hands, caught in his big palm, went slack. Without realizing it, her
lips opened for him and his tongue met hers.
She was aware of the hard, firm body pressing hers into the soft
heather. His hand left hers to caress her cheek, and though she fully
intended to resist him, she moved against him like a cat.
This was what she most feared. This unnamed feeling that curled deep
inside her and took over her common sense whenever this Englishman
touched her. She did not want him, she told herself firmly. She could
not bear the sight of him. But even while the battle waged within her,
her lips gentled and softened, inviting more.
To hell with logic, Morgan thought as he crushed her to him. It no
longer mattered whether or not they were wrong for each other. He
would take the pleasure of her kiss while he had the chance. He'd
lusted before, and lived. Still, as the heat flowed between them he
was forced to admit that it had never before been like this. He'd
never met the woman who could set him afire with but a single touch.
He lifted his head and looked down at the woman in his arms, his body
pulsing with need.
His men spurred their mounts toward him, shouting that there was no
sign of the golden-haired younger sister.
Brenna stiffened in his arms. Despite her fear and revulsion at being
captured, she took comfort in the knowledge that at least Megan had
escaped. With her sister safe, Brenna could face whatever torment lay
before her, secure in the knowledge that Brenna remained free of the
English tyranny.
With a supreme effort Morgan rose to his feet. Brenna rolled away from
him and took in great gulps of air to steady herself.
Morgan glanced idly at the blood that seeped from his wound. He would
carry the scars from this woman's touch long after he had delivered her
to the queen. Delivered her, he thought with a sudden trace of
disgust, to warm some other Englishman's bed.
Even that thought could not cool the fire that raged within him. Her
taste was still on his lips.
He needed to return to English soil and the arms of a willing English
wench. That would finally cool this fever in his blood.
Chapter Six
0^'rys^Q
r from her position of safety in the forest, Megan watched in horrified
fascination as her older sister was dragged by the English savage and
lifted onto his horse.
Brenna's head was raised in haughty defiance. Even from so great a
distance, Megan knew that her sister's pride would permit no show of
weakness. There would be no tears, no pleading for her release.
One of the soldiers could be seen tearing a tunic into strips and
applying it to Morgan Grey's chest.
Wounded? Megan strained to see. Aye. The English savage was
bleeding.
The wound must have been inflicted by Brenna's dirk.
If only she had a longbow, Megan thought. She would pierce Morgan
Grey's heart and have the supreme satisfaction of watching him fall to
his death. Her fingers curled into a fist. Oh, for a sword. She
would willingly take on the entire company of Englishmen to save her
sister.
As the mounted soldiers formed a protective ring around their leader
and his captive, tears of impotent rage spilled from Megan's eyes and
coursed down her cheeks.
"Forgive me my weakness, Brenna," she whispered. But the tears fell
faster, blurring her vision.
God in heaven. Sweet, noble Brenna was being taken from her home. For
as long as she lived, Megan realized, she might never see that beloved
face again.
With a curse that would have made a soldier blush, she swiped at the
tears with the backs of her hands. Pulling herself up into a tree, she
watched until the forest swallowed up the company of riders. Then she
climbed down and began to make her way once more toward her
destination. If she could but find him, her brother-in-law, Brice
Campbell, would know how to rescue Brenna. He had an army of
Highlanders at his command.
Brenna held herself stiffly in Morgan's arms and willed back the tears
that threatened. As the horses' hooves trampled the heather, she felt
her heartbeat keeping time to the pounding rhythm. Lost. Lost. All
was lost.
They passed through the Highland meadow where she and Megan had spent
the night in the haystack. Brenna prayed the farmer and his neighbors
would rise up and resist the Englishmen who despoiled their
countryside. But as she rode past, she saw only silent, sullen stares
from the man and his wife and children.
When they left the Highlands behind, the horses' gaits lengthened.
With ease they crossed the frigid waters of the River Tweed, then ate
up the miles of lowland territory that separated Scotland from England.
As they departed Brenna's homeland, she could no longer contain the
pain and rage that coursed through her. To keep from crying out, she
bit her lip until she tasted her own blood. But even that was not
enough to hold the tears at bay. She bent her head, allowing her hair
to swirl forward like a veil, and prayed that it would hide her
weakness.
Home. Home. Ne'er more will I see you. Farewell to all that I hold
dear.
With hands bound and head bowed, she wept bitter tears.
Morgan felt the shudders that passed through the slender body in his
arms and knew that the woman was silently weeping. He had a sudden
urge to draw her close against his chest and offer her comfort. But he
sensed that the regal Brenna would prefer to grieve in private.
Why was he moved by her tears? Was she not, after all, the woman who
had driven her knife into his flesh? Had he not reacted quickly, she
would have pierced his heart.
He frowned. The little fool would soon discover that she was going to
a far better life than the one she left behind, From what little he had
seen of her life here, it was austere at best. The court of Elizabeth
was no dreary prison. And the wife of a titled Englishman would enjoy
a life of riches beyond belief. Not to mention the pleasures of his
bed.
