Highland Heather, Page 2

  "It is a new experience for me as well, my lady."

  "Please." She was eager to keep this meal from erupting into open

  warfare.

  "Let us take our places at table."

  As Morgan took the seat indicated, his thigh brushed Brenna's. Their

  gazes locked, his amused, hers angered.

  He saw the cool disdain in her eyes and looked away. It was obvious

  that the Lady Brenna would do her duty and entertain him, even though

  she found it distasteful. He would also abide by his queen's wishes

  and tolerate the situation, though laying siege to this ice maiden's

  castle would have been more to his liking.

  Brenna took a deep breath to calm the fluttering of her heart. Though

  she gave every appearance of being in control, her nerves were strung

  as tightly as the strings of the lute that lay in her sitting

  chamber.

  There was something completely unsettling about the man beside her.

  "Have my servants seen to your comfort, my lord?"

  "They have." He accepted a tankard from a serving , wench and drained

  its contents before setting it down. The 1 damnable woman made him

  uncomfortable, though he could not say why.

  When a servant approached with a platter of fowl, Brenna offered the

  first serving to her guest. She watched as he took the food and broke

  it into several sections. How big his hands were. What strength lay

  in his fingers. She felt a tremor along her spine and wondered why

  such a thought had crept into her mind.

  "None for you, my lady?"

  "I..." She felt herself blushing.

  "I fear I have little appetite this evening."

  "I am ravenous." Morgan helped himself to a second serving. This was

  followed by trays of venison, partridge and salmon, as well as

  thick-crusted breads still warm from the oven. Morgan savored every

  serving. Each time his tankard was emptied, it was immediately

  refilled by a hovering servant.

  When at last he was finished, he leaned back with a sigh of

  contentment.

  "You are a most generous hostess, my lady."

  Brenna had barely touched her food. Yet she had actually enjoyed the

  way Morgan indulged himself. There was something oddly satisfying

  about seeing a man eat with such lusty enthusiasm.

  "Do you do everything with such zeal, my lord?"

  "Everything that is worthy of doing." He turned his gaze fully upon

  her.

  "My youngest brother died from a fever when he was but ten and five.

  With his last breath he fretted that he had not yet lived. Never would

  he have the chance to lift his sword in the name of his queen. Nor

  journey to distant lands. Nor bed a woman."

  Seeing the color that flooded Brenna's cheeks, Morgan realized that the

  female beside him, though leader of her people, was probably much like

  that lad. He discreetly changed the subject.

  "Your keep is well fortified, my lady. I find it hard to believe that

  the old man who stood at your side this morrow is your first

  man-at-arms."

  "Old Duncan stood at my father's side from the time the two were

  lads.

  His loyalty is deserving of my respect. "

  "An old man's loyalty will not stay an enemy's sword, my lady."

  Her eyes flashed before she responded in a carefully controlled

  voice.

  "For hundreds of years my people have lived in the path of English,

  hungry for our land. Your people covet what we have--rich, fertile

  hills and sleek, desirable cattle."

  "Not to mention your women."

  She heard the hint of laughter in his voice, and her tone hardened.

  "Do not cross words with me, my lord."

  "Would you rather we cross swords?"

  "Do you think me some pale English lady, who would grow faint and swoon

  at the sight of a sword? The MacAlpins, though peaceful by nature,

  have been forced to become a warrior clan. And as leader of my people,

  I would not hesitate to take up the sword against anyone who threatened

  mine."

  Morgan felt grudging admiration for the woman's spirit. Still, her

  attitude rankled.

  "Forgive me, my lady, if I remove myself from the fray. Now that my

  men have been admirably fortified with food and drink, I will see that

  they withdraw to the quarters you have so generously prepared for

  them."

  Brenna watched as he pushed away from the table and strode across the

  room. There was an arrogance even in his movements.

  At a single command his men followed.

  From his position at the table, Duncan waited for her signal. Brenna

  nodded and he assembled his men. While the English slept, he and the

  Scots would keep careful watch. In MacAlpin Castle, the word of the

  English was worthy only of scorn.

  As the English soldiers cleared the room, Brenna felt herself relax for

  the first time in an hour. It was impossible to be at ease in the

  company of Morgan Grey.

  The cool evening air was fragrant with the delicate scent of heather.

  Clouds scudded across a half-moon, throwing the gardens into shadow.

  Brenna pulled the cloak about her and walked among the carefully tended

  hedges. She was troubled by the presence of the English, and

  especially Morgan Grey. His reputation had preceded him. He was no

  mere messenger, carrying a missive from his queen. The man was legend,

  not only among his own people, but among those he had fought, as

  well.

  His name caused armies to tremble. From Scotland to Wales and even

  across the Channel to Ireland, the Queen's Savage was a man to be

  feared.

  He was much more than a soldier, however; he was a titled English

  gentleman. Among the political factions dividing England he was a

  leader. His father had been one of King Henry's closest advisers. The

  English queen, Elizabeth, trusted Morgan Grey as she trusted few within

  her circle. And, in fact, if rumors were to be believed, he was one of

  the men being considered as consort for the queen.

