Morgan glanced from Brenna's flushed cheeks to Lord Windham's dark
scowl and reacted instinctively by taking a menacing step closer.
Windham studied the protective way Morgan stood beside Brenna. A hint
of a cruel smile touched his lips. So, Morgan Grey had become the
lady's protector. Nothing would give him more satisfaction than
putting Grey in his place. He turned to the queen.
"Majesty." His sharp tone commanded the attention of everyone in the
room.
"I should like to ask your blessing on a most--delicate subject."
Elizabeth's interest piqued.
"Is this not something that can be decided upon at court?"
"Nay, Majesty. You have expressed a desire to have this matter settled
as quickly as possible."
"What is it. Lord Windham?"
"I request permission to wed the Lady Brenna MacAlpin." At his words,
there was a collective gasp from those around him. And then a sudden,
shocked silence.
Brenna stood rooted to the spot. Shock rippled through her. She
stood, head bowed, hands gripped tightly together, trying desperately
to hold to some thread of control.
This could not be happening. Please God. Not marriage to this man.
Though she had once thought all Englishmen were kin to the devil, she
now knew that to be untrue. A few of the men here were kind and
generous souls. And one here had a special place in her heart, though
she was loath to admit it.
But there was about Lord Windham a hint of evil that set her teeth on
edge. It was not love that drove him to seek her hand. Nay, it was
something dark and chilling. Something she could not name that sent
terror churning in her veins.
Except for a slight narrowing of his dark eyes, Morgan showed
absolutely no emotion. He studied Windham, noting the look of triumph
on his features. Aye, it would please Windham to wear Brenna on his
arm like a trophy won in the games. From the time they were young,
Windham had always wanted the finest mount, the biggest estate, the
most beautiful woman at his side. Most of his possessions had been
gained by less than honorable means. And always, when his interest
waned, he would cast them aside for something even more exotic.
When the queen did not respond to Windham's request, he drew himself up
to his full height and lifted his head in an arrogant pose.
"As you have said, Majesty, the lady's temper would be a problem for
most men.
But I am certain I can control her. I am willing to do the noble thing
and take her as wife. "
Brenna was trembling so violently, she was forced to grip her hands
together until her knuckles were white with the effort. When the queen
opened her mouth to speak, Brenna stared at her with a pleading look in
her eyes. She swallowed the lump that threatened to choke her and
heard the queen's imperious tones.
"How kind of you, Lord Windham, to offer to take on the challenge of
marriage to the Scotswoman." Elizabeth's voice purred, with just a
hint of sarcasm.
"Would that all loyal subjects were so noble."
Brenna closed her eyes and prayed that she would not embarrass herself
by fainting again. If it killed her she would hold her head high, her
spine rigid, and face her punishment like a true Scots.
"Unfortunately," the queen continued, enjoying the drama of the moment,
"you are too late."
Someone gasped. Brenna wasn't certain if it had been her or someone
else.
The queen's words sent another shock through the guests.
"Morgan Grey has already asked for the lady's hand."
Chapter Sixteen
"I will choose a day for their official betrothal," the queen stated.
The crowd erupted into a great clamor of exclamations and
congratulations.
Brenna heard but a single word. Betrothal. Not to Lord Windham, but
to Morgan Grey. She was besieged by conflicting emotions. Relief,
that she had been spared the ordeal of marriage to the cruel Windham.
Outrage, that her fate had been so callously sealed without regard to
her feelings. But deep inside, despite her denials to herself, she
felt a thread of excitement that this man, whose very touch thrilled
her, would seek to wed her. English or no, he made her burn as no
other man ever had.
Morgan stood very still and regarded her reaction.
"A wedding. Cherie, how wonderful." While the others surged around
them, Madeline drew Brenna into her arms and hugged her, then turned to
Morgan with a laugh.
"How could you have kept such a thing from us during tea? You rogue.
How soon will you wed?"
"As soon as I have" -he turned toward the queen with a grave look
"--completed a favor for Her Majesty."
Richard pulled Morgan down in a fierce hug.
"Secrets, brother? I thought we told each other everything."
"I would have told you. If there'd been time."
"But you gave not a whisper."
"Aye. Some things are decided quickly."
"I am happy for you." Richard glanced at Morgan's grim features. He
threw back his head and laughed before muttering, "Smile, Morgan, else
they will think it is a funeral you are planning."
Morgan forced a grim smile to his lips.
His reaction was not lost on Brenna.
Cordell's face fell, but only for a moment. Covering his dismay, he
kissed Brenna's hand.
"My lady, I am fortunate to be here at such a time in your life. I
wish you all happiness."
"Thank you." Brenna felt her lips quivering and prayed she would not
give in to the tears that threatened.
From the time she had been a young girl, she had dreamed of a romantic
courtship and a fine wedding, with her sisters attending her and all
the people of their clan surrounding her.
