The banquet hall at Richmond was festive. Servants in colorful satin livery attended each table. There were platters of whole roasted pig, as well as trays laden with pheasant, partridge and dove. There were baskets of bread still warm from the ovens and bowls of steaming pudding. The goblets and tankards were filled and refilled with wine and ale. With each course there were endless toasts to the queen, to her health, to her country and her people.
A man in brilliant robes took a seat at the end of the queen’s table. Each course was presented to the queen by a servant on bended knee. The queen inspected it, nodded with a slightly bored expression, then turned away as the tray was carried to the man at the end of the table.
“Who is that?” Brenna whispered.
“Lord Quigley, the queen’s taster.”
Brenna watched in amazement as the white-haired man tasted a morsel of each serving before giving his approval. Then the servant approached the queen again on bended knee and waited while a second liveried servant spooned a portion of each food onto the queen’s plate.
Though this went on through course after course, neither the queen nor Lord Quigley acknowledged each other.
Brenna was seated at the queen’s table between Morgan and Lord Windham. But though there was a whirlwind of activity around her, she found herself mesmerized by the man beside her. His voice was low and deep, in contrast to the shrill sounds of laughter around them. And his eyes pinned her, daring her to try to look away.
“How did you happen to become the MacAlpin?” Morgan asked as a serving wench filled his goblet with ale.
Her eyes lit with a passionate fire that fascinated him. “My father was murdered by a coward, and my older sister, Meredith, assumed the leadership of the clan.”
He heard the venom in her voice and felt a wave of pity for the man who had dared to cross her family. “Was this coward an Englishman?”
“Nay. He was one of our own countrymen, who coveted our land.”
“So.” A smile touched the corner of his lips. “Not all the evil villains in the land are English.”
She failed to see the humor of his statement. “We have had our fill of English.”
He was in no mood for a debate while in the presence of the queen. He decided to steer the conversation to a safer course. “Why is your sister no longer the MacAlpin?”
Brenna’s voice took on a softer note. It was obvious that she adored her elder sister. “Meredith married a Highland chieftain and went to live in his mountain fortress. As next eldest, the task of defending my clan fell to me.”
“So, you think it was a love match between your sister and her husband?”
She glanced at him. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you seemed glad when you spoke of it. This Highland chieftain makes your sister happy?”
“Aye.” Brenna actually smiled, and Morgan was reminded once more how truly soft and delicate she appeared. “The rogue stole her heart. ’Tis true love.”
Lord Windham, hearing their discussion, made a derisive sound. “That will last a year or two at most, while they explore the pleasures of their bed. Then true love will show its true colors.”
Brenna looked horror-stricken at his words. “I saw the undying love that shone between my father and mother. That same love shines between Meredith and Brice. It is there in their eyes, in their touch, in the gentle way they treat one another.”
Resenting Windham’s intrusion, Morgan steered the conversation once again. “What about the villain who murdered your father?”
Morgan Grey, she realized, was very good at changing the subject when it suited him. “He is buried with those of his clan who dared to cross the MacAlpins.”
Morgan studied the young woman before him. Though there was no doubt that she was every inch a lady, he had witnessed another side to her. She had the respect of her people. People who had been besieged for generations. And she thought like a soldier. Twice she had nearly outwitted him. He lifted a goblet to his lips and smiled. Twice she had been foiled.
Aye. He would enjoy dueling with the lady. With both words and skill.
With each toast the crowd grew more raucous. With each sip of ale, the young noblemen at the banquet grew bolder, until at last Lord Windham stood to offer his own toast.
“To my gracious queen, Elizabeth, the most wonderful monarch God ever created.” Windham pressed his hands to the table to steady himself. His voice rose with emotion. “To her hair, which shines like the sun’s own radiance. To her eyes, like perfect sapphires. To her mouth, which emits only pearls of wisdom.”
He paused, wiping a tear from his eye, too overcome by his own brilliance to continue.
“You neglected to mention my teeth,” the queen said in an aside that only Morgan and Brenna could overhear. “They are my own.”
