tangles, Morgan had an almost overpowering urge to take the brush from
her hand and complete the task himself.
He curled his hand into a fist and held it firmly by his side.
There was a knock on the door and a serving girl entered. Over her arm
was a morning gown of soft ivory wool and several petticoats. She
looked from Brenna, still clad in her night shift, to the man who
stood, half-naked, watching her. It was a most intimate scene.
"Forgive me, my lord," she sputtered, as she began to back from the
room.
"I shall return when the lady summons me."
"Nay." Morgan saw the look on Brenna's face and nearly laughed
aloud.
She well knew that before the end of the day, everyone in the palace
would hear of this.
"Stay and assist the lady. It is time I dressed."
He had a sudden devilish thought. Under the serving girl's watchful
eye, he crossed the room and caught Brenna's chin in his hand. Lifting
it, he brushed his lips lightly over hers.
He had not expected the rush of feelings that could be caused by such a
simple touch. He felt the jolt, sudden, shocking, and forced himself
not to react as he turned away with a negligent shrug.
"Do not dally. We leave for Greystone Abbey within the hour."
Brenna was too stunned to respond. That was the first time he had ever
kissed her with any tenderness. And though she knew it meant nothing
to him, her body was still tingling.
She knew why he had played that little charade. He enjoyed humiliating
her in front of others. He wanted her, and all the others, to know
that she was powerless.
As he strolled across the room her hand tightened on the handle of the
brush. How she itched to toss it at his imperious head.
"Come. The horses are ready."
Morgan wore his familiar black. Breeches, doublet, tunic, all were
black. But the effect was softened by a crimson cape thrown rakishly
over one shoulder.
Brenna tossed a heavy wool traveling cloak over her shoulders and
lifted the hood. Morgan offered his arm and Brenna touched her hand
lightly to his sleeve. She felt the ripple of muscle beneath her touch
and saw in her mind the way he'd looked earlier, without his shirt. It
was an image she could not easily dispel. She felt her cheeks redden
slightly.
When they left the room the guards fell into step behind them.
In the courtyard were a dozen horses being held by grooms.
"Greystone Abbey is more than an hour's ride, my lady." Morgan
motioned to a gleaming carriage and six white horses.
"The queen has offered her carriage. Or, if you prefer, you may ride
one of her spirited mounts."
"I would ride, my lord. The carriage is too confining."
He was oddly pleased by her choice.
"I, too, much prefer the freedom of a mount to the confinement of a
carriage. But do not think," he added crisply, "that you will ride to
your freedom.
My men and I will be vigilant. "
Morgan helped her into the saddle, then mounted his own steed. To the
doorman he called, "My Lord Clive. Convey to the queen our gratitude
at her hospitality. And tell her that I shall return on the morrow."
"You may tell her yourself."
Morgan chuckled at the sight of the queen surrounded by her ladies and
a dozen or more nobles from the court.
"I had thought you to be preparing to break your fast, Majesty. I did
not wish to disturb you."
"What disturbs me more is seeing you go, Morgan. I had hoped to
persuade you to stay on at Richmond."
"I have been away from home too long, Majesty. There is much to see
to."
"When you have your affairs in order, I hope you and the Scotswoman
will return to the palace."
"Perhaps I can persuade Your Majesty to come to Grey- stone Abbey for a
day of hunting," he called.
The queen's eyes lit with fire.
"Ah. You know my weakness, you rogue.
I would like nothing better than the thrill of the hunt. You will
arrange it? "
"Consider it done."
The queen gazed at the woman whose horse was flanked by two mounted
guards.
"Godspeed, Brenna MacAlpin. May your fate soon be decided."
Brenna bowed her head.
"Thank you, Majesty."
Lord Windham pushed his way through the crowd and paused beside
Brenna's horse, catching the reins.
"A pity that you must leave just when we were becoming acquainted. Of
course," he added loudly enough for Morgan to hear, "I could always
arrange to attend the hunt with the queen. That way" -- a mocking
smile touched his lips "--we could continue what was so rudely
interrupted on the balcony last night."
Snatching the reins from his hand Brenna nudged her horse into a
trot.
As she did, she saw the black look on Morgan's face.
The queen and her followers called and waved as Morgan and his company
moved out smartly.
Before Brenna's departure Madeline d'Arbeville had stopped by her
chambers to relay what little she knew about Morgan Grey's home.
Greystone Abbey, it would seem, was an isolated manor house where
Morgan went to be alone. No one-had ever been invited there. He did
all his entertaining in his London house. But rumors persisted that
the queen was often entertained at Greystone Abbey. Entertained alone,
without servants or the others who always accompanied her on her brief
sojourns in the country.
What shocking secrets did he hide in that remote place?
Though Brenna inwardly trembled at the thought of being alone with
Morgan Grey, she was relieved to be doing more than sitting in a room
awaiting her fate. Perhaps there was something to occupy her time at
Greystone Abbey. Or perhaps, she thought with a sudden lifting of her
spirits, there would be a chance for escape.
