by Ruth Langan
Knowing all this, Brenna had still not been prepared for the man himself. His mere presence was daunting.
She heard the sound of footsteps and turned, her hand on the dirk at her waist.
Morgan’s voice was hushed in the darkness. “Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to startle you.” When he recognized the glint of metal, his voice lowered. “I know of no English lady who would arm herself for a simple walk in the garden.”
“Then your Englishwomen are most fortunate, my lord. May they never have to fear an attack from those who would take what they do not wish to give.”
Once again he was startled by the anger in her tone. “If you do not trust me, perhaps the stalwart Duncan should be at your side.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Duncan and his Mary are most surely asleep by now. With the arrival of your men, he was forced to put in a full day.”
“And what of your safety, my lady?”
Her smile grew. “I do not think you will spend even one minute worrying about my safety. But just so you understand…” She inclined her head. “My men walk the perimeter of the garden, as well as all the castle grounds. If a single night bird should call, they will note it. Despite the presence of English soldiers within these walls, my men will see to my safety.”
“You need have no fear.” As she started to walk, he moved along at her side. They passed a planting of roses surrounded by rows of wild heather, and he was reminded of the woman beside him. She was as delicate as a single rose petal. But her words were as sharp as any thorn. She appeared as cultured as the rose, and yet as wild as the heather.
“Have you read the missive from my queen?”
“Aye.” Brenna bent her head to inhale the wonderful perfume from a perfect red rose. “The English monarch declares that yours is a peaceful mission. But peace has long eluded our people. She does not say how she hopes to unite our borders.”
“It is the queen’s belief that if the lands bordering our two countries could be united, the bloodletting would cease. Elizabeth sends an emissary to your Queen Mary in Edinburgh to arrange suitable marriages that will ensure peace.”
“Marriage. To an Englishman.” Brenna paused in the act of touching the flower and prayed that her hands would not tremble and betray her.
“Does that trouble you, my lady?”
Brenna forced herself to meet his cool look. Was that a hint of mocking laughter lurking in those dark depths?
With a flounce of skirts she turned away and began walking until she came to an arbor of vines and climbing roses. Unable to contain her anger, she turned on him.
“Why should it trouble me? Should I not be willing, nay, eager, to hand over my loyal people, my fertile lands, and the castle that has been in my family for generations in return for the ill treatment I am bound to receive at the hands of an English husband?” Her tone lowered to a furious whisper. “Should I not be overjoyed to lose all that I hold dear for the sake of peace between our countries?”
“And what about the unhappy Englishman who is forced into marriage with his enemy? Will the poor lout not be forced to watch his back each time he lies in his bed?”
Her eyes glittered. “He will if he insists upon marrying a MacAlpin.”
“Such anger in one so young.” The mockery was wiped from his eyes. His voice softened. “What have the English done to you that you should bear such hatred?”
“My mother was killed at the hands of the English. For all that my sisters and I suffered, my father suffered a hundred times more. She was his reason for living. I saw the light go out of his eyes after her death.”
“I am sorry.” Without thinking, Morgan placed his hand on her arm. That was his undoing. He felt a rush of heat that startled him.
At his touch Brenna drew herself up stiffly, fighting the feeling of panic that threatened to paralyze her.
“I must go.” As she tried to pull away, Morgan caught her by the upper arms, forcing her to stay.
Her throat went dry. Like a cornered animal she looked around, hoping to spot one of her men. But the tangled growth around the arbor shielded her from their view.
“Unhand me,” she said fiercely, “or I shall be forced to defend myself.” She pulled the knife from her waistband and brandished it menacingly.
“I see that you are indeed no pale English lady. In fact, in England you would not be considered a lady at all. I know of no lady who would threaten a man with a knife unless she intended to use it.”
“I fully intend to use this on you unless you retreat this minute.”
Without warning Morgan caught her hands in a painful grip and twisted the knife from her fingers. When she lifted her free hand to push away, he caught it and dragged her roughly against him.
“There are few who have drawn a weapon against me and lived to tell about it.” His words were choked with anger.
She stared at the knife, glittering dully in his hands. Her chin lifted in a defiant gesture. “Is this how your queen intends to bring peace to our borders?”
“Nay, my lady. Not like this.” He dropped the knife onto the earth at their feet. “Like this.”
Without warning he lowered his head and ground his mouth over hers.
He fully intended to punish her with his kiss, knowing how much she would detest being touched by an English soldier. He would enjoy humbling this arrogant wench. But the moment their lips met, all his intentions were forgotten.
God in heaven. Where had the fire come from? The heat that flowed between them was shocking in its intensity. And though he knew he would be burned, he could not pull away.
She was pliant and warm, and her breath was as sweet as the flowers that filled the arbor. The soft contours of her body seemed to melt against him. Her hands were balled into fists that she kept firmly between them.
Brenna held herself stiffly, fighting the reaction that shuddered through her at his touch. This could not be happening. Not with this hated Englishman. Yet even while she fought to resist, her body betrayed her. As his lips closed over hers, a tiny ripple of pleasure shot along her spine, leaving her trembling. Though she continued to keep her hands between them, with a will of their own her fingers uncurled until her open palms rested against his chest.
