Highland Heather

"Are you daft?" Brenna stood and smoothed her skirts.

  "The man owes his allegiance to the English queen. That makes him our

  enemy."

  "You spend an inordinate amount of time staring at your enemy when you

  think no one is watching."

  No one except this old woman would ever speak so bluntly to the

  mistress of MacAlpin Castle. Brenna flushed clear to her toes, then

  reached for the door pull.

  "I have no time for your silly prattle. I go below stairs to oversee

  the food for the English soldiers' journey."

  As she flounced away, Brenna fretted over the old woman's words.

  Perhaps she had spent a good deal of time staring at Morgan Grey. But

  it was only because he was a man who could not be trusted. It had

  nothing at all to do with the fact that he was indeed easy to look

  at.

  Halfway down the stairs she turned and found Megan following her. The

  girl's face was wreathed with smiles.

  '"Tis a day for rejoicing," she called, as she caught up with her

  sister and linked arms with her.

  "Aye. Perhaps our lives can now return to normal."

  The girls came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the stairs. Morgan

  Grey stood near the main entrance, calling orders to his men, who were

  already carrying supplies to the horses who stood saddled and waiting

  in the outer courtyard.

  "My ladies." He bowed and smiled charmingly.

  Too charmingly, Brenna thought. This was a side to Morgan Grey that

  she had not previously witnessed.

  "You are afoot early, my lord. It would appear that you are eager to

  be away."

  "Every soldier harbors a longing for home."

  "Aye. Then I will not delay your departure." Brenna turned away.

  "I

  will see to your morning meal at once. "

  He watched as she hurried away, followed by her sister. For a moment

  he stood very still as he went over his plan in his mind. Then,

  confident that he could carry it off, he returned his attention to the

  men and their supplies.

  The meal was a lavish affair, and at last Brenna had found her

  appetite. With Morgan about to depart, she felt free to enjoy

  herself.

  He watched as she savored the thick slab of pork and bread warm from

  the oven. When she drank the hot mulled wine, she felt light-headed,

  and couldn't decide if it was the wine or the knowledge that she would

  soon be rid of this troublesome man.

  Across the room she noted that Duncan's chair was vacant. She would

  speak with his wife, Mary, as soon as the guests were gone. The old

  man often had trouble getting out of bed these days. He had earned the

  right to his rest. Perhaps old

  Duncan could be persuaded to retire soon and turn over his duties to

  one of his sons. She hated to admit to herself that the Englishman had

  been right when he suggested that Duncan's loyalty was not enough to

  keep her safe. Her old friend would give his life for her. But that

  might not be enough. She needed one younger, more agile, at her right

  hand.

  She turned aside the troubling thoughts. She would find a way to

  handle the matter gracefully, with no slight on Duncan's good name.

  Hamish MacPherson was obviously delighted to be part of the

  festivities. Seated to the left of Brenna, he ate with relish and

  drank more than a little ale, until his face was flushed and his eyes a

  bit cloudy.

  He paid special attention to his hostess, hanging on her every word.

  If the Englishman to her right was scowling, it mattered not to Hamish.

  Soon enough they would be rid of the scoundrel. And perhaps, if the

  fates were smiling, he could persuade Brenna MacAlpin to allow him to

  stay on another day or two.

  When they had had their fill, Brenna and Megan led their guests to the

  courtyard, eager to bid them farewell.

  "Safe journey, my lord," Brenna said, her eyes dancing.

  "You may extend my warm wishes to your monarch."

  "You may extend those wishes yourself."

  She thought she heard a trace of laughter in his tone. But his words

  had her puzzled.

  "I fear you make no sense."

  He crossed the distance between them and caught her by the arm.

  Surprised, she stared at the offending hand, then up into his dark

  eyes.

  "You have but a moment to see to a wardrobe suitable for traveling."

  "I do not..."

  Her eyes widened. He saw the confusion, then the sudden, terrible

  knowledge at his next words.

  "I fear I cannot bear to be parted from you. I insist that you

  accompany me to London, my lady."

  She swallowed.

  "You cannot be serious."

  "My queen has already petitioned her cousin in Edinburgh, my lady. She

  intends to have you wed to an Englishman. To that end I am sworn to

  obey."

  "You cannot take me from my own home, my own land, against my will."

  "You are wrong, my lady. I fully intend to do just that."

  At Morgan's announcement, Hamish MacPherson unsheathed his sword. But

  before he could brandish it, Morgan's words stopped him.

  "Look around you, boy. If you but lift that sword against me, a dozen

  men will step forward to stop you. And the lady will see you lying at

  her feet in little pieces."

  "At least I will have the pleasure of wounding you or perhaps even

  killing you first."

  Morgan shrugged carelessly.

  "If you wish."

  As Hamish lifted his sword, Morgan unsheathed his own weapon and moved

  so quickly the lad had no chance to defend himself. The tip of

  Morgan's sword pierced his shoulder. Blood spurted as Hamish's sword

  clattered to the stones of the courtyard.

  "That is but a warning, nothing more," Morgan said between clenched

  teeth.

  "Know that if I had wanted to kill you, you would already lie dead at

  my feet."

