by Ruth Langan
From her vantage point, Brenna watched as Morgan swept the queen around the dance floor. It was obvious, from the ease with which they moved, that they had danced together many times. Elizabeth looked up into Morgan’s eyes and said something that made him laugh. He then lowered his head to whisper in her ear. Brenna stared in fascination, unable to turn away from such an intimate scene.
What was this strange emotion she felt? Jealousy? She instantly rejected such a notion. How could she feel any jealousy toward a man she cared nothing about?
Within minutes Brenna was dancing with another partner. She looked up to find herself in the arms of Charles Crowel, Duke of Eton.
“My wife, Madeline, is quite taken with you, my lady.”
“And I with her. I shall never forget her kindness to me.”
“Madeline is a tenderhearted woman. She has not forgotten what it feels like to be a stranger in a strange land. But my friends have gone to great lengths to make her feel welcome in England.”
“Your wife is a truly good person. I feel that I have at least one friend in England.”
“My dear, if you let us, we will all be your friends.”
“Thank you, sir.” She gave him a grateful smile. “You are most kind.”
“And you are most beautiful, my dear. I fear Her Majesty will have twenty and five suitors vying for your hand before this night is over.”
Brenna was still laughing when she was suddenly turned into another pair of arms.
“Lord Windham.” The smile vanished from her lips.
“I have been waiting for this opportunity,” he said.
His hand at her waist drew her firmly against him. His eyes had none of the warmth or humor of Morgan’s. Instead, they burned with an intensity that alarmed her.
“You have dazzled all of the gentlemen in the queen’s company,” he muttered. “It seems you shall have your pick of titled Englishmen from which to choose.”
“Perhaps,” Brenna said, striving to keep the conversation light, “I shall be unable to choose just one.”
“All the better. I like a woman who can please many lovers.”
“I did not mean…” She bit her lip. There was no point in attempting to explain to this crude man.
He swept her gracefully through the crowd and continued dancing. Brenna was unaware that they were heading toward a deserted balcony until they stopped dancing. She looked around in surprise.
“Why have you brought me here?”
“Why does a gentleman usually take a lady away from the crowd?” He smiled and she felt a tiny tremor of fear along her spine. “I thought you might wish to escape from Morgan Grey.”
“Escape? You offer me escape, my lord?”
He took a step closer and ran his finger suggestively along her arm. She gave an involuntary shudder and took a step back. But as she took another step, her back pressed against the cold stone of the balcony railing. At her look of fear Lord Windham’s smile widened. “Are you playing the part of the coquette, my lady?”
“I…” She licked her lips and fought back the rush of fear that caused her throat to go dry. “I do not understand what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do.” He stepped very close, until their bodies were touching. He felt the way she recoiled from him and gave a cold laugh as he brought his hand to her shoulder. “You are teasing me, my lady. Playing the part of the innocent. And it is most effective.”
“Please, my lord. I wish to go back to the others now.”
“All in good time.” He caught her by the upper arms and pressed his thumbs into the softness of her flesh. “You are a beautiful, desirable woman, Brenna MacAlpin. It was most kind of Morgan Grey to fetch you here for my pleasure.”
His breath reeked of ale. Brenna strained against the hands that clawed at her.
As he drew her close and lowered his head, he heard the sound of swords being drawn. Stunned, he turned to find two of Morgan Grey’s soldiers facing him, their swords lifted in a threatening manner. Behind them was Morgan Grey himself.
Brenna was so elated to see them, she nearly threw herself into Morgan’s arms. She took a step toward him, but the look on his face stopped her.
“Did you not think it rude to leave the festivities before your queen, Windham?”
Lord Windham’s face was a cold mask of fury. “You have no right to intrude, Grey.”
“I have every right. Have you forgotten that the lady is my prisoner?”
Brenna froze. For just a moment she had forgotten that the guards were not there to protect her, but to keep her from escaping. And Morgan Grey was not worried about her safety; merely about the way it would look if she disappeared while his soldiers were supposed to be guarding her.
“Could it be that you think the lady is your own personal property?” Windham saw the way Morgan’s eyes darkened and realized that he had hit a nerve. He gave a shrill, nervous laugh. “So. That is it. You think you are the only one allowed to dally with the prisoner.” His voice lifted in agitation. “Have you already decided how to spend the lady’s dowry, and how to cut up her lands to your satisfaction?”
At his words Morgan felt a wave of fury. “That is not even worthy of a reply. I care not what you think, Windham.” Morgan’s voice was low; his words deliberate. “Be warned. The lady is off limits to all but the man who petitions the queen for her hand.”
Windham’s words were slurred. “Perhaps that is what the lady and I were discussing.” He pushed past the guards and stormed away without another word.
Brenna was left alone to face the furious, accusing look on Morgan’s face.
Chapter Ten
“You will take my arm, my lady.”
“You do not care to hear what happened?” Her heartbeat was still racing. Her voice trembled. Despite his cold demeanor, she had experienced waves of relief at her rescue from this frightful scene. Though she had always dealt with her own problems in her own way, she had an unreasonable yearning to cling to him and weep over her embarrassing ordeal.
