you’re screaming in ecstasy.” Morgandy squeaked, sucking in her shocked breath. “Now, take off your robe. I want to look at you some more at a distance.” She bit her bottom lip. “Morgandy?” “I’m afraid.” “Of me?” He took a step, and she backed two steps away. “I wouldn’t hurt you.” “No, no, it’s not the magic or anything like that, it’s…Hunt I have to tell you something and I don’t want to.” “If you’re talking about Brimley, I know.” She looked at the window. “Yes, of course. You were in the tree listening outside my room.” Hunt walked the rest of the way across the room, backing Morgandy to the wall. He felt her heat radiate through the robe she wore. It bathed him with a memory of her limbs clinging to him. “And watching.” He grinned. She remained serious and pensive. His curse scared her, hell it scared him. “Morgandy,” he held a hand out near her face, “you don’t have to marry anyone you don’t want to, and I won’t lose Peregrine Manor.” She pushed away from the wall. His hand grazed the side of her head and folded behind her neck, pulling her into his embrace. “What will we do?” She put her head on his shoulder. He hugged her, and an odd feeling entered his mind from years ago when he had picked her up from the street. She had put her head on his shoulder just as she did now. He didn’t want to remember the child. She had grown into a woman, an event he now did not regret missing. If he had watched, he didn’t think he could want her. He wouldn’t want to strip her bare so he could feast his eyes on her every curve. He wouldn’t want her screaming out his name during the orgasm he yearned to entice from her eager body. “I have a plan to occupy Brimley until I can look into the estate accounts. But I’ll need your help.” 32

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“I won’t have to marry him?” “Never.” “You won’t ask me to—to do anything with him?” “Why, has someone made you do something you didn’t want?” He cupped her face. “Clive once came to my room in the middle of the night and he…” She looked away. Hunt’s chest tightened at the idea his brother forced himself on her. “Tell me,” he insisted. “He wanted me. I refused, and he threatened to send me away. I had nothing and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to leave here. I love this house.” “So you slept with him.” “No, but I agreed to marry him.” Her fingers brushed at his chest. “And then you came home.” Hunt pulled her to the bed. He kissed the robe from her shoulders while his hands unknotted the sash. “Tell me about the falcon—and you. Have you always been able to turn into a bird? Can you do anything else?” She squirmed against him. “I don’t care, Hunt. I don’t understand, but I feel so close to you.” He held her face, his fingers stroking her soft cheeks. “I had to have seen something in you the day we met.” “You would have taken any child home that you found sitting hungry and alone. You’re a generous man.” Hunt brushed her full lips with his thumb and sat on the bed with her. “I’m sorry about your child.” “He was only two weeks old.” She grew quiet. He shouldn’t have brought it up. He didn’t want to think of her past, or his own. From that day on, his life would be new and so would hers. “I cannot replace your loss, Morgandy, but I can give you a child to fill your empty arms.” He leaned and kissed her. “I can give you a happy life.” “Hunt, what will you do about Peregrine Manor?” “You’re going to offer to sell Lord Brimley the falcon—me.” He grinned. “You are going to sell him magic. So for the time being, neither he nor Clive can know about us being together.” “How can I possibly sell him magic?” she asked, sadness creeping into her voice. 33

