“I must leave Richmond soon, Morgan, or go mad. The palace smells like a barnyard.”
“It is not safe for you to travel, Majesty. There have been too many accidents.”
“I will have you by my side.” The queen gave Morgan her most persuasive smile. “What can go wrong when you are with me?”
“I cannot be two places at once. You want me to guard the Scotswoman, and you want me to keep you safe.”
Elizabeth’s temper flashed. “I wish to relieve this boredom. I must get away from Richmond.”
He strode to the balcony and stared at the gentle, rolling countryside. Who could believe that an evil plot could be brewing in this tranquil setting?
He turned as a sudden thought struck. “Would you be willing to spend some time at Greystone Abbey now?”
The queen clapped her hands and got to her feet. “Oh, yes, Morgan. I’ve been hoping you would invite me. We could hunt. And have a splendid tea in your gardens. And a great feast...”
He held up his hand to stop her. “I had thought you would come alone.”
“But I must have my servants. And a cook. You know I cannot abide Mistress Leems’s cooking. And Madeline and Charles. And...”
She saw the look on his face and hesitated. “I will bring only those who are absolutely necessary to my comfort and happiness, Morgan. I promise you.”
He gave an exasperated sigh. “As you wish, Majesty. I will make the necessary arrangements.”
~ ~ ~
“I was just heading for the garden, my lady.” Richard took pity on the young woman who spent most of her time locked away in her chambers while his brother rode each day to Richmond Palace. He had been quick to note the tension between these two. There was something between Brenna and Morgan. Something more than captor and captive. “Would you care to accompany me?”
“Aye.” She moved along by his side while a servant pushed his chair.
The garden consisted of rows of hedges interspersed with formal plantings of roses. Stones had been set in the ground to form a walkway. Here and there in the garden were benches set beneath gnarled old trees. Like the house, the garden had a look of loving neglect, still clinging to a faded beauty of another time.
“Would you prefer the sun or the shade?” Brenna asked.
“The sun. It shines all too seldom to suit me.”
“Aye.” Brenna paused to inhale the fragrance of a drooping pink blossom. “Your roses need tending, my lord.”
“Aye. As does everything at Greystone Abbey.” Richard signaled for the servant to leave them. He idly plucked a rose and lifted it to his face. “How I used to love tending the roses. This garden was our mother’s favorite. When she was alive, it rivaled even the queen’s own. But since her death, there is no one to love it and care for it.”
“A pity. ’Tis such a lovely, peaceful place.”
“Aye. I suppose I could resume tending the flowers.” He lifted his head to study the flight of a songbird. “If I but had wings.”
Brenna studied him while he spoke. For a moment she saw in his eyes a fire. Then he blinked and it was gone.
He turned to look back at the house. “Greystone Abbey, too, has grown shabby from neglect. It lacks a woman’s touch.” He grew pensive for a moment. “Perhaps we all do.”
“Tell me about your mother.”
“She was the daughter of a Scottish nobleman.”
“A Scot? Your mother was not English?”
“Nay.” He chuckled at the look in her eyes. “Are you scandalized, lass?”
“Aye.” She leaned forward, her eyes aglow, her features suddenly animated. “How was it that your father did not marry one of his own?”
“The Greys have ne’er held with tradition. While on a mission to Scotland for King Henry, my father beheld a lass who took his breath away. He inquired about her, and asked the king to arrange a meeting with her family. When they refused permission for my father to marry their daughter, he vowed he’d win her anyway. In the dark of the night he climbed to her balcony and spent the night persuading her to love him. By morning they had lain together. And her father, knowing that his daughter had been sullied by the English savage and was thus no longer desirable to the Scottish lairds, reluctantly permitted their marriage.”
Brenna’s eyes were wide. “Did your mother live to regret her hasty decision?”
“Regret? Nay, lass. I have never known two happier people than my father and mother. Until the day death separated them, they were deeply in love.”
“How did your father’s English family accept his bride?”
