Is it not good to be back in England?” Alden pulled a chair in front of the fire and settled himself comfortably.
“Aye.” Morgan stood in front of the fireplace and lifted a goblet of ale to his lips.
From behind the closed door of Brenna’s sleeping chamber could be heard the babble of women’s voices and an occasional muffled exclamation. The servants, it would seem, were having a fine time preparing the Scotswoman for the queen’s festivities.
“This time you will stay a while.”
“So it would seem. Concern for the queen’s safety has altered my plans. If the whispers prove to have substance, I will bring swift justice to any who would plot against Elizabeth.” His hand clenched at his side. She was more than his beloved monarch; she was his dearest friend, his closest confidante. No one would threaten her life and live to boast of it.
When that matter was taken care of, he thought, swallowing another drink, he would put an end to this other trouble in his life. “See to the guards.” His voice was low, conspiratorial. “They are to watch the lady at all times. But they must be discreet.”
“How discreet, old friend?”
“They are not to parade around the palace with drawn swords. But they are not to let the lady out of their sight except when she is in these rooms.”
“Is that necessary? Do you really think she can flee this fortress?”
Morgan’s hand clenched around the stem of the goblet. “You were not with us in the Highlands. Nor on the journey home.” He touched a hand to the dressing on his wound. He would not soon forget Brenna’s skill with a knife. “The lady has a mind of her own.”
“Aye. I have heard the men talk.”
Alden flushed when Morgan arched an eyebrow.
“I will have their heads if I catch them spreading rumors about the Scotswoman while she is under my protection.”
“I merely meant that the men speak of her with respect,” Alden was quick to add. He stood. “I will alert the guards.”
As Alden started for the door, Morgan added softly, “When this is over, we need to find another war to wage, somewhere far from here, old friend.”
“I thought you had grown weary of the battle.”
“That was before I was made nurse for the female.”
“Aye.” Alden shot him a quick grin before departing.
The sooner the queen found a partner for Brenna, Morgan thought with a trace of anger, the sooner he could get on with his life.
His life. His world. He had made a satisfying life for himself. Whatever mistakes had been made, he had risen above them. He had no wish for the disruption of this woman in his well-ordered life.
The tapers had all been lighted, casting a soft glow over the room. From the windows could be seen the dark curtain of night sky. Morgan walked to the balcony and stared down at the lights of villages in the distance. His gaze was drawn to the shimmering torches of boats far out on the river.
He had a sudden yearning to sail the Thames. To be one with the sky and the water, in a peaceful setting far from the political intrigue of the court.
He heard the door open, and listened to the soft rustle of skirts as the servants swept from the room. When there was only silence, he slowly turned.
Brenna stood just inside the doorway of the sitting chamber.
Once, when Morgan was a callow youth, he had challenged a soldier reputed to be the most skilled equestrian in all of England. During the jumping, the soldier’s mount had taken the tall hedgerow easily, while Morgan’s horse had pulled up short and refused to jump. Sailing through the air, Morgan had cleared the hedgerow, but landed on the far side on a boulder the size of a wagon seat. The blow would have killed a lesser man. He would never forget the feeling when all the air was knocked from his lungs, leaving him struggling for breath.
He felt the same way now.
Her gown was crimson satin, with a fashionably low neckline revealing high, firm breasts and a tiny waist. The skirt fell in soft gathers to the tips of her crimson slippers. The sleeves and skirt were inset with bands of delicate lace. A wide ruff of the same lace formed a stiff collar at the back of her neck.
Her dark hair had been pulled to one side and allowed to drift in soft curls over her breast.
Her pale column of throat was unadorned by jewelry. The effect was simple. And stunning.
The thought came unbidden to his mind. Every man at court would ask for her hand. The queen would have no trouble finding a suitable husband. Why did that thought bring such an unpleasant taste to his mouth?
