by Ruth Langan
“My compliments, Mistress Leems.” Richard lifted a bite of roll, dripping with fruit conserve, to his lips.
The housekeeper flushed with pleasure.
Morgan took a taste of the conserve. “Another of the Lady Brenna’s suggestions?”
“Aye, my lord.”
Richard studied the woman who sat quietly beside his brother. “I, for one, am grateful, my lady. I look forward to your next surprise.”
Morgan glanced at her in time to see the smile that touched her lips. And though he said nothing, he could not deny the fact that he, too, was enjoying the subtle changes Brenna’s presence had wrought at Greystone Abbey. Each day she seemed to reveal another surprise.
As they left the refectory Brenna said, “If you will excuse me, my lord, there is much to see to before Madeline arrives.”
As she scurried off, with Mistress Leems and several servants in tow, Morgan stared after her until he became aware of Richard’s scrutiny beside him.
“The lady seems in high spirits.”
“Aye.” Morgan frowned. “It is good that Madeline is coming for a visit. Brenna has been isolated for too long.”
“Is that not precisely what the queen intended for your prisoner?”
Prisoner. Morgan was taken aback. He had begun to think of Brenna not as a prisoner but a guest. A most delightful guest, if the truth be told.
He warned himself not to be lulled into a false sense of security. The guards must continue to maintain their vigil. Else the lady would snatch the first opportunity to escape.
Morgan stood by his desk and watched as Brenna moved slowly through the rose garden, snipping a bouquet of flowers. Two guards, their swords at the ready, trailed discreetly behind her.
The ledgers he had been working on were forgotten as he leaned a hip against the sill and studied her. Sunlight filtered through the branches of the trees, dappling her with light and shadow. The breeze caught her hair, and it streamed out behind her like a silken veil. She lifted her head to watch the path of a hawk and he studied her in profile. Her brow was smooth, unwrinkled. Her nose was small and upturned. Her mouth was curved into a smile of pure delight.
Without a thought to what he was doing he tossed the papers on the desk and strode from the room. Moments later he was on the path leading to the garden.
She rounded a bend, her arms filled with colorful blossoms. He felt his throat go dry at the sight of her. God in heaven, she was so lovely, she took his breath away.
She hesitated in midstride. “Did you want something, my lord?”
Now that he was here, he had no idea what to say. He wanted nothing more than the opportunity to look at her, to be with her.
“I thought you might need help carrying those.”
“Thank you, my lord.” If she was surprised at his sudden act of kindness, she hid it well. When he held out his arms she filled them with flowers. In the process his hands encountered the softness of her breasts. She pulled back quickly, but not before he saw the sudden flush on her cheeks.
“What will you do with the flowers?” He watched as she bent to cut a perfect rose. His fingers still tingled from that brief encounter with her soft flesh.
“I will fill the guest chambers with them.” She buried her face in a mass of blooms, then cut them and added them to the bouquet in his arms. “Their fragrance will perfume the air.”
He breathed in the sweet, rich aroma and was reminded of her. “But within a few days they will fade and die.”
“Then,” she murmured, pausing to snip another bloom, “I will dry the petals and use them to line chests and wardrobes, my lord. And their fragrance will live on as a reminder of this lovely summer day.”
He watched her as she moved through the garden like a beautiful butterfly. He would need no reminder of this day. He needed only to close his eyes. Though he told himself that she was nothing more than a pawn in a political game, he could not deny the fact that her image was already becoming indelibly imprinted on his heart.
“Carriages arrive, my lady.”
Brenna finished arranging the last of the flowers, then hurried down to the courtyard where Morgan was already waiting.
As the carriages halted there was a flurry of activity. Trunks were unlashed from the backs of the rigs. Cloaks were handed down to the servants who had accompanied the queen and her party.
“Ah, Morgan,” the queen said as she stepped from her carriage. “Always, coming to Greystone Abbey is like coming home.”
He caught her hand and led her past the servants who had lined up to greet their queen. She smiled and offered a few words to each one.