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Hunt slid his arm around her back and lowered her to the bed. Her fingers circled over his chest and tickled his ribs with a light stroke. He understood her melancholy. He wished to shout from the treetops how his infatuation with her made him the happiest man alive. “I’ll tell you later.” He kissed her nose. “Right now, I have other interests.” “And just what might those interests be, Lord Peregrine?” His mouth dove to her enticing smile. He sucked her lips into his kiss. Morgandy’s whimsical sigh teased his cock in much the same way as her warm thigh rubbing him. “I want to kiss you a thousand times in a million places.” “Yes,” she moaned. “Oh yes, Hunt.” He moved to her breasts, suckled one, and then the other. She arched, pressing herself into the relief he promised. His tongue traced a straight wet line to her small navel. One circle, one dip, and he moved to the concave between her hipbones. The luscious fringe of ringlets touched his nose. Morgandy’s fingers slid up his back and combed into his hair. Her legs dangled over the side of the bed. He parted the lips of her cunt, and she pulled a foot up on the edge of the mattress and opened herself wider for him. “Hunt,” she cried in frustration. He kissed her thighs, her hips, and her sweet smooth belly. He delayed with purpose, and her delightful whines came as planned. “Hunt, please,” she begged with a desired eloquence. His hand caressed the shapely leg he kissed from delicate knee to the vortex of damp ringlets. With the tip of his tongue, he touched the top of her clit and tickled her. Restless fingers scratched at his back, tugged at his hair, and searched for a hold. “Ah, you taste so wonderful, Morgandy.” He licked deeper, taking his time, and enjoying her mewls. When he lifted her other leg dangling from the crook of his arm, he sucked on the sensitive ivory skin close to her sexual scented entrance. He partook of the tantalizing aroma with redolent pleasure. His tongue wiggled over the knotted bud beneath the hooded flesh and she whined with a rapid staccato. The kittenish purrs riffling the air thrust his enthusiastic tongue into her creamy slick entrance. Her hips tried to lift, but one delicate foot on the bed didn’t give her the

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leverage like two could. His kiss sucked her center, pressing her down on the mattress and putting an added resistance against her hips elevating. The twitches of her center didn’t stop his exploration. The succulent folds wrapped his tongue plunging in and out of her grasp. Her warm liquid flowed, filling his mouth. He cupped one round breast and squeezed the firm, yet soft flesh. She had the darkest nipples. His attention and her lust had engorged them so the cherry peaks were plump. Nipping them with gentle tugs and pecking kisses up her ivory neck, he lingered on the delicate shell of her ear. He swirled his tongue over the rim and slid down to where he tenderly nibbled on her earlobe. Morgandy squirmed, fighting the sensations assaulting her. He kept her on edge with quick whips and flicks of his tongue. Excitement jerked him from the bed. He hoisted her other leg up and positioned himself close. His cock throbbed and jolted toward the heat still dripping from her hot center. Pressed to the fiery slit, he gripped her knees and shoved into her with a low grunt of relief. “Hunt.” She reached for him. He looked at her innocent seduction with an eddy of dark hair coiled on the bed. "You're beautiful." He grabbed her hands and pulled her up while her legs locked around his waist. He hoisted her higher and groaned with the tightness of her insides caressing his hard cock, drawing him in deeper. The stimulation only intensified when she bit his earlobe. “Hurry,” she whispered hotly in his ear. “I need you to hurry.” He banged her up against the backside of the door and jerked his hips in an effort to meet her request. Unmerciful in his passion, he pummeled her with the forceful ramming of his hips. His scrotum felt ready to explode. With her breasts taunting his nipples and her fingers tickling his ribs, every pore filled with the dampness of his expelling energy. He played with her tongue, and when he needed to escape her mouth for a breath, she forced her lips harder. He could feel his teeth against them. His hands crisscrossed her back and came up to hold her head. He dragged his lips from her mouth and hunted out the ribbon of her silky neck. His kiss plied and sucked at the warm pulse he found. Morgandy’s hands fretfully rubbed over his back. Her squeaks climaxed until her voice pitched into one long whine.

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Hunt roared when the pressure in his cock burst free in a fiery stream into Morgandy’s clenching body. The room vibrated and the house shook with their culmination. A sound from outside the room made them both freeze in place.

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Chapter Five

Morgandy couldn’t rein in the exhaustive pants wheezing from her constricting lungs. Hunt put a hand on the back of her head and drew her face down on his shoulder. “Someone heard us?” she whispered. “I think it was just some old timbers in the walls shifting. This house has always made noises.” “No,” she whispered again. “Someone heard us.” She cared and yet, she didn’t. Her willful lips brushed the top of Hunt’s wide shoulder with breathless kisses. “Shh, listen sweetness.” She strained to hear someone. Hunt smiled. “The clock, it’s chiming and it’s close to suppertime. We need to get you back to your room.” He dropped her legs so she stood leaning against him. “I’ll get dressed and then take you.” She watched him. Her breathing came heavy with a lingering exhilaration. His strong body had held her up as if she were a feather. She giggled thinking about Hunt covered in feathers. He looked back at her. His beautiful green eyes had a similar amusement twinkling in them. But it wouldn’t be for the same reason as hers. Morgandy tried to make quiet tiptoe steps down the hall. Hunt’s roaming caress made her laugh, and she tried to push his naughty hands away. “Someone will hear us. You said we shouldn’t let anyone know about us...Hunt!” Morgandy found herself pressed into the alcove of a bedroom door. His mouth claimed hers. His large, strong hands tenderly cradled her face so his thumbs could control and caress the underside of her jaw. He lingered on her lips even while her mouth remained parted for him. He nibbled her lower lip and traced the smile she couldn’t suppress. “You’re sweetness inspires me to keep you surprised.” “That you have,” she whispered. “But why do you think I need to be surprised? 37