The door to the sitting room opened and Alden entered. For a moment he glanced at his friend. Then his gaze was riveted on the beautiful young woman.
Alden cleared his throat. “You look lovely, my lady.”
Morgan said nothing. Mere words could not convey what he saw when he looked at her. How could he describe skin as pale as alabaster, eyes the shade of the violets that grew deep in the forest glades?
“Thank you, my lord.”
She gave Alden a shy smile, and Morgan realized that he would give anything to see her smile at him that way. If the Lady Brenna was beautiful when angry, she was breathtaking when happy.
Then the hint of a smile was gone, replaced by a shy look. “Your queen’s seamstresses must have magic in their needles. Though I am skilled in sewing, I have never made anything as splendid as this.”
Morgan crossed the room and picked up a goblet of wine from a silver tray. When he handed it to her, their fingers brushed and he felt the heat.
“The gown would be nothing without the woman who wears it.”
Was that a blush he saw on her cheeks? It pleased him, though he couldn’t say why.
Brenna took a sip of wine and felt a rush of warmth. It was the wine, she told herself. Not the nearness of this man. Though he had exchanged his soldier’s garb for slim breeches and an elegantly tailored black silk tunic emblazoned with his family crest, he still had a look of danger about him. She must take great pains to keep her distance from him.
She turned to Alden. “I am unaware of your customs, my lord. Will anything be expected of me at your queen’s feast?”
“Our customs are not so different from your own. We will merely eat and drink, and enjoy the company of good friends.”
“Friends.”
Alden blithely ignored the sarcasm in her tone. “These people will be your friends if you let them. Of course,” he added with a gleam of humor in his eyes, “there will be many toasts to the queen’s health. I would advise you to use caution, my lady. Enough toasts and the wine will go to your head.”
“Thank you. I shall remember.” The frown was back. It was necessary to keep her wits about her. Alden and Morgan were her enemies. As were the people below stairs.
She set the goblet down.
Morgan drained his glass before reluctantly offering his arm. The mere touch of her caused a tension in him that was completely out of character. He steeled himself against feeling anything for the woman beside him.
As they left the room, Brenna noted the two soldiers positioned outside her sleeping chamber. They came to attention and followed a few paces behind. So. Even here in the queen’s palace, her freedom was to be restricted.
As they descended the stairs, they could hear the hum of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter. But when they entered the withdrawing room, all conversation suddenly ceased. All heads turned to watch the handsome couple.
A ripple of excitement coursed through the crowd. Hands were discreetly lifted while whispered exclamations were exchanged. Those who had been at court earlier were surprised at the transformation in the Scotswoman. Gone was the travel-weary creature, and in her place a vision of perfection.
Many a man in the crowd felt a twinge of envy at the prize Morgan Grey had captured. Many a woman hated her on sight.
Morgan felt the slight trembling of Brenna’s hand upon his sleeve. So, the lady was not immune to the stares of these strangers. Though he was not aware of any kindness in his gesture, he covered her hand with his, as if to lend her his strength.
He led her across the room toward their regal hostess. Brenna felt the curious stares of the guests. But she kept her head lifted at a proud angle, looking neither left nor right.
When they came to a stop before the queen, Brenna curtsied, while Morgan bowed slightly, then lifted Elizabeth’s hand to his lips.
“Can this possibly be the same ragged waif you presented at court, Morgan?”
“Aye, Majesty. The Lady Brenna remarked that she thought your seamstresses had magic in their needles.”
“There is indeed magic here.” The queen studied the beautiful young woman with a thoughtful look. “Or perhaps witchcraft.” With a laugh she turned to Morgan. “Beware, my friend, lest you be the one bewitched.”
“You know me better, Majesty.”
“Indeed.”
Morgan led Brenna to one side as the queen continued to greet the guests who formed a long line behind them.
After each guest had been presented to the queen, they paused in front of Morgan for an introduction to the lady who had caused such speculation. After an hour he could read the fatigue in her eyes.
