garden paths.
"It is the same for me."
Megan crossed the room and paused beside her sister. Following
Brenna's gaze, she spied Morgan Grey.
"Is that not their leader?" At her sister's nod, she said softly, "Why
do you permit him to move about unmolested? What if he should open the
gates and admit the rest of his men who wait beyond our walls?"
"He claims to be on a mission of peace from Elizabeth of England."
"You believe him?"
Brenna shrugged.
"I have not yet decided what to believe about Morgan Grey."
Megan was puzzled by the inflection in her sister's voice. It was not
anger she detected, but something not quite definable.
"And how does England's queen hope to achieve this miracle of peace?"
"By arranging marriages between our people, especially those of us who
are Borderers."
"God in heaven." With a stricken look Megan caught her sister by the
arm.
"Does that mean that you and I would be forced to marry Englishmen?"
"Nay." Brenna's eyes narrowed at the thought of allowing her sister to
be sacrificed in such a manner. As for herself, she was the
MacAlpin.
No one told her what to do.
"I would pay any price for peace, save that one." Her voice softened.
Her eyes took on a dreamy, faraway look.
"I recall the way Father grieved after Mother's death. Theirs was a
true and lasting love. As is the love our sister, Meredith, feels for
Brice, her beloved Highlander."
Megan nodded.
"But no one expected her to give her heart to the barbarian."
"It matters not that he was not one of us. Brice Campbell is devoted
to Meredith, just the way Father was devoted to Mother. I'll not
settle for less." Brenna's eyes burned with a determination that sent
her younger sister's heart soaring with renewed hope. Brenna could be
counted upon to stand firm in the face of danger.
"I swear, Megan, I'll give myself to no man until my heart tells me
'tis true love." She opened her arms and gathered the girl close.
Against her temple she murmured, "We must remain true to ourselves and
our people. And the English queen be damned."
Morgan Grey awoke in a foul temper. He had slept badly, despite the
softness of down beneath his head and the warmth' of a cozy fire in the
sleeping chamber. It was not down he needed. Nor a warm bed. It was
the softness of a woman's:
body next to him. A woman slender of frame and beautiful of face, with
raven hair and a voice that whispered over his;;
senses. A woman like. Nay. He wanted no part of the Scots-1 woman.
He wanted only to be rid of this place and the| woman who fired his
blood. | She was not at all the sort of female he would willingly!
seek out. He much preferred a plump tavern wench, all soft| curves,
with a boisterous wit and a lusty laugh. Or one ofi the many willing
women at Elizabeth's court, who dressed;
to please the men and knew how to brazenly flirt. With that kind of
woman there need be no fear of entrapment. They were seeking merely a
few moments of pleasure. Love was not part of the bargain. That was
why he enjoyed their company. He had no intention of losing his heart
only to have it shattered. Never again.
He dressed quickly, then went to inspect the soldiers' quarters. Once
there he took his time listening to the complaints of his men.
Ordinarily he would have berated them for their petty quarrels. The
food was not as tasty as English food. Their beds were hard. The
horses were not being stabled properly. But this day he let them
ramble on without reprimand. He found the company of his men far more
inviting than that of the woman with whom he would be forced to break
the fast.
When at last the men assembled for their morning meal, he had no choice
but to accompany them.
Brenna stood in the center of the refectory, giving orders to one of
the serving girls. She knew the exact moment Morgan Grey entered the
room. Though she finished her command, she had no idea what she was
saying. She babbled on, achingly aware of dark eyes staring at her
with such intensity, she could feel the heat clear across the room.
She turned and acknowledged him with a slight nod.
"Good morrow, my lady." He cautioned himself to be pleasant if it
killed him.
"I trust you slept well." She prayed her cheeks were not as flushed as
they felt.
"Very well." He studied her gown of palest pink, the sleeves crusted
with jewels. Her lush, dark hair was held back with pale pink
netting.
He had a fleeting wish to tear away the netting and watch her hair
cascade down her back, loose and free. That thought brought an instant
frown to his face.
"Your accommodations are most satisfying."
So satisfying that he looked as if he had slept in a briar patch the
entire night.
"You will join me at the head table?"
"As you wish."
He walked beside her, then paused to hold her chair. As he bent
forward he inhaled the fragrance of heather. Damn the woman for all
her soft looks and polite words. Why couldn't she be a hag, with bad
teeth and the scent of the stables about her?
"I trust you will be leaving for England this day."
"Nay." He saw the look that came into her eyes and began to enjoy
himself for the first time since he had awakened. So she was eager to
be rid of him, was she?
"My men and I will tarry here for a few days longer."
"For what purpose, my lord?"
"To--assess the situation for the queen."
As a servant approached with a tray of food, Brenna felt her stomach
lurch. A few more days of this man. How could she even think about
eating after such an unpleasant bit of news? Why did the man have to
sit so close? Just the thought of those hands touching her, soiling
her, caused strange sensations deep inside.