At that thought he experienced a rush of annoyance and berated himself
for caring about what happened to this woman. He reinforced his
resolve. The sooner he got this beauty to England, the better.
"One day soon all the pain will be erased from your heart, ice
maiden.
Go ahead and cry. "
His muffled words shocked her to the core, but not for the reason he
might have expected.
"I do not cry. That is for frightened children."
"Aye." A smile touched his lips. His voice warmed.
"And it is plain that the one in my arms is no child." His hands came
to rest at her rib cage, just below the fullness of her breasts.
Instantly she stiffened.
"I may be your prisoner, Morgan Grey. But I will not be sullied by
your touch."
His smile vanished. His tone hardened.
"You had best hold your tongue, lass. My temper is legend among my
/> men."
"Am I to fear you, then?" She turned her head until she was facing
him.
"Have you forgotten that I am the MacAlpin, the leader of my people?"
"I have forgotten nothing."
" Especially the color of her eyes when she was angry.
"In my land you are a woman without title or power. You would be ill
advised to incur my wrath."
She sniffed and turned away to escape the danger she sensed in his dark
look.
"What more can you do to me? You have already stolen my most treasured
possession, my freedom. My home, all that I hold dear lie back there,
in Scotland. I vow, Morgan Grey, that I will escape you. And if I do
not, I will stand and fight you to the death."
He brought his lips close to her ear.
"If you push me too far, " woman, you will feel the sting of my anger.
"
She shivered. But was it fear that caused the tremors? Or the
nearness of this man?
She pushed away such thoughts. He was the enemy. She would remain
alert and wait for the first opportunity to run.
As the horses continued at a steady pace, hour after hour, Brenna found
herself lulled into a half sleep. Without realizing it, she leaned
back against Morgan's chest and settled comfortably into his arms. In
repose, all signs of tension were erased from her face. In the
sunlight her skin gleamed like fine porcelain. Her eyebrows were
slightly arched, her nose upturned. Her lips were perfectly formed.
Her mane of coal- black silk drifted across Morgan's chest and lifted
in the breeze, tickling his face. While she dozed, the man who held
her was achingly aware of the prize he had captured. The prize that
would be claimed by some nobleman in the Queen of England's court.
Morgan sensed Brenna's weariness. Signaling to his men he called, "We
will stop and rest for a short time."
When he helped Brenna from his horse she pressed her hands to the small
of her back and arched her body.
"Tis a long time to be in the saddle if you are unaccustomed to it."
"Aye." She turned away, averting her gaze, when two of his men stepped
into a stand of trees.
Seeing it, Morgan stepped close.
"You would perhaps require a moment of privacy?"
She nodded.
"I will see to it." He strode away and spoke to his men. A moment
later he returned.
"You may walk into the woods unmolested, my lady."
She gave him a grateful smile, then lifted her skirts and walked to the
place he had indicated. When she entered the dark forest, she turned
to ascertain that she was indeed alone. Morgan and his men waited
patiently beside the horses. She stepped behind a tree, then turned
and peered once more at the soldiers. Three of the men were seated
with their backs to the trunk of a gnarled old tree. The other two
were talking in low tones to Morgan, who had removed his plumed hat and
was mopping his brow. With a last glance at the sky, Brenna began
running through the forest. She knew the direction she must take.
North. Toward Scotland. Toward home.
Within minutes she heard the sound of someone shouting. Morgan Grey.
By now he would have realized his mistake in trusting her. She began
to run faster, determined to make it to the deepest part of the forest,
where the branches grew so thickly together no light could penetrate.
There she would hide until Morgan and his men were forced to abandon
their search.
The sound of branches snapping behind her sent her into a panic. The
Englishmen were closer than she'd anticipated. She pushed herself to
the limit, until her throat burned from the effort. And still she ran,
clinging to her last chance to escape.
The men were so close she could make out their words as they called to
each other. In desperation she began climbing a tall tree. If the
fates were kind, the Englishmen would not think to look up, and they
would pass beneath her without notice.
The branches caught the hem of her gown, slowing her progress. With
each painful step, the rough bark tore at her tender skin until her
hands were raw and bleeding. But still she pulled herself higher into
the tree. Standing on tiptoe, she reached for a high branch. Again
and again she made a valiant grab for it, until at last her fingers
wrapped around it and she drew it down. If she could pull herself to
the top, they would never spy her.
As she began to pull herself upward, she felt a mighty tug on her
ankle. She looked down, then let out a gasp.
"So, my lady. You like to climb trees? Perhaps your English husband
will buy you a manor house in the country and have trees planted there
to amuse you."
Though Morgan's words were spoken lightly, she could read the angry
scowl on his face.
"Will you climb down, my lady?" His words frosted over.
"Or will I pull you down, unmindful of your modesty?"
