bear to hurt him so.”
“That explains her reason for wanting the marriage,” Durand said, and now he sounded no less skeptical than Emma. “But what of Sir Ralph
… Bloet, was it? Why would he take on another man’s whelp?”
Morgan bristled at the tone, but he held his temper. Looking toward John, he said succinctly, “My mother was highborn, and very beautiful.”
“I do not doubt it.” John sipped his wine, gestured for Morgan to continue. “Did your mother tell you the name of the man who’d sired you?”
“Yes, my lord, she did. The same man who sired you. Henry Fitz Empress, the English king.”
Emma choked on her wine, seemed in danger of strangling for several moments. Claudine gasped and Justin’s mouth dropped open. Even Durand looked startled. Only John seemed to take this amazing revelation with equanimity. “Indeed? When did they have this… tryst?”
“September of God’s Year 1171. Lord Rhys came to the English king at Pembroke, where he was planning to sail for Ireland. He brought his court, and my mother was amongst them. She was young, and Henry was the king,” Morgan said, with a slight shrug, as if that explained it all and, to his audience, it did. “She was flattered, bedazzled, easily seduced. But when she learned she was with child, she was panic-stricken. The king had taken Caerleon from her father that summer, and he’d declared war upon the English Crown. She feared her father would never have forgiven her had he known she’d lain with Henry. She knew Sir Ralph, and when he found her in tears, she confided in him. You know the rest of the story.”
“Yes,” John agreed, “we do. It is not that uncommon a tale, is it?”
“I suppose not. But this one ended better than most, I daresay. My mother and Sir Ralph have been very content in this marriage, and he always treated me as if I were his own.”
“But you have brothers, do you not?” John said, with certainty. “That would explain why they steered you toward the Church, even though you were the firstborn. It is only natural that he’d want his demesnes to pass to his blood kindred.”
Morgan nodded. His shoulders slumped, as if the truth had been a burden he’d carried too long. “So now you know.”
“Why,” John asked, “did my father not provide for you? Say what you will about him, he always took care of his own. Jesu, he even brought a few of his bastards to his court for my mother to raise!”
“My mother never told him. He’d sailed for Ireland by the time she realized her plight. After she wed Sir Ralph, they agreed that no one need know. People would assume that Sir Ralph had sampled the cream ere he bought it, and I daresay most did, for I remember no whispers, no sidelong looks from neighbors. My mother named me Morgan, after her favorite uncle, and Sir Ralph gave me his name, his protection, and his affection. I have no complaints. They did the best they could under the circumstances. Nor can I blame the English king. He did not reject me, never knew about me.”
Justin flinched, wondering if Morgan realized how lucky he was to be able to say that. He started at the touch of a hand on his shoulder, for he’d not heard Claudine’s soft footsteps in the rushes. She said nothing, merely squeezed his arm in silent understanding.
“So why did you come to me under false pretenses?” Emma was obviously having difficulty accepting that her stable groom might also be her nephew. “What did you want?”
“From you, nothing. After I learned the truth, I was confused,” Morgan said, with a faint smile at such a vast understatement. “It took time for me to come to terms with it. I was angry at first, and I was no longer sure that I wanted a vocation in the Church. It is an unsettling thing, learning that your identity is false, your life a lie.”
“And then you sought us out,” John said.
“Yes. I am not truly sure why,” Morgan admitted. “I suppose I was curious. To find I had another family…”
“A royal family,” Emma said tartly, making it clear that she had no intention of welcoming this newfound kinsman with open arms. “You saw a chance to enrich yourself at my brother’s expense, for Harry was no longer alive to deny your claims!”
“How did I enrich myself by grooming your horses and mucking out your stalls?” Morgan shot back. “I admit I was curious, and I have a right to be! The same blood that flows in your veins, Lady Emma, also flows in mine!”
“So you say. But you have no proof of any of this, do you?”
“No,” Morgan said reluctantly. “I have the emerald ring that the king gave my mother and I have her word. I need no more than that, for she would not lie to me.”
Emma found an unexpected ally now in Durand, who laughed. “Did I miss something? It was my understanding, lad, that she’d been lying to you since the day you were born!”
Morgan glared at Durand. “She had no choice, not whilst her father still lived. They agreed that they’d not lie to me should I ever ask, and they did not.” When Durand did not respond, he swung back toward Emma. “That is why I came to you under ‘false pretenses. ’ Had I come to you with the truth, you’d have turned me away at once. I knew I had no proof that would satisfy you.”
“I disagree.” All heads turned toward John. “You do have proof, Morgan. You showed it to me in the cemetery of the Holy Innocents.”
Once again, Morgan seemed at a loss for words. Emma was not. “Since when have you become as trusting and guileless as a cloistered nun? I thought you had more sense, John!”
John shrugged. “A man,” he said, “can never have too many brothers.”
Morgan ate supper that evening at the high table, a magnet for all eyes. Petronilla looked bewildered by his sudden elevation from groom to high-ranking guest; Emma was smoldering; most of John’s household avidly curious. Justin was astonished, but very pleased by the outcome. “I wish Morgan well,” he said quietly to Claudine. “I never expected, though, that John would accept him so easily or so wholeheartedly.”
“It does not surprise me,” she confided. “What did John say, that his father looked after his own? Well, so does John. He is very good about acknowledging his bastard children, sees that they want for nothing. And of all his brothers, the only one he seems truly fond of is Will Longsword.”
At the mention of John’s baseborn half brother, Justin suddenly realized why Morgan had seemed vaguely familiar from their first meeting. “That is who he reminds me of-Will! They do not have the same coloring, but there is a resemblance for certes.”
Claudine nodded. “You never met King Henry, did you? Well, as soon as Morgan’s secret was out, I could see the father in the son. The same grey eyes, the same powerful build, the freckles, even the bowed legs. And if I can see it, you may be sure that John does, too. Who would not welcome the ghost of a lost loved one?”
“Emma,” Justin countered. “Moreover, I thought John hated his father.”
“No, Richard did. Everything was always so much easier for Richard. But John was his father’s favorite.”
“But he betrayed Henry, abandoned him on his deathbed and went over to Richard and the French king.”
“Yes,” she said sadly, “he did.”
On the following day, Justin began making preparations to depart. He’d hoped to leave at cockcrow, but John had gone to see the French king, taking Morgan along to introduce him to Philippe, and Justin did not want to go without bidding farewell to the newest Plantagenet. He’d tried to coax Morgan into returning to London with him, offering to introduce him to the brother with whom he had the most in common, Will Longsword, but Morgan had declined, saying that John had asked him to stay so they could get to know each other. Justin was not happy about that, convinced that John was a corrupting influence upon everyone he encountered, but there was nothing to be done about it. It was some small consolation that Emma was so disgruntled by the turn of events.
“Are you still set upon leaving this afternoon?” Claudine gave him a sidelong, flirtatious glance, half serious, half in jest. “Are you not tempted to spend the night?”
“Good Lord, yes,” he said, with enough emotion to take any sting out of his refusal. “But I vowed to forswear any and all temptations during Lent.” Now that he and Claudine were back on friendly terms, he thought it wise to put some distance between them, for nothing had changed; he’d still be lusting after a woman he could not trust.
“Mayhap you ought to be the one considering a life in the Church, not Morgan,” she said, with mockery but no