Brenna noted the affection between these people and their monarch. They were deeply moved by her simple act of kindness.
Nearly a dozen ladies emerged from carriages, as well as the titled gentlemen who were at court in Richmond.
“Cherie.” Madeline stepped from the carriage and flew into Brenna’s arms. After a quick hug she held Brenna a little away from her and studied her with a critical eye. “I have long wanted to visit this private retreat, which Morgan so jealously guards. How are you bearing the loneliness of this place?”
“I am fine, as you can see.”
It was true that there was a bloom on Brenna’s cheeks that had not been there at the queen’s palace in Richmond.
Madeline arched an eyebrow, then turned to Morgan. “And you, mon cher.” She kissed his cheek. “Have the two of you declared a truce?”
“At least while you are here.”
“Beware, old friend,” Charles said with a laugh, “or my wife may extend her visit for weeks just to assure peace between her two friends.”
Morgan joined in the laughter.
As a second carriage opened, a handsome young man stepped down. He turned to assist a young woman. Madeline caught their hands and led them toward her host. “I have had a most pleasant surprise. My brother and sister have journeyed from Paris to be with me. The queen insisted that I bring them along.”
“I am glad you brought them,” Morgan assured her. “You would have broken Brenna’s heart if you had canceled your visit.”
Madeline wondered at his words. Could it be that Morgan Grey cared about the condition of his prisoner’s heart?
Motioning them closer, Madeline smoothly handled the introductions. “Brenna MacAlpin. Morgan Grey. I would have you meet my brother, Cordell, and my little sister, Adrianna.”
Cordell was a suave, self-assured young man with the same angular face and large almond eyes as Madeline. Sandy hair curled over the collar of his beautifully tailored tunic. In the brilliant sunlight his hair was touched with gold. He seemed aware that he cut a handsome figure. It was obvious that he enjoyed charming the ladies.
“My lady.” He stared at Brenna a long moment, as if captivated by her beauty.
His admiration of the lady was not lost on Morgan, who stood to one side and watched the exchange. Jealousy was an alien feeling for Morgan. And yet he found himself battling just such an emotion now. Was it possible that he was experiencing jealousy of this callow youth? He cursed himself for such childish behavior and brushed aside his feelings.
Yet he remembered how Hamish MacPherson had fawned over Brenna at her home in Scotland. And how she had returned his interest.
Cordell bowed low over Brenna’s hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. When he lifted his head there was the slightest flush to his cheeks.
He turned to Morgan. “I suggested to my sister that our visit was inconvenient. We are, after all, foreigners in your land. But Madeline insisted that we accompany her. And now that I have met the Lady Brenna, I am most grateful for your hospitality.”
“My home is open to my queen and all her company,” Morgan said. But his voice lacked its usual warmth.
“Adrianna.” Brenna took the younger woman’s hand, sensing her unease at being among so many strangers. “How wonderful that you can visit with your sister. It will ease her loneliness in this land.”
“Your speech is not English,” Adrianna said softly.
“I am from Scotland.”
Adrianna smiled shyly. “It greatly relieves my mind that I will not be the only foreign guest in this fine home.”
“If you are Madeline’s sister,” Morgan said, bending gallantly over her hand, “you are more than a guest in my home. You are with friends.”
“You are most kind.” When she lifted her gaze to her stern host’s face her cheeks had turned a becoming shade of pink.
Adrianna was small and slender, with hair more red than brown. It fell in long ringlets to her waist. She wore a gown of green satin that caught the green glints in her amber eyes. There was a sweetness about her that added to her artless beauty. “I am most grateful for your hospitality, my lord.”
From the corner of his eye Morgan saw another figure emerge from one of the queen’s carriages. Though he felt the anger surge through him, the only sign he gave was a slight narrowing of his eyes.
Lord Windham made a great ceremony of greeting Brenna. Lifting her hand to his lips, he grazed her flesh and pressed her fingers between his.
“You look lovely, my lady.” His gaze raked her and Brenna felt a shiver of revulsion at his intimate look.
