"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
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,
"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
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