“As I told you, the Greys do not follow tradition. My father’s mother was from Wales. And my father’s brother married an Irishwoman.” Richard saw the look on Brenna’s face and said softly, “As my grandfather used to say with a twinkle in his eye, ‘The Grey family speaks in many dialects, but the heart understands them all.’”
Brenna bowed her head and studied her clasped hands, digesting all that he had told her. Was it not true of her own family as well? She had been horrified to learn that her beloved sister, Meredith, had given her heart to a Highland barbarian. But there was no denying the love between them.
“Come, lass. Let me show you the rest of the garden.”
With Brenna pushing his chair, Richard pointed out the trees he and Morgan had planted as lads, and the fountain, now broken, where they had splashed away many a summer’s day.
“Morgan was always like a young bull, storming into every fray with his fists raised, his blood hot for battle. And as often as not he’d end up with his nose bloodied and his eyes blackened. But he never learned. The next day he’d be back, ready to do battle again.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at Richard’s amusing stories, and found it oddly appealing to think of Morgan Grey as a young boy. Appealing and quite touching.
“Greystone Abbey must hold many happy memories for you,” she said as they moved toward the courtyard.
“Aye. It was here that I came after my—” he studied the robe that covered his legs “—accident. London was too busy. I felt lost there. There was no place for a cripple who could no longer fight in battle.”
Brenna saw the pain in his eyes and without thinking dropped to her knees and clasped his hand in hers. “Please my lord—Richard—do not speak so cruelly of your affliction.”
“Cripple? Does the word offend you?” He touched a hand to her hair and with a gentle smile lifted her palm to his lips. “It no longer matters, lass. I know what I am. I accept the fact that I cannot do the things I once did. Here I have found peace. Greystone Abbey has always been a soothing balm for my family.”
For some of his family, perhaps. As Brenna smoothed down her skirts and directed Richard’s chair through the entrance, she thought of the other Lord Grey, tense, angry, concerned for the queen’s safety. He had spent the past week traveling constantly between his home and the queen’s palace at Richmond.
Though she told herself that she dreaded their next confrontation, she found herself listening for the sound of his horse’s hooves. When at last he returned, she felt her heart begin to race.
Could it be that she was actually beginning to enjoy her verbal duels with this Englishman? There could be no other logical reason she would look forward to the return each clay of Morgan Grey.
~ ~ ~
“I will wear this gown to sup, Rosamunde.” Brenna pointed to a delicate lavender gown of satin, with bodice and sleeves encrusted with pearls.
“It is beautiful, my lady.” With a minimum of words Rosamunde set about ordering one serving girl to prepare a bath while the other set out the gown and layers of petticoats. There were stockings, matching kid slippers and even pearl-encrusted ribbons for her hair.
“How do you magically come up with these beautiful clothes, Rosamunde? In the weeks I have been here, you have surprised me with a new gown each day.”
The girl put a hand to her mouth and gave a shy laugh. “There is no magic. My Lord Grey has instructed the seamstresses to provide whatever you request.”
“Which Lord Grey? Richard or Morgan?”
“Lord Morgan Grey, my lady.”
Again Brenna felt the familiar ripple of pleasure at the maid’s words and wondered about it. Why should a simple kindness from Morgan cause her such joy?
“And since you are too much of a lady to ask for anything,” Rosamunde continued, “I do it for you.”
Brenna laughed. “I have no need of all these clothes. A simple morning gown is enough.”
“My lady, you spend far too much time lately overseeing the scullery and kitchen, and not nearly enough time worrying about your wardrobe. A fine lady should not bother with such mundane things as the household supplies. Soon you will be the wife of a wealthy nobleman, and you will no longer need to concern yourself with Greystone Abbey.”
Her words caused a surprising ache in Brenna. She forced herself to hide the pain. Why should she care about this faded old manor and the people who dwelled here? Were they not, after all, hated English?
“I have seen the fine work Mistress Leems does. But she is overburdened in the refectory and seems glad of my assistance.”
“Aye, Mistress Leems has told everyone of your gracious help.”