  Knowing all this, Brenna had still not been prepared for the man

  himself. His mere presence was daunting.

  She heard the sound of footsteps and turned, her hand on the dirk at

  her waist.

  Morgan's voice was hushed in the darkness.

  "Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to startle you." When he

  recognized the glint of metal, his voice lowered.

  "I know of no English lady who would arm herself for a simple walk in

  the garden."

  "Then your Englishwomen are most fortunate, my lord. May they never

  have to fear an attack from those who would take what they do not wish

  to give."

  Once again he was startled by the anger in her tone.

  "If you do not trust me, perhaps the stalwart Duncan should be at your

  side."

  She couldn't help but smile.

  "Duncan and his Mary are most surely asleep by now. With the arrival

  of your men, he was forced to put in a full day."

  "And what of your safety, my lady?"

  Her smile grew.

  "I do not think you will spend even one minute worrying about my

  safety. But just so you under
stand..." She inclined her head.

  "My men walk the perimeter of the garden, as well as all the castle

  grounds. If a single night bird should call, they will note it.

  Despite the presence of English soldiers within these walls, my men

  will see to my safety. "

  "You need have no fear." As she started to walk, he moved along at her

  side. They passed a planting of roses surrounded by rows of wild

  heather, and he was reminded of the woman beside him. She was as

  delicate as a single rose petal. But her words were as sharp as any

  thorn. She appeared as cultured as the rose, and yet as wild as the

  heather.

  "Have you read the missive from my queen?"

  "Aye." Brenna bent her head to inhale the wonderful perfume from a

  perfect red rose.

  "The English monarch declares that yours is a peaceful mission. But

  peace has long eluded our people. She does not say how she hopes to

  unite our borders."

  "It is the queen's belief that if the lands bordering our two countries

  could be united, the bloodletting would cease. Elizabeth sends an

  emissary to your Queen Mary in Edinburgh to arrange suitable marriages

  that will ensure peace."

  "Marriage. To an Englishman." Brenna paused in the act of touching

  the flower and prayed that her hands would not tremble and betray

  her.

  "Does that trouble you, my lady?"

  Brenna forced herself to meet his cool look. Was that a hint of

  mocking laughter lurking in those dark depths?

  With a flounce of skirts she turned away and began walking until she

  came to an arbor of vines and climbing roses. Unable to contain her

  anger, she turned on him.

  "Why should it trouble me? Should I not be willing, nay, i eager, to

  hand over my loyal people, my fertile lands, and i the castle that has

  been in my family for generations in return for the ill treatment I am

  bound to receive at the hands of an English husband?" Her tone lowered

  to a furious whisper.

  "Should I not be overjoyed to lose all that I hold dear for the sake of

  peace between our countries?"

  "And what about the unhappy Englishman who is forced into marriage with

  his enemy? Will the poor lout not be forced to watch his back each

  time he lies in his bed?"

  Her eyes glittered.

  "He will if he insists upon marrying a MacAlpin."

  "Such anger in one so young." The mockery was wiped from his eyes. His

  voice softened.

  "What have the English done to you that you should bear such hatred?"

  "My mother was killed at the hands of the English. For all that my

  sisters and I suffered, my father suffered a hundred times more. She

  was his reason for living. I saw the light go out of his eyes after

  her death."

  "I am sorry." Without thinking, Morgan placed his hand on her arm.

  That was his undoing. He felt a rush of heat that startled him.

  At his touch Brenna drew herself up stiffly, fighting the feeling of

  panic that threatened to paralyze her.

  "I must go." As she tried to pull away, Morgan caught her by the upper

  arms, forcing her to stay.

  Her throat went dry. Like a cornered animal she looked around, hoping

  to spot one of her men. But the tangled growth around the arbor

  shielded her from their view.

  "Unhand me," she said fiercely, "or I shall be forced to defend

  myself." She pulled the knife from her waistband and brandished it

  menacingly.

  "I see that you are indeed no pale English lady. In fact, in England

  you would not be considered a lady at all. I know of no lady who would

  threaten a man with a knife unless she intended to use it."

  "I fully intend to use this on you unless you retreat this minute."

  Without warning Morgan caught her hands in a painful grip and twisted

  the knife from her fingers. When she lifted her free hand to push

  away, he caught it and dragged her roughly against him.

  "There are few who have drawn a weapon against me and lived to tell

  about it." His words were choked with anger.

  She stared at the knife, glittering dully in his hands. Her chin

  lifted in a defiant gesture.

  "Is this how your queen intends to bring peace to our borders?"

  "Nay, my lady. Not like this." He dropped the knife onto the earth at

  their feet.

  "Like this."

  Without warning he lowered his head and ground his mouth over hers.

  He fully intended to punish her with his kiss, knowing how much she

  would detest being touched by an English soldier. He would enjoy

  humbling this arrogant wench. But the moment their lips met, all his

  intentions were forgotten.

  God in heaven. Where had the fire come from? The heat that flowed

  between them was shocking in its intensity. And though he knew he

  would be burned, he could not pull away.

