by Ruth Langan
What was there about this damnable female that brought out a tenderness in him that he was determined to deny? His hand stroked her cheek, then slid around to cup the back of her head. He avoided looking into her eyes, and concentrated instead on lips still swollen from his kiss.
He was not, he thought savagely, a tender man. Whatever tenderness he had once known had been brutally cut away years ago.
His lips covered hers once more in a hot, hungry kiss that left her breathless.
His big hands slid along her body to her hips and dragged her against him, alerting her to his complete arousal. Though she thought of pushing away, the thought was gone in an instant.
Kisses were no longer enough. He longed to fill himself with the taste, the smell, the feel of her. He needed to fill himself with this woman.
She felt herself slipping beyond reason into a world of mindless pleasure, where the only thing that mattered was this man and the feelings he aroused in her.
His lips left hers to follow the line of her jaw to her neck. He ran kisses along the sensitive column of her throat, and thrilled to her trembling response.
She sighed and arched in his arms, giving him easier access. But when his strong fingers tore at the lace bodice of her gown, a moment of sanity rose through the layers of mist that clouded her mind.
“This is madness.”
“Aye. Madness.” For an instant he lifted his head and seemed to remember who they were, where they were. He studied her lips, swollen from his kisses. Though he knew that he had no right, he could not stop himself. He brought his lips to hers, tasting, nibbling, seducing.
No woman had ever tasted as sweetly innocent. Was she truly what she appeared, or was she just a clever actress? At the moment it didn’t matter. At this moment nothing mattered except the pleasure of her lips.
Brenna felt everything, experienced everything, with unbelievable clarity: the musky, masculine scent of him; the warmth of his breath as it mingled with hers; the way his hands felt, strong and firm; the fragrance of candle wax and wood smoke as it filled the room; the sound of their heartbeats thundering in perfect rhythm.
Morgan hadn’t wanted this; hadn’t planned it. If anything, he had wanted her to taste his temper, not his need.
Need. Never had he needed anyone with such desperation. What had this woman done to him? How had he let it go this far? She was taking over his senses, filling his mind, crowding out all other thought. And yet she was wrong for him.
He was a soldier, who had probably met her father, her uncles, her clansmen, on the battlefield. She was a foreigner, who hated his beloved land.
She was too innocent, too inexperienced, for a rake like him. Aye, his first instincts about her were correct, he knew, as his lips moved over hers. She was a virgin who would expect the man who took her innocence to wed her.
Marriage. The thought seemed to come from nowhere. Marriage to Brenna MacAlpin would be an adventure like no other. She was the kind of woman who made a man think about marriage, and children, and forever.
He came to his senses, abruptly cutting off such thoughts. What foolishness was this?
He knew he had taken her too far, too fast. Or had she taken him? Still he lingered, unwilling to break contact. One more kiss. One more taste of her. One more touch.
Morgan tasted her honey sweetness one last time and dragged himself away.
They were both shaken by what they had just experienced. And both too proud to admit it.
Brenna was shocked by the strange new feelings that surged through her. Hundreds of tiny pulses seemed to throb within her. Her body hummed. Her knees were weak, and to hide it, she stood very still, lifting her head at a haughty angle.
Morgan tensed, watching her. He held his hands stiffly at his sides. He had come in here to shake her, to throttle her. Instead, he had just lost something of himself to this woman. Something he’d sworn no woman would ever again take.
His voice was rough. “I have decided that we leave on the morrow for Greystone Abbey.”
“Greystone Abbey?” Her eyes widened.
“My manor house in Richmond. Where you can be removed from anyone who might be persuaded to help you escape England. Once there you will do nothing without my permission. And where you go, my soldiers go with you. Is that clear?”
“And…” She hadn’t known it would be so difficult to speak. She swallowed and tried again. “If I wish to bathe, my lord?” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “Will you at least have the decency to leave me to my privacy?”
His eyes flashed. “Unless I say otherwise, even that privilege will not be granted.” His lips curved into a thin, tight line. He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I may, of course, enjoy keeping you under my watchful eye while you bathe.”
She slapped his hand away.
His eyes narrowed. “You will not be alone, do you understand?”
“I understand that you are a cold, unfeeling animal.”
His hand snaked out so fast she had no time to move. He caught her by the arm and dragged her close, until his lips were mere inches from hers. Once again she felt drawn to him.
“I am neither cold nor unfeeling, my lady, as we both well know. But I am not about to become a fool for you. I suspect that you will use anything, or anyone—” his thoughts flew to the scene with Windham and his fury returned “—to help you evade your fate and return to Scotland.”
“Scotland.” Her voice broke and he saw the way her lower lip suddenly trembled as tears filled her eyes. “Aye. I will never rest until I am allowed to return to my home.”
“England is your home now.” He turned, unwilling to be moved by her pain. “The queen has decreed it. And I intend to see to it that you do not attempt another escape with the likes of Windham.”
He strode quickly from the room, suddenly eager to escape from her. As he moved to his own sleeping chambers, he heard the scrape of something heavy being moved in Brenna’s room.
