“You will take my arm, my lady.”
“You do not care to hear what happened?” Her heart beat was still racing. Her voice trembled. Despite his cold demeanor, she had experienced waves of relief at her rescue from this frightful scene. Though she had always dealt with her own problems in her own way, she had an unreasonable yearning to cling to him and weep over her embarrassing ordeal.
“Nay. It is finished.”
Finished? She studied his shuttered expression, his stiff stance. “Can it be that you believe that I came here willingly with that evil man?”
“You made it abundantly clear that you would do anything to escape me. But if you saw Windham as an ally, you made a poor choice. Now we will speak of it no more, my lady. But be warned that I will not tolerate such foolishness again.”
Brenna glanced at the guards. They stared straight ahead, awaiting orders from their leader.
With a sigh of resignation, she placed her hand on Morgan’s sleeve and walked by his side. There was no point in attempting to defend herself. This man was having none of it.
On the dance floor the queen was going through a series of intricate dance steps in the arms of the Duke of Eton. A crowd ringed the room, clapping their hands. As Morgan and Brenna approached, Madeline turned to greet them.
She took one look at Brenna’s flushed cheeks and Morgan’s unreadable expression and gave a little laugh. “Mon dieu. You two have been naughty, slipping away like that. Could you not at least wait until the evening is over?”
Morgan’s eyes narrowed.
Madeline turned toward the dancers. “Is Charles not the best dancer in England?”
For a moment her question was met with only silence. Then, to cover the awkward moment, Brenna cleared her throat. “Aye. He cuts a fine figure with the queen.”
Madeline heard the slight tremor in her voice and touched a hand to her cheek.. “You are overwrought, cherie. It is this rogue, Morgan Grey, is it not?”
Feeling the prickle of tears, Brenna shook her head and blinked quickly.
Madeline’s concerned look quickly turned to one of understanding. “Ah. I see. You are weary then, cherie.”
Brenna nodded, afraid to trust her voice. She had a desperate need to flee this room, these people.
“A pity. For no one can leave until the queen does.”
Brenna groaned inwardly and tightened her grip on Morgan’s sleeve. If he noticed her discomfort, he gave no indication. He continued to stare at the dancers as though she didn’t exist.
In his mind’s eye he could still see Brenna locked in Windham’s embrace. The little fool. Did she not sense the danger in playing with a man like Windham? He was no better than an animal, deflowering maidens for his selfish pleasure, then leaving them to deal with bruised hearts and sometimes, if the rumors be true, battered bodies.
If she was so desperate to escape that she would even choose Windham for her champion, Morgan would have to save her from her own folly.
The music ended. The queen and the Duke of Eton acknowledged the applause. The duke returned Elizabeth to the arm of her escort. Then the crowd parted as the queen and Lord Windham bid good-night to their guests and headed for the door. There, the queen made a great show of bidding good-night to Lord Windham. When he had dutifully kissed her hand, she clapped for her servants. Immediately a flock of serving girls and the queen’s ladies circled Elizabeth. With a flurry of women’s high-pitched voices, the queen and her retinue headed for the royal quarters.
Windham, drunk not only from the amount of ale he’d consumed, but from the attention paid him by the queen, strutted around the room accepting the congratulations of his friends.
The musicians began to play. Many in the crowded room returned to the dance floor, while others followed the queen’s example and bid good-night.
“Now you can rest, cherie.” Madeline turned from Brenna and linked hands with her husband as soon as he approached.
He drew her close. “Will we stay with the revelers, my dear, or would you prefer to return to our quarters?”
“I think I could dance until the morning light.”
The duke gave a fleeting glance toward the door as if regretting the sleep he would be forced to miss. Then he touched her cheek in an affectionate gesture. “You shall have your wish, my love.” He turned to Morgan. “Will you linger awhile?”
“Nay. We will see you on the morrow.” Morgan’s words were clipped.
Brenna bid good-night, then placed her hand on Morgan’s arm, moving stiffly at his side as they took their leave.