"Modesty be damned." She blinked back the tears of frustration that
sprang to her eyes. A little more time, a few minutes more, and she
would have been free.
Without a word she made her way down. Morgan's fingers remained locked
on her ankle until she dropped lightly into his arms.
As his men clustered around them, he leaned close and whispered, "There
will be no more moments of privacy, my lady."
"You cannot mean that."
His dark eyes flashed.
"You have convinced me that you are not to be trusted. You'd best pray
that you have no need for relief between here and the queen's
residence, Brenna MacAlpin. For you are never leaving my side."
"That is uncivilized."
He flashed her a rare smile.
"I never claimed to be otherwise."
"The Queen's standard flies at Richmond Palace, my lord."
Morgan nodded and urged his tired mount along the winding path of the
Thames. Once their party reached the royal grounds, their weariness
seemed to vanish. Unmindful of the grime of travel staining their
tunics, the men assumed a stiff military bearing. They passed long
columns of soldiers patrolling the vast forest surrounding the palace
and entered a road wide enough to allow a dozen horsemen to ride
abreast.
They rode in silence until they reached the entrance court r yard. At
their arrival several servants hurried forward to take their mounts.
There was a commotion from within, and several elegantly dressed
gentlemen surged through the open portal. Leading the way was Alden,
Morgan's second in command. But instead of the drab garb of a soldier,
he was dressed in the clothes of a titled gentleman, with satin
breeches and fine tunic.
"At last," he called, hurrying to his leader's side.
Morgan slid from the saddle and unceremoniously dragged Brenna into his
arms.
"What kept you, old friend?"
"The lady led us a merry chase."
"But, as always, you managed to prevail."
The two men shared a laugh.
'"Tis time to learn your fate, ice maiden."
 
; "You would not take me to your queen like this. Without even time to
refresh myself."
"Would I not?" Morgan gave her a dangerous smile.
"And you look so fetching. Why, every nobleman at court will probably
beg for the hand of my dirty little ragamuffin."
"Please, my lord. I cannot be presented to the queen in such a
fashion."
He closed a hand over her arm and drew her firmly against him.
"This is not a royal ball, my lady. And you are not here to be
admired.
Until the queen decrees otherwise, you are my prisoner. "
She gave him a hate-filled look and tried to pull away, but his fingers
closed around her arm in a possessive manner.
To the keeper of the door he called, "Announce me to the queen, my Lord
Clive. I come at Her Majesty's request."
The old man nodded and scurried away. Minutes later he returned.
"The queen will see you immediately, my lord."
As Brenna was hauled along beside Morgan, her throat went dry at the
thought of meeting the Queen of England. If the rumors were true,
Queen Elizabeth was a fascinating, beguiling, yet very shrewd
monarch.
Alden cast a sympathetic glance at the woman being dragged roughly by
his friend.
"You could afford to give the lady a few moments to repair her
toilette."
"You have not spent the last days as I have, my friend, or you would
not even suggest such a thing. The lady cannot be trusted out of my
sight."
One look at the hard set of Morgan's mouth caused Alden to hold his
silence. He knew when his friend had been pushed to the limit.
More than a hundred people milled about the great room, many of them
clustered, talking in low tones. When they noted the standard of
Morgan Grey, the hum of conversation increased. The Queen's Savage was
not a man who could pass unnoticed, even in a crowd.
When double doors were thrust open and a dozen or more gaily dressed
men and women entered, all conversation ceased. The arrival of the
gentlemen who preened like peacocks and the fawning ladies was the
signal that the queen would now hold court.
Elizabeth walked alone, with no one to her right or left. Her gown was
a dazzling midnight blue, with high ruffled neck and wide sleeves inset
with jewels. The bodice was low, the waist tiny. A full skirt
twinkled with hundreds of jewels, each one painstakingly sewn on by one
of the queen's army of seamstresses. A magnificent tiara of diamonds
and sapphires nestled in her red curls.
She moved quickly, as though in a hurry. Even after she was seated
upon her throne, she seemed to radiate energy. With an expectant look
her glance scanned the crowd. When at last she spotted Morgan Grey, a
warm smile touched her lips.
"At last, my brave warrior, you have returned to your queen. Come
forward and tell me what female's bed kept you from your queen's side
for so long."
Brenna was shocked at the queen's crude remark. And even more shocked
to see that the men and women at court joined in a chorus of laughter
at Elizabeth's joke. She glanced at Morgan, expecting to see his
famous scowl. Instead, his face was wreathed in smiles.
"Forgive me. Majesty, but someone must see to the business of the
Crown."
"Are you suggesting that it was royal business that kept you away so
long?"
"Aye, Majesty. If you recall, you sent me to Scotland to investigate
the possibility of wedding one of your titled gentlemen to the leader
of the MacAlpin clan, whose lands lie on the border."
"I recall much more, Morgan Grey. I recall that you bristled at such