by Ruth Langan
He murmured words and phrases of love, or thought he did, as together they passed through a sky filled with shooting stars until they soared beyond the moon and felt themselves shattering into a million glittering fragments.
They lay, still locked in a fierce embrace, neither of them willing to break the fragile bond that held them.
Brenna’s face was covered with a fine sheen of moisture. Morgan pressed his lips to her forehead. His breathing was shallow.
He felt the tremors that rocked her and touched a finger to the corner of her eye. “Tears?” Immediately he started to draw away. “I have hurt you.”
“Nay.” She caught him and held him to her. “It is foolish, I know. But I feel like weeping.”
“I know, love.” He touched his lips to her tears and tasted the salt.
“Oh, Morgan.” She clung to him and wept openly, no longer trying to hide the sobs that were wrenched from her. “I know I cannot make up for what happened to you in the past. But if I could, I would erase all the pain from your poor heart.”
He went very still, absorbing the shock as her words washed over him. How generous she was. What a wonderful gift he had been given.
Rolling to one side he drew her into the circle of his arms and pressed his lips to her temple. With his thumbs he wiped away her tears. “Do not weep for me, Brenna. Whatever happened before has just been erased for all time.”
“But you said you never wanted to marry again. And now you have spoken for me.”
He placed a finger over her lips to silence her. “Hush, love. Forget the things I said earlier. I said them to hide the truth from my heart.”
She glanced at him, her eyes wide. “What do you mean?”
“Just this.” He lifted a strand of her hair and watched through narrowed eyes as it sifted through his fingers. “I love you, Brenna. I think I have loved you from the moment of our first meeting.”
She knelt beside him. Her dark hair swirled around her breasts. “You love me? Truly love me?”
“Aye.” On his lips was a smile of pure pleasure.
“You are not saying this to soothe me because of what we have just shared?”
His smile grew. Laughter rumbled from deep in his chest. “I love you, my lady. With all my heart and soul.”
“And I love you, Morgan.” She spoke the words with a hushed reverence. She bent low until her hair spread across his chest like a veil. “Tell me, my lord. When did you first realize you loved me?”
“Ah.” He stifled the laughter that threatened. “Why must a woman know such things?”
“It is our vanity.” She kissed him hard, quick. “Now tell me.”
He propped one hand beneath his head, while his other arm cradled her against his chest. She felt so good there. So right.
“I did not admit it to myself until you had retired for the night. And I realized what I had just done to you.” His fingers idly played with her hair. He felt the desire begin anew. God in heaven. How was it possible that he wanted her again so soon? “I feared that I had just dashed any hope of winning your heart.”
“So, my lord.” She ran a finger across his chest. Feeling his quivering response to her simple touch, she grew bolder. “What were you going to do about this sudden knowledge of your love for me?”
He recognized the gleam in her eye. “Are you teasing me, little one?”
“Nay, my lord. I simply wish to know if you would have ever told me of your love.”
His tone grew serious. “I knew I had already caused you enough pain, Brenna. I took you from your home, from all you love, and thrust you among the vultures at court. ’Twas my intention to comply with the queen’s wishes and wed you, then return you to your people, where you could live in peace.”
She pressed her hands against his chest and stared into his eyes. “Are you saying that you love me so much you would live without me?”
“I love you so much I would set you free.”
She surprised him by brushing her lips lightly over his. The heat of desire rose swiftly.
“Then we would never have shared this wondrous act, my lord.”
“Aye.”
Her hands moved lower, causing his stomach muscles to jump.
“Now what are you up to, little one?”
Her eyes danced with a mischievous light. “It is my intention to store up as many wondrous acts as possible, my lord. In case you decide to send me away soon.”
He threw back his head and roared with laughter. But a moment later, as her hand moved even lower, the laughter died on his lips. With a moan of pleasure he pulled her down on top of him and covered her mouth in a searing kiss.
She sighed and wriggled and moved over him until he felt himself once again slipping over the edge of sanity. Never, never had he known a woman like this one. Some time soon, when he had his wits about him, he would sort out all the changes she had wrought in his life. But not now. Right now he was beyond thought.
With sighs and kisses and little moans of pleasure, they lost themselves in that wonderful place reserved only for lovers.
The steady drumming of rain on the roof of the portico roused him. Morgan awoke slowly. There was a heaviness on his arm, making it impossible to lift it. He opened his eyes to study the beautiful creature who lay facing him. His leg was thrown carelessly across her, pinning her to the length of him. Her eyes were closed, her breathing slow and even. What a delightful surprise she was. All night they had loved, slept, then awakened each other to love again.
He studied the wide, unlined brow, the lips, so right for kissing. How had he ever thought her cool and haughty? His little ice maiden. She was so generous, so open in her loving. No woman had ever made him ache with such desire. He would never have enough of her. Even a lifetime together would not be enough. His spirit would follow hers even into the hereafter.
