Highland Heather

  Morgan glanced from Brenna's flushed cheeks to Lord Windham's dark

  scowl and reacted instinctively by taking a menacing step closer.

  Windham studied the protective way Morgan stood beside Brenna. A hint

  of a cruel smile touched his lips. So, Morgan Grey had become the

  lady's protector. Nothing would give him more satisfaction than

  putting Grey in his place. He turned to the queen.

  "Majesty." His sharp tone commanded the attention of everyone in the

  room.

  "I should like to ask your blessing on a most--delicate subject."

  Elizabeth's interest piqued.

  "Is this not something that can be decided upon at court?"

  "Nay, Majesty. You have expressed a desire to have this matter settled

  as quickly as possible."

  "What is it. Lord Windham?"

  "I request permission to wed the Lady Brenna MacAlpin." At his words,

  there was a collective gasp from those around him. And then a sudden,

  shocked silence.

  Brenna stood rooted to the spot. Shock rippled through her. She

  stood, head bowed, hands gripped tightly together, trying desperately

  to hold to some thread of control.

  This could not be happening. Please God. Not marriage to this man.

  Though she had once thought all Englishmen were kin to the devil, she

  now knew that to be untrue. A few of the men here were kind and

  generous souls. And one here had a special place in her heart, though

  she was loath to admit it.

  But there was about Lord Windham a hint of evil that set her teeth on

  edge. It was not love that drove him to seek her hand. Nay, it was

  something dark and chilling. Something she could not name that sent

  terror churning in her veins.

  Except for a slight narrowing of his dark eyes, Morgan showed

  absolutely no emotion. He studied Windham, noting the look of triumph

  on his features. Aye, it would please Windham to wear Brenna on his

  arm like a trophy won in the games. From the time they were young,

  Windham had always wanted the finest mount, the biggest estate, the

  most beautiful woman at his side. Most of his possessions had been

  gained by less than honorable means. And always, when his interest

  waned, he would cast them aside for something even more exotic.

  When the queen did not respond to Windham's request, he drew himself up

  to his full height and lifted his head in an arrogant pose.

  "As you have said, Majesty, the lady's temper would be a problem for

  most men.

  But I am certain I can control her. I am willing to do the noble thing

  and take her as wife. "

  Brenna was trembling so violently, she was forced to grip her hands

  together until her knuckles were white with the effort. When the queen

  opened her mouth to speak, Brenna stared at her with a pleading look in

  her eyes. She swallowed the lump that threatened to choke her and

  heard the queen's imperious tones.

  "How kind of you, Lord Windham, to offer to take on the challenge of

  marriage to the Scotswoman." Elizabeth's voice purred, with just a

  hint of sarcasm.

  "Would that all loyal subjects were so noble."

  Brenna closed her eyes and prayed that she would not embarrass herself

  by fainting again. If it killed her she would hold her head high, her

  spine rigid, and face her punishment like a true Scots.

  "Unfortunately," the queen continued, enjoying the drama of the moment,

  "you are too late."

  Someone gasped. Brenna wasn't certain if it had been her or someone

  else.

  The queen's words sent another shock through the guests.

  "Morgan Grey has already asked for the lady's hand."

  Chapter Sixteen

  "I will choose a day for their official betrothal," the queen stated.

  The crowd erupted into a great clamor of exclamations and

  congratulations.

  Brenna heard but a single word. Betrothal. Not to Lord Windham, but

  to Morgan Grey. She was besieged by conflicting emotions. Relief,

  that she had been spared the ordeal of marriage to the cruel Windham.

  Outrage, that her fate had been so callously sealed without regard to

  her feelings. But deep inside, despite her denials to herself, she

  felt a thread of excitement that this man, whose very touch thrilled

  her, would seek to wed her. English or no, he made her burn as no

  other man ever had.

  Morgan stood very still and regarded her reaction.

  "A wedding. Cherie, how wonderful." While the others surged around

  them, Madeline drew Brenna into her arms and hugged her, then turned to

  Morgan with a laugh.

  "How could you have kept such a thing from us during tea? You rogue.

  How soon will you wed?"

  "As soon as I have" -he turned toward the queen with a grave look

  "--completed a favor for Her Majesty."

  Richard pulled Morgan down in a fierce hug.

  "Secrets, brother? I thought we told each other everything."

  "I would have told you. If there'd been time."

  "But you gave not a whisper."

  "Aye. Some things are decided quickly."

  "I am happy for you." Richard glanced at Morgan's grim features. He

  threw back his head and laughed before muttering, "Smile, Morgan, else

  they will think it is a funeral you are planning."

  Morgan forced a grim smile to his lips.

  His reaction was not lost on Brenna.

  Cordell's face fell, but only for a moment. Covering his dismay, he

  kissed Brenna's hand.

  "My lady, I am fortunate to be here at such a time in your life. I

  wish you all happiness."

  "Thank you." Brenna felt her lips quivering and prayed she would not

  give in to the tears that threatened.

  From the time she had been a young girl, she had dreamed of a romantic

  courtship and a fine wedding, with her sisters attending her and all

  the people of their clan surrounding her.