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“So I never bore you.” “I can’t imagine ever succumbing to boredom even if we were to do nothing but lie on a grassy bank by the pond all day.” “Yes, and make love. I want to endlessly make love to you.” His satin tongue slipped between her teeth and bathed the contours of her mouth. “Let’s get you to your room before I rip the robe from your delicious body and have my way with you here in the hallway.” She smiled to herself, liking the idea very much. In her room, Hunt made small sounds, manly grunts of exasperation. Every piece of clothing she put on she did with a flirtatious flaunting of her body. He liked watching, and it made her wet with vivid memories. Just like in his room, she felt the heat of attraction beckoning her to stray from the routine of throwing clothes on quickly. “Let me help you.” He knelt and rolled her stocking into a chalice for her foot. Morgandy dipped her toes into the pocket he formed, and then his fingers unfurled the red silk up her leg. He kissed her knee and tied the red ribbon garter in place. The other leg, he lifted higher, bent lower, and wet her toes with kisses. The top of her foot, the side of her ankle, and every place between to her knee were lavished with affectionate slurps of his lips before he even started the stocking. “Hunt, someone will surely come in search of me.” He nodded, and a lock of his dark hair swung over his eye. He pushed it back and stepped away. “Please continue, and I’ll not interfere again.” He bowed. “You should go down to the dinning room before me. Then there will be no questions.” He didn’t touch, but his pleased sounds were still distracting. When she finished and went to the door, he held her there in the archway. His hands continually rubbed her sides. “If you want me to go down to supper first, you know you have to let go,” she laughed. “Yes, well, I enjoy holding you.” She kissed him and spun out of his tempting arms. The echo of his laugh followed her down the hall all the way to the staircase. She danced with a light step to each tread. It seemed so hard to believe she could be so happy that she felt like shouting it to everyone. Clive’s frown greeted her descent and stole her smile. However, it couldn’t touch the one in her heart. “Good evening, Miss Fairfax,” Lord Brimley said from the dinning room. 38

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She looked past Clive knowing he had already told the man she’d marry him. The gloating smugness could be for no other thought than the one he stood imagining of her naked. He hadn’t been very discrete in putting her in positions that allowed him to ogle and drool. She found it a disgusting toleration she had to endure for Clive. After all, she lived in what she deemed his home for many years, and to be impolite to his guests was not in her character. “Might I speak to you in private, Lord Brimley?” she asked. He came forward at once. “Yes, of course. I have a desire to speak to you of a delicate matter as well.” She tried not to stare at the way he waddled his large body across the room. “Please, you two talk and I’ll make myself scarce.” Clive’s grin bordered on the edge of evil. She waited until he left and then she looked at Lord Brimley. “I’m not interested in getting married,” she started. “Not yet, so I hope you’ll have patience with me.” “Oh, there’s no rush. I should like to have the pleasure of courting you.” “I should also tell you of my little secret, I suppose.” She attempted to make her statement sound mysterious by keeping her voice low. His eyes widened with interest. She thought he must lead a boring life for his expression to brighten so readily. It made her think of the way Hunt thought to tell her he would always surprise her so she wouldn’t bore of him. It didn’t seem the same. “So, what is this secret?” he asked. “Well, I have raised this magnificent falcon and it is truly the best hunter.” “That’s your secret?” He laughed. “No, of course not, the secret is, the bird understands me and will do anything I ask, well within reason. He is after all a bird, and can only do birdlike things.” He gave her a curious look she didn’t understand. “I hate to put a damper on your obvious excitement over your accomplishment, but many falconers successfully train their hawks.” “I didn’t know that.” “Am I interrupting?” Hunt’s voice made her head turn slightly. “No, not at all, Lord Peregrine.” Lord Brimley shifted on his heels. “Good, shall we go into supper?” Hunt left her to Lord Brimley’s arm. She almost cringed when Lord Brimley's fat hand patted hers. Not a tap but a possessive smoothing of her knuckles she wanted to jerk from. His rough palm continued 39