What a foolish child she had been. A lump formed in her throat. What
silly, romantic dreams she had spun.
The Frenchman turned to Morgan and offered his hand.
"You are most fortunate, Lord Grey. Never have I met a lovelier lady
than yours."
Morgan could read the sincerity in the young man's eyes. And though he
still considered the callow youth to be offensive, he accepted his
handshake.
On Lord Windham's face was a look of unveiled hatred. For long moments
he studied the Scotswoman, then turned toward the man who had won her
hand. How many times had he been bested by Grey in the past? He felt
a wave of fury. Too many times to count. His need for vengeance was a
living, palpable thing. And yet, he cautioned himself, the duel was
not yet won.
He carefully composed his features and bowed over Brenna's hand.
"A
pity, my lady, that you must be saddled with frayed baggage like Morgan
Grey. "
"Frayed baggage?" She seemed puzzled.
"You did not know?" His lips curled into a cruel smile.
"Your intended has been wed before."
Wed before? Morgan had a wife? Brenna felt herself reeling from his
statement. But as she turned to Morgan for reassurance
, Lord Windham
continued, "Arrangements like this are common enough. As he did the
last time. Grey now acquires another piece of land, and you acquire an
English title. And in a few short months the two of you will feel free
to move on to other conquests." His smile grew.
"Other lovers."
Brenna shuddered at his suggestion.
He turned to Morgan, whose only show of anger was the little muscle
that worked in his jaw.
"Congratulations, Grey. I pray this lady remains loyal at least until
after the wedding."
The crowd had grown uncomfortably silent.
"Enough, Windham." The queen clapped her hands and ordered her
musicians to play a tender ballad.
"This shall be the lovers' dance.
Morgan, dance with your intended. "
Morgan turned to Brenna, whose face had gone pale.
"I fear I am overcome with--emotion, my lord."
He drew her firmly into his arms. She stiffened at his touch. The
queen's command merely added to her misery. How could she be expected
to dance in front of all these people when her whole life had just been
forever altered?
"Please, my lord. I feel faint."
His mouth hardened into a grim, tight line. Damn Windham for leaving
him no room for explanation. And damn the fates that had forced this
awkward situation.
Against her temple he whispered, "You will dance with me. And you will
observe protocol. You may not leave until the queen has excused
herself from our company. Then, and only then, will we speak of
this.
When we are alone in our rooms. "
Alone. Her heart nearly stopped. Through gritted teeth she muttered,
' "Aye. I will play your game, Morgan Grey. Until we are alone."
He pressed his lips to her temple. Instantly she felt the flame.
"And then what, my lady?"
The hand at her waist tightened perceptibly. Her breasts were
flattened against his chest. Even in her anger she felt her body react
to him. How was it that this man's touch could move her?
All eyes in the crowd were upon them. And though she cursed the desire
that surfaced, she could not deny it. With each movement she was
achingly aware of the thighs that brushed hers, of the strong, sure
hand that guided her.
"When we are finally alone, I will show you how a Scot fights."
He smiled down at her, a rogue's smile that could melt any woman's
heart, including hers.
"And I, my lady, will show you how an Englishman loves."
When the queen had taken her leave, the women fluttered about, their
voices a chorus of chattering birds.
"Did you see how Morgan devoured the Scotswoman with his eyes?"
"Aye. And did you see the way they whispered while they danced?"
"Is it a love match?" someone asked Madeline.
"How can it be otherwise, cherie? Are they not a handsome couple?"
"Is she very wealthy?"
"I have heard she commands an entire Scots army."
"What titles will she acquire upon marrying Morgan Grey?"
"He has received many honors from a grateful queen. His wife will be a
titled English lady."
"There are fabulous jewels in the Grey estate. Will he lavish them
upon his wife? Or will he save them for future mistresses?"
"What of his London house? Will the lady see it before the
marriage?"
As Brenna stood beside Morgan and bid good-night to their guests, she
heard comments. Her head was buzzing with words of congratulations and
whispered innuendos.
Wealth. Jewels. Mistresses. Did no one care that all this had been
forced upon her against her will?
Richard saw the look on her face and caught her hands, drawing her down
for his kiss.
"I have always wanted a sister," he murmured, hoping to ease some of
her pain.
"I cannot think of a better addition to our family than a wife for
Morgan who can cook like an angel and wield a knife like Satan
himself."
His words caused her to smile in spite of herself.
"Rest now, lass. And when you wish to talk, I will be here to
listen."
"Thank you, Richard."
As a servant wheeled his chair through the doorway, Adrianna's gaze
followed them.
When all their guests had taken their leave, Brenna placed her hand on
Morgan's arm and walked stiffly beside him up the stairs. By the time
they reached the sitting chamber, Brenna's heart was thundering in her
chest. So many questions. So many things about this man that she did
not know. And yet they were to be wed. Wed. God in heaven. How had
her mother felt when she had been betrothed at ten and five? And
Meredith.