“Nay. It is finished.”
Finished? She studied his shuttered expression, his stiff stance. “Can it be that you believe that I came here willingly with that evil man?”
“You made it abundantly clear that you would do anything to escape me. But if you saw Windham as an ally, you made a poor choice. Now we will speak of it no more, my lady. But be warned that I will not tolerate such foolishness again.”
Brenna glanced at the guards. They stared straight ahead, awaiting orders from their leader.
With a sigh of resignation, she placed her hand on Morgan’s sleeve and walked by his side. There was no point in attempting to defend herself. This man was having none of it.
On the dance floor the queen was going through a series of intricate dance steps in the arms of the Duke of Eton. A crowd ringed the room, clapping their hands. As Morgan and Brenna approached, Madeline turned to greet them.
She took one look at Brenna’s flushed cheeks and Morgan’s unreadable expression and gave a little laugh. “Mon dieu. You two have been naughty, slipping away like that. Could you not at least wait until the evening is over?”
Morgan’s eyes narrowed.
Madeline turned toward the dancers. “Is Charles not the best dancer in England?”
For a moment her question was met with only silence. Then, to cover the awkward moment, Brenna cleared her throat. “Aye. He cuts a fine figure with the queen.”
Madeline heard the slight tremor in her voice and touched a hand to her cheek. “You are overwrought, cherie. It is this rogue, Morgan Grey, is it not?”
Feeling the prickle of tears, Brenna shook her head and blinked quickly.
Madeline’s concerned look quickly turned to one of understanding. “Ah. I see. You are weary then, cherie.”
Brenna nodded, afraid to trust her voice. She had a desperate need to flee this room, these people.
“A pity. For no one can leave until the queen does.”
Brenna groaned inwardly and tightened her grip on Morgan’s sleeve. If he noticed her discomfort, he gave no indication. He continued to stare at the dancers as though she didn’t exist.
In his mind’s eye he could still see Brenna locked in Windham’s embrace. The little fool. Did she not sense the danger in playing with a man like Windham? He was no better than an animal, deflowering maidens for his selfish pleasure, then leaving them to deal with bruised hearts and sometimes, if the rumors be true, battered bodies.
If she was so desperate to escape that she would even choose Windham for her champion, Morgan would have to save her from her own folly.
The music ended. The queen and the Duke of Eton acknowledged the applause. The duke returned Elizabeth to the arm of her escort. Then the crowd parted as the queen and Lord Windham bid good-night to their guests and headed for the door. There, the queen made a great show of bidding good-night to Lord Windham. When he had dutifully kissed her hand, she clapped for her servants. Immediately a flock of serving girls and the queen’s ladies circled Elizabeth. With a flurry of women’s high-pitched voices, the queen and her retinue headed for the royal quarters.
Windham, drunk not only from the amount of ale he’d consumed, but from the attention paid him by the queen, strutted around the room accepting the congratulations of his friends.
The musicians began to play. Many in the crowded room returned to the dance floor, while others followed the queen’s example and bid good-night.
“Now you can rest, cherie.” Madeline turned from Brenna and linked hands with her husband as soon as he approached.
He drew her close. “Will we stay with the revelers, my dear, or would you prefer to return to our quarters?”
“I think I could dance until the morning light.”
The duke gave a fleeting glance toward the door as if regretting the sleep he would be forced to miss. Then he touched her cheek in an affectionate gesture. “You shall have your wish, my love.” He turned to Morgan. “Will you linger awhile?”
“Nay. We will see you on the morrow.” Morgan’s words were clipped.
Brenna bid good-night, then placed her hand on Morgan’s arm, moving stiffly at his side as they took their leave.
They spoke not a word as they ascended the stairs to their suite of rooms. Morgan held the door for Brenna, then paused to speak to his men before following her inside.
The rooms had been prepared for the night. In the sitting room, a fire crackled in the fireplace. A chaise had been positioned in front of it. To one side a table held a decanter of wine and two goblets. On a tray were fruit and pastries.
A perfect room for lovers, Brenna thought. But she and Morgan Grey were far from lovers; they were enemies. And each day her dislike for this man grew.
A servant looked up as they entered. Seeing Morgan’s scowling face, she filled a goblet with wine and placed it in his outstretched hand.
Brenna pushed open the door to her sleeping chamber. A cozy fire burned within. The bed linens had been turned down. Across the bed was draped a gauzy ivory night shift of hand-worked lace and finest linen. The Queen’s seamstresses must have worked throughout the entire evening to turn out something so fine.
A second serving girl looked up from the fire she had been attending. She hurried to Brenna’s side and began to assist her in removing her gown and petticoats. When Brenna was dressed in her night shift, the maid brushed her long hair until it fell in soft waves to her waist.
Brenna thought about old Morna, her nurse since childhood. Those old, awkward fingers would have fumbled with the buttons of this fine gown. And the hairbrush would have snagged and pulled at her long hair. But oh, how desperately she missed that dear, wrinkled face.
“Would you like anything, my lady?”
“Nothing. Thank you.”
