Free The Mage's Daughter by Lynn Kurland Page A

herself, the better off she would be.
    She found, suddenly, that he was draping his cloak around her shoulders. He fastened it under her chin, then stepped back.
    â€œYou need to be abed,” he said quietly.
    â€œI don’t need your cloak—”
    â€œYou’re welcome,” he said with a smile. “Give it back to me later.”
    Morgan didn’t want it. She didn’t want something that smelled like Miach, like sweet earth and sunshine and mountain air blowing through the pines. She didn’t like the warmth or knowing that he was giving up something for her comfort.
    But before she could protest, she found herself shepherded out of the tower chamber and crowded onto the landing with him as he locked the door behind him. She did her best to ignore the fact that she was half a foot from being in his arms.
    She also tried to ignore the fact that losing the magic she’d felt inside had drained her more than she’d dreamed it could. She was cold and weary and heartsick.
    â€œI’ll go first,” Miach said, putting the key into a pocket and stepping down a step. “I’m afraid I can’t block much of the wind.”
    She could only nod with a jerk and pray she wouldn’t find herself blown off the side of the mountain.
    Miach paused. “I could carry you.”
    â€œI’m fine,” she said quickly.
    And she was, for half a dozen steps. Then she found that her legs were shaking so badly, she could hardly stand. Miach took her hands and put them on his shoulders.
    â€œClimb on my back,” he said.
    â€œNay,” she gasped, “you’ll kill us both.”
    â€œI could run down the steps with you and miss nary a one.” He shot her a quick smile, then patted her hands on his shoulders. “Put your arms around my neck, gel, and climb on.”
    Morgan was quite sure she’d never done anything like it in her life. Praying she wouldn’t send them both plunging to their deaths, she put her arms around his neck and let him lift her onto his back. She pressed her face against his hair and hoped she would live to see the courtyard again.
    She was never going up those dreadful stairs again.
    Fortunately for them both, Miach was as surefooted as he’d claimed to be. It didn’t take but a handful of minutes before he was letting her slide down to her feet. Morgan clutched his shoulders and rested her face against his back until she thought she could stand on her own.
    She released him, then stepped away. She felt herself begin to fall, but an arm was there for her to reach for. She grasped it, only to find that the owner of that arm wasn’t Miach.
    It was Weger.
    Morgan blinked in surprise. “Where did you come from?”
    â€œGuard duty,” he said mildly.
    Morgan let him pull her away. She looked at Miach. He only made her a low, formal-looking bow.
    â€œA good night to you then,” he said, as if she’d been a grand lady.
    Weger tugged on her. She stumbled away with him because he left her no choice in the matter. She walked until they reached the gate, then looked back over her shoulder. Miach was standing where she’d left him, watching her. Moonlight shone down on him, a lethal, polished bit of business dressed all in black.
    She had to look back in front of her, or risk going sprawling. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other until Weger had her standing in front of her own door. She looked up at him, trying to breathe evenly.
    â€œI went to see about his arm.”
    Weger grunted, then opened her door for her. “Stephen brought you tea. Finish it before it grows cold.”
    â€œHe only wants me for his war,” Morgan blurted out.
    Weger stared at her for several minutes in silence, then he shrugged. “And what man with two wits to rub together wouldn’t want you for his war?”
    Morgan couldn’t exactly tell him that the kind of thing Miach wanted her for