From the earliest days of his manhood, Windham had known how to play the parlor games that enticed the women at Court. This one, he told himself, was no different; merely more clever at masking her feelings.
“What a delight,” Lord Windham said, turning to include the others. “Traveling with so many beautiful women has my blood eager for the hunt.”
“Ah, but we will be hunting four-legged creatures,” the queen said with a laugh.
“Perhaps so, Majesty. But I see no harm in adding a few other lovely creatures to the hunt. Do you, Grey?”
Morgan turned a cool look on Windham, then said to the queen, “If you will allow me, Majesty, I will escort you into my home.”
Stung by Morgan’s snub, Windham offered his arm to Brenna, who pretended not to notice. Instead she caught Madeline’s hand and the two women followed Morgan and the queen through the open portal.
Brenna tried to shake off the trembles that went through her at the thought of Windham. Why had the queen brought him along?
“What a treat this will be, Brenna,” Madeline whispered. “I have so longed for a visit to Morgan’s home.”
Madeline’s sister and brother joined the ladies and the others who trailed the queen into the house. Charles strolled leisurely behind them, joined by a scowling Lord Windham, while Mistress Leems stayed behind, issuing orders to the servants to deal with the baggage.
When they entered the house, Lord Windham glanced about admiringly at the tapestries that adorned the walls. Beneath their feet a fine rug cushioned their steps.
“So this is Greystone Abbey. I wonder, since it is so beautiful, why Grey has refused to entertain guests in his manor house?”
A voice from across the room startled him. “Perhaps my brother did it to protect my privacy.”
“Brother?” After the bright sunlight, the guests had to strain to see the figure seated before the fire.
“Aye.” At a curt command a servant pushed the wheeled chair closer. The figure in the chair bowed his head to the queen. “Welcome, Majesty.”
Elizabeth greeted her old friend, then turned to the others. “This is Lord Richard Grey, Morgan’s brother.”
Many in the crowd shifted uncomfortably. Several of the ladies turned their heads away, unwilling to be caught staring at the man who could not stand and bow before the queen.
A fierce sense of protection welled up inside Brenna. She hurried forward to stand beside Richard, placing her hand upon his shoulder in a proprietary manner.
Her reaction was not lost on Morgan, who stood in the doorway watching.
“Ah. I have often heard about Morgan’s handsome brother,” Madeline said quickly, to fill the sudden silence. “But I did not know you resided at Greystone Abbey. A pity to hide such good looks away from the world.”
Richard gave her a warm smile, easily dismissing her compliment as an act of kindness by a gentle woman. “You are too kind, my lady.”
As she offered her hand, Richard brought it to his lips.
Madeline lifted an arm to indicate the two who moved to stand beside her. “This is my brother, Cordell, and my sister, Adrianna.”
Cordell and Richard exchanged greetings. When Richard took Adrianna’s hand, he felt the jolt, sudden, unexpected. It had been a long time since he had felt that rush of sexual excitement. Taken by surprise, he studied the young woman for long moments.
There was about this French girl such youth, such innocence, he felt as if a stray sunbeam had suddenly found its way into the room.
As Richard held her hand he thought about the ease with which he had once charmed all women. There had been a time when women young and old had flocked around him, eager to be a part of his teasing manner, his roguish laughter. But that had been a lifetime ago, when he was whole and his future had been as bright as the morning star.
He reminded himself that that part of his life was over. Any chance he had with women was as dead as the lifeless limbs that could no longer support his weight. He would not be the object of a lady’s pitying glances.
With studied casualness he lifted Adrianna’s hand to his lips. “Welcome to Greystone Abbey, my lady.” Summoning all his willpower he forced himself not to react to the flare of heat.
“Merci.” From beneath a fringe of lashes the Frenchwoman watched him. At the mere brush of his lips over her hand she felt a little pulse flutter in the pit of her stomach. She chided herself for her foolishness. It was obvious that he had not felt anything.