They spoke not a word as they ascended the stairs to their suite of rooms. Morgan held the door for Brenna, then paused to speak to his men before following her inside.
The rooms had been prepared for the night. In the sitting room, a fire crackled in the fireplace. A chaise had been positioned in front of it. To one side a table held a decanter of wine and two goblets. On a tray were fruit and pastries.
A perfect room for lovers, Brenna thought. But she and Morgan Grey were far from lovers; they were enemies. And each day her dislike for this man grew.
A servant looked up as they entered. Seeing Morgan’s scowling face, she filled a goblet with wine and placed it in his outstretched hand.
Brenna pushed open the door to her sleeping chamber. A cozy fire burned within. The bed linens had been turned down. Across the bed was draped a gauzy ivory night shift of hand-worked lace and finest linen. The Queen’s seamstresses must have worked throughout the entire evening to turn out something so fine.
A second serving girl looked up from the fire she had been attending. She hurried to Brenna’s side and began to assist her in removing her gown and petticoats. When Brenna was dressed in her night shift, the maid brushed her long hair until it fell in soft waves to her waist.
Brenna thought about old Morna, her nurse since childhood. Those old, awkward fingers would have fumbled with the buttons of this fine gown. And the hairbrush would have snagged and pulled at her long hair. But oh, how desperately she missed that dear, wrinkled face.
“Would you like anything, my lady?”
“Nothing. Thank you.”
Brenna watched as the serving girl scooped up her clothes. On the morrow they would be clean and pressed and hung neatly, awaiting the next time their mistress needed them.
“Good night, my lady.”
“Good night.”
Before the door closed, Brenna’s smile faded. The shadow of a guard could be seen just beyond the open doorway, reminding her again that all this finery did not hide the fact that she was a prisoner. Morgan Grey took no chance that she might attempt to escape into the night.
She felt a wave of loathing for the man who had brought her to this place of horrors. It was because of him that she had been taken from her home, And because of him she would be forced into marriage with one of his countrymen. She would rather face death at the hands of her guards than endure such a fate.
She buried her face in her hands, to blot out the terrible thought of a lifetime spent in such decadence.
~ ~ ~
Morgan dismissed the servants. He needed to be alone. To think. To brood.
He drained his goblet and stared into the flames of the fire. He was still seething with fury at the scene he had witnessed on the balcony.
What fine irony that he should feel anything at all for the Scotswoman. She was not his responsibility. He had merely been following Elizabeth’s orders. He’d no choice but to bring her here. But that decision had cost him. Cost him dearly.
He was a man who lived alone by choice. He liked his life the way it was. And he resented having this woman thrust upon him like a stray pup. His eyes narrowed. Especially now that he had discovered the sort of woman she was.
Lord Windham. His hand curled into a fist. He reached for the decanter and filled his goblet. If she had gone off with anyone but Windham, he might have been able to overlook it.
He drank again and shook his head slightly. Nay. That was a lie. Even if it had been one of the others, he still would have been angry. But the thought of her with Windham sickened him.
He drained his goblet, then suddenly hurled it against the hearth where it shattered into a thousand pieces. With a savage oath he turned and stormed toward Brenna’s sleeping chamber.
At the sound of shattering glass and the door opening, Brenna turned. The commanding figure of Morgan Grey filled the doorway.
For a moment she could not speak. Then she swallowed back her fear and stiffened her spine.
“You have no right to come into my sleeping chamber.”
His voice was controlled and tight with fury. “You will not speak to me of rights.”
“I order you to leave here at once.”
“You order, my lady?” There was the thread of steel in his tone. “Have you forgotten that you are no longer in Scotland? You can issue no orders here, Brenna MacAlpin. You heard the queen. Until she decides what to do with you, you are my prisoner—” he spoke each word very carefully “—to do with as I please.”
Her throat went dry. “Why have you come here?”