His eyes narrowed. Damn the woman. She was barring him from entering her room. Were he not so weary, he would tear down the door and send the barricade crashing across the room.
He entered his room and peeled his clothes away. He would deal with her even more harshly on the morrow.
Chapter Eleven
Brenna stood on the balcony and watched as the first light began to color the hills to the east. Her eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep. All night she had tossed and turned, running from demons that had relentlessly pursued her in her troubled dreams.
Her gaze followed the guards who patrolled in the courtyard below. Were all of them there to protect the queen? Or had Morgan ordered them to see that his captive did not escape?
Beyond the door she heard the sounds of morning activity. Fresh tapers were being placed in the sconces. Logs were being added to the hot coals in the fireplaces. Servants scurried along the hallways, carrying fresh linen and basins of water. A few personal maids were already assisting their ladies with their morning toilet. From the refectory came the mouth-watering fragrance of bread and roasting meat.
Brenna tensed when she heard the sound of footsteps in the sitting chamber. Her glance flew to the heavy chaise she had pushed against her door. But before she could hurry across the room and move it, there was a tremendous crashing sound and the chaise was rolled end over end as the door was kicked in.
Morgan stood in the doorway, his feet apart, hands on his hips. He wore tight-fitting breeches tucked into his tall boots. He was shirtless, and his dark hair was slightly mussed. A stubble of beard darkened his cheeks and chin.
His first thought upon awakening had been to teach this damnable woman a lesson.
“If you ever attempt to bar me from this room again, I will force you to sleep in my room, where I can watch you night and day. Is that understood?”
She thrust her chin out defiantly. “If you had but given me a moment’s notice, my lord, I would have removed the barrier.”
“There was no reason
to place a barrier at your door in the first place.”
“I believed there was.”
She forced herself to meet his dark look. She had never before seen a man who had just awakened. And though Morgan’s arrogant stance and scowling face caused her heartbeat to race, she couldn’t help thinking that there was something oddly appealing about his rumpled appearance. What foolish thoughts, she reminded herself. Only an arrogant lout would appear before a lady in such an indecent manner.
His gaze swept her, noting the throw she had snatched from the bed and draped over her shoulders for modesty. He nearly laughed at her prudishness. Did she think that little bit of cover could hide her beauty? In his mind’s eye he could still recall the way she had looked last night. Beneath the opaque night shift he could still see every lush curve of her body. His fingers could remember the flare of her hips, the waist so tiny his hands were able to easily span it.
Such thoughts had caused him a long, sleepless night.
Her hair was a mass of dark tangles that begged for his touch. He clenched a fist. His gaze roamed her body, then came to rest at her bare feet. Such small feet.
He forced himself to look away, and noticed the upended chaise. He seemed relieved to have something to do. Bending, he righted it as effortlessly as if it were a child’s toy.
Brenna found herself staring in fascination at the powerful muscles of his back and arms. As he turned she studied the mat of dark hair that covered his chest and dipped below the waistband of his breeches.
Her cheeks were hot. She blamed it on anger. “If you will be so good as to leave, my lord, I will begin my morning ablutions.”
“And if I choose not to leave?”
She glared at him a moment, then turned her back, making an attempt to completely ignore him. “If you insist upon playing the part of my jailer…” She poured water into a basin. “So be it.”
As she began to wash her hands and face, Morgan leaned a hip against the door and watched. He had never seen a woman move with such grace. She lifted a linen square to her face to blot the water, and he had a sudden desire to lick each tiny droplet from her cheeks and lips. The mere thought left him reeling.
The first rays of sunlight streamed through the balcony window, bathing her in liquid gold. She picked up a gilt-handled brush and brought her hair forward over one breast. As she ran the brush through the tangles, Morgan had an almost overpowering urge to take the brush from her hand and complete the task himself.
He curled his hand into a fist and held it firmly by his side.
There was a knock on the door and a serving girl entered. Over her arm was a morning gown of soft ivory wool and several petticoats. She looked from Brenna, still clad in her night shift, to the man who stood, half-naked, watching her. It was a most intimate scene.
“Forgive me, my lord,” she sputtered, as she began to back from the room. “I shall return when the lady summons me.”
“Nay.” Morgan saw the look on Brenna’s face and nearly laughed aloud. She well knew that before the end of the day, everyone in the palace would hear of this. “Stay and assist the lady. It is time I dressed.”
He had a sudden devilish thought. Under the serving girl’s watchful eye, he crossed the room and caught Brenna’s chin in his hand. Lifting it, he brushed his lips lightly over hers.
He had not expected the rush of feelings that could be caused by such a simple touch. He felt the jolt, sudden, shocking, and forced himself not to react as he turned away with a negligent shrug.
“Do not dally. We leave for Greystone Abbey within the hour.”
Brenna was too stunned to respond. That was the first time he had ever kissed her with any tenderness. And though she knew it meant nothing to him, her body was still tingling.
She knew why he had played that little charade. He enjoyed humiliating her in front of others. He wanted her, and all the others, to know that she was powerless.
As he strolled across the room her hand tightened on the handle of the brush. How she itched to toss it at his imperious head.
“Come. The horses are ready.”