Morgan broke the bread, still warm from the oven, into thick slabs and
handed one to her. She watched as he spooned honey over his and tasted
it. He gave a smile of pure pleasure.
"To a soldier who has been long away from his home, there is nothing
more satisfying than good food." He noted that she had not yet
eaten.
"Taste, my lady." There was the hint of a smile on his lips.
"Mayhap it will sweeten your day."
She took a dainty bite and prayed she would be able to swallow.
"Is your sister not joining us this morrow?"
"She was still abed when I came below stairs. She did not sleep well
last night."
"A pity." His appetite had just sharpened considerably. Now if only
he could cause the one beside him to sleep badly as well. But that was
probably asking too much. She was too regal to ever lose her
composure.
"A little mutton, my lady? Venison?" As Morgan filled his plate, he
insisted on filling Brenna's as well. While he ate until he was sated,
she nibbled at a piece of honeyed bread and left the rest untouched.
 
; Morgan emptied a tankard of mulled wine and felt his blood heat. After
such a repast, he could lay siege to an entire enemy stronghold. Or at
least the enemy beside him.
He leaned back and glanced at Brenna. A drop of honey clung to her
lip. Without thinking he touched a finger to the spot, then brought
his finger to his tongue.
With a look of astonishment she watched him lick the honey from his
finger.
He gave her a mocking smile.
"Your lips made the honey even sweeter."
"You are too bold, sir. This time you go too far."
She scraped back her chair, nearly knocking it over in her haste to
escape his touch. Without a backward glance she lifted her skirts and
hurried from the room.
As she disappeared, Morgan's lips curved into a lazy, satisfied
smile.
So, he had managed to ruffle the lady's feathers. He just might enjoy
his stay at MacAlpin Castle after all.
From his place across the room, old Duncan MacAlpin watched through
narrowed gaze.
"Hamish." Brenna and Megan launched themselves into the arms of the
tall, handsome youth who came to call mid 7
morning.
Across the room, Morgan assumed a bored expression as he watched.
"What brings you to MacAlpin Castle?"
"Everyone knows that there are English soldiers camped about your
lands. I could not sleep another night without knowing whether or not
you were safe."
He took Brenna's hands and studied her carefully. Too carefully,
Morgan thought. Like a lover.
"Have you or your sister been molested?"
"We are safe enough. But I am grateful for your concern. Come,"
Brenna said.
"Meet the leader of the English soldiers."
As she led the youth toward him, Morgan noted the dull copper hair, and
barely hidden beneath the plaid, the muscled arms and shoulders.
The lad's skin was kissed by the sun, and displayed not a whisker nor a
blemish.
"Hamish MacPherson," Brenna said with a smile, "this is Morgan Grey,
who carries a message of peace from his queen, Elizabeth."
The two men studied each other somberly, each taking the measure of the
other.
"Are you a messenger for your clan, lad?"
Hamish pulled himself up to his full height. He knew of Morgan Grey,
called the Queen's Savage. All of Scotland did. But even his fierce
reputation did not give him the right to be insulting. Especially in
front of the MacAlpin women.
"I am the eldest son of Blair, leader of the clan MacPherson. We are
pledged to the protection of our neighbors, the MacAlpins, against any
danger."
"How noble." Morgan suddenly despised this youth, with his unlined
face and ready smile. He'd bet a gold sovereign that the only MacAlpin
this callow youth cared about was Brenna.
"I assure you, I pose no threat to these good people."
Hamish smiled down at the woman beside him.
"I am greatly relieved. I came prepared to do battle. You know I
would die rather than see you harmed."
Brenna lifted her face to him and gave him a look of pure adoration.
"I know, Hamish. That was good of you."
"Foolish, I would say."
All eyes turned toward Morgan.
"If you came prepared to fight my soldiers, you should have brought
half of Scotland with you. One puny man would hardly cause us to
change our minds, if we had come on a mission of war instead of
peace."
The smile was wiped from Hamish's eyes. His hand went to the sword at
his waist. Instantly Brenna caught his hand and twined her fingers in
his.
"Pay no attention to this man's words, my friend. It is enough to know
that you cared enough to risk your life for ours. My sister Megan and
I are forever in your debt."
The youth caught her hand to his lips and stared deeply into her
eyes.
"Perhaps you and Megan could come to stay with my people until the
English have gone."
Brenna turned in time to see the look of fury in Morgan's dark eyes.
What a sense of power it gave her to know that she could rouse the
Englishman's are with such ease.
"That is most kind of you. But of course I cannot leave my castle
unattended. Nor my guests." She gave what she hoped was her sweetest
smile.
"Come, Hamish. You must stay and visit a while. Perhaps you can sup
with us this night and return to your own home on the morrow."
Hamish MacPherson was overjoyed. Never in his wildest dreams had he
hoped for such tender treatment from Brenna MacAlpin. Always in the
past, the young woman had treated him like a leper, holding him, like
all the others, at arm's length. Perhaps she was more afraid of this
Englishman than she admitted. It would seem that he had arrived just
in time.