Morgan threw back his head and roared. For a moment Brenna was so surprised at the queen’s dry humor that she could only stare. Then a smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
“To her teeth,” Windham began.
But Morgan lifted his glass, and the others in the room did the same, drowning out whatever the nobleman was about to say. He sat down flushed and happy at what he considered a monumental success.
“What think you of my feast?” The queen leaned across Lord Windham to direct her question at Brenna.
“It is quite wonderful,” Brenna replied honestly. “I have never seen so many splendidly dressed gentlemen and ladies.”
“I see you have not touched your wine.” Elizabeth motioned toward Brenna’s nearly full goblet.
“I was warned that there would be many toasts, Majesty. I did not wish to make a fool of myself.”
“You would be in excellent company,” the queen said. “The room is full of fools. Is that not so, Windham?”
“Aye, Majesty.” His words were slightly slurred. “We are fools in love with your beauty.”
“You see why I chose him to be my escort? I bask in his honeyed words.”
Morgan set down his goblet. “A woman of your strength and intelligence needs no empty flattery to fill her head.”
“That is where you and I disagree, my Lord Grey.” Elizabeth gave a gay, girlish laugh. “Even a strong, intelligent woman desires pretty words. Is that not so, Brenna MacAlpin?”
Brenna was startled by the question. “I would prefer honesty to flattery.”
The queen’s eyes narrowed on her guest. “You are indeed a rare woman. But I think, if the right man were to flatter you, you would discover that you harbor a bit of the same weakness.”
The queen turned from her guests to watch the musicians. Suddenly she stood and the entire assembly scrambled to their feet.
“I have had enough of feasting. I wish to dance.” The queen took Lord Windham’s proffered arm, then turned to Brenna. “Do you dance?”
Brenna shook her head. “John Knox considers dancing a tool of the devil. It is now forbidden in my country.”
“Ah, yes. Knox.” Elizabeth gave a short laugh. “How terrible for my fun-loving, romantic cousin, Mary, that such a dull man could hold sway over her people.” She studied the lovely young woman for a moment, then glanced at the man beside her. “Morgan, bring our—guest along. While she is on English soil, we shall cast aside those prophets of gloom and teach her the joy of an open English society.”
Once again Brenna was forced to take Morgan’s arm and follow behind the queen.
While the crowd hastily assembled, the musicians began to play. Within minutes the queen and her escort formed a circle with several other couples and began a racy, naughty dance.
Morgan led Brenna to a chaise and handed her a goblet of wine before seating himself beside her. When he stretched out his long legs she found herself staring at his muscled thighs, until she suddenly blushed and looked away.
Watching the dancers was no better. Everywhere she looked, she saw hints of seduction. The women bowed low, baring their bosoms to their partners. The men in tight-fitting breeches, strutted in circles, then caught the women in shockingly close embraces before beginning the dance steps. Brenna was amazed to note that none of the women seemed to mind being held so intimately. In fact, from the giggles and whispers, they encouraged it.
When the dance ended, the men bent low and kissed the ladies’ hands. A few of the women offered their cheeks to be kissed. And one woman actually lifted her lips for her partner’s kiss. Seeing it, Brenna blushed and lifted the goblet to her mouth to hide her embarrassment.
Morgan was fascinated by her reaction. “Are you blushing, my lady?”
She felt her cheeks grow red and hotly denied it. “I am just a bit warm, my lord.”
“Perhaps a walk in the night air.” His voice was warm with unspoken laughter.
“Nay.” She realized at once that she had rejected his offer too quickly. Now he would have even more to laugh at.
“I suppose you will not dance.”
“I cannot.”
“Then we will sit here and enjoy our wine.”
He lifted his goblet and watched as she drained hers. A serving wench quickly refilled it.
“Morgan, you must dance,” the queen called as she twirled by on the arm of a new partner.
Morgan turned to Brenna. She shook her head and stared at the floor.