Seeing her thoughtful expression, Morgan brought his horse close to
hers.
"If you are plotting your escape from my manor house, my lady, I would
suggest that you reconsider. I have no intention of allowing you the
freedom to move about as you please."
Brenna shot him a look full of hate.
"Perhaps you can chain me to my bed. Would that please you, my
lord?"
The thought was not an altogether unpleasant one. Especially if he
shared the bed with her.
His eyes crinkled with laughter.
"Perhaps. Though if I were going to chain you, 'twould more likely be
in my scullery, where you could at least earn your keep."
"Some day, when I am free of your tyranny, I will show you how I would
deal with a scoundrel like you in Scotland. I will find a special way
to thank you for every injustice."
He glanced down at her, enjoying the way her eyes darkened with
anger.
It was most interesting to see how the cool, haughty woman from
Scotland could lose her composure.
"You are most welcome, my lady."
She looked up to see the laughter touching the corner of his mouth,
lurking i
n his eyes. Her temper grew.
"You are enjoying my helplessness."
"You, my lady?" He threw back his head and laughed aloud, then touched
a hand to the wound that, though healing nicely, still caused him
enough pain to curse her name at times.
"I do not believe, in your whole life, that you have ever been
helpless. And I bear the scars to prove it."
She felt the flush creep along her throat and color her cheeks. There
were many men who would have relished holding captive one who had so
viciously attacked them. To his credit, Morgan Grey had shown
restraint toward her. She had to admit that he had treated her far
better than she would treat him under similar circumstances.
Brenna bit back the retort that sprang to her lips. He was trying to
goad her into a fight. She would not give him the satisfaction.
Instead she let down her hood and savored the breeze in her hair. It
was a perfect summer day. The sky was a clear, cloudless blue. She
lifted her face to the sun.
Morgan turned to study her. Under the dazzling sunlight she was as
breathtaking as she had been by candlelight.
"Tell me about your home, my lord."
"It has been in my family for generations. Elizabeth's father, King
Henry, built his palace nearby so that the two could meet whenever
Henry desired my father's council."
Morgan was unaware of the sparkle that came into his eyes while he
spoke of his home.
"And now Elizabeth has you nearby, in the event she desires your
council or--comfort."
"Aye." His voice held a note of amusement.
"Does that bother you, my lady?"
Brenna's brows arched in question.
"Bother me? Why should I care whom the Queen of-England chooses as her
council? Or her lover?"
Oh, he enjoyed sparring with her.
"Why indeed, my lady?"
They crested a hill and Morgan reined in his horse and pointed.
"There, my lady. On that distant rise is my home. Greystone Abbey."
Brenna stared at the green rolling hills and heavily wooded forests
that surrounded a graceful castle built of smoky gray stone.
As they drew closer, they approached a sleepy village. The word was
quickly passed that the lord of the manor was returning home. By the
time their horses entered the main road of the village, most of the
residents had nocked for a glimpse of Morgan Grey.
The women smiled shyly. Many of them held their children aloft for his
admiration. A woodsman stepped into the path of the lead horses and
removed his hat.
"So, William," Morgan called.
"Has the game been plentiful?"
"Aye, my lord. Thanks to you, we have all had our fill."
"The queen desires a hunt. Come to Greystone Abbey on the morrow. We
will make arrangements."
"Aye, my lord." The man's face was wreathed in smiles.
"I would be honored."
Brenna studied the faces in the crowd and felt more than a little
surprised. She had heard that the English queen wasted food while her
people went hungry. Yet these people looked happy and well fed.
In no time they had traversed the lane and were headed along a wide
road that led to the manor house.
As they entered the courtyard, several servants spilled from the door
and hurried forward to assist Morgan and his men from their mounts.
Morgan reached up and lifted Brenna from the saddle. She steeled
herself against his touch.
"Welcome, my lord.
"Tis good to have you home again."
"Thank you. Mistress Leems." He turned to a plump woman who stood in
the doorway wiping her hands on her apron.
"Does Richard know we are arrived?"
"Aye, my lord. He has been most anxious since your messenger told of
your plans. He has been at the window since sunrise."
Morgan placed his hand beneath Brenna's elbow, propelling her toward
the doorway.
"Mistress Leems, this is Brenna MacAlpin. She is to be our--guest."
Brenna was so shocked by Morgan's unexpected kindness, she could have
wept.
The housekeeper bowed.
"Welcome, my lady."
"Thank you. Mistress Leems."
Before she could exchange pleasantries, Morgan hurried her inside. His
impatience was evident.
They crossed a long hallway and paused before huge double doors. As
Morgan pulled open the doors to the great room a man, seated in a chair
by the window, turned.
Sunlight gleamed on his gray-streaked hair, and his dark eyes crinkled
with laughter.
"Morgan." His voice boomed out.