“So many names and titles,” she whispered.
“Aye. But in no time you will know them as friends.”
“They are your friends, my lord. To me they are English.”
If her words angered him, he gave no indication.
Madeline d’Arbeville, Duchess of Eton, and her husband greeted Elizabeth with warmth. The affection was obviously returned, as the queen smiled and chatted before turning to include the others.
“Charles, your wife seems to have made a friend today. But you have not yet met the Scotswoman. Introduce the lady, Morgan.”
“Charles Crowel, Duke of Eton, may I present Brenna MacAlpin, recently of the Scottish Borderland.”
As the courtly gentleman bent to brush his lips over Brenna’s hand, she studied the man who was married to the Frenchwoman. His green eyes were friendly, his smile genuine. His dark breeches and emerald satin tunic were perfectly tailored to his tall frame. His dark hair was gray at the temples, giving him a look of charm and elegance.
“Madeline has told me about you, my lady.” He released Brenna’s hand and continued to smile as he entwined his fingers with his wife’s.
Charles and Madeline made a handsome couple. And a happy one. That thought caused an ache around Brenna’s heart. Whatever match the queen made for her, she would never truly be happy.
“We look forward to having you visit our home when you are comfortably settled in England.”
Morgan glanced at Brenna in time to see the look of consternation that suddenly crossed her face. Like the queen, these good people were taking for granted that she would settle and become a wife to an Englishman. The thought sickened her. And though she made a valiant effort, she could not hide it.
As he watched her, Morgan felt his respect for this Scotswoman growing. She was handling a difficult situation with great control.
As more people came forward to greet the queen, Charles and Madeline moved aside. Madeline touched Brenna’s hand as she passed. “There will be little time to visit tonight. But soon, if Morgan will permit it, I will arrange a tea, cherie. There are many here who are eager to get to know you.”
Morgan’s permission indeed, Brenna wanted to cry out. But before she could comment, another couple was presented to her. And another, until the names and faces seemed to blend together into a jumbled blur.
A man strode forward alone and greeted the queen, then turned expectantly, awaiting an introduction to the beauty beside Morgan.
“Ah, Lord Windham.” The queen became animated in the company of this man. “You have not yet met our Scotswoman. Morgan, will you handle the introductions?”
“Brenna MacAlpin, may I present Lord Windham, aide to the queen.” Was it her imagination, Brenna wondered, or was there a trace of tension in Morgan’s voice?
“Lord Windham.” She looked up into gray opaque eyes the color of the sky before a storm. His clothes were perfectly tailored to his long legs and slender form. The scarlet of his tunic would have been suitable for royalty. He was the most splendidly dressed man in the room.
“My lady.” His eyes raked her before he bent to brush a kiss to her hand. As his lips touched her skin she instinctively cringed.
When he straightened, he continued holding her hand until she pulled it free. “The queen tells me you are Morgan Grey’s spoils of war.”
Brenna itched to slap his arrogant face. Instead she lifted her head a fraction and straightened her spine. “I am no one’s spoils of war, my lord.”
“Are you not?” He smiled, and Brenna thought it the most evil smile she had ever seen. “You mean you came to England to seek a husband willingly?” His smile grew. “Are there so few satisfying men in your homeland that you would abandon them for one such as Morgan Grey?”
When Brenna remained silent he spoke loud enough for the entire assembly to hear. “I was told that the queen intended to make a match for you. But if, as you say, you are not here against your will, perhaps you will go to a man’s bed most willingly?”
“Enough, Windham.” Morgan’s voice was low, intended for Lord Windham’s ears alone. But though he spoke softly, there was a thread of steel in his tone. “The lady should expect better treatment at the hands of an English gentleman.”
“And how would you know how a gentleman behaves? The entire realm knows about you and the men who serve under you, Morgan Grey. You are all savages who are only happy when you are spilling an enemy’s blood on the field of battle.”