There was something new in her tone. Fear? That thought pleased him. She should be afraid of him. His temper was something to be feared and it was time she had a taste of it.
He studied the way she looked in the glow of firelight. Her hair, black as midnight, fell in a luxurious cloud around her face and shoulders. The pristine night shift gave her a look of innocence. But this was no innocent child before him. She was a woman. A beautiful, enticing creature. Every line and curve of her lush body could be seen through the opaque fabric. Her little scene with Windham on the balcony had shown him that she knew very well how to use her body, her beauty, to her advantage.
He’d had the impression, when they were in her country, that the lass was an innocent. But now he knew better. He felt his temper slip another notch, until he could no longer control it. She was no better than the women at court.
A warning sounded in his mind, but before he took the time to think, his hand snaked out, catching her by the wrist.
“I came here to teach you a lesson.”
“No.” She tried to pull back but she was no match for him.
He dragged her roughly against him and pulled her hands behind her in a painful grip. “You have strained my patience to the breaking point.” His breath was hot against her cheek. “And I am not a patient man.”
“Damn you, Morgan Grey.” She felt a welling of tears and blinked them away. “Damn you to hell.”
He shot her a dangerous smile. “Oh, I already know my eternal destination, my lady.” He plunged a hand into the tangles of her hair and drew her head back until he was staring deeply into her eyes.
He had not come in here for this. In fact, he’d had no plan in mind. It was merely his intention to vent some of his anger. But now that he was holding her, there seemed to be no turning back.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his head.
She knew what he intended to do, but she was helpless to stop him. Her heart began a painful hammering in her chest. She could not cry out; could not even speak. Her eyes remained open, watching, watching until his lips closed over hers.
As his mouth met hers she felt the first wild rush of sensation and struggled to resist it. This was, after all, not a kiss, but a punishment. She had to resist feeling anything at all for this monster. But the fire in him engulfed her, like a flame set to dry leaves.
The kiss was raw and savage like the man. There was so much passion in him.
Again it seemed there was no time for soft, seductive kisses, or sweet, honeyed words. There was only this need building inside with the force of a raging tide. And as his mouth plundered hers, she gave up all attempts at a struggle and endured rigidly in his arms.
His hands moved along her back, drawing her firmly against him.
The first stirrings of pleasure curled along her spine. Where had all these strange new feelings come from? How was it possible that this cruel tyrant should be the one to open the floodgate to a passion that had slumbered for so long?
Slowly, against her will, her arms found their way around his waist. Her lithe young body strained against his.
He felt her gradual surrender and thrilled to it. For a moment he lifted his head and touched a finger to her swollen lips. Lips that seemed to have been made for him alone.
What was there about this damnable female that brought out a tenderness in him that he was determined to deny? His hand stroked her cheek, then slid around to cup the back of her head. He avoided looking into her eyes, and concentrated instead on lips still swollen from his kiss.
He was not, he thought savagely, a tender man. Whatever tenderness he had once known had been brutally cut away years ago.
His lips covered hers once more in a hot, hungry kiss that left her breathless.
His big hands slid along her body to her hips and dragged her against him, alerting her to his complete arousal. Though she thought of pushing away, the thought was gone in an instant.
Kisses were no longer enough. He longed to fill himself with the taste, the smell, the feel of her. He needed to fill himself with this woman.
She felt herself slipping beyond reason into a world of mindless pleasure, where the only thing that mattered was this man and the feelings he aroused in her.
His lips left hers to follow the line of her jaw to her neck. He ran kisses along the sensitive column of her throat, and thrilled to her trembling response.
She sighed and arched in his arms, giving him easier access. But when his strong fingers tore at the lace bodice of her gown, a moment of sanity rose through the layers of mist that clouded her mind.
“This is madness.”
“Aye. Madness.” For an instant he lifted his head and seemed to remember who they were, where they were. He studied her lips, swollen from his kisses. Though he knew that he had no right, he could not stop himself. He brought his lips to hers, tasting, nibbling, seducing.
