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 courtyard. 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 an assignment, suggesting that it was beneath your dignity as a warrior, and fit merely for a lackey. Yet this simple task has taken you away from me for too long. Did you not miss the sight of your queen?”
Morgan stepped closer, leaving Brenna encircled by his men. His voice warmed. “Aye, Majesty. I have missed not only your beauty, but your sharp tongue as well. There are few who can match words as my queen.”
Elizabeth threw back her head and laughed. “I, too, have missed our duel of wits, my Lord Grey. I am truly pleased that you have returned. Now tell me the outcome of your journey to Scotland.”
“The people are still mistrustful of the English, Majesty. And though I assured them that we came in peace, I could sense that they did not believe me.”
“They had the word of your queen.”
Morgan smiled at Elizabeth’s sudden flash of anger. “Aye, Majesty. But I think you were wise in your decision to bind the two countries through an arrangement of marriages. We have lost many a good Englishman on the Scottish border.”
“The Highland chiefs,” Elizabeth said dryly, “have already pledged their loyalty to me through the Treaty of Edinburgh.”
“Aye. There is that. But our borders continue to be plagued by outbreaks of fighting, Majesty.”
“So, Morgan, you suddenly approve of these arranged marriages.” Elizabeth held out her hand and drew him close. Many women in the room watched the scene with interest. Morgan Grey was a handsome devil who caused more than a few female hearts to flutter. And the queen was as yet unwed.
“Tell me about this Scotswoman who leads her clan.”
“I will do better than that, Majesty. I will present her to you.”
He turned. At his command his men moved aside, revealing Brenna.
“Majesty, may I present Brenna MacAlpin, leader of the clan MacAlpin of Scotland.”
Many in the crowd gasped. At their reaction, Brenna lifted her head defiantly.
The queen appeared stunned for a moment before regaining her composure. “Can this truly be the leader of her people? In such a state of disarray?”
Brenna’s cheeks went bright red, but she continued to meet Elizabeth’s direct look.
The queen lifted a bejeweled hand. “Look at her. Her hair tumbles wildly around her cheeks and shoulders and spills down her back in a tangle of curls. Her traveling gown and cloak are dusty and wrinkled. And is that blood upon her gown, Morgan?”
He flushed uncomfortably. “Aye, Majesty.”
“Her blood?”
“Mine.”
“You subdued her with your sword?”
“She attacked me with a knife.”
The queen looked more closely at the woman who stood before her. Arching an eyebrow she said, “She more resembles an orphaned waif than a leader.” She turned toward Morgan. “Is she truly the MacAlpin, my Lord Grey, or are you rivaling the Court jester?”
“I do not jest, Majesty.”
“But why have you brought her here like a common prisoner?”
“Because she attempted to evade your wishes, Majesty. The Lady Brenna vowed she would marry a man of her own choosing.”
“She did?” The queen’s look changed suddenly from one of disdain to one of sharp interest.
“Aye, Majesty. I was forced to track her to the Highlands. Once there, I decided it was in your Majesty’s best interest to keep her with me until your Majesty decided her fate.”
“She ran from you?” The queen studied the young woman before her. “This one small female managed to elude Morgan Grey? And to wound him in the fray?” The queen’s eyes danced with unconcealed humor. “Oh, this is a fine joke. Can it be that the man who subdues entire armies cannot control one woman?”
Morgan’s eyes grew steely.
“And you were forced to follow her to the dangerous Highlands?”
He nodded.
“How very interesting.” The queen studied the way the two refused to look at one another. The emotions flowing between them were raw and savage. “And so you have brought her here against her will.” The queen smiled slowly. “A very—wise decision, my Lord Grey, although my cousin Mary of Scotland would perhaps not agree.”
Elizabeth addressed the woman. “You would choose your own husband?”
“It is the way of the MacAlpin.”
At Brenna’s harsh tone, there was a distinct silence in the room. Every eye was on the woman who sat upon the throne. Though small in stature, Elizabeth was every inch the queen. She tolerated no show of disrespect in her presence. Especially not from one who swore allegiance to another.
The queen turned toward the gallery of robed men who sat to one side.
Brenna’s voice carried through the suddenly quiet crowd. “In my country, women are not chattel, to be bargained for. Nor jewels, to be worn for adornment. We are valued for ourselves. And since our lives are so deeply affected by the choice of partner, our voices are heard.”
Though the queen’s eyes flashed, her lips softened into a smile. There was an audible sigh through the crowd. Once more the queen’s anger had been diffused.
“I would ask the council to pay heed to this Scotswoman. Your queen is not the only one who wishes to choose her own husband.”
Morgan chuckled, low and deep in his throat. Beside him, Alden laughed aloud. Gradually others around the room did the same. The atmosphere became more relaxed.
Turning back to Brenna, the queen said, “What am I to do with you, Brenna MacAlpin? Shall I parade every titled Englishman past you, until you choose the one who piques your interest?”
“Nay, Majesty. The Englishman is not born who will win my heart.”
“Is there, perhaps, a Scotsman who holds your heart?” Morgan waited a moment, unaware that he was holding his breath.