Adrianna’s cheeks, Brenna noted, were flushed when Richard released her hand. She studied the way the two looked at each other when they thought no one was looking. “You will wish to refresh yourselves after your journey,” Morgan said. “We will show you to your chambers.”
He offered his arm and the queen placed her hand upon it, moving by his side.
Madeline linked her arm through Brenna’s. Together they climbed the stairs to the guest chambers. The others followed, while Richard stayed behind, staring after them.
An entire wing of the house on the second and third floors had been prepared for the guests. The finest rugs had been aired and positioned on the floor of the sitting chamber. Several chaises, covered in softest velvet, flanked the fireplace. A fire crackled on the grate. Masses of flowers stood in vases on the mantel as well as on several tables around the room. Their fragrance perfumed the air.
“Mon cher.” Madeline turned a smiling face toward Morgan. “Your home is so beautiful. And your hospitality overwhelms me.”
“Greystone Abbey is lovely,” the queen murmured. “But never have I seen the rooms so fresh, or so tastefully arranged.”
“Brenna is the one who drove the servants unmercifully until Greystone Abbey was suitable for royalty.”
Brenna flushed with pleasure. To cover her embarrassment she said, “Perhaps you would like to see your sleeping chambers, Majesty.”
A fire crackled invitingly in the sleeping chambers on either side of the sitting chamber. The massive beds were swathed in delicate linen draperies that offered warmth as well as privacy. Thick, ornate rugs covered every inch of floor. Tall vases of roses stood on either side of the fireplace. The air was sweet with their perfume.
“There is ample room for all of your servants,” Brenna said, indicating several doors that led to smaller servants’ chambers.
The queen gazed around, then fixed Brenna with a look. “I am impressed.”
Brenna flushed with pleasure. It would take much to impress a queen who was accustomed to only the best.
Lord Windham remarked dryly, “Perhaps we should all petition you, Majesty, for a prisoner such as this one. My home could use the lady’s touch, as well.”
Feeling all the attention focused on her, Bre
nna’s cheeks burned. It was Morgan who came to her rescue.
“When you have refreshed yourselves,” he said, “we will await you in the great room below.”
As he and Brenna walked down the hall he noted the flush on her cheeks. His tone was tender. “Your work was not in vain, my lady. Everyone was overwhelmed by your care.”
He offered his arm as they descended the stairs. When she placed her hand on his sleeve, he steeled himself for the jolt that always came at her simplest touch.
“I am glad, for Madeline’s sake. I wanted her first visit to be perfect.”
He savored the breathless quality of her voice. It was rare when they could speak to each other without rancor. “Did you always take such pains with your guests in your home in Scotland?”
Home. She felt the pain, swift, sharp. Would it always be so? “Aye. There were so many visitors. Our doors were open to all. I remember our home always filled with the sound of voices raised in laughter.”
He opened the door to the great room and felt the press of her body as she moved past him. The fragrance of wildflowers still clung to her hair and clothes. “I would like you to treat Greystone Abbey as your own home, my lady. For the next few days I pray that you can relax with Madeline and the others and enjoy this happy time.”
“Shall I think of it as a reprieve, my lord?” She turned and he saw the way her eyes suddenly darkened, as she remembered who and what she was. “Before the queen sentences me to a lifetime of slavery?”
“Damn you, woman.” Without thinking he caught her roughly by the arm. The moment he touched her, he realized his mistake. The heat that flowed between them was a shocking reminder that it was impossible to touch her and feel nothing.
His voice lowered to a hiss of anger. “Must everything with you be a contest of wills?” His grip tightened. “Can you not forget for a little while that you are Scots and I am English? Can we not simply be two people who enjoy the company of good friends?”
At her gasp of pain he realized that he was hurting her. Immediately his touch gentled, and he unwittingly ran his thumbs in circles over the bruised flesh of her upper arms.
She struggled to ignore the little fist that tightened deep inside her. Why did this man’s touch have the power to affect her so? Why, even now, in the full heat of anger, did she react so violently to the nearness of him?