He saw the way her lids flickered. Any moment now she would awaken. He was suddenly plagued with a terrible thought. What if, in the cold light of morning, she regretted their night of passion? What if she had given in to her loneliness in a moment of weakness? Or worse, what if she had confused gratitude with love? As her lids opened, he forgot to breathe. His heart missed a beat. Though he had fought hundreds of enemies on the field of battle, this little woman had him terrified.
Brenna lay a moment, feeling the weight of Morgan’s leg on her. His breath was warm against her cheek. Even with her eyes closed she knew this man who lay beside her. She knew the touch of him. He had left his imprint on her body. And on her heart. The dark, mysterious taste of him still lingered on her tongue.
She opened her eyes to find him watching her intently. His brow was wrinkled with concern.
“Good morrow,” she whispered, reaching a hand to his cheek. Before he could respond she pulled his face close and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Are you having unhappy thoughts, my lord?”
He felt his breath come out in a slow sigh of relief. She had not blushed nor tried to hide herself. Instead she’d greeted him as if they had always awakened together after a night of loving.
“I was afraid you would awake with regrets, my love.”
“I do have one regret.”
His heart stopped beating.
Seeing the look on his face she leaned close, pressing her body to his. “I regret that you have a house filled with guests who will expect to be entertained from sunrise to sunset.”
His mouth dropped open. Then he roared with laughter. She joined him, a gay, lilting sound that washed away the last of his fears.
“I suppose we shall have to dress and greet our guests.” She brushed her lips across his shoulder and began to slip out of bed.
He felt the familiar tingle at her touch and lay very still, allowing the fire to build. As she brushed past him he caught her, forcing her down. His hands tangled in her hair, drawing her face toward his.
“The queen will sleep for at least another hour.” He nibbled the corner of her mouth until she gave a little moan
and clutched at his waist.
“And how is it that you can be so certain?”
“At this moment, my love, I am certain of but one thing.” He rolled over, pulling her beneath him. Already the fire in his loins was raging out of control. “If the queen awakes early, she shall have to find her own entertainment. I have already found mine. Until we can return to this bed tonight, this day promises to be the longest one of my life,” he murmured against her lips.
Her laughter died in her throat as he began to work the magic that would tumble them both into a world apart. A world of whispered sighs and endless delights.
Chapter Nineteen
Rosamunde and the servants giggled and chattered among themselves as they prepared a bath for Lord Grey and the Lady Brenna.
Morgan and Brenna seemed unaware of anything except each other. When Rosamunde had finished arranging Brenna’s hair, she bowed her way from the room. As she was closing the door she caught a glimpse of Lord Grey standing behind the lady, his hands on her shoulders, his gaze meeting hers in the looking glass. On both their faces was a look of love so intense, so smoldering, it left no doubt in the serving girl’s mind. The rumors and whispers had been correct. Lord Grey was truly intent upon pledging his troth to the lady.
But Rosamunde had seen something else that had deeply disturbed her. The Lady Brenna’s flesh had been marred by a wound. Though her mistress had insisted that it was merely a scratch, the servant knew better. She had seen enough knife wounds in her young life to recognize one. The question was, who would inflict such pain upon the lovely Brenna MacAlpin? And why?
The same thought was uppermost in Morgan’s mind as he escorted Brenna to the refectory. When all were assembled, he intended to study their guests and assorted servants very carefully. One among them was a vicious madman, who would answer to Morgan’s sword.
One thought nagged at Morgan. Had the attacker been bent upon harming Brenna, or had he come upon her by mistake? Many of the servants knew that the lady’s things had been moved to his room. And in a home such as this, what one servant knew, all knew. Rumors and gossip were a way of life. Still, the nagging thought persisted. Could he have actually been the intended victim?
As they entered the refectory, Morgan noted that Elizabeth and her ladies were already seated at table.
“So, you have finally dragged yourselves from bed.” With great care the queen studied Morgan and the woman beside him.
Under the queen’s scrutiny, Brenna blushed. Morgan, looking immensely pleased with himself, was unruffled by the queen’s perusal.
Glancing around he asked casually, “Where are the others?”
“Madeline and Charles were summoned to Cordell’s room early this morning,” the queen said. “It would seem that the young Frenchman took a fall down a flight of stairs last night.”
“A fall.” Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “Why was I not summoned?”
“The servants were loath to disturb you, my friend, knowing how you were—otherwise occupied.”
At the queen’s sly laugh, Morgan felt his temper rising. “Where is Lord Windham?”
“He went for an early morning ride.”
“In this rain?”
“He said he had a need to be up and about.”
“Did you see him?”
“Nay. He sent word with a servant. Why?” The queen studied Morgan across the table.
He shrugged. “No reason, Majesty. What about my brother?”
“Richard and the young Frenchwoman took a stroll in the garden.”
“A walk in the rain.” Tossing down his napkin Morgan scraped back his chair. “Now I know that the whole world has gone mad.”
“Where are you going?” The queen looked up from her plate.
“To see how Madeline’s brother fares.”
When Brenna made a move to follow he touched a hand to her shoulder. “Nay, my lady. Stay and visit with the queen. I will return shortly.”