“There is not. But I will not be bartered like a fatted calf.”
The queen’s smile suddenly faded. “I would advise you, woman, to beware of your sharp tongue. There is only one here who will decide your fate.”
The queen saw the flash of fire in Brenna’s eyes before she lowered her head. And though Elizabeth admired her courage, she would tolerate no show of disrespect.
“What of you, Morgan Grey?” The queen saw the way he watched the woman beside him. “Would you be willing to take on the unpleasant task of marriage to the unwilling lady?”
“Majesty.” Morgan’s tone was patient. “You are aware of my feelings toward the unholy sacrament of misery.” Many in the room laughed at his words.
“Aye. You are, I believe, the man who swore that marriage was the lowest form of slavery.”
Alden swallowed his laughter and pointedly stared at a spot on the floor rather than face his friend.
In her agitation, Elizabeth got up from her throne and walked forward until she came to a halt beside Morgan and the woman. In a low voice she said, “I am more than a little surprised, my Lord Grey. And, I might add, disappointed. Since you dared to risk the fragile peace between our two countries and bring this—ragged woman here against her will, I declare that you are responsible for her until I find someone willing to wed her.”
Morgan frowned. “I was merely following my instincts as a soldier, Majesty. I am convinced that this woman would surely have married one of her own countrymen before your plans could be implemented.”
The queen sighed. “If you were not such a rogue, I would insist that you take your duty a step farther and wed this baggage.” Elizabeth flashed one of her most brilliant smiles. “Of course, since you are descended from royalty, I had always thought you to be one of my suitors.”
Morgan’s eyes twinkled with teasing laughter. “If thought I had a chance to win your heart, Majesty, you know I would pledge my own. But though we are true friends, I fear your heart lies elsewhere.”
The young queen looked up into his handsome face and felt the familiar twinge. He was indeed a man who could start a fire in her blood, as he did, it seemed, in the blood of every woman in the kingdom. But they both knew that he was far too lusty a man to spend the rest of his life observing rules of protocol while his wife governed. Life at court had always been the part of royal life that Morgan Grey least enjoyed. Which was probably why he sought the battlefield.
Elizabeth looked from Brenna to Morgan. “’Tis said the Scots will need a firm hand if they are to be won over. And there is no firmer hand in all of England than yours. Also, there is no doubt as to your loyalty, my friend. But I suppose I cannot ask this truly supreme sacrifice. Marriage.” She chuckled as if it were a great joke. “To this—untidy foreigner.”
“I would rather face a horde of invaders without a weapon.” Morgan’s tone was crisp. “But ne’er fear, Majesty. You will find a solution to the problem. I agree that the woman will not be easy to marry off, especially when a suitable partner learns how difficult she is to subdue. She is devious, shrewd and cunning.” He touched a hand to his wound. “Not to mention skilled with a knife.”
Even while she shared a laugh with Morgan, the queen saw the look of anguish in Brenna’s eyes and fought to ignore it. Did she not understand the lady’s desire to choose her own destiny? But how many could afford such a luxury? She lifted her head regally. Not even one born to the Crown.
“You know I can refuse you no request, Morgan Grey. I am indebted to you a hundredfold for your loyalty. And so I will not command you to marry your prisoner. But, though I see the wisdom of bringing her here until a decision is reached regarding her future, I cannot ask another to be responsible for the lady. And since she is a woman of noble birth, I am reluctant to consign her to a prison cell until her future is decided.”
“Aye. The Tower would be too harsh.”
Brenna stood rooted to the floor, hearing their words echoing in her head. This could not be happening. While a hundred strangers watched, with disinterest, her fate was coldly being decided without any regard for her feelings.
She clenched her hands tightly at her sides and bit her lip to keep from crying out at the unfairness of it.
Morgan glanced at Brenna. He chose to ignore the anger and fury in her gaze. Was there not enough anger in his own heart? He was a soldier, not a nurse. He had seen to his duty, and had brought the Scotswoman to England. Now he wished to be finished with her. He turned to the queen. “I cannot take responsibility for the lady. It is enough that I have brought her here to you.”
The queen watched his eyes, reading the frustration he could not hide. “The lady is your prisoner—you are her jailer. Where you go, she follows. You bear sole responsibility for her.”
“And if I go to battle?”
“Your battlefield lies here in England, for now.”
“Then I pray, Majesty, that you decide the lady’s fate quickly.”
The queen could not resist a quick smile. “All in good time, my lord.”
“You mean—” Brenna’s voice was choked with rage “—I have no voice in my own destiny? I cannot return to my home? I must remain this man’s captive?”
Morgan gave her an indulgent smile. “It seems you are fated to remain under my—protected care.”
“Aye,” the queen said quickly. “Take her and good riddance. Set her up in one of your households, Morgan, until I am able to arrange a suitable marriage.”
Brenna heard no more She felt the blood rush from her head, leaving her ashen. The queen’s words faded until they were only a slight buzzing in her ears. The room began to spin in a dizzying rush. And as she slid to the floor, a soothing black mantle settled over her.