Brenna watched as the serving girl scooped up her clothes. On the morrow they would be clean and pressed and hung neatly, awaiting the next time their mistress needed them.
“Good night, my lady.”
“Good night.”
Before the door closed, Brenna’s smile faded. The shadow of a guard could be seen just beyond the open doorway, reminding her again that all this finery did not hide the fact that she was a prisoner. Morgan Grey took no chance that she might attempt to escape into the night.
She felt a wave of loathing for the man who had brought her to this place of horrors. It was because of him that she had been taken from her home. And because of him she would be forced into marriage with one of his countrymen. She would rather face death at the hands of her guards than endure such a fate.
She buried her face in her hands, to blot out the terrible thought of a lifetime spent in such decadence.
Morgan dismissed the servants. He needed to be alone. To think. To brood.
He drained his goblet and stared into the flames of the fire. He was still seething with fury at the scene he had witnessed on the balcony.
What fine irony that he should feel anything at all for the Scotswoman. She was not his responsibility. He had merely been following Elizabeth’s orders. He’d no choice but to bring her here. But that decision had cost him. Cost him dearly.
He was a man who lived alone by choice. He liked his life the way it was. And he resented having this woman thrust upon him like a stray pup. His eyes narrowed. Especially now that he had discovered the sort of woman she was.
Lord Windham. His hand curled into a fist. He reached for the decanter and filled his goblet. If she had gone off with anyone but Windham, he might have been able to overlook it.
He drank again and shook his head slightly. Nay. That was a lie. Even if it had been one of the others, he still would have been angry. But the thought of her with Windham sickened him.
He drained his goblet, then suddenly hurled it against the hearth where it shattered into a thousand pieces. With a savage oath he turned and stormed toward Brenna’s sleeping chamber.
At the sound of shattering glass and the door opening, Brenna turned. The commanding figure of Morgan Grey filled the doorway.
For a moment she could not speak. Then she swallowed back her fear and stiffened her spine.
“You have no right to come into my sleeping chamber.”
His voice was controlled and tight with fury. “You will not speak to me of rights.”
“I order you to leave here at once.”
“You order, my lady?” There was the thread of steel in his tone. “Have you forgotten that you are no longer in Scotland? You can issue no orders here, Brenna MacAlpin. You heard the queen. Until she decides what to do with you, you are my prisoner—” he spoke each word very carefully “—to do with as I please.”
Her throat went dry. “Why have you come here?”
There was something new in her tone. Fear? That thought pleased him. She should be afraid of him. His temper was something to be feared and it was time she had a taste of it.
He studied the way she looked in the glow of firelight. Her hair, black as midnight, fell in a luxurious cloud around her face and shoulders. The pristine night shift gave her a look of innocence. But this was no innocent child before him. She was a woman. A beautiful, enticing creature. Every line and curve of her lush body could be seen through the opaque fabric. Her little scene with Windham on the balcony had shown him that she knew very well how to use her body, her beauty, to her advantage.
He’d had the impression, when they were in her country, that the lass was an innocent. But now he knew better. He felt his temper slip another notch, until he could no longer control it. She was no better than the women at court.
A warning sounded in his mind, but before he took the time to think, his hand snaked out, catching her by the wrist.
“I came here to teach you a lesson.”
“No.” She tried to pull back but she was no match for him.
He dragged her roughly against him and pulled her hands behind her in a painful grip. “You have strained my patience to the breaking point
.” His breath was hot against her cheek. “And I am not a patient man.”
“Damn you, Morgan Grey.” She felt a welling of tears and blinked them away. “Damn you to hell.”
He shot her a dangerous smile. “Oh, I already know my eternal destination, my lady.” He plunged a hand into the tangles of her hair and drew her head back until he was staring deeply into her eyes.
He had not come in here for this. In fact, he’d had no plan in mind. It was merely his intention to vent some of his anger. But now that he was holding her, there seemed to be no turning back.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his head.
She knew what he intended to do, but she was helpless to stop him. Her heart began a painful hammering in her chest. She could not cry out; could not even speak. Her eyes remained open, watching, watching until his lips closed over hers.
As his mouth met hers she felt the first wild rush of sensation and struggled to resist it. This was, after all, not a kiss, but a punishment. She had to resist feeling anything at all for this monster. But the fire in him engulfed her, like a flame set to dry leaves.
The kiss was raw and savage like the man. There was so much passion in him.
Again it seemed there was no time for soft, seductive kisses, or sweet, honeyed words. There was only this need building inside with the force of a raging tide. And as his mouth plundered hers, she gave up all attempts at a struggle and endured rigidly in his arms.
His hands moved along her back, drawing her firmly against him.
The first stirrings of pleasure curled along her spine. Where had all these strange new feelings come from? How was it possible that this cruel tyrant should be the one to open the floodgate to a passion that had slumbered for so long?
Slowly, against her will, her arms found their way around his waist. Her lithe young body strained against his.
He felt her gradual surrender and thrilled to it. For a moment he lifted his head and touched a finger to her swollen lips. Lips that seemed to have been made for him alone.