“Is it John Knox you fear? Is that why you cannot dance?” Morgan smiled. “I do not think anyone from the queen’s court will carry tales of this night back to your people.”
“I do not fear John Knox.”
“Is it the sin itself, then? Will you be damned if you dance?”
“I do not consider dancing sinful, my lord.”
“Then why can you not dance?”
She sighed. “Except with my sisters, and a few of the youth at wedding feasts, I have never danced. I fear I would be—clumsy.”
His smile gentled. “Clumsy? You, my lady? That would not be possible. Come.” He stood and held out his hand.
She bit her lip. “I do not know what to do.”
“I will teach you.” Taking the goblet from her, he set it on a small table and took her hand.
While the musicians played a tender ballad, Morgan led Brenna through the intricate steps of the dance.
“Allow me to lead. In my arms, you need only follow.”
“But I am moving right while you move left.”
She was achingly aware of the hand at her back, pressing ever so lightly as he guided her. She could feel every one of his fingers touching her flesh.
“Do not watch your feet,” he whispered, tipping up her chin.
Her gaze fastened on his as his fingertip stroked her cheek. Oh, why did he have to have such a gentle touch? Why was he so graceful in the dance?
She fit so perfectly into the circle of his embrace. It was as if she had been made for his arms alone. He drew her closer and moved to the music. And the woman in his arms began to move with him in perfect rhythm.
“I pray that John Knox does not choose this night to visit the Queen of England,” Morgan murmured against her temple.
“I told you, I do not consider dancing a sin.”
“Perhaps. But anyone watching us can see what I am thinking. And what I am thinking is definitely a sin, my lady.”
Her cheeks flamed. Only a crude Englishman would dare to make such a joke. She did not know how to deal with such a blunt manner.
“Forgive me, my lady.” His deep voice whispered over her senses, causing a prickly feeling along her spine. “I can see that a sheltered woman would feel lost in such decadence.”
He gave a chuckle that sent icy shivers along her spine. She tried to pull away but he gathered her even closer and continued to sway to the music.
She was caught in the gentlest of prisons. Through her satin skirts she could feel the brush of his thighs against hers. Her breasts were crushed against his chest. Each time he breathed, she felt the warmth of his breath ruffle the hair at her temple. Slowly, against her will, she closed her eyes and with a sigh gave in to the overpowering need to surrender to his touch. Her fingers played with the dark hair at his nape. The hand engulfed in his relaxed until their fingers were gently laced.
“You are an excellent student, my lady.” His words were whispered against her temple.
She sighed. It was not the student who was excellent; it was the teacher. But she was too content to speak.
“Is there anything else you would like to learn, my lady?” Her lids snapped open. She found herself staring into his dark, laughing eyes.
“I fear there is nothing else you could teach me.”
“Would you care to bet a gold sovereign on that?” She suddenly resented his mocking laughter.
“I no longer wish to dance with you, Morgan Grey.”
An aging earl stepped forward and tapped Morgan on the shoulder.
“It seems your every wish is my command, my lady.” With a smile Morgan took a step back, breaking contact. Before she knew what was happening, Brenna was swept away in the old man’s arms. When she glanced over his shoulder she saw Morgan dancing with the queen. Lord Windham was standing in the center of the floor looking over the dancing couples.
From her vantage point, Brenna watched as Morgan swept the queen around the dance floor. It was obvious, from the ease with which they moved, that they had danced together many times. Elizabeth looked up into Morgan’s eyes and said something that made him laugh. He then lowered his head to whisper in her ear. Brenna stared in fascination, unable to turn away from such an intimate scene.
What was this strange emotion she felt? Jealousy? She instantly rejected such a notion. How could she feel any jealousy toward a man she cared nothing about?
Within minutes Brenna was dancing with another partner. She looked up to find herself in the arms of Charles Crowel, Duke of Eton.
“My wife, Madeline, is quite taken with you, my lady.”
“And I with her. I shall never forget her kindness to me.”
“Madeline is a tenderhearted woman. She has not forgotten what it feels like to be a stranger in a strange land. But my friends have gone to great lengths to make her feel welcome in England.”