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to abrade her skin. Hunt didn’t have soft palms, but she enjoyed the feel of his calloused caresses. They stimulated her pores, her nerves, and her blood vessels. Hunt enlivened her flesh with a sensuous tease. Lord Brimley plainly irritated her flesh. Clive stood waiting for them in the dinning room. He hovered near the head of the long table, his usual seat since his ascension to head of house. Hunt’s return threw a kink in the works, and Morgandy suppressed her smile when Hunt went to the chair. “Here, let me get that for you.” Hunt pulled the stout seat out from the table. “It’s just a chair, and I’ve others to select from.” Clive grumbled and put a hand on the ladder-back, but he didn’t sit. Hunt swept around to her next and took her arm. He guided her to a place near the opposite end. To her delight, he motioned for Lord Brimley to go to the other side. “See brother dear, we have two ends to the table.” Hunt pushed her chair in, and then sat at his end of the banquet table putting Clive at a distinct disadvantage. Clive’s face hardened into the angry stony expression she recognized. It glinted with a burning fuchsia, and if they were alone he would erupt with a berating tone she often felt the brunt of. However, he couldn’t vent with his brother the way he did with her. She looked to Hunt with a small smile. Clive’s placement now had the appearance of a cruel banishment. The long table really did put him away from them, and she liked the turn around. Things were settling into place and she should have felt content. Hunt showed her an adoring amount of attention since his arrival, and she couldn’t be happier. Yet, six months after Hunt installed her in his home and made her his legal ward, he had gone away, and never came back. Animosity surfaced to that long buried resentment she had for him leaving her to Clive’s cruel forms of reprimands. She looked again at Clive. Cast out of their gathering brought up memories of her punishments and her rewards. Hunt didn’t raise her, Clive did, and she felt a twinge of loyalty toward him for his generous allowance of her presence even though she understood it to be out of selfishness. The meal had no taste for Morgandy. She let her mind wander to Hunt’s ability. She even tried to pretend he tricked her in some way. He couldn’t really turn into a falcon. With his plan to trick Lord Brimley, she considered if maybe he hadn’t tricked her too.

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The bump of something against her foot brought her head up from staring at the peas on her plate. She counted twenty-three the first time and twenty-four the second. “Lord Brimley is interested in your falcon, Morgandy.” Hunt’s warm hand touched hers. “I’ve told him I had no idea you had such talents.” Her pulse quickened to the caress. His mischievous green eyes twinkled with the clever innuendo. He moved his hand causally away so one would hardly suspect it had any meaning. She had trouble herself, unless she looked at him. The full extent of his lust so evident, heated her through to her center. She never had so many sinfully rich orgasms in a day until he came along. His jaw set stern and unemotional, gave no one reason to believe the crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes could contain an allure to make her melt. No one would know how her body flushed with wet anticipation of being alone with him again. “Mmm…yes, my falcon,” she replied, trying not to think about other places Hunt had put his fingers. “I wouldn’t say it’s any kind of skill. I’ve hardly worked with the creature at all. He just does what I ask.” Hunt stood and held his hand to her. “Come. Show us your remarkably self-taught falcon. I’m more than curious myself.” She rose from the chair eager for his touch. He wrapped her anxious fingers to the crook of his elbow. The jacket could not hide the heat drawing her grip tighter on his sleeve. “Oh, I just remembered, I had some things to take care of with one of the servants.” Hunt stopped at the doorway. “Lord Brimley, would you like to escort Miss Fairfax out to her falcon and I’ll join you shortly?” Morgandy watched her hand go from the place she revered to the arm she detested. She couldn’t say anything. She knew Hunt would not be able to go with them. At the same time, she didn’t want to be left in Lord Brimley’s clutches. **** Hunt flew to Morgandy before she had a chance to look for him. She lifted her arm, and he took a place on her elbow. “Shouldn’t you have a leather guard on your arm? His talons could rip your precious skin.” Lord Peregrine looked on impressed. Morgandy’s hand pet over his head. “He’s very gentle, with me.” She smiled. “Why have I never heard about this falcon?” Clive circled.