“Tell me truly.” Richard studied the lovely young woman who sat on a bench beneath the branches of a gnarled old tree. “You do not mind the rain?”
Adrianna’s gaze lifted to the man who sat facing her in the wheeled chair. “Nay, my lord. I have often walked alone in the rain in Paris.”
“Why would a beautiful woman like you walk alone?”
“Beautiful.” She glanced down, feeling her cheeks redden at his unexpected compliment. “I am not beautiful, my lord.”
“You think not?” He caught her chin and lifted her face for his inspection.
She blushed clear to her toes. “To a worldly man like you I must seem plain. My eyes are too big, my nose is too small. My hair is so ordinary.”
“Ordinary.” He allowed his gaze to burn slowly over her until she felt her cheeks flame. “Dear little Adrianna. There is nothing ordinary about you. When I look at you I see hair like burnished copper.” He touched a finger to her rain-washed tresses. “Your eyes are greener than the Thames at sunrise. They are big, though.” When she lifted her gaze to him he chuckled, low and deep in his throat. “Big enough, I think, for a man to drown in.”
She pulled her head away and refused to look at him. “You should not say such things.”
“But I must. Or would you have me lie?”
“I did not come here seeking compliments.”
“Nay. Nor did I come here to give them away. We both came,” he said, turning to glance around him, “to admire the rose garden. See how the flowers lift their heads to drink in the rain.”
“Aye. How fresh and green everything looks.”
“How fresh you look, dear little Adrianna. You are like a breath of fresh air to these tired eyes.”
Again she refused to look at him. “The words roll so easily from your tongue, my lord. I think you find it easy to speak so to every woman.”
“You think so?” He reached out, catching both her hands in his. “Look at me, Adrianna.”
She glanced up, then away.
“Why will you not look at me?”
When she said nothing his voice deepened. “Are you afraid to look at me?”
She swallowed. “Aye.”
He felt his heart contract. He had foolishly set himself up for this pain. All night he had tossed and turned, dreaming of this time alone with such a beautiful lass. And all in vain. She was afraid of him. Afraid of his affliction. And, if the truth be told, probably filled with pity at the sight of him. How could he have been so blind, so foolish? Now he must get through this with as much dignity as possible, and pretend that it meant as little to him as it apparently did to her.
“I am sorry, my lady.” He dropped her hands and turned to cup a rosebud between his fingers. “These were some of my mother’s favorite blooms.”
“I can see why. They are lovely.”
He felt the old despair coming over him. How many times would he allow himself to hope, to dream, only to see those hopes and dreams dashed? When would he learn that life was not like those fantasies that played in his mind, teasing him, tormenting him with their promises?
“If you care to push my chair, Adrianna, we can go inside now.”
She stood, feeling a stab of pain. She had thought of nothing but this man since their first meeting. She was in such a state of agitation she could hardly breathe. And now he was cruelly dismissing her. Perhaps their little walk had overtaxed him. Still, he had seemed so eager to be with her until a few moments ago. But it had always been this way. She was too shy. Her sister and brother constantly told her so. But clever words and flirtatious behavior were impossible for her to attempt.
“You promised to show me the place where you and your brother played as lads.”
Why was she prolonging his agony? Richard pointed toward the row of newly planted trees. “It is over there.”
She pushed his chair across the stones worn smooth from generations of Greys who had trod these paths. “There was once a fountain here,” he said softly. “Brenna has suggested that the workmen could be
gin excavating. Perhaps, if my brother agrees, by late summer, there will be a new fountain here.”
“It is so lovely.” Her voice drifted over him, low, sultry. The soft French accent added a seductive quality. “So peaceful. I envy your mother. ’Twould be a wonderful place to watch children grow.”
Children. Did she not know how the knife twisted in his heart? What woman would ever care to have children with a man who could not run and play with them? Or teach them to sit a horse?
“Oh. Look, my lord.” Adrianna touched a blood-red rose whose inner petals were touched with palest peach. “How unique this blossom.”
“Aye.” Despite his glum thoughts Richard felt a rush of pleasure, that she should notice. “I took a cutting from the roses near the hedges and tied them to these stems. And the result is an entirely new strain of rose. This is the first bloom.” Without ceremony he plucked it and handed it to Adrianna.
She was stunned at his generous gesture. “My lord. This is a flower like no other ever grown. You should not have picked it and wasted it on me.”
His tone was gruff. “It is mine to give. I want you to have it.” His tone softened perceptibly. “It suits you, Adrianna. You are a woman like no other.”
Oh, why could she not be blessed with her sister’s outgoing personality? Or some of Cordell’s charm? She played with the sash at her waist while she kept her gaze averted. If only she could find the words.
Again she could not bring herself to look at him. It was further proof to Richard that she had come out here with him only out of a sense of pity.
He watched her for a moment, then said softly, “It is raining harder, my lady. You will soon be drenched. We should go in.”
“Aye.” She inhaled the fragrance of the rose, then reached for the back of his chair. As she did, her fingers encountered his shoulder. How lean and muscled he was. Her fingers tingled from the contact, and yet she had not the strength to back away.