“Your wife is a truly good person. I feel that I have at least one friend in England.”
“My dear, if you let us, we will all be your friends.”
“Thank you, sir.” She gave him a grateful smile. “You are most kind.”
“And you are most beautiful, my dear. I fear Her Majesty will have twenty and five suitors vying for your hand before this night is over.”
Brenna was still laughing when she was suddenly turned into another pair of arms.
“Lord Windham.” The smile vanished from her lips.
“I have been waiting for this opportunity,” he said.
His hand at her waist drew her firmly against him. His eyes had none of the warmth or humor of Morgan’s. Instead, they burned with an intensity that alarmed her.
“You have dazzled all of the gentlemen in the queen’s company,” he muttered. “It seems you shall have your pick of titled Englishmen from which to choose.”
“Perhaps,” Brenna said, striving to keep the conversation light, “I shall be unable to choose just one.”
“All the better. I like a woman who can please many lovers.”
“I did not mean...” She bit her lip. There was no point in attempting to explain to this crude man.
He swept her gracefully through the crowd and continued dancing. Brenna was unaware that they were heading toward a deserted balcony until they stopped dancing. She looked around in surprise.
“Why have you brought me here?”
“Why does a gentleman usually take a lady away from the crowd?” He smiled and she felt a tiny tremor of fear along her spine. “I thought you might wish to escape from Morgan Grey.”
“Escape? You offer me escape, my lord?”
He took a step closer and ran his finger suggestively along her arm. She gave an involuntary shudder and took a step back. But as she took another step, her back pressed against the cold stone of the balcony railing. At her look of fear Lord Windham’s smile widened. “Are you playing the part of the coquette, my lady?”
“I...” She licked her lips and fought back the rush of fear that caused her throat to go dry. “I do not understand what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do.” He stepped very close, until their bodies were touching. He felt the way she recoiled from him and gave a cold laugh as he brought his hand to her shoulder. “You are teasing me, my lady. Playing the part of the innocent. And it is most effective.”
“Please, my lord. I wish to go back to the others now.”
“All in good time.” He caught her by the upper arms and pressed his thumbs into the softness of her flesh. “You are a beautiful, desirable woman, Brenna MacAlpin. It was most kind of Morgan Grey to fetch you here for my pleasure.”
His breath reeked of ale. Brenna strained against the hands that clawed at her.
As he drew her close and lowered his head, he heard the sound of swords being drawn. Stunned, he turned to find two of Morgan Grey’s soldiers facing him, their swords lifted in a threatening manner. Behind them was Morgan Grey himself.
Brenna was so elated to see them, she nearly threw herself into Morgan’s arms. She took a step toward him, but the look on his face stopped her.
“Did you not think it rude to leave the festivities before your queen, Windham?”
Lord Windham’s face was a cold mask of fury. “You have no right to intrude, Grey.”
“I have every right. Have you forgotten that the lady is my prisoner?”
Brenna froze. For just a moment she had forgotten that the guards were not there to protect her, but to keep her from escaping. And Morgan Grey was not worried about her safety; merely about the way it would look if she disappeared while his soldiers were supposed to be guarding her.
“Could it be that you think the lady is your own personal property?” Windham saw the way Morgan’s eyes darkened and realized that he had hit a nerve. He gave a shrill, nervous laugh. “So. That is it. You think you are the only one allowed to dally with the prisoner.” His voice lifted in agitation. “Have you already decided how to spend the lady’s dowry, and how to cut up her lands to your satisfaction?”
At his words Morgan felt a wave of fury. “That is not even worthy of a reply. I care not what you think, Windham.” Morgan’s voice was low; his words deliberate. “Be warned. The lady is off limits to all but the man who petitions the queen for her hand.”
Windham’s words were slurred. “Perhaps that is what the lady and I were discussing.” He pushed past the guards and stormed away without another word.
Brenna was left alone to face the furious, accusing look on Morgan’s face.