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Hunt let his gaze follow his brother. It had surprised him at dinner that Clive didn’t question her about the bird. Then, his brother had a fixated stare most of the time on Morgandy and not on what they talked about. “I didn’t think it would interest you,” she answered. Clive grunted. “So, Miss Fairfax, what is it you have taught this fine falcon to do?” Lord Brimley asked. Hunted waited for Morgandy to think of something, and hoped she understood his limits. “Fly a circle around us,” she commanded. Hunt eased off her arm and did her bidding to the snickers of the men. Instead of flying high, he made the tightest circle around their bodies. No falcon would dare fly so close, but he had to make an impression on Lord Brimley. “Amazing!” Lord Brimley eyes widened. “Yes, isn’t he,” she sighed. Hunt heard her wistful excitement. Her gown did nothing to hide the points of her nipples. He could recall them on his tongue, hard eager buds hungering for his kisses. For a moment, even Lord Brimley shamefully stared at her pert breasts. His tongue flicked a hungry lick to his plump lips. He could not fault the man for wanting her. She had an exquisite nature with her virtuous shape. Prior fornications could not take away the illusion of chastity. “There goes a field mouse, have him catch it,” Clive insisted. “She can’t be so specific,” Lord Brimley exclaimed, his eyes drawn away from inventorying all details of Morgandy. “Get the mouse.” Morgandy rushed to prove the arrogant old man wrong. Hunt swooped down on the rodent. He plucked it from the ground like one might retrieve a pebble. If she asked him to eat it, he knew he’d be sick. Circling back, he dropped the mouse on his brother. Clive shrieked, no less a sound than a girl squealing in surprise at the same shocking stunt. Morgandy had trouble muffling her snicker, and he saw Clive’s angry eyes narrow. Hunt swooped down with a high-pitched squawk to distract, while landing on her arm. “Go back to your perch,” she told him. 42

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He didn’t want to leave her, but he couldn’t very well be the magnificently trained falcon Morgandy claimed if he didn’t do as she commanded. Besides, he liked her keen awareness Clive’s mood had soured. Hunt flew around to the back side of the house. He flew through the open window to the room in which he left his clothes. He dressed quickly, swinging the jacket around to put his arms in the sleeves. A note fell from the pocket and he picked it up from the floor. The short worded letter had enough impact to turn the small feeling of indifference toward his brother, into hate.

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Chapter Six

Morgandy ran up the stairs. She hurried to her room first, and then to Hunt’s where she found him staring out the open window. “They were flabbergasted by the few tricks you did.” She danced over to him and hugged his arm. “Lord Brimley has offered a generous sum for the falcon. He shall return tomorrow to negotiate with you, because of course I told him, I required your assistance in the matter. Clive wasn’t at all happy that I didn’t ask him to take care of things.” Hunt shrugged her off his arm and went to the writing desk. He searched through the papers on top then went through those in the drawers. “What are you looking for?” She stayed at the window knowing by his tense expression, something had gone wrong. “They would never suspect you were the…” “Clive instigated the events behind me going to prison,” he said, without looking at her. She wanted to say she didn’t believe it. They were brothers. Clive wouldn’t want to see his brother languish in some foreign imprisonment. But she knew Clive better than she knew anyone. “What will you do?” she asked. “Get to the bottom of something that’s bothered me far worse than my brother’s betrayal.” “What?” When he glanced her way, she felt him distance himself from her. A horrible wave of guilt swept through her and it had to have reflected in her stare. “You can’t think I would do anything to side with Clive.” “Why do you say that?” “Because you look at me as if I did something wrong.” “The money. What do you know of the finances around here?” “Nothing.”