  She was pliant and warm, and her breath was as sweet as the flowers

  that filled the arbor. The soft contours of her body seemed to melt

  against him. Her hands were balled into fists that she kept firmly

  between them.

  Brenna held herself stiffly, fighting the reaction that shuddered

  through her at his touch. This could not be happening. Not with this

  hated Englishman. Yet even while she fought to resist, her body

  betrayed her. As his lips closed over hers a tiny ripple of pleasure

  shot along her spine, leaving her trembling. Though she continued to

  keep her hands b&tween them, with a will of their own her fingers

  uncurled until her open palms rested against his chest.

  He pulled back, staring down at her as if seeing her for the first

  time.

  Her eyes were wide with fear and loathing. But even as he watched he

  saw that there was another emotion mirrored in those depths, as well.

  Desire? Could it be the first tiny stirrings of desire?

  He knew he should walk away. Now, before her guards became suspicious

  and decided to investigate why their leader lingered so long in the

  rose arbor. A disturbance at MacAlpin Castle could shatter the fragile

  peace that Elizabeth was trying so hard to establish.

  While he studied her, his thumbs unknowingly made lazy circles on the

  flesh of her upper arms. God in heaven. She was stunning. Her dark

  hair had pulled loose from its comb and drifted like a veil around her

  face and shoulders. Her lips were pursed in a little mew of

  surprise.

  Though he knew he should resist, he lowered his head and gave in to the

  desire to kiss her again.

  This time the kiss was the merest touching of mouth to mouth. His lips

  softened, moving slowly, lazily over hers, savoring the sweetness of

  her.

  Brenna held herself rigidly in his arms, fighting the overwhelming

  feelings that threatened to swamp her.

  Never before had her body betrayed her like this. Though she wanted to

  resist, she could not. Even though his hands held her as gently as if

  she were a fragile flower, she was imprisoned as if by arms of steel.

  The sweetest prison she had ever known. His lips were warm and firm,

  and as they moved slowly
over hers, she felt a delicious tingle that

  left her limbs weak, her head swimming.

  What had this man done to her? Why was she behaving in such an

  outrageous manner with this Englishman?

  Every instinct told Morgan to walk away from this woman now, while he

  was yet able. And still he lingered over her lips. Such tempting

  lips. Why had it taken him so long to notice how perfect they were?

  Without warning he drew her more firmly into his arms and took the kiss

  deeper. His mouth devoured her, searching for a release from the

  sudden hunger that gnawed at him. Her breath filled his lungs. Her

  lips seduced. Her breasts were flattened against his chest. He

  dragged her hips against his and heard her little moan as his tongue

  brazenly invaded the sweetness of her mouth.

  This could not be happening. Brenna barely recognized the sound of her

  own voice as a moan slipped unbidden from low in her throat. When his

  tongue touched hers, she drew back. But the hands at her spine were

  strong, holding her even closer when she tried to resist. Damn the

  man! And damn this strange weakness within her that seemed to have

  robbed her of all strength to resist.

  Tentatively she drew in the taste of him. Dark. Mysterious. And

  then, for one brief instant, she relaxed against him, savoring his

  magnificent strength.

  The thought crept unbidden into her mind. He kisses the way he does

  everything else in his life. With such wild abandon, it is marvelous

  to behold, impossible to resist.

  But resist she must, if she were to survive. Slowly, like one

  awakening from a dream, she surfaced and brought her hands to his

  chest.

  He felt the pressure of her hands and struggled for control. Though he

  was a man of many appetites, it was not his way to force himself upon a

  woman.

  Lifting his head, he stared down into her eyes.

  "A man might be tempted to risk your dirk in his back just for sake of

  another kiss like that one, my lady."

  With a mocking bow he scooped the knife from the dust and handed it to

  her. She snatched it from his hand and, lifting her skirts, ran until

  she reached the safety of the open portal, where old Bancroft stood

  awaiting her return.

  Morgan stood very still, watching until she had disappeared inside the

  castle. With a savage oath he turned and strode among the hedges,

  seeking to exorcise the fire that raged within his loins.

  His arms were still warm from the touch of her. His lips still full of

  the taste of her.

  Chapter Three

  Q^yys^Q

  -Orenna stood in the shadows of her upper balcony and watched the

  movements of the figure far below. Unconsciously she touched a finger

  to her lips. A ripple of feeling coursed along her spine. She shook

  it off. How dare the Englishman kiss her like a lowly serving girl.

  Never before had a man dared to treat her in such a manner.

  And what of her reaction? Even now she could feel the heat rush to her

  cheeks at the thought of the way she had melted into his arms. Just

  thinking about the way he had kissed her brought a weakness to her

  limbs.

  She must get rid of this man, and soon, before he had time to cause any

  more havoc.

  A tap on her door caused her to whirl nervously. At the sight of her

  sister, she let out a long breath of air.

  Megan was taken aback at her sister's display of nerves. For as long

  as she could remember, Brenna had been the calm in the eye of the

  storm.

  "I cannot sleep knowing the English lie within our castle walls."

  "Aye." Brenna turned her attention back to the one who walked the