Fire Raven by Patricia McAllister Read Free Book Online Page B

suddenly cool and impersonal. Kate felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach as his impersonal hands guided her onto the chair. Had she angered or disappointed him somehow? She felt obliged to make amends.
    “Please, where are you going?” She heard his footsteps recede into the distance.
    “To the other end of the table, of course. Otherwise there won’t be room for all of the dishes.” Morgan made it sound a lighthearted jest. She knew his heart wasn’t in it. She sensed his disapproval again and wondered what she’d done to displease him. Had she been too coy, too bold? Was he annoyed by her unsophisticated banter? It was obvious enough, she was no courtly beauty. She felt awkward and ugly, on the verge of tears.
    Her distress was set aside when a mouthwatering smell wafted down the table. Despite her upset, she found she was ravenous.
    Morgan broke apart one of the hot, steaming scones and slathered it with creamy butter and preserves. Just as he was prepared to sink his teeth into the fresh-baked bread, he caught sight of Kate sitting at the other end of the table, hands folded in her lap, patiently awaiting his help. He could hardly ignore the hint when she licked her lips.
    “Damnation,” he muttered, realizing she wasn’t yet able to feed herself without a disaster of one sort or other. He rose and carried his chair and plate of scones back to the other end of the room. There he sat and extended a scone towards the stubborn, set lips of his uninvited guest.
    “Open your mouth,” he ordered her. “I intend for you to sample one of Cook’s world-famous scones.”
    “You don’t have to feed me,” Kate protested, her cheeks burning when she heard the resignation in his voice. She vowed she would not be treated like a child anymore, nor fed like an injured animal. But as she did so, her stomach rumbled desperately.
    To her mortification, Morgan laughed. “I’m afraid you’ve little choice, madam, unless you wish to have currant jam dripping down your bodice,” he said. The instant her mouth opened with surprise, he thrust the scone halfway home. Kate choked and sputtered. The flaky pastry crumbled and melted in her mouth.
    Morgan chuckled at her incredulous expression and watched her down the remaining half with an endearing greed.
    “Like manna from heaven!” Kate declared, licking a dab of red jam from the corner of her lips. Morgan shared in her joyous discovery until he made a shocking one of his own. Sweet Jesu. He was aroused by every movement she made.
    He sat back in his chair, distancing himself from the bewitching smile and sweetly curved lips he knew were complimented by a bright pair of inquisitive, emerald-green eyes — eyes he knew would open wide, then clamp shut with horror once Kate got a real glimpse of him.
    “Cook will be pleased to hear of your approval,” he said brusquely, scraping back the chair as he rose. “I’ll send someone in to help you with the rest of the meal. I just remembered I am needed in the shearing pens.”
    “Oh.” Kate tried to conceal her disappointment and confusion over his abrupt departure. “Shall I see you later?”
    “I doubt it. I’m busy this time of year. By all accounts, my work will run late. If there’s anything you want or need, just let Mrs. Carey know. She’s been instructed to fulfill your every reasonable whim.”
    Instructed by whom ? Kate wondered. The master of the house? Morgan had never mentioned the man who held sway over them all, the same lord who played unwitting host to her now, one who might be rightfully outraged to learn a stranger was sheltered beneath his roof for so long. She feared for Morgan and the other servants, yet she selfishly wished to stay here forever. Here, at least, she felt safe, warm, and protected.
    Who knew what dreadful secrets the sea held in store for her? Kate shuddered to think of crossing those dark waters again, in search of family abroad. Morgan might be convinced she was Irish by