  Megan and Brenna rushed to assist the wounded lad.

  Morgan Grey looked beyond them to old Mora, who stood on the steps just

  inside the castle doors, wringing her hands.

  "Take your mistress upstairs and see that she is dressed in something

  warm and comfortable for the journey."

  "Aye, my lord."

  Brenna looked up from her place beside Hamish.

  "My men will never..."

  "Your men will do as I command." He called out to Alden, his second in

  command, who came forward leading Duncan MacAlpin, still dressed in his

  nightclothes. The old man's face was flushed with embarrassment.

  "Forgive me, my lady. The villains invaded my sleeping chamber. They

  are holding my Mary prisoner."

  Brenna glanced up and saw the old woman standing stiffly on her

  balcony. An English soldier stood behind her. Mom- ing sunlight

  glinted on the knife at her throat.

  "So this is your mission of peace."

  At Brenna's angry words, Megan pulled the dirk from her waistband and

  leaped at Morgan Grey. Instantly Brenna wrapped her arms around Megan,

  pinning her arms at her sides. It took all of Brenna's strength to

  contain the fury in the girl.

  "He humiliates
us, degrades us and threatens to take you by force. Why

  do you stop me?"

  "Because I love you," Brenna whispered furiously.

  "Because I cannot allow my foolish trust of the man to cost the life of

  the sister I love more than life itself."

  "If you love me, let me kill him."

  "Nay." Brenna continued to hold her sister until the knife dropped

  from her fingers. Then she turned her into her arms and allowed her to

  weep out all her fears and frustration.

  Morgan watched without emotion. When the girl's tears had been

  stemmed, he said quietly, "Go with your nurse. Dress quickly. We have

  wasted enough time."

  With a last hateful look at her enemy, Brenna turned, keeping her arms

  firmly around her younger sister as the two followed Morna up the

  stairs.

  When they were safely in her chambers, Brenna released Megan.

  Instantly the young girl flew into a rage.

  "Why did you not permit me to attack that villain?"

  "Megan." Brenna caught her sister by the hand.

  "I implore you to listen to me. You are a very brave lass. And I love

  you dearly. But you and I are no match for a man like Morgan Grey."

  "How can you calmly allow him to take you away from all you love?"

  "I have no intention of giving in to that madman."

  "But why..."

  Brenna touched a finger to her lips. Both Megan and old Morna gave her

  their complete attention.

  "Do you remember how we used to climb the castle walls when we were

  children?"

  Megan nodded.

  "Mother used to say her heart stopped each time she discovered our

  little prank."

  Brenna turned to her old nurse.

  "You must delay for as long as you can. When Morgan Grey finally loses

  patience, stand back and force him to break down the door. That should

  give us enough time to climb down and cross the River Tweed. Once

  across, we will make our way to the Highlands."

  "And the safety of Brice Campbell's protection," Megan said with sudden

  understanding.

  "Aye." Brenna began stripping away the filmy gown she had worn to

  celebrate the retreat of the English.

  "Hurry, Megan. We must dress quickly and be on our way."

  "You have no horses, lass," Mora moaned.

  "How can you go all that distance on foot?"

  "Once in the forest we can enlist the aid of the Highlanders. They

  know of our relationship to Brice Campbell. They will come to our

  aid."

  "They are a strange breed, lass. They would just as leave kill you as

  help you."

  "Not if we explain that we are running from the English. They do not

  forget old grudges. Besides," Brenna said as she pulled on a heavy

  woolen cloak lined with ermine, "I would rather die in Scotland at the

  hands of the Highlanders than in England at the hands of Morgan

  Grey."

  "He would not kill you, lass, only hand you over to his queen."

  "Aye. To be wed to some hated Englishman. That would be worse than

  death."

  When at last the two young women climbed over the balcony and began

  making their way down the uneven stone wall of the castle, old Morna

  stood watching, her lips moving in prayer.

  "Godspeed," she called. She lifted tear-clouded eyes to scan the

  forested peaks in the distance. Safety was so far away. And yet it

  was their only chance to elude the man who waited below to steal away

  her beloved mistress.

  The English soldiers allowed old Duncan to assist Hamish in stemming

  the flow of blood from his shoulder. While they worked, Morgan Grey

  paced the courtyard. He had originally intended to go with Brenna and

  see to her hasty arrangements. But after witnessing the emotional

  outburst of her younger sister, he had changed his plans. He would

  allow them a few minutes alone. There was much they would have to say

  to one another.

  His men stood beside their horses as the sun climbed higher in the

  sky.

  Morgan cursed this peculiar trait in women that caused them to take

  hours to do what a man could do in only minutes. What was the damnable

  woman doing? Packing the entire contents of her wardrobe? He glanced

  around. How many additional beasts would it take to transport all that

  she was bringing?

  He would be firm. He would personally inspect every trunk and insist

  that she leave behind all except the most necessary items. Like all

  women, she would weep and wail and beg to be allowed to take all her

  silly frills to England. But in the end he would prevail.

  He paced again, the length of the courtyard and back. He had been

  patient long enough. Exasperated, he charged through the doorway and

  up the stairs.