He pulled back, staring down at her as if seeing her for the first time.
Her eyes were wide with fear and loathing. But even as he watched he saw that there was another emotion mirrored in those depths, as well. Desire? Could it be the first tiny stirrings of desire?
He knew he should walk away. Now, before her guards became suspicious and decided to investigate why their leader lingered so long in the rose arbor. A disturbance at MacAlpin Castle could shatter the fragile peace that Elizabeth was trying so hard to establish.
While he studied her, his thumbs unknowingly made lazy circles on the flesh of her upper arms. God in heaven. She was stunning. Her dark hair had pulled loose from its comb and drifted like a veil around her face and shoulders. Her lips were pursed in a little mew of surprise. Though he knew he should resist, he lowered his head and gave in to the desire to kiss her again.
This time the kiss was the merest touching of mouth to mouth. His lips softened, moving slowly, lazily over hers, savoring the sweetness of her.
Brenna held herself rigidly in his arms, fighting the overwhelming feelings that threatened to swamp her.
Never before had her body betrayed her like this. Though she wanted to resist, she could not. Even though his hands held her as gently as if she were a fragile flower, she was imprisoned as if by arms of steel. The sweetest prison she had ever known. His lips were warm and firm, and as they moved slowly over hers, she felt a delicious tingle that left her limbs weak, her head swimming.
What had this man done to her? Why was she behaving in such an outrageous manner with this Englishman?
Every instinct told Morgan to walk away from this woman now, while he was yet able. And still he lingered over her lips. Such tempting lips. Why had
it taken him so long to notice how perfect they were?
Without warning he drew her more firmly into his arms and took the kiss deeper. His mouth devoured her, searching for a release from the sudden hunger that gnawed at him. Her breath filled his lungs. Her lips seduced. Her breasts were flattened against his chest. He dragged her hips against his and heard her little moan as his tongue brazenly invaded the sweetness of her mouth.
This could not be happening. Brenna barely recognized the sound of her own voice as a moan slipped unbidden from low in her throat. When his tongue touched hers, she drew back. But the hands at her spine were strong, holding her even closer when she tried to resist. Damn the man! And damn this strange weakness within her that seemed to have robbed her of all strength to resist.
Tentatively she drew in the taste of him. Dark. Mysterious. And then, for one brief instant, she relaxed against him, savoring his magnificent strength.
The thought crept unbidden into her mind. He kisses the way he does everything else in his life. With such wild abandon, it is marvelous to behold, impossible to resist.
But resist she must, if she were to survive. Slowly, like one awakening from a dream, she surfaced and brought her hands to his chest.
He felt the pressure of her hands and struggled for control. Though he was a man of many appetites, it was not his way to force himself upon a woman.
Lifting his head, he stared down into her eyes.
“A man might be tempted to risk your dirk in his back just for sake of another kiss like that one, my lady.”
With a mocking bow he scooped the knife from the dust and handed it to her. She snatched it from his hand and, lifting her skirts, ran until she reached the safety of the open portal, where old Bancroft stood awaiting her return.
Morgan stood very still, watching until she had disappeared inside the castle. With a savage oath he turned and strode among the hedges, seeking to exorcise the fire that raged within his loins.
His arms were still warm from the touch of her. His lips still full of the taste of her.
Chapter Three
Brenna stood in the shadows of her upper balcony and watched the movements of the figure far below. Unconsciously she touched a finger to her lips. A ripple of feeling coursed along her spine. She shook it off. How dare the Englishman kiss her like a lowly serving girl. Never before had a man dared to treat her in such a manner.
And what of her reaction? Even now she could feel the heat rush to her cheeks at the thought of the way she had melted into his arms. Just thinking about the way he had kissed her brought a weakness to her limbs.
She must get rid of this man, and soon, before he had time to cause any more havoc.
A tap on her door caused her to whirl nervously. At the sight of her sister, she let out a long breath of air.
Megan was taken aback at her sister’s display of nerves. For as long as she could remember, Brenna had been the calm in the eye of the storm.
“I cannot sleep knowing the English lie within our castle walls.”
“Aye.” Brenna turned her attention back to the one who walked the garden paths. “It is the same for me.”
Megan crossed the room and paused beside her sister. Following Brenna’s gaze, she spied Morgan Grey. “Is that not their leader?” At her sister’s nod, she said softly, “Why do you permit him to move about unmolested? What if he should open the gates and admit the rest of his men who wait beyond our walls?”
“He claims to be on a mission of peace from Elizabeth of England.”
“You believe him?”
Brenna shrugged. “I have not yet decided what to believe about Morgan Grey.”
Megan was puzzled by the inflection in her sister’s voice. It was not anger she detected, but something not quite definable. “And how does England’s queen hope to achieve this miracle of peace?”
“By arranging marriages between our people, especially those of us who are Borderers.”
“God in heaven.” With a stricken look Megan caught her sister by the arm. “Does that mean that you and I would be forced to marry Englishmen?”
