He pulled up short, gazing into the torchlight ahead as he pondered his motives, then moved past the bishop’s guards toward her tent. He knew he should not be here, after what had passed between them last night—but perhaps she could shed some light on her husband’s motives, he rationalized. Perhaps she could guess why Derry had called out the earl’s name in his delirium. Besides, he could not deny that he ached to see her again, despite the fact that he knew he had no right to be here.

He moved into the circle of torchlight surrounding the entrance to her pavilion and took the salute of the perimeter guard, then strode softly to the pavilion entrance. There was no one in the front half of the structure, but beyond the divider curtain, he could hear a woman’s voice singing a lullaby. He stood beside the center support pole and listened as she sang.

Hush, my angel, go to sleep.

Holy God thy slumber keeps.

’Gainst the terrors of the night,

He will be thy guiding light

Hush, thy mother lies nearby.

Hush, my angel, do not cry.

God and I will keep thee well,

And all fears from thee dispel.

Drawn by the song, Morgan drifted closer to the doorway and slightly widened a narrow gap in the curtain. Across the inner chamber, he could see Richenda bending over Brendan’s bed, tucking the sleeping-furs tenderly around her little redheaded son. The boy was drifting into sleep, but as he reached chubby arms up to hug his mother’s neck, he spied Morgan in the doorway and instantly roused, scrambling onto his knees with a pleased smile, his blue eyes wide with wonder.

“Papa? Have you come to tell me a story?”

Embarrassed, Morgan drew back from the entryway, but not before Richenda could turn and catch sight of him. Her start at the boy’s words was quickly covered as she realized that it was Morgan and not her husband. Then she was picking up the boy in her arms and moving toward Morgan with a faintly nervous smile.

“No, dear, that isn’t your father. It’s Duke Alaric. Good evening, Your Grace. Apparently in the dim light Brendan has mistaken you for his father.”

As she made a slight curtsy, Brendan clung closer to her—he could see now that the man standing in the doorway was, indeed, not his father—but he was unsure just how to react. He looked to his mother for some cue and, seeing her smile, judged that the stranger was probably not an enemy, so he looked shyly across at Morgan again, then back at his mother.

“Duke Alaric?” he whispered. The name meant nothing to so small a boy; he was merely trying to sort out identities. But before the boy could have time to think about it further, Morgan took a few steps closer and made a short bow.

“Hello, Brendan. I’ve heard some very nice things about you.”

Brendan eyed Morgan suspiciously, then turned back to his mother.