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“Then you’re no help to me at this moment, go to your room. I have some important matters to take up with my brother and I don’t want you around.” “I don’t understand.” “Just go to your room and I’ll come there in a little while.” Morgandy did as he asked. In her room, she paced the four corners wondering and wishing he would tell her what angered him. Hours upon hours went by. Twice she went to the door wanting to find him. Twice she shrank from the idea of leaving the peacefulness of her room. When the door swung open, Hunt came in quietly. He held his arm up with a fistful of papers. They rattled in the air, and then he tossed them on her writing table. “Clive and Lord Brimley have conspired against you and me. As I suspected, Clive’s head for business did not fail him. He has amassed a fortune from your coffers. He set up your marriage to a man known to drink and gamble, just to steal your money. I guess he found it the easiest fortune to obtain.” Morgandy listened without comment. It sounded ridiculously feasible. Hunt opened his arms, and Morgandy rushed into them. Her tears wet his face, and he felt the tension of his rage subside. So much, in so short a time, had him thinking of only her. He didn’t need to hate his brother. He needed to pursue Morgandy’s love. Things were much different in his mind. Without a threat to losing Peregrine Manor, he’d banish Clive from their ancestral home. The simplicity gave him instant peace. The arms hugging him tight would insure a long life of happiness. Hunt kissed her. He took her breath to the very edge of extinction. She gasped and stared at him with amazing adoration. Three short inhales and her lips locked to his again. Her hands fretted over his shoulders, while his searched the best hold to keep her compressed to him. He had her gown coming free of her shoulders when the jiggle of the door handle burst them apart. Clive entered without a formal warning, and charged Morgandy. He clamped his hands around her throat, twisted her around, and held her defensively. “Take another step and I’ll snap her neck,” Clive threatened. “Release her, Clive.” More than anger raged in his soul. His nostrils flared so air could go in and out of his lungs faster. He needed a clear mind, and yet the danger that he would lose Morgandy, rattled him. “Let her leave the room and I’ll not hold your treachery against you.”

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“My—my treachery!” His hands tightened on Morgandy’s throat. “I raised this gutter bitch you brought home, she should be mine. I’ve managed the estates much better than you, and they too should be mine.” “Clive, let her go, your fight is with me.” He fought the urge to attack his brother, “You just think you can come back and take everything?” Clive dragged Morgandy by the throat to the open window. “I went through a great deal of trouble getting rid of the lot of you.” “The lot?” Hunt stepped forward with a sick feeling in his stomach. “Once I had all of her money, Morgandy no longer needed the oaf I had her marry.” “So he didn’t die from an illness?” Hunt couldn’t let Morgandy’s whimper distract him. “And your wife?” “I poisoned them all,” Clive boasted. Hunt glanced at Morgandy’s eyes, wide with more horror than fear. He knew she thought the same thing he did about her child. He felt her pain deep in his heart. “Please, let her go, Clive,” he beseeched. The anger in him waned with the weight of Morgandy’s needs. If her life didn’t hang in the balance, he would have strangled his brother for the anguish he caused her. “Please Clive, I’m begging you to bring her out of the window and release her.” “As soon as you sign over Peregrine Manor,” Clive answered. “I don’t care what you write it on. It’ll be legal no matter what.” Hunt looked around at the feminine room. Frills of lace and the scent of rose had made an impression on him the first time he made love to Morgandy. Even after marriage, she had lived in an atmosphere of innocence. He looked at her standing helpless. Her one hand hung open, the other she clutched in a fist at her stomach. She held something dearly tight in her palm. He looked over the furnishings and saw the pen and ink on her small wood writing desk. He went to it. She had paper in a drawer. “No!” she screamed and struggled against Clive. Hunt didn’t think. He just reacted. He had never shifted into the falcon with clothes on, but as Morgandy went out the window, he charged after her. With force, he hit into Clive to get past. His body shrunk inside the garment and as a falcon, he dove to the ground. His wings hardly had a chance to spread before he had to draw them quickly into his sides. Shifting upon impact, he cushioned Morgandy’s landing with his body transforming back within a second of her crash. 46