“At least I am not a nobleman whose only task in life is despoiling helpless maidens.”
The two men faced each other for long moments. It was the queen who broke the silence.
“Two stallions should never be allowed in the same pasture,” she said dryly.
There was an extended silence.
The queen touched his arm. “Have you brought no lady with you, Lord Windham?”
“Nay, Majesty. There were so many beauties in the kingdom hoping to enjoy your hospitality. And I am but one mere man.”
The queen threw back her head and laughed at his joke. “From the gossip at court, I would say you have the stamina of ten men, my lord.”
He shared a smile with her. “One cannot believe all the court gossip, Majesty.”
“If even half of it be true, Lord Windham, your social life leaves little time for other duties.”
“One must take pleasure where one finds it.” Lord Windham cast a speculative glance at the woman beside the queen. “And perhaps a man’s duty can also become his pleasure.”
Brenna saw the way Morgan tensed. But before he could speak, Alden smoothly interrupted.
“The line of subjects eager to bask in your beauty grows restless, Majesty.”
Lord Windham shot him an icy look before stalking away.
“Beware, my friend,” Alden commented as Morgan’s adversary threaded his way among the guests. “One day Windham may grow weary of your barbs and lift his sword against you.”
“Only if I show him my back. He is too cowardly to face me in a fair fight.”
“Then be warned. A coward is the worst kind of enemy. He never does what is expected.”
“Do not waste a moment’s worry over me. It is the queen who needs our concern.”
The queen’s butler announced that the banquet was awaiting her majesty.
With a knowing smile the queen looked over the assembly, studying the beautifully dressed men and women who formed the inner circle of her court. These were the wealthy, titled nobles with whom she could be at ease. All of them looked up expectantly, eager to see who would be singled out as her escort for the meal.
Lord Windham watched her with a smug expression. If Elizabeth chose her favorite companion, the Scotswoman would be without an escort. He had every intention of offering his arm to the Lady Brenna. It would be great sport to flirt with, and perhaps seduce, the Scotswoman.
If, on the other hand, the queen allowed Morgan Grey to be with the lady he had captured, that would leave Lord Windham as the most eligible escort in the room. He would surely be the queen’s choice. That was why he had not brought a lady with him. He would enjoy being at Elizabeth’s right hand for the rest of the evening. He thrived on being the center of attention.
The queen knew that there was no love lost between Morgan and Lord Windham. And though Morgan was her dear friend, she enjoyed Windham’s dry humor. Besides, he was a worldly, elegant man who could converse with ease. And he was a splendid dancer. If Morgan could not be beside her, Windham would.
“Lord Windham. You will accompany your queen to sup.”
With a look of disdain in Morgan’s direction, Windham offered the queen his arm and led her toward the banquet room. The rest of the assembly followed.
“Morgan,” the queen called over her shoulder. “You and the Scotswoman will sup with us.”
Inwardly Morgan groaned. It took all his willpower to be civil to Windham. Yet he gave no sign of his distress.
“Aye, Majesty. It will be our pleasure.”
Morgan offered his arm to Brenna.
As the guests took their places at the large tables, Brenna and Morgan followed the queen and Windham to the head table, where all could see them.
Morgan held Brenna’s chair. As she brushed past him she murmured, “It would appear that the queen and Lord Windham are exceedingly close friends.”
“Aye. He is often invited to join the queen’s company.”
“And you, my lord?”
“I also enjoy a—close relationship with my queen.”
“I noticed.”
Was that a trace of jealousy he heard in Brenna’s tone? Or was he merely imagining something that didn’t exist?
Morgan took the seat beside her. Though he had chafed at the thought of spending a long evening with the queen’s peacocks at court, Morgan suddenly found himself looking forward to the next few hours. The Scotswoman, it would seem, was not as indifferent to him as she pretended. And there was nothing he enjoyed more than a duel. Especially a duel with a bright and beautiful woman.