When had she known, truly known, that she loved Brice, her Highland
barbarian? Oh, if only she could seek their council. If only she had
spent more time learning the ways of men and women.
In the sitting chamber a fire had been started on the grate. Candles
added a soft glow. A decanter of wine and two crystal goblets rested
on a silver tray on a low table.
Brenna's room was in darkness. No fire had been laid on the hearth.
From the open doorway she stared around her sleeping chamber. The bed
linens had been removed, as had her clothing.
"I do not understand." She turned.
Morgan pointed to his sleeping chamber.
"The servants have placed your things in my room, my lady."
Moving toward the fire, Brenna clutched her arms around herself and
shivered. Seeing it, Morgan filled the two goblets and crossed the
room to her.
"This will warm you."
She accepted the goblet and drank, grateful for anything that would
ease the chill that seemed to have seeped through to her soul.
"I regret," Morgan said, staring at the flames, "that you were forced
to endure that--public display, my lady. If I could have, I would have
prepared you for the ordeal. But there was no time."
When she said nothing he continued. "As for the shocking news of my
previous marriage, it is common knowledge among the London gossips. Of
course, you are not privy to such things, and so you did not know."
Brenna turned to look at him. His gaze was locked on the flames that
danced in the fireplace. His mouth was a thin, tight line of anger.
"I
was but a score when we were wed. In less than a year she was in the
grave. "
The look in his eyes was so bleak, Brenna longed to reach out to him,
to offer him a measure of comfort. But she did not know how.
"I am sorry, my lord. Even now, your grief is such that it pains you
to speak of it."
"Grief?" He turned to her then and she saw the pain etched on his
handsome features.
"You mistake bitterness for grief. I cannot grieve over what was never
mine."
She blinked.
"What are you saying?"
"The lady loved another. She only used me to make her lover jealous.
And to give his child a name. "
"Child! You have a child, my lord?"
"Nay." He drained the goblet and refi
lled it.
"The child died in her womb."
Without thinking she touched a hand to his sleeve.
"I am sorry, my lord."
He pulled away from her touch, but not before he felt the first
stirrings of desire.
"I do not want your pity."
She watched as he emptied the goblet a second time. There were no
words that she could speak. And yet she had to ask the question that
burned in her mind.
"Why..." She swallowed and tried again.
"Why, when you are so bitter, would you ask for my hand? It is obvious
that you do not wish to be wed again."
Why, indeed? Had he not asked himself this very question? His face
became an unreadable mask.
"I am, after all, responsible for bringing you to England. When I
surmised that Windham would speak for you, I knew that I could not
allow you to be placed under his cruel domination." He shrugged.
"I accepted my responsibility."
"Your responsibility?" In her fury, Brenna's hand tightened on the
stem of the goblet.
"Your responsibility?" The temper she had kept under such careful
control exploded. She turned on him with all the fury of a wounded
tigress.
"I will not be wed to a man out of some misguided sense of duty."
"Would you have me turn you over to Windham?"
"Nay. There is a much simpler solution to the problem. Let me return
to my home in Scotland."
As patiently as if he were explaining to a child he said, "The queen
has decreed..."
"Damn the queen! And damn you, Morgan Grey!" With uncharacteristic
vengeance she hurled the goblet against the fireplace.
Before she could turn away his hand snaked out, catching her roughly by
the shoulder. In his eyes was the barest hint of a smile.
"So. It is as I suspected. Beneath the cool facade the lady does have
a temper."
"I told you I would show you how a Scot fights." She tried to push
away, but the hands holding her were too strong.
He dragged her firmly against him.
"And I told you I would show you how an Englishman loves."
"No. You cannot..."
He cut off her protest, crushing her mouth with his.
She felt the rush of heat that always seemed to swamp her at his touch.
And then she felt the tremors begin as his mouth plundered hers. Wave
after wave of feeling poured through her as his mouth moved over
hers.
She pounded her fists on his shoulders until she was exhausted from
the effort, but he continued to pin her as effortlessly as if she were
a small child.
"Has any Scotsman ever kissed you like this?" he muttered against her
lips.
He traced the outline of her lips with his tongue, and she gave an
involuntary shudder.
He parted her lips and invaded the sweetness of her mouth. She gasped
and tried to pull away, but he was too strong. For long moments he
stared down at her, seeing the angry flare that darkened her eyes to
midnight blue.
With his hands on either side of her face he kissed her slowly,
thoroughly, lingering over her lips until the heat flickered, then
flared, then burst into an inferno, threatening to sear them.
"Has any Scotsman ever made you burn like this?" His breath was hot
against her cheek.
"Damn you."
"Aye. I am damned," he rasped, plunging his hands into her tangles of
silken hair. She tried to pull away but his hands tightened, holding
her head still.
He bent his head and kissed her again and again until she was forced to