Highland Heather

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  "You make this easy."

  "I am at your command. Majesty. You know that."

  "There is talk of a rebellion on the Scottish border."

  His eyes narrowed as he studied her.

  "I have heard no talk of a rebellion."

  "The news was just brought to me." She paused.

  "Take your most trusted men and look into this."

  "I will not see her while I am there."

  "I would not ask it."

  He nodded.

  "I will leave at dawn."

  Elizabeth brushed her lips across his cheek.

  "Hurry back. Your queen needs you."

  Morgan had forgotten how green the land was. And how blue the sky.

  Little villages were tucked into the folds of hills strewn with

  sheep.

  As the horses clattered over a stone bridge, he caught sight of the

  distant turrets of MacAlpin Castle.

  He had searched this idyllic land for signs of a rebellion against the

  queen. He had found none. Instead he had found the peace he had not

  found since Brenna left. Everywhere he looked he saw proud young

  lasses with windswept curls and laughing eyes. And all of them tugged

  at his heart, reminding him of the one who had captivated him from the

  first moment he had seen her.

  Alden wheeled his mount and raced past the long column of men to where

  Morgan's horse stood.

  "Across yonder river there are over a hundred men assembled. At last I

  think we have found our rebellion."

  Morgan forced his attention to the task at hand.

  "Tell the men to prepare their weapons. Send two of your best men to

  ride ahead and ascertain the enemy's strength and number."

  "Aye." Alden urged his horse into a gallop.

  Morgan touched the dagger at his waist, then pulled his sword from the

  scabbard.

  The day was so perfect. The sun shone from a cloudless sky. The

  slightest breeze ruffled the leaves on the trees. It was not a day for

  spilling blood.

  Morgan rode hard until he reached the front of the column of men.

  Alden turned in the saddle just as the two riders returned.

  "They insist it is no rebellion, my lord. They say they are

  celebrating a wedding. But they are dressed as if for battle. And

  there are Highlanders among them."

  "Highlanders?"

  "Aye, my lord. Giants, they are. In full battle dress. Barelegged

  heathens, with legs as big as tree stumps. They carry broadswords and

  longbows as well as swords and daggers."

  "And they say it is a celebration?"

  "Aye, my lord. There is one among them who said we were invited to

  join them."

  Morgan's eyes narrowed. What sort of ploy was this?

  Turning to Alden he said, "You will stay on this side of the river with

  half the men. I will lead the other half across. If we are in need of

  your help, we will signal."

  "Aye, my lord." Alden watched as Morgan hastily assembled his men.

  Taking the lead, Morgan started across the river. On the other side he

  faced the rows of Highlanders who watched in silence as he and the

  others rode slowly through their midst.

  "Welcome to our wedding feast," one of them called.

  Morgan turned. The man had russet hair that fell across a wide

  forehead. He was taller even than the others, and his shoulders were

  as wide as a broadsword.

  "We do not wish to intrude upon your celebration." Morgan reined in

  his mount.

  "We have been sent by Queen Elizabeth to look into rumors of a

  rebellion."

  "Our queen, Mary," the man said, his eyes showing no sign of anger,

  "has asked that our people live in peace with yours."

  "Aye. I have seen no sign of discontent. But your assembly caused us

  to inquire." Morgan glanced at the Highlanders, who began laughing and

  talking among themselves. Though all wore their weapons, they seemed

  more interested in feasting than fighting.

  "Forgive our intrusion into your celebration. We will leave you to

  it."

  "Nay," the Highlander said with a laugh.

  "Join us."

  "It would not be right."

  A beautiful woman crossed the expanse of lawn and stood beside the

  Highlander. In her arms was a cooing infant, whose chubby fingers

  curled around a strand of her mahogany hair. The warrior put his arm

  around the woman in a protective manner. When she looked up at Morgan,

  he felt his heart stop. Though he had never before seen her, he knew

  she had to be Brenna's sister.

  "You are Meredith. And you," he said to the Highlander, "are Brice

  Campbell."

  "Aye." Meredith gave him a warm smile.

  "And you are Morgan Grey.