  "I can give you no more time, my lady," he called through the closed

  door.

  "We must leave before the sun grows any higher in the sky."

  He paused and listened. There was no sound from within.

  He pounded a fist on the door.

  "My lady. We must leave."

  Once again there was only silence.

  He frowned. What trickery Was afoot?

  "Old woman," he shouted.

  "Are you inside?"

  He placed his ear to the door and listened. No sound issued from

  within.

  "Alden." Alarmed, Morgan ran to the top of the stairs and shouted for

  his second in command.

  "Bring your strongest men. And a log with which to batter down this

  door."

  Hamish and old Duncan watched with sudden interest as several of the

  English soldiers hurried inside. The rest of Morgan's men grew

  tense.

  They listened to the sounds of pounding as the log was thrust again and

  again until the massive" door gave way.

  Morgan strode through the open doorway and stared at the old woman who

  huddled against the far wall.

  "Where is your mistress?"

  The old woman trembled.

  He strode across the room until he towered over her. His voice was low

  with rage.

  "You will answer me. At once."

  In a quavering voice Mora croaked, "She has gone to the Highlands,

  where she will be safe."

  "The Highlands. How did she escape this room?"

  The old woman pointed to the balcony. Astonished, Morgan stalked to

  the railing and stared down.

  "How can this be? There is no rope."

  "My girls never needed a rope," the old woman said with a surge of

  pride.

  "From the time they were wee lasses, they were able to climb the castle

  walls by placing their feet and hands into the notches made by missing

  stones."

  Morgan swore savagely, then turned to his second in command.

  "Alden, choose five of your fastest horses and riders. They will

  accompany me to the Highlands. You will lead the rest of the men back

  to England."

  In a low tone, so the other soldiers couldn't hear, Alden whispered,

  "You dare not follow the woman to the Highlands, Morgan. You've heard

  the rumors. An English soldier would never survive those savages."

  Morgan's mouth was set in a hard, tight line. The tone of his voice
r />   left no doubt of his intentions.

  "I go to the Highlands. Or to hell and beyond. It matters not to me.

  But this I know. I shall return to England. And when I do, the woman

  will be with me."

  Chapter Five

  Within the hour, Morgan and his five men pushed their mounts forward

  into the cold waters of the River Tweed. They climbed up the far

  embankment, then began the slow ascent into the rugged hills.

  A thick wall of forest closed around them. Somewhere nearby they could

  hear water rushing, but they could not see it. As they continued to

  climb, the sun was blotted out by the tall spires of ancient timbers.

  They beheld a strange new world of soft glens and gentle fells. Craggy

  mountain peaks glinted high above them, some of them wreathed in

  clouds.

  They spoke in whispers, as if they were in some ancient, hallowed

  cathedral. Their ears became attuned to the sounds of nature around

  them, and they became enraptured by the chorus of birds and insects.

  To a man like Morgan Grey, born and bred in the cultured life at the

  English court, this primitive forest presented a new challenge. He had

  fought many enemies on their own soil. But he had heard that the

  Highlanders fought like no other soldiers ever encountered. They were

  rbugh giants, exposed to a way of life so harsh, so rugged, they could

  overcome their opponents by sheer size and determination alone.

  He cautioned himself to savor the beauty of his surroundings without

  relaxing his guard. He had but one goal here.

  Find Brenna MacAlpin and carry her off to England, he hoped before he

  encountered a band of Highland clansmen.

  When at last he found the pair of small footprints in the soil, he gave

  a tight-lipped smile. The footprints belonged to Brenna and her

  sister. Of that he had no doubt. The prints were no bigger than his

  hand. And he had spent an inordinate amount of time staring at the

  lady's ankle and foot.

  "They are headed that way. Toward that distant peak." He climbed into

  the saddle and urged his mount into a trot.

  Night fell early in the Highlands. It was soon too dark to follow the

  tracks. Besides, Morgan's men were feeling tense and edgy. Even their

  beasts were skittish.

  "We will rest the night here," he commanded in low tones.

  As he pulled his cloak about him for warmth, he found himself wondering

  about the women who ran from him. Had she thought to bring warm

  clothes? Did she and her sister have enough to eat?

  One of the soldiers brought him a tankard of ale. He drank gratefully,

  then cursed the way his mind was working. Damn the woman. By now they

  could have been halfway home. Let her starve. Let her freeze. But

  let her remain alive, he prayed. At least until he caught up with her.

  So that he could have the satisfaction of wringing her lovely neck.

  Brenna drew her sister into her arms and wrapped her warm traveling

  cloak around them. As they snuggled deep into the hay she offered a

  prayer of thanks for the Highlander who had piled the dried grasses in

  his field for the livestock. The hay, mixed with heather, made a cozy

  bed.

  "Do you think the English dared to follow us?" Megan whispered.

  "Aye." In her mind's eye, Brenna saw the fierce face of the English

  savage.

  "Even the Highlands would not stop that man once his decision has been

  made."

  "Then we should not stop to rest." Megan sat up.

  "We should keep running until we reach the safety of Brice Campbell's

  keep."

  "Hush. We can go no farther in the darkness." Brenna drew her sister