Brenna brushed aside her compliment. “I welcome the opportunity to have something to do. It passes the time.”
Rosamunde tied the last ribbon in Brenna’s hair, then gave a nod of satisfaction. Shooing the other servants from the room, she scooped up Brenna’s discarded clothing and prepared to take her leave.
Touching her arm, Brenna stopped her. “Since leaving Scotland I have thought often about my old nurse, Morna, who has been with me for a lifetime. Despite failing eyesight and gnarled old hands, she is truly a treasure. As, it seems, are you.”
For a moment the servant seemed overcome. In all the years that she had been in service, she had never before been thanked for her work. The wealthy were accustomed to pampering. They took it for granted that it was their due.
“I would be your friend as well, my lady,” she murmured.
“I am most grateful. I can use a friend.”
Both women looked up at the sound of footsteps. Rosamunde opened the door, then bowed her way from the room. Morgan stood in the doorway, his gaze fastened on the vision before him in lavender satin.
“It would seem that the seamstresses from the village have earned their pay.”
She felt the warmth rush to her cheeks at his compliment. “You are too generous.” Brenna crossed the room and accepted his outstretched hand. She steeled herself for the jolt that always came at his touch. “I have no need of such fine gowns.”
“Since it is my fault that you have no wardrobe, it is my responsibility to provide one that befits my guest.”
He placed a hand over hers and led her down the stairs. “Mistress Leems has been crowing about your skill with the household. She says it is at your direction that the heavy draperies at the windows have been taken down, thus allowing the sunlight to touch even the darkest corners of this old house.”
“I hope you do not mind. I thought perhaps Richard could see more clearly with the windows free of clutter. He spends so much time there looking at the world outside these walls.”
“I am most grateful, my lady.”
Morgan studied the gleaming hallway floors as they made their way to the refectory. Inside, the darkened walls had been scrubbed until they shone. The scarred wooden tables were freshly polished. The dark draperies had been removed, allowing sunlight to play over the spotless marble floors. The chimneys had been swept, allowing the smoke to escape instead of filling the room. Everywhere he looked, it was as if Greystone Abbey had awakened from a deep slumber. The servants whispered about the lady who worked alongside them, polishing everything until it gleamed. She would be considered a harsh taskmaster, except for the fact that she did not order anything done that she would not do herself.
“Did you oversee your home in Scotland with such care, my lady?”
“Aye.” She felt a fleeting pang at the thought of her home. “My sisters, alas, detested woman’s work, preferring to practice the use of weapons with our father’s men.”
“I seem to recall that you showed no lack of skill with a knife, my lady.” He touched a hand to the scar at his chest, causing Brenna to blush.
“Aye. And given a sword I could best many of your soldiers, my lord. ’Twas as much a part of our training as baking bread or sewing a fine seam.”
“Beware, brother. A potent combination.” Richard, seated in his chair at the table, looked up at their arrival. “A woman who can cook, sew and wield a sword. Your chances for betrothal grow more numerous with each passing day, my lady.”
Brenna felt the heat on her cheeks and ducked her head, missing the scowl on Morgan’s face. But it was not lost on his brother. So. Morgan was not as eager for the lady to be taken off his hands as he claimed. Richard decided to pay a little more attention to Morgan and Brenna while they supped. He enjoyed nothing as much as a chance to tweak his obstinate brother’s nose.
When Morgan’s men were seated the servants entered the dining hall bearing steaming trays of venison, pheasant and partridge, as well as baskets of bread warm from the ovens. Richard and Morgan filled their plates, then began to eat in their usual lusty manner. Brenna picked at her food and watched as the men devoured everything and signaled to the servants for more.
“What have you done to this venison?” Morgan asked the housekeeper.
“I prepared it a new way, my lord. Do you disapprove?”
“Nay. It is the best you’ve ever made, Mistress Leems.” The housekeeper cast a shy glance at Brenna. “The Lady Brenna told me how her family prepared venison in Scotland. I thought I would try it.”
Morgan glanced at the woman beside him, then continued eating.