  Brenna told us all about you. "

  "She spoke warmly and lovingly about you, as well.," His gaze moved

  beyond her to the lass who strolled toward them. Megan, the youngest

  sister, was wearing a flowing gown of gold that matched her golden

  hair. In such formal attire she looked incongruous with a bleating

  lamb slung across her shoulders. She moved catlike across the lawn.

  When she spied him, her eyes narrowed and he saw the way her hand went

  to the dagger at her waist.

  "I come in peace, Megan." Morgan swallowed a smile at the way she

  boldly studied him.

  "Brenna boasts that the Queen's Savage is fine and noble," Megan

  said.

  "And though I remember only an arrogant English soldier, I will not

  argue with my sister on this special day."

  "So you are to be wed?" Morgan said.

  "Nay. Not I." She tossed her head and again Morgan had to stifle a

  smile.

  "There is not a man alive who would own my heart."

  "Then who marries this day?"

  Megan cast a glance at her sister, then back at Morgan.

  "I thought you knew. It is Brenna's wedding day."

  Morgan felt his heart stop. He gripped the reins until his knuckles

  were white. And though the talking and laughter swirled around him, he

  heard nothing.

  Brenna's wedding day. He felt the stab of pain and gritted his

  teeth.

  He would not mourn. She was not worth it.

  Anger replaced the pain of a moment ago. Wild, surging anger. She had

  not loved him. She had never loved him. If she had, she would have

  not found another lover so soon. She had merely used him. Used his

  friendship with the queen to secure her freedom.

  "I hope you will give the Lady Brenna my best wishes."

  "You can give them to her yourself," Meredith said gently. She had

  read the pain in his eyes. Her heart went out to this Englishman. He

  was so fierce. And so wounded.

  "Brenna has gone to a favorite place to be alone before the wedding."

  "It does not matter, my lady. I must rejoin my men on the other side

  of the river."

  "Aye. I understand," Meredith said softly.

  "But Brenna would wish to see you, to thank you for all you did for

  her."

  "I need no thanks from her."

  "Brice will show you the way," Meredith said as if he had not even

  spoken.

  Morgan watched as the Highlander pulled himself onto a horse and took

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sp; off at a run. And though he had no intention of following, Morgan

  found himself doing just that.

  The Highlander never paused, never looked back. His mount raced across

  the rolling hills, then began a steep upward climb. They crossed a

  farmer's field, and the Highlander waved to the man and his family

  before disappearing into the woods. Morgan followed. When they

  finally left the forest, they stepped out into a field of heather.

  Morgan stared out at the sea of blue. In the gentle breeze,

  the blossoms waved and nodded, giving off their wonderful perfume. He

  breathed it in, filling his lungs. It seemed appropriate that he

  should come upon her again in this field of Highland heather. For it

  was here that he would always see this haughty, regal woman. His mind

  went back to the first time he had been here. He could still see

  Brenna, looking so small and alone as she bravely tried to outrun

  him.

  What an amazing woman she was.

  He glanced around. The Highlander was nowhere to be seen. Shielding

  his eyes from the sun, he stared out at the expanse of blue. In the

  middle of the field stood a figure, gowned in white.

  His heart began to race. Urging his mount forward he drank in the

  sight of her. How beautiful she was, with the proud, haughty lift of

  her head, that cool demeanor.

  "Brenna."

  At the sound of his voice she turned slightly. Her lips parted in a

  smile.

  "Morgan. The queen said you would come."

  "The queen." A little frown touched his brow.

  "When did you see the queen?"

  "She arrived only hours ago."

  "Here? She is here in Scotland?"

  "Aye. She came for my wedding."

  His eyes narrowed. How could she speak so lightly of something that

  would tear out his heart?

  "You did not wait long, my lady."

  "I waited too long. But my lover was away, putting down some

  unrest."

  "He is a soldier?"

  "Aye." She stepped closer, and he watched the way the white gown

  fluttered about her ankles.

  "I never knew you were such a cruel woman, Brenna."

  "If one is to lead her people, she must harden her heart to many

  things. Your queen told me that."

  "Elizabeth is a remarkable woman. But I would not have her for a

  wife."

  "I would hope not, my lord."

  He glanced sharply at her. She was making no sense. "A man can have

  but one wife. And you are already spoken for."

