High up on the ramparts, the wind buffeted at him. It left him chilled enough to almost dampen the warmth of the copious amount of mead he'd drunk. Silence surrounded him. Thank the Lord. Sympathetic looks and words of concern made his stomach churn. They had no idea how he felt. Hell, he'd only just discovered exactly how important Alana was to him. And he could do without their fears on his shoulders right now. Laird Dougall's wrath hardly concerned him. He'd offer himself up if needs be. Finn could take his place easily enough.
He dug his nails into the top of the stone wall as he stared down the length of the keep into the bailey. With Margot gone, he had no one to offer to the laird for punishment. That woman surely had the ear of the devil to have escaped them. She must have realised Morgann would never let her get away with poisoning Alana. It was a rash and foolish move on his stepmother's behalf. He ought to be relieved she was gone but until his stepmother was brought to justice, he wouldn't be happy. And the thought of her still out there... he doubted he'd seen the last of her.
Sucking in a long breath, he swallowed down the lump in his throat and sketched a finger over the cold stone. He and Alana came up here in more peaceful times and talk endlessly. His lips slanted into a wry grin. In the years since, he’d forgotten how to talk to people. He used to share almost everything with her. The one thing he had never told her was how he felt about her. At the time he considered it to be a strong affection but mayhap it had been love. Either way, he knew he would marry her someday. If only he’d taken the time to tell her. Who knew if she had even felt the same but he was certain she felt something for him.
He scuffed the ground with his boot, kicking up a loose stone. It was too late now.
Morgann swung the jug hanging from one hand up to his lips and took drink, frowning when only the smallest amount of sweet mead slid down his throat. Surely he'd not drunk the whole jugful? Ach, now he would have to go the kitchens and get some more. He twisted around, put a hand to the wall as the world tilted slightly.
Heart leaping into his throat, Morgann froze. The jug dropped from his fingers and the pottery smashed against the stone floor. He scrubbed a hand across his face and blinked, trying to shove aside his drunken haze. Good Lord, how much had he drunk?
He stumbled forward, arm outstretched. Was he going to be haunted by her for the rest of his days?
"Morgann?"
His knees threatened to buckle beneath him. "God's blood," he whispered. She had to be an illusion, but it didn't stop him from closing the gap and bundling her into his hold. He held her head between both hands and pressed a fervent kiss to her forehead. "Alana?" he muttered as his shifted his lips desperately down, seeking her mouth. "'Tis ye?"
"Aye," she mumbled before he took her mouth in a frantic kiss.
She was warm and soft and alive. Surely she was alive? A ghost should not feel so good. A sound of anguish bubbled in his throat as her tongue met his and he failed to hold it back. Was she truly alive? The pain of losing her still sat in his chest. The memory of her last breath still rang in his ears. How could it be?
Unwilling to release her for fear it was all some dream, he tangled his fingers into her hair. Mayhap he tugged too hard as she whimpered but he couldn't control the frantic movements of his hands as he clasped her to him, seeking a deep, firm kiss.
Feminine hands came around his back and worked under his shirt. Soft fingers stroked his skin, making his entire body tingle. He longed to do the same to her. Only disbelief prevented him from throwing her onto the ground and stripping her bare to repay the favour. He had to know she was real.
Hauling his mouth away, he dragged his lips across her cheek and buried his face in the crook of her neck. She smelled so vibrant, so alive. What in God’s name had happened?
"Yer alive, aren't ye?" he muttered into her hair.
Alana laughed and withdrew her hands from his shirt, stroking them up and down his arms. "Aye, I'm alive. What is yer meaning, Morgann?"
He pulled back to look at her, seeing her scowl in the torchlight. By God, she was beautiful. That sweet chin remained thrust out as ever. Even in confusion, her eyes were enough to bring a man to his knees. And those lips… Puffy from his kisses, he knew in better light they would be red and rosy.
"Do ye remember naught?"
"I—" Her scowl deepened. "I swooned, did I not? It doesnae surprise me. I'd not eaten in a while."
"Alana, ye—" he gulped, "—ye died. Poisoned. I was there by yer side. I saw ye breathe yer last breath."
"Poisoned? Dinnae be daft. I know I swooned. I even remember... I remember ye talking. But I couldnae open my eyes for some reason."