No woman had ever tasted as sweetly innocent. Was she truly what she appeared, or was she just a clever actress? At the moment it didn’t matter. At this moment nothing mattered except the pleasure of her lips.
Brenna felt everything, experienced everything, with unbelievable clarity: the musky, masculine scent of him; the warmth of his breath as it mingled with hers; the way his hands felt, strong and firm; the fragrance of candle wax and wood smoke as it filled the room; the sound of their heartbeats thundering in perfect rhythm.
Morgan hadn’t wanted this; hadn’t planned it. If anything, he had wanted her to taste his temper, not his need.
Need. Never had he needed anyone with such desperation. What had this woman done to him? How had he let it go this far? She was taking over his senses, filling his mind, crowding out all other thought. And yet she was wrong for him.
He was a soldier, who had probably met her father, her uncles, her clansmen, on the battlefield. She was a foreigner, who hated his beloved land.
She was too innocent, too inexperienced, for a rake like him. Aye, his first instincts about her were correct, he knew, as his lips moved over hers. She was a virgin who would expect the man who took her innocence to wed her.
Marriage. The thought seemed to come from nowhere. Marriage to Brenna MacAlpin would be an adventure like no other. She was the kind of woman who made a man think about marriage, and children, and forever.
He came to his senses, abruptly cutting off such thoughts. What foolishness was this?
He knew he had taken her too far, too fast. Or had she taken him? Still he lingered, unwilling to break contact. One more kiss. One more taste of her. One more touch.
Morgan tasted her honey sweetness one last time and dragged himself away.
They were both shaken by what they had just experienced. And both too proud to admit it.
Brenna was shocked by the strange new feelings that surged through her. Hundreds of tiny pulses seemed to throb within her. Her body hummed. Her knees were weak, and to hide it, she stood very still, lifting her head at a haughty angle.
Morgan tensed, watching her. He held his hands stiffly at his sides. He had come in here to shake her, to throttle her. Instead, he had just lost something of himself to this woman. Something he’d sworn no woman would ever again take.
His voice was rough. “I have decided that we leave on the morrow for Greystone Abbey.”
“Greystone Abbey?” Her eyes widened.
“My manor house in Richmond. Where you can be removed from anyone who might be persuaded to help you escape England. Once there you will do nothing without my permission. And where you go, my soldiers go with you. Is that clear?”
“And...” She hadn’t known it would be so difficult to speak. She swallowed and tried again. “If I wish to bathe, my lord?” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “Will you at least have the decency to leave me to my privacy?”
His eyes flashed. “Unless I say otherwise, even that privilege will not be granted.” His lips curved into a thin, tight line. He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I may, of course, enjoy keeping you under my watchful eye while you bathe.”
She slapped his hand away.
His eyes narrowed. “You will not be alone, do you understand?”
“I understand that you are a cold, unfeeling animal.”
His hand snaked out so fast she had no time to move. He caught her by the arm and dragged her close, until his lips were mere inches from hers. Once again she felt drawn to him.
“I am neither cold nor unfeeling, my lady, as we both well know. But I am not about to become a fool for you. I suspect that you will use anything, or anyone—” his thoughts flew to the scene with Windham and his fury returned “—to help you evade your fate and return to Scotland.”
“Scotland.” Her voice broke and he saw the way her lower lip suddenly trembled as tears filled her eyes. “Aye. I will never rest until I am allowed to return to my home.”
“England is your home now.” He turned, unwilling to be moved by her pain. “The queen has decreed it. And I intend to see to it that you do not attempt another escape with the likes of Windham.”
He strode quickly from the room, suddenly eager to escape from her. As he moved to his own sleeping chambers, he heard the scrape of something heavy being moved in Brenna’s room.
His eyes narrowed. Damn the woman. She was barring him from entering her room. Were he not so weary, he would tear down the door and send the barricade crashing across the room.
He entered his room and peeled his clothes away. He would deal with her even more harshly on the morrow.