"You've been gone too long this time."
"Aye." In quick strides Morgan was across the room and clasping the
man in a great bear hug.
"Did those Scots bastards engage you in battle? Or did you find their
wenches too tempting? I can think of no other reason for you to be
gone this long."
"Guard your tongue. There's a lady present."
The man turned to study the slender figure who paused in the doorway.
"By all the gods. Don't tell me you've brought home a bride."
"You know better, Richard. She's the Scotswoman whose marriage will be
arranged by Elizabeth."
"Why is she here?"
"The queen has decided that since I brought her to England, she is my
responsibility until she is wed."
"Your responsibility?" The man roared with laughter.
"You mean the wench is your prisoner?" He turned to her.
"Come closer, lass, into the light where I can better see you."
She tossed her head in annoyance. She cared not for this rude man who
did not even bother to rise in her presence.
"Brenna MacAlpin," Morgan said softly, "I would have you meet my
brother, Lord Richard Grey."
Brother? Aye. She could see the similarity in their eyes,
and in the way their mouths were touched with the same roguish smile.
The man extended his hand and she offered hers. As he lifted her hand
to his lips, her glance slid to the fur throw that covered his lap.
The blanket had slipped, revealing his withered limbs.
She felt a twist of remorse at the unkind thoughts she had entertained.
This handsome man, Morgan's brother, did not rise to greet her because
he was confined to the chair.
Chapter Twelve
"Lord Grey."
"Richard," he corrected in his booming voice.
"Else we'll never know which Lord Grey you're addressing." He studied
her.
"You're a pretty thing. So you've come to England to be wed."
"To be bartered," she said quickly.
"For the cause of peace."
"Ah." His eyes crinkled.
"Life is unfair, isn't it, lass? Some men give their lives on the
battlefield for peace. You must give up your freedom. And I..." He
patted the robe on his lap.
"All I had to offer were my legs."
She prayed that her shock was not visible in her eyes.
"How, my lord?"
"A cart crushed them as I lay wounded on a Norwich battlefield. Now
they wither from lack of use. But it is a small price to pay to put
<
br /> down a rebellion."
"Small price? You are not bitter?"
"Aye. At times I burn with the unfairness of it all. But I've learned
that bitterness is a painful boil on the soul, lass. If allowed to
fester it will sap all the joy from life. Better to lance it, no
matter how painful, and allow the healing to begin. A bit of wisdom
I've tried to pass on to my brother," he added with a wry laugh, "to no
avail."
His eyes crinkled as he looked up at Morgan.
"Mistress
Leems has had the servants running about like sheep preparing a feast
for your return. She knows how you like to eat. "
"Good. We have had little to eat this day. I was impatient to be
home."
"How does Greystone Abbey look to you?"
Morgan met his brother's smile.
"As always, I am glad to be back in this peaceful place. I miss it
when I am gone too long."
"Aye. I recall the feeling."
For a moment both men grew silent. Then Morgan pressed a hand to his
brother's shoulder.
"We will talk soon." He walked to the door.
"If you will follow me, my lady, I will show you to your rooms."
As Brenna followed him from the room, she was aware of Richard's dark
gaze following her.
"Hurry back, lass. It's been a long time since Greystone Abbey was
graced with such beauty."
She shot him a quick smile before following his brother.
"How much older is Richard than you, my lord?" she asked as she
climbed the stairs beside Morgan.
"He is younger by a year."
"Younger. But his hair is streaked with gray."
"He lived hard and fast. Thank the Lord," he added.
"For now his whole world consists of that chair and that window."
She thought of the man beside her, and his reputation as a warrior and
a scoundrel. Was that what drove him? The fear that at any moment it
could all be taken from him in a single battle?
"I hope you will be comfortable here," he said, showing Brenna to a
suite of rooms on the second floor.
She glanced around at the dark stone walls hung with rich tapestries.
The floors were thickly carpeted. The furniture was ornate and
comfortable.
Outside the balcony window, the green hills were dotted with flocks of
sheep and cattle.
Everywhere there were signs of Morgan's great wealth. Yet the man did
not seem affected by it. The people in his village had greeted him
like a friend rather than the lord of the manor.
Brenna crossed to the sleeping chamber. A servant looked up from the
wardrobe, where she was hanging Brenna's traveling cloak.
"I am certain I will be most comfortable, my lord."
She continued to the balcony and glanced down. He saw the flash of
disappointment in her eyes as she spotted the guards below her
window.
"In case you have any thought of leaving, my lady," he said, crossing
to another door, "be warned." He threw open the door and she could see
his crimson cape on the bed.
"My rooms are beside yours. And I will permit no lock between them."
A serving girl, bearing a pitcher of water, paused outside the door.
"Refresh yourself," Morgan said abruptly.
"Mistress Leems will summon you for a midday meal soon."
Brenna sat in front of the looking glass while the serving girl
arranged her coal-black hair in a cascade of soft curls entwined with