“Even the bread tastes different. Better,” Richard added, taking a mouthful.
“The Lady Brenna showed the cooks how to make scones and clotted cream.”
Richard reached for several more before dismissing the servant.
“What is this?” Richard asked.
“Brandied pudding.” Mistress Leems watched as he savored the new treat. “Do you like it, my lord?”
“Very tasty.” When he had eaten every bite, he called the servant over for more. “Why have you never made this before, Mistress Leems?”
The housekeeper stifled a smile. “I had not the recipe, my lord, until the Lady Brenna told me about it.”
“You had a hand in this as well, lass?” Richard turned to Brenna.
“Aye. ’Twas my father’s favorite.”
“I can see why.” Richard filled his plate, then watched as Morgan helped himself to more.
“Lass,” Richard said between bites, “is there anything you cannot do well?”
She could not contain the smile that split her lips and touched her eyes. “I am pleased that you enjoyed your meal, Richard.”
“What about you, Morgan?” Richard stared across the table at his brother. “You seem to have put away an inordinate amount of food.”
“Aye.” Morgan turned to the woman beside him. “I do not remember when I have enjoyed a meal more.”
A warm glow enveloped Brenna as she left the refectory. Beside her Morgan pushed his brother’s chair. She could not fathom why she had begun to care what this Englishman thought. But if she would be honest with herself, she had to admit that she’d been holding her breath throughout the meal in hopes that he would not be angry at the changes she had suggested.
Morgan paused outside the door to the library. “Do you wish to retire to your room?”
“I am not at all weary, my lord.”
“Then perhaps you will stay with us a while.”
“Thank you.” She followed them inside the cheery, book-filled room.
A servant entered bearing a tray containing a decanter and goblets.
Brenna paused beside a chess set and ran her fingers along the ornately carved pieces.
“Do you play, my lady?”
“My father was an avid player. It was a rare treat when one of my sisters or I managed to beat his strategy.”
“Then I challenge you,” Richard said.
With a laugh Brenna took a seat across from him and made the first move. Within minutes they were caught up in the game.
Across the room Morgan poured himself a goblet of wine and studied the woman whose dark hair glowed in the light of the fire. She frowned over the chess piece in her hand, then made her move. Richard burst into gales of laughter at her mistake and snatched up her piece. After a moment’s hesitation, she joined him in laughter until the two of them were wiping tears of laughter from their eyes.
“You take advantage of the fact that I have not played this game in many years.”
“It is like holding a sword, lass. You never forget.”
“Aye. It will come back to me. And when it does, I will best you.”
“Of that I have no doubt. Your move, lass.”
Brenna bent over the board and studied the pieces, then made another move. This time Richard’s brow arched as he shot her a look of admiration.
“I see that it is all coming back to you, lass.”
“Aye.” She watched as he made his move, then countered.
After only four more moves, Richard realized that they were hopelessly deadlocked. With a little bow, he grinned. “Are you certain you have not played this game in years, lass?”
“Well, I may have played a few times with my sisters.”
“Ah. And you simply forgot to mention that fact.”
She shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “I may have forgotten.”
Richard threw back his head and roared. “You are devious, lass. Like a soldier on a battlefield. You deliberately caused me to relax my guard so you could learn my strategy.”
She smiled at him across the table. “Aye, but no matter. ’Tis only a game.”
“Nay. For a soldier who can no longer go to battle, it is more than a game. It is a challenge of skill. To beat me, you must think like a soldier.”
“Aye.” She studied the man across the chessboard. “When next I challenge you, Richard, I will beat you.”
“I look forward to our duel, lass.” He looked up at his brother, who stood beside the fireplace, his hand resting on the mantel. “Bring me a goblet, Morgan, and let me celebrate the fact that I have finally found someone who will force me to work at this game. Unlike,” he added with a wink to Brenna, “most of those who challenge me in this place.”
With a smile Morgan filled two goblets and handed them to Richard and Brenna. It pleased him to see his brother so animated. How ironic that it should be this reluctant Scotswoman who should bring such changes to Greystone Abbey and its inhabitants.
