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main course.”
    “Ailis, when will I ever get the best of you?” Morgan complained. “You caught me every time when I was a lad, too.”
    Cook smiled, pleased with herself. “’Tis said a mum sprouts an extry set of eyes in the back of ’er ’ead for each babe. I’ve bore eight, ye know.”
    “Ahh, that explains it,” Morgan muttered, but flashed Mrs. Taggart a good-natured grin before continuing on his journey. In his own home he never thought to hide his disfigurement; now a stranger had been brought to Falcon’s Lair, and he realized he should take some precautions.
    Morgan hesitated in the great hall, wondering where he might hide for the rest of the day, just as Mrs. Carey appeared in her cloak and hood. As if reading his mind, she gave him a determined look.
    “Oh, there you are, milord.” Winnie waylaid Morgan before he could escape again. She tugged on a pair of thick wool gloves as she spoke. He eyed her warily in return.
    “Morgan,” he reminded her.
    “Aye, milord. Now, I just finished giving our patient a good scrubbing and now I need your help. ’Tis as you thought. The girl’s eyes were burnt by saltwater. I don’t have the proper herbs to make the salve I need. I’ll have to go find some fresh.”
    He shrugged. “You have my permission, Mrs. Carey.”
    “Lud, I know it. The girl needs nourishing broth in the while. I’ve prepared a tray in the kitchen. You can take it up to her.”
    Morgan felt a flush rising on his neck. Irritation made him speak more curtly than usual. “Surely that won’t be necessary, Mrs. Carey. Where are Gwynneth and the other girls?”
    “Remember, you gave them permission to attend the Beltane celebrations at Cardigan this year. They’ll be gone a whole week, they will.”
    “Damme. I forgot.” Morgan was chagrined by the reminder. “Well, what about Cook?”
    Winnie clucked her tongue and shook her head. “By now Mrs. Taggart’s elbow-deep in lamby pies for our supper. ’Twill only take a moment for you to feed the child, milord. She’s as weak as a newborn kitten and won’t eat more than a bird.”
    Morgan knew when he was beaten. He sighed and said, “You’d best pray my demonic face doesn’t scare her into becoming a halfwit, Mrs. Carey.”
    The housekeeper sniffed her disapproval of his comment “First of all, I doubt ’twould, for she’s more common sense in her little finger than you have in your whole head. Second, she can’t see a thing yet, poor mite. I’m sure ’tis probably temporary, but she’s awful scared, is our Kate.”
    “Kate?” Morgan was surprised. “Did she remember who she is, then?”
    Winnie seemed abashed. “Forgive me, milord. She just reminds me so of my own Mary Kate. She asked if we might call her Kate until she remembers her own name.”
    “Well, if you’ve no objections, I guess ’tis acceptable for now.”
    Winnie flashed him a grateful smile. “Now get along with you, milord.”
    “Morgan,” he reminded her, for the hundredth time in less than a week. Too late, he saw the mischievous twinkle in her eye.
    “Go along then, Morgan my boy . The poor waif must be starving. I’ll be back shortly, rain permitting.”
    “You’ll be soaked,” he warned her. “Don’t catch a chill. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
    “Oh, go on with you.”
    Still, Winnie beamed at the praise.

    “W HO’S THERE ?” K ATE CRIED out. She heard his footsteps ringing across the stone floor of the chamber, and her head jerked in Morgan’s direction.
    “’Tis Morgan again. How are you feeling?”
    At the sound of his voice, the newly christened Kate visibly relaxed. She sat up against the pillows, looking lovely to Morgan’s aching eyes. Her freshly washed hair spilled over the white muslin gown like a tempestuous dark sea. The same sea held the truth of her identity and teased him with its secrets whenever he looked out over the shimmering water.
    “I’ve brought you something to eat,” he said,