  What a foolish child she had been. A lump formed in her throat. What

  silly, romantic dreams she had spun.

  The Frenchman turned to Morgan and offered his hand.

  "You are most fortunate, Lord Grey. Never have I met a lovelier lady

  than yours."

  Morgan could read the sincerity in the young man's eyes. And though he

  still considered the callow youth to be offensive, he accepted his

  handshake.

  On Lord Windham's face was a look of unveiled hatred. For long moments

  he studied the Scotswoman, then turned toward the man who had won her

  hand. How many times had he been bested by Grey in the past? He felt

  a wave of fury. Too many times to count. His need for vengeance was a

  living, palpable thing. And yet, he cautioned himself, the duel was

  not yet won.

  He carefully composed his features and bowed over Brenna's hand.

  "A

  pity, my lady, that you must be saddled with frayed baggage like Morgan

  Grey. "

  "Frayed baggage?" She seemed puzzled.

  "You did not know?" His lips curled into a cruel smile.

  "Your intended has been wed before."

  Wed before? Morgan had a wife? Brenna felt herself reeling from his

  statement. But as she turned to Morgan for reassurance
, Lord Windham

  continued, "Arrangements like this are common enough. As he did the

  last time. Grey now acquires another piece of land, and you acquire an

  English title. And in a few short months the two of you will feel free

  to move on to other conquests." His smile grew.

  "Other lovers."

  Brenna shuddered at his suggestion.

  He turned to Morgan, whose only show of anger was the little muscle

  that worked in his jaw.

  "Congratulations, Grey. I pray this lady remains loyal at least until

  after the wedding."

  The crowd had grown uncomfortably silent.

  "Enough, Windham." The queen clapped her hands and ordered her

  musicians to play a tender ballad.

  "This shall be the lovers' dance.

  Morgan, dance with your intended. "

  Morgan turned to Brenna, whose face had gone pale.

  "I fear I am overcome with--emotion, my lord."

  He drew her firmly into his arms. She stiffened at his touch. The

  queen's command merely added to her misery. How could she be expected

  to dance in front of all these people when her whole life had just been

  forever altered?

  "Please, my lord. I feel faint."

  His mouth hardened into a grim, tight line. Damn Windham for leaving

  him no room for explanation. And damn the fates that had forced this

  awkward situation.

  Against her temple he whispered, "You will dance with me. And you will

  observe protocol. You may not leave until the queen has excused

  herself from our company. Then, and only then, will we speak of

  this.

  When we are alone in our rooms. "

  Alone. Her heart nearly stopped. Through gritted teeth she muttered,

  ' "Aye. I will play your game, Morgan Grey. Until we are alone."

  He pressed his lips to her temple. Instantly she felt the flame.

  "And then what, my lady?"

  The hand at her waist tightened perceptibly. Her breasts were

  flattened against his chest. Even in her anger she felt her body react

  to him. How was it that this man's touch could move her?

  All eyes in the crowd were upon them. And though she cursed the desire

  that surfaced, she could not deny it. With each movement she was

  achingly aware of the thighs that brushed hers, of the strong, sure

  hand that guided her.

  "When we are finally alone, I will show you how a Scot fights."

  He smiled down at her, a rogue's smile that could melt any woman's

  heart, including hers.

  "And I, my lady, will show you how an Englishman loves."

  When the queen had taken her leave, the women fluttered about, their

  voices a chorus of chattering birds.

  "Did you see how Morgan devoured the Scotswoman with his eyes?"

  "Aye. And did you see the way they whispered while they danced?"

  "Is it a love match?" someone asked Madeline.

  "How can it be otherwise, cherie? Are they not a handsome couple?"

  "Is she very wealthy?"

  "I have heard she commands an entire Scots army."

  "What titles will she acquire upon marrying Morgan Grey?"

  "He has received many honors from a grateful queen. His wife will be a

  titled English lady."

  "There are fabulous jewels in the Grey estate. Will he lavish them

  upon his wife? Or will he save them for future mistresses?"

  "What of his London house? Will the lady see it before the

  marriage?"

  As Brenna stood beside Morgan and bid good-night to their guests, she

  heard comments. Her head was buzzing with words of congratulations and

  whispered innuendos.

  Wealth. Jewels. Mistresses. Did no one care that all this had been

  forced upon her against her will?

  Richard saw the look on her face and caught her hands, drawing her down

  for his kiss.

  "I have always wanted a sister," he murmured, hoping to ease some of

  her pain.

  "I cannot think of a better addition to our family than a wife for

  Morgan who can cook like an angel and wield a knife like Satan

  himself."

  His words caused her to smile in spite of herself.

  "Rest now, lass. And when you wish to talk, I will be here to

  listen."

  "Thank you, Richard."

  As a servant wheeled his chair through the doorway, Adrianna's gaze

  followed them.

  When all their guests had taken their leave, Brenna placed her hand on

  Morgan's arm and walked stiffly beside him up the stairs. By the time

  they reached the sitting chamber, Brenna's heart was thundering in her

  chest. So many questions. So many things about this man that she did

  not know. And yet they were to be wed. Wed. God in heaven. How had

  her mother felt when she had been betrothed at ten and five? And

  Meredith.