As Morgan handed his brother a goblet he grinned. “You only beat me because I allow it.”
“You have not beaten me at chess in over a year. I only challenge you to keep my hand in the game.”
As Morgan filled his goblet, Brenna studied the flames of the fire. Except for the hiss and snap of the logs, there was no sound to break the stillness.
“There is such peace here,” Brenna said to Richard. “I can understand why you wanted to be here.”
“It was not peace I sought. ’Twas sanctuary from the cruel stares, the helplessness I felt.”
She heard the pain in his words and grew silent. But with effort, Richard pulled himself out of his dark thoughts. “Is there such a place in your land, lass?”
She shook her head. “If only there could be such peace for my people. It is my most fervent wish for them. Alas, my poor land has been besieged for generations. There is no safe refuge for my clan.”
“If you accede to Elizabeth’s wishes, there can be peace between our people.” Morgan’s tone was abrupt. “Is marriage to an Englishman such a terrible price to pay?”
Brenna went very still. Hadn’t the same question been troubling her for days now? Yet, if the thought of sacrificing herself was repugnant, the thought of sacrificing her sister was too painful to contemplate.
“I believe I could endure anything for the sake of my people. If your queen would agree that my marriage would seal a bond of peace, I would accede to her wishes. But I will not allow Megan to be part of the grand design.”
“Megan?” Richard was suddenly alert.
“My younger sister. She escaped into the Highlands before I was captured.”
Richard looked impressed. “She eluded your men, Morgan?”
“Aye. At her sister’s coaching she made it to the safety of the forest, where she was swallowed up. But there was no need to go after her. The Lady Brenna was our prize.”
Prize indeed. Richard stared at the woman who sipped her wine, then glanced at his brother, who watched her through narrowed eyes. He finished his wine and stifled a yawn.
“I would retire now, Morgan.”
“So soon?”
“The Lady Brenna had me in the garden for hours today, supervising the planting of trees.”
Morgan was suddenly alert. “You planted trees, my lady?”
Brenna flushed, knowing that she had overstepped her bounds. “Forgive me, my lord. But several of the trees were beyond saving. And I thought...” Her cheeks grew several shades darker. “I had no right.”
“If Richard approved of them, you had every right.” He turned to his brother. “Where are the trees planted?”
“Near our old fountain. They shade our mother’s old rose garden.”
Morgan felt both a flush of pleasure and a trace of annoyance. “I will see these trees on the morrow.”
Stepping behind his brother’s chair, he began to push it toward the doorway. A waiting servant took the chair when they had bid good-night.
“Come, my lady,” Morgan said abruptly. “I will see you to your room.”
As they climbed the stairs Morgan said casually, “I have invited the queen to Greystone Abbey for a hunt. She will be bringing Madeline and Charles along. I thought you might like to see them.”
Brenna’s smile was quick. “Aye, my lord.”
“Then I shall invite them to stay on for several days if you would like.”
“Thank you.” At the door to her room Brenna paused. “When will they be here?”
“As quickly as it can be arranged.”
Brenna felt her spirits soar. She would not feel nearly so alone with Madeline here.
“Thank you, my lord.”
He startled her by touching a hand to her cheek. “If I had but known that Madeline’s visit would bring such a bloom to your cheeks, I would have invited her here days ago.”
The rush of heat was so swift she felt suddenly lightheaded. For long minutes he stared down into her eyes, and she sensed that he was going to kiss her.
For a moment her heart forgot to beat. She waited, anticipating the touch of his mouth to hers.
Morgan paused, toying with the idea of brushing her lips with his. A warning bell sounded in his mind. It was extremely dangerous to kiss this woman. Each time, he’d had to walk through fire to resist taking her.
He studied the soft, seductive lips, the invitation in her eyes, and stepped back, breaking contact. It was difficult enough to sleep, knowing the woman slept but a room away. If he were to kiss her, sleep would elude him for the entire night.
“Sleep well, my lady.”
He dropped his hand and strode quickly away.