Highland Heather

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  "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 thimc. 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.

  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 a
go.

  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 ofWindham."

  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

  q^t^s^q

  Urenna 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 t
oilet. 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