He puffed up his chest and -allowed himself to be led to the great
room. Once there, however, he found himself left alone with the
younger one, Megan, while Brenna went off to her chambers.
It was not until midday, when everyone had gathered for a meal, that
Brenna once more singled out Hamish for her attention.
Beside her, Morgan Grey seethed. The ice maiden, it seemed, had a
fondness for pink-cheeked boys with broad shoulders and little between
their ears.
"A rider approaches, my lady. He carries the standard of the English
warrior, Morgan Grey."
Brenna looked up from her embroidery. Across the room, her sister and
Hamish were enjoying a rousing game of cards. Though darkness had
descended, the room was made bright by the light of the fire and the
candles that burned in sconces along the walls.
"Does he ride alone?"
"Aye, my lady."
"Since he is a lone rider, allow him to enter."
The order was given. Scots soldiers lowered their weapons. The wooden
staves were thrown, allowing the huge double doors to swing wide.
Brenna watched as old Bancroft, the keeper of the door, accepted a
scroll from the stranger.
"He carries a message for his leader, Morgan Grey."
Brenna nodded and waited while a servant went in search of the man she
had been avoiding all day. When Morgan appeared, she shot him a
haughty glance before looking away.
Morgan scanned the words of the scroll, then looked up with a frown.
"Was there nothing more?"
"Nay, my lord."
"Tell the men camped beyond the walls that we will leave at first
light."
Brenna could scarcely believe what she was hearing. Though she
carefully schooled her features to hide the excitement she felt, she
could not help but give a sigh of relief as the soldier smartly saluted
and turned away.
"You are leaving, my lord?"
He heard the note of eagerness in her tone and silently cursed her.
"Aye." He ignored Hamish, who had crossed the room to stand
protectively beside Brenna. Morgan experienced such a rush of anger it
puzzled him. Jealousy? That was impossible. How could he harbor such
ridiculous
feelings over a woman he didn't even like?
"It seems the queen has need of me."
"You are returning to England?" At his nod she added, "I will
immediately instruct my servants to prepare food for your journey."
"You are too kind, my lady. You need not hurry. We do not leave until
the morrow."
"But there is much to prepare. The day begins early."
As she turned away he saw the relief lurking just below the surface of
her composed features. She was overjoyed to be rid of him. If she
could, she would see him gone within the hour.
Well, he thought, watching her retreating back, did he not feel the
same way? He had resented this mission. Had resented wasting his time
and his men on something so trivial as this Scotswoman. The time he
had spent here could have been better spent subduing enemies of the
Crown.
He made his way to the men's quarters and instructed them to prepare to
leave at dawn. Then he made his way to his chambers and packed his few
supplies.
From the desk, he picked up a tankard of ale, then glanced at the notes
he had written chronicling the MacAlpin holdings. The Scotswoman was
unexpectedly wealthy even by English standards. Brenna MacAlpin would
make a fine bride for one of England's titled noblemen.
He walked to the balcony and stared at the darkened hills below.
Brenna understood what the queen had in mind. And from all that he had
observed, she would rather die than allow herself to be wed to an
Englishman.
He swirled the contents of the tankard, deep in thought. She was an
intelligent woman. More intelligent than most he had met. If she
intended to thwart the queen's plans, there was a simple enough
solution. Before he had a chance to reach England and present his
findings to the queen, the
MacAlpin woman could easily persuade one of her own countrymen to marry
her. The oaf below stairs would need no persuasion. He was already a
poor dog, eating out of the lady's hand.
Once wed, even the Queen of England did not have the power to rule
against such a union.
God in heaven! In just the short time he had known her, he could
already glimpse her devious little mind at work. It was what he would
do in her place.
He downed the ale and slammed the tankard onto the desk. As a loyal
servant of Elizabeth, he knew what he had to do. With the decision
firm in his mind, he felt more lighthearted than he had in days.
This was not a personal feud, he assured himself. But that would not
prevent him from enjoying a certain amount of personal satisfaction at
the lady's discomfort.
To keep Lady Brenna MacAlpin from marrying another, he would have to
force her to accompany him and his men to England.
Chapter Four
q^vs^q
1 he sky to the east was still dark when Brenna awoke. With a light
heart she climbed from her bed. At the first sound of her footsteps,
old Mora, her maid, was at her side, helping her with her morning
toilette.
"You be anxious, child."
"Aye. The English soldiers are leaving us this morrow."
"Thanks be to God. Their leader, Morgan Grey, is a fearsome man. He
reminds me of the one who wed our dear Meredith."
"How can you say such a thing?" Brenna studied the old woman's
reflection in her mirror.
"Brice Campbell is a Scotsman. Morgan Grey is English."
Old Morna shrugged.
"Aye. But there is a look about him. A bit of a rogue. If I were
fifty years younger..."