  When had she known, truly known, that she loved Brice, her Highland

  barbarian? Oh, if only she could seek their council. If only she had

  spent more time learning the ways of men and women.

  In the sitting chamber a fire had been started on the grate. Candles

  added a soft glow. A decanter of wine and two crystal goblets rested

  on a silver tray on a low table.

  Brenna's room was in darkness. No fire had been laid on the hearth.

  From the open doorway she stared around her sleeping chamber. The bed

  linens had been removed, as had her clothing.

  "I do not understand." She turned.

  Morgan pointed to his sleeping chamber.

  "The servants have placed your things in my room, my lady."

  Moving toward the fire, Brenna clutched her arms around herself and

  shivered. Seeing it, Morgan filled the two goblets and crossed the

  room to her.

  "This will warm you."

  She accepted the goblet and drank, grateful for anything that would

  ease the chill that seemed to have seeped through to her soul.

  "I regret," Morgan said, staring at the flames, "that you were forced

  to endure that--public display, my lady. If I could have, I would have

  prepared you for the ordeal. But there was no time."

  When she said nothing he continued. "As for the shocking news of my

  previous marriage, it is common knowledge among the London gossips. Of

  course, you are not privy to such things, and so you did not know."

  Brenna turned to look at him. His gaze was locked on the flames that

  danced in the fireplace. His mouth was a thin, tight line of anger.

  "I

  was but a score when we were wed. In less than a year she was in the

  grave. "

  The look in his eyes was so bleak, Brenna longed to reach out to him,

  to offer him a measure of comfort. But she did not know how.

  "I am sorry, my lord. Even now, your grief is such that it pains you

  to speak of it."

  "Grief?" He turned to her then and she saw the pain etched on his

  handsome features.

  "You mistake bitterness for grief. I cannot grieve over what was never

  mine."

  She blinked.

  "What are you saying?"

  "The lady loved another. She only used me to make her lover jealous.

  And to give his child a name. "

  "Child! You have a child, my lord?"

  "Nay." He drained the goblet and refi
lled it.

  "The child died in her womb."

  Without thinking she touched a hand to his sleeve.

  "I am sorry, my lord."

  He pulled away from her touch, but not before he felt the first

  stirrings of desire.

  "I do not want your pity."

  She watched as he emptied the goblet a second time. There were no

  words that she could speak. And yet she had to ask the question that

  burned in her mind.

  "Why..." She swallowed and tried again.

  "Why, when you are so bitter, would you ask for my hand? It is obvious

  that you do not wish to be wed again."

  Why, indeed? Had he not asked himself this very question? His face

  became an unreadable mask.

  "I am, after all, responsible for bringing you to England. When I

  surmised that Windham would speak for you, I knew that I could not

  allow you to be placed under his cruel domination." He shrugged.

  "I accepted my responsibility."

  "Your responsibility?" In her fury, Brenna's hand tightened on the

  stem of the goblet.

  "Your responsibility?" The temper she had kept under such careful

  control exploded. She turned on him with all the fury of a wounded

  tigress.

  "I will not be wed to a man out of some misguided sense of duty."

  "Would you have me turn you over to Windham?"

  "Nay. There is a much simpler solution to the problem. Let me return

  to my home in Scotland."

  As patiently as if he were explaining to a child he said, "The queen

  has decreed..."

  "Damn the queen! And damn you, Morgan Grey!" With uncharacteristic

  vengeance she hurled the goblet against the fireplace.

  Before she could turn away his hand snaked out, catching her roughly by

  the shoulder. In his eyes was the barest hint of a smile.

  "So. It is as I suspected. Beneath the cool facade the lady does have

  a temper."

  "I told you I would show you how a Scot fights." She tried to push

  away, but the hands holding her were too strong.

  He dragged her firmly against him.

  "And I told you I would show you how an Englishman loves."

  "No. You cannot..."

  He cut off her protest, crushing her mouth with his.

  She felt the rush of heat that always seemed to swamp her at his touch.

  And then she felt the tremors begin as his mouth plundered hers. Wave

  after wave of feeling poured through her as his mouth moved over

  hers.

  She pounded her fists on his shoulders until she was exhausted from

  the effort, but he continued to pin her as effortlessly as if she were

  a small child.

  "Has any Scotsman ever kissed you like this?" he muttered against her

  lips.

  He traced the outline of her lips with his tongue, and she gave an

  involuntary shudder.

  He parted her lips and invaded the sweetness of her mouth. She gasped

  and tried to pull away, but he was too strong. For long moments he

  stared down at her, seeing the angry flare that darkened her eyes to

  midnight blue.

  With his hands on either side of her face he kissed her slowly,

  thoroughly, lingering over her lips until the heat flickered, then

  flared, then burst into an inferno, threatening to sear them.

  "Has any Scotsman ever made you burn like this?" His breath was hot

  against her cheek.

  "Damn you."

  "Aye. I am damned," he rasped, plunging his hands into her tangles of

  silken hair. She tried to pull away but his hands tightened, holding

  her head still.

  He bent his head and kissed her again and again until she was forced to