Morgan wore his familiar black. Breeches, doublet, tunic, all were black. But the effect was softened by a crimson cape thrown rakishly over one shoulder.
Brenna tossed a heavy wool traveling cloak over her shoulders and lifted the hood. Morgan offered his arm and Brenna touched her hand lightly to his sleeve. She felt the ripple of muscle beneath her touch and saw in her mind the way he’d looked earlier, without his shirt. It was an image she could not easily dispel. She felt her cheeks redden slightly.
When they left the room the guards fell into step behind them.
In the courtyard were a dozen horses being held by grooms.
“Greystone Abbey is more than an hour’s ride, my lady.” Morgan motioned to a gleaming carriage and six white horses. “The queen has offered her carriage. Or, if you prefer, you may ride one of her spirited mounts.”
“I would ride, my lord. The carriage is too confining.”
He was oddly pleased by her choice. “I, too, much prefer the freedom of a mount to the confinement of a carriage. But do not think,” he added crisply, “that you will ride to your freedom. My men and I will be vigilant.”
Morgan helped her into the saddle, then mounted his own steed. To the doorman he called, “My Lord Clive. Convey to the queen our gratitude at her hospitality. And tell her that I shall return on the morrow.”
“You may tell her yourself.”
Morgan chuckled at the sight of the queen surrounded by her ladies and a dozen or more nobles from the court.
“I had thought you to be preparing to break your fast, Majesty. I did not wish to disturb you.”
“What disturbs me more is seeing you go, Morgan. I had hoped to persuade you to stay on at Richmond.”
“I have been away from home too long, Majesty. There is much to see to.”
“When you have your affairs in order, I hope you and the Scotswoman will return to the palace.”
“Perhaps I can persuade Your Majesty to come to Greystone Abbey for a day of hunting,” he called.
The queen’s eyes lit with fire. “Ah. You know my weakness, you rogue. I would like nothing better than the thrill of the hunt. You will arrange it?”
“Consider it done.”
The queen gazed at the woman whose horse was flanked by two mounted guards. “Godspeed, Brenna MacAlpin. May your fate soon be decided.”
Brenna bowed her head. “Thank you, Majesty.”
Lord Windham pushed his way through the crowd and paused beside Brenna’s horse, catching the reins. “A pity that you must leave just when we were becoming acquainted. Of course,” he added loudly enough for Morgan to hear, “I could always arrange to attend the hunt with the queen. That way—” a mocking smile touched his lips “—we could continue what was so rudely interrupted on the balcony last night.”
Snatching the reins from his hand Brenna nudged her horse into a trot. As she did, she saw the black look on Morgan’s face.
The queen and her followers called and waved as Morgan and his company moved out smartly.
Before Brenna’s departure Madeline d’Arbeville had stopped by her chambers to relay what little she knew about Morgan Grey’s home. Greystone Abbey, it would seem, was an isolated manor house where Morgan went to be alone. No one had ever been invited there. He did all his entertaining in his London house. But rumors persisted that the queen was often entertained at Greystone Abbey. Entertained alone, without servants or the others who always accompanied her on her brief sojourns in the country.
What shocking secrets did he hide in that remote place?
Though Brenna inwardly trembled at the thought of being alone with Morgan Grey, she was relieved to be doing more than sitting in a room awaiting her fate. Perhaps there was something to occupy her time at Greystone Abbey. Or perhaps, she thought with a sudden lifting of her spirits, there would be a chance for escape.
Seeing her thoug
htful expression, Morgan brought his horse close to hers. “If you are plotting your escape from my manor house, my lady, I would suggest that you reconsider. I have no intention of allowing you the freedom to move about as you please.”
Brenna shot him a look full of hate. “Perhaps you can chain me to my bed. Would that please you, my lord?”
The thought was not an altogether unpleasant one. Especially if he shared the bed with her.
His eyes crinkled with laughter. “Perhaps. Though if I were going to chain you, ’twould more likely be in my scullery, where you could at least earn your keep.”
“Some day, when I am free of your tyranny, I will show you how I would deal with a scoundrel like you in Scotland. I will find a special way to thank you for every injustice.”
He glanced down at her, enjoying the way her eyes darkened with anger. It was most interesting to see how the cool, haughty woman from Scotland could lose her composure. “You are most welcome, my lady.”
She looked up to see the laughter touching the corner of his mouth, lurking in his eyes. Her temper grew. “You are enjoying my helplessness.”
“You, my lady?” He threw back his head and laughed aloud, then touched a hand to the wound that, though healing nicely, still caused him enough pain to curse her name at times. “I do not believe, in your whole life, that you have ever been helpless. And I bear the scars to prove it.”
She felt the flush creep along her throat and color her cheeks. There were many men who would have relished holding captive one who had so viciously attacked them. To his credit, Morgan Grey had shown restraint toward her. She had to admit that he had treated her far better than she would treat him under similar circumstances.
Brenna bit back the retort that sprang to her lips. He was trying to goad her into a fight. She would not give him the satisfaction.
Instead she let down her hood and savored the breeze in her hair. It was a perfect summer day. The sky was a clear, cloudless blue. She lifted her face to the sun.
