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as a salve. She wished he was here to care for her again, and realized it was selfish. But she remembered the calming effect his voice and touch had on her.
    “There, now,” Winnie said briskly as she rose from the bedside, “you just rest while I visit my little apothecary and mix up some healing ointments for your eyes. I’ll bring up a breakfast tray for you as well. Best keep your eyes closed until I can bandage them shut.”
    Obediently, she closed her eyes, hearing the rustle of the housekeeper’s skirts as she moved to leave. “Winnie?” she called out before the older woman left.
    “Aye, poppet?”
    “Until we find out what my real name is, would you mind calling me Mary Kate, as well?”
    Judging by her little sniffle, Winnie was pleased and touched by the request. “I would fain do so,” she said. “It seems to suit you somehow. Mary Kate. Katie. Aye, it surely does.”

Chapter Two
     
    “’T WILL NEVER DO , R ENFREW .”
    Morgan rose from inspecting the wool stores, and brushed his palms on his broadcloth breeches. “You’ve been slighting the animal’s feed again. ’Tis showing quite clearly in their wool.”
    “Milord,” the heavyset, thick-jowled steward whined, “’tis too time-consuming to drive them to higher pasture this time of year. I already spend enough hours trying to find the special feeds you want. The local peasants cheat me at each turn. I’d have to go all the way to Aberystwyth every fortnight or so.”
    “Then do it,” Morgan snapped. He had lost all patience with the man. Renfrew had inherited his father’s position after the elder steward had died, and proved to be a lazy, slothful worker — something Morgan would not abide did he not have such a difficult time getting any of the villagers to work for him. Were it his choice, Morgan would have sent the man packing long ago.
    “As you say, milord.” Though his tone was meek, Renfrew’s eyes narrowed as his master turned to leave.
    “Oh, and Renfrew — ” Sensing the malignant stare on his back, Morgan pivoted about and eyed the sullen steward one last time. “Don’t forget to bring back the change this time. I shall be counting each groat.”
    Renfrew nearly choked. How’d the high and mighty Trelane guessed he’d been pilfering the spare coins for the past few months? With the size of his coffers, the great Lord Satan shouldn’t be pinching each ha’crown! With a resentful mutter, Renfrew bobbed his head and ducked past Trelane out into the pouring rain.
    Morgan shook his head after the man departed. Decent help was almost impossible to come by in the remote reaches of Wales. Except for the few faithful retainers he employed in the keep, the rest were a surly lot he dared not trust with his life. He was certain most were afraid to cross him only because of his unsightly face. In a way, it provided some small advantage. Being the Devil Baron did have its benefits.
    Chuckling at the thought, he left the storehouse and headed back to the keep. The rain still streamed down. He took his time, enjoying the cool sensation of droplets spattering across his skin where he had rolled up the sleeves of his white linen shirt.
    Reaching the keep, Morgan dashed up the curving, narrow stone staircase. He slipped through the servant’s entrance, arriving in the rear of the huge kitchen where delicious baking smells wafted down the open hall.
    Morgan peeked around the corner and spied Cook, her homespun skirts swishing furiously from side to side, as she removed the soiled rushes into a corner with a broom. With a quick sleight of hand, his fingers darted out to snatch a berry tart, but before he spirited it away, something hard smacked across his knuckles.
    “Ow!” Morgan nursed his injured hand. Cook set aside her broomstick and plunked the tart back on the trestle table.
    “Shame on ye, milord,” the big woman said mildly, rearranging the pastries to suit her fancy. “Ye know yer nae to sample dessert before the