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Clive landed with a crack on the stone walk next to them. “Oh God!” Morgandy shrieked. Hunt pulled her head to his chest so she’d not linger in looking at the blood gushing from his brother’s head. He had seen a lot in the ten years he languished in the Romanian prison, but nothing disturbed him like seeing Clive dead because of greed. “Are you all right?” He rubbed Morgandy’s back. The racking sobs shook her in his arms as he sat up, but he felt her head nod beneath his hand. “God, I could never have prayed harder to be a falcon then just now,” he panted. “I don’t know what I would have done if I lost you.” He held her face in his hands. He’d live the rest of his days with the ability to turn into a falcon as long as he had her. “What’s this in your hand?” He pulled open her fingers from her tight fist. “I kept it safe.” She blinked at him with watery eyes. “I’ve kept it close to my heart hoping to protect my love for you.” He looked at the rune the gypsy gave him and then closed her fingers over the symbol of their future. The gypsy gave it to him for guidance on his journey home, and he never suspected it would guide him to a woman to love.

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Epilogue

Hunt lifted the baby up and held her at eye level. "You, my precious will be spoiled equally with your mother." He looked at Morgandy on the bed. Her hair askew, her body drenched in perspiration, she was simply breathtaking before, during, and after childbirth. "Hunt, do you think..." She closed her eyes, and he sat down on the edge of the bed. "I think you need only concern yourself with feeding this child." He laid the baby in the crook of her arm. "Please, Hunt. You've waited nine months to find out if this would cure..." She glanced at the midwife and a servant cleaning up the room. "Leave us," Hunt told them. Both women were already in a snit about his presence while Morgandy gave birth. They didn't think it right for a man to watch. He thought it natural since the child was his, and thankfully Morgandy agreed. "You are fretting over something that we long ago decided wouldn't be a problem." "I know, but what if the curse has repercussions someday? Something new evolves from the curse?" He leaned over and kissed her. "Then we'll settle one problem at a time." Hunt stood up. He couldn't deny he too had a concern there would be something worse in his condition. The ability to transform into a falcon really had not been a problem. He did it at will, and for months he had not even had the want to fly around the house. Though, most of the decision came because of Morgandy's condition. There was nothing he wouldn't do to prevent her from getting upset. The baby cried and he bent back down. "Is something wrong with her?" "Impatience, my love." She unbuttoned her nightdress and exposed one creamy, succulent breast.

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MORGANDY’S LOVER

His tongue flicked over his lips, recalling the taste she secreted. He didn't suck them since she claimed they were tender, but he enjoyed licking them nonetheless. "Have you decided on her name?" he asked. "After much thought, I think I'd like to call her Panthia." "Panthia? Do we, or you, know someone with this name?" Morgandy shook her head. "I heard it once, that's all." "Panthia it will be then." "Now, will you stop stalling?" Morgandy's mouth pinched. "You'll not distract me with another thing today until I know whether you are still a bird." He stepped back from the bed. If he changed into a falcon, then he didn't want to disturb Panthia's sleep with any of his squawks. He smiled at the way she slept nestled to Morgandy's breast, a nipple in her mouth. "Hunt, please!" He bent his legs, and with more concentration than ever before, he willed himself into the falcon. "Hunt?" Morgandy rose up slightly on her pillow. He put his hand up for her to stay put. "One more try." He did as he had a hundred times before and nothing happened. "Oh Hunt, please tell me you're not teasing me." He sat on the bed and put his hand on Panthia's head while bending to kiss Morgandy. "It appears I'm not the same man any longer, sweetness. Will you regret not having me rid the manor of mice?" "You can chase them with a broom like the rest of us." She held his face and cried into his shoulder. "The curse is behind us, Morgandy. We'll not think of the falcon, ever again." For hours he sat on the edge of the bed and wondered about their future. He had a woman to love and a precious child to cherish. He prayed nothing would ever overshadow their happiness again.

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Brenda Williamson

About the Author

Brenda Williamson lives to write and create stories containing timeless love with sensual, sexy, and spicy themes. Forgoing household chores most of the time, she has a great husband and one son whom put up with her many long hours hidden behind a computer. For contemplation, she sits on the porch swing and watches nature inspire from her country home. Brenda’s Chat Group: http://www.groups.yahoo.com/group/BrendaWilliamsonRomanceParty/ Brenda’s Newsletter: http://www.groups.com/group/Author_BrendaWilliamson_RomanticNotes/

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