“Nay.” Brenna’s eyes narrowed at the thought of allowing her sister to be sacrificed in such a manner. As for herself, she was the MacAlpin. No one told her what to do. “I would pay any price for peace, save that one.” Her voice softened. Her eyes took on a dreamy, faraway look. “I recall the way Father grieved after Mother’s death. Theirs was a true and lasting love. As is the love our sister, Meredith, feels for Brice, her beloved Highlander.”
Megan nodded. “But no one expected her to give her heart to the barbarian.”
“It matters not that he was not one of us. Brice Campbell is devoted to Meredith, just the way Father was devoted to Mother. I’ll not settle for less.” Brenna’s eyes burned with a determination that sent her younger sister’s heart soaring with renewed hope. Brenna could be counted upon to stand firm in the face of danger.
“I swear, Megan, I’ll give myself to no man until my heart tells me ’tis true love.” She opened her arms and gathered the girl close. Against her temple she murmured, “We must remain true to ourselves and our people. And the English queen be damned.”
Morgan Grey awoke in a foul temper. He had slept badly, despite the softness of down beneath his head and the warmth of a cozy fire in the sleeping chamber. It was not down he needed. Nor a warm bed. It was the softness of a woman’s body next to him. A woman slender of frame and beautiful of face, with raven hair and a voice that whispered over his senses. A woman like…Nay. He wanted no part of the Scotswoman. He wanted only to be rid of this place and the woman who fired his blood.
She was not at all the sort of female he would willingly seek out. He much preferred a plump tavern wench, all soft curves, with a boisterous wit and a lusty laugh. Or one of the many willing women at Elizabeth’s court, who dressed to please the men and knew how to brazenly flirt. With that kind of woman there need be no fear of entrapment. They were seeking merely a few moments of pleasure. Love was not part of the bargain. That was why he enjoyed their company. He had no intention of losing his heart only to have it shattered. Never again.
He dressed quickly, then went to inspect the soldiers’ quarters. Once there he took his time listening to the complaints of his men. Ordinarily he would have berated them for their petty quarrels. The food was not as tasty as English food. Their beds were hard. The horses were not being stabled properly. But this day he let them ramble on without reprimand. He found the company of his men far more inviting than that of the woman with whom he would be forced to break the fast.
When at last the men assembled for their morning meal, he had no choice but to accompany them.
Brenna stood in the center of the refectory, giving orders to one of the serving girls. She knew the exact moment Morgan Grey entered the room. Though she finished her command, she had no idea what she was saying. She babbled on, achingly aware of dark eyes staring at her with such intensity, she could feel the heat clear across the room.
She turned and acknowledged him with a slight nod.
“Good morrow, my lady.” He cautioned himself to be pleasant if it killed him.
“I trust you slept well.” She prayed her cheeks were not as flushed as they felt.
“Very well.” He studied her gown of palest pink, the sleeves crusted with jewels. Her lush, dark hair was held back with pale pink netting. He had a fleeting wish to tear away the netting and watch her hair cascade down her back, loose and free. That thought brought an instant frown to his face. “Your accommodations are most satisfying.”
So satisfying that he looked as if he had slept in a briar patch the entire night. “You will join me at the head table?”
“As you wish.”
He walked beside her, then paused to hold her chair. As he bent forward he inhaled the fragrance of heather. Damn the woman for all her soft looks and polite words. Why couldn’t she be a hag, with bad teeth and the scent of the stables about her?
�
��I trust you will be leaving for England this day.”
“Nay.” He saw the look that came into her eyes and began to enjoy himself for the first time since he had awakened. So she was eager to be rid of him, was she? “My men and I will tarry here for a few days longer.”
“For what purpose, my lord?”
“To—assess the situation for the queen.”
As a servant approached with a tray of food, Brenna felt her stomach lurch. A few more days of this man. How could she even think about eating after such an unpleasant bit of news? Why did the man have to sit so close? Just the thought of those hands touching her, soiling her, caused strange sensations deep inside.
Morgan broke the bread, still warm from the oven, into thick slabs and handed one to her. She watched as he spooned honey over his and tasted it. He gave a smile of pure pleasure.
“To a soldier who has been long away from his home, there is nothing more satisfying than good food.” He noted that she had not yet eaten. “Taste, my lady.” There was the hint of a smile on his lips. “Mayhap it will sweeten your day.”
She took a dainty bite and prayed she would be able to swallow.
“Is your sister not joining us this morrow?”
“She was still abed when I came below stairs. She did not sleep well last night.”
“A pity.” His appetite had just sharpened considerably. Now if only he could cause the one beside him to sleep badly as well. But that was probably asking too much. She was too regal to ever lose her composure.
“A little mutton, my lady? Venison?” As Morgan filled his plate, he insisted on filling Brenna’s as well. While he ate until he was sated, she nibbled at a piece of honeyed bread and left the rest untouched.
Morgan emptied a tankard of mulled wine and felt his blood heat. After such a repast, he could lay siege to an entire enemy stronghold. Or at least the enemy beside him.
He leaned back and glanced at Brenna. A drop of honey clung to her lip. Without thinking he touched a finger to the spot, then brought his finger to his tongue.