  "I? Nay, I have no wife."

  "But you shall very soon."

  He saw the curve of her lips as she gave a delighted laugh. And then

  he understood. Still, he had to be certain.

  He slid from the saddle but did not make a move toward her.

  "What are you saying, Brenna?"

  "It was important for me to return to my people a free woman. And it

  was equally important to be able to choose my own husband. It is the

  way of the MacAlpins."

  The relief he was beginning to feel gave him renewed courage. The

  light of teasing laughter came into his eyes, warming his voice.

  "What if this husband you choose does not return your ardor?"

  "Ah, but he does, my lord. I would not be foolish enough to choose a

  mate who would not want me."

  "Perhaps he has had a bad experience that has left him embittered."

  "I would heal his heart."

  "Perhaps his duties will take him far from his home."

  "I will wait for him. Unless, of course, he wishes me to accompany

  him."

  "Perhaps he swears allegiance to a queen other than yours."

  "Then I will swear my allegiance as well."

  "To his queen?"

  "Aye." Her voice lowered.

  "To all that he holds dear."

  "And what of your people?"

  "There will always be the MacAlpin. In this case, Megan."

  "You would entrust the care of your people to that little firebrand?"

  Brenna laughed, and the sound of it skimmed across his nerves.

  "Aye.

  She will be a fine leader. And if there is ever a rebellion in our

  land, she will stand at the head of it. "

  He took a single step toward her and reached out a hand to her cheek.

  The moment he touched her she felt the weakness spread through her

  limbs.

  "It would seem that you have thought of everything, my lady."

  "Aye. Everything but one."

  He waited, loving the way her eyes danced.

  "The man who holds my heart has not yet agreed to wed me."

  "Ah." He took a step closer and cupped her face between his big

  hands.

  With his thumbs he traced the outline of her lips. He felt the rush of

  heat. She was the only woman who had ever made him burn like this.

  "How could any man resist such a tempting offer?"

  Her lips curved into a radiant smile.

  "You will marry me, Morgan?"

  "Since the celebration has already begun, I see no reason to waste the

  day."

  "Is that the only reason you agree?"

  "Should there be another?"

  "Aye." She brought her arms around his neck and drew herself close

  until their bodies were touching.

  "You should whisper sweet words of love and tell me that your heart

  would break if we could not be together for a lifetime."

  He closed his eyes, loving the feel of her in his arms.

  "Oh, my haughty little ice maiden. How the thought of you has

  tormented me."

  "That is better," she whispered against his lips.

  "Whisper more love words."

  "I missed you more with each passing day." He pressed his lips to her

  temple and felt the need begin to pulse and throb.

  "I love you more than life itself."

  She sighed and brought her lips to his throat.

  "More, my love. Tell me more."

  His lips roamed her eyelids, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.

  "I

  need you as a starving man needs food. " He glanced down at her and

  saw the soft glow of love that seemed to surround her with a halo of

  light.

  "Then come with me now to the meadow where the others are waiting. We

  will lead them to the kirk where we will pledge our love forever."

  "Nay, my love. I fear I cannot go."

  Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

  Morgan nibbled her ear lobe.

  "I cannot go anywhere until you lie with me here in the heather."

  "But the others are waiting."

  "Brenna. Take pity on me. I have been to far-flung lands on a mission

  for my queen." His hands moved along her spine, igniting little

  fires.

  "But now I have come home to your arms. The Queen's Savage has been

  gentled by your touch."

  They dropped to their knees in the heather and he breathed in the

  wonderful fragrance that would always remind him of her.

  "Wherever you go, Morgan Grey, I go, too. In your arms I have found my

  home."

  Home. From this moment on, home was in her arms. He lost himself in

  her kiss.

  As his lips and fingertips began to move over her, Brenna gave herself

  up to the pleasure of his touch. Her heart was nearly bursting wit
h

  the love she felt for this man. Her gentle savage. One lifetime, she

  decided, would never be enough to show him how much she loved him. But

  considering how far they had come, it did not seem unreasonable to

  believe that they would follow one another, even into the hereafter.

  Where they would spend an eternity loving, as they did now.