by Ruth Langan
“So, my lady. You like to climb trees? Perhaps your English husband will buy you a manor house in the country and have trees planted there to amuse you.”
Though Morgan’s words were spoken lightly, she could read the angry scowl on his face.
“Will you climb down, my lady?” His words frosted over. “Or will I pull you down, unmindful of your modesty?”
“Modesty be damned.” She blinked back the tears of frustration that sprang to her eyes. A little more time, a few minutes more, and she would have been free.
Without a word she made her way down. Morgan’s fingers remained locked on her ankle until she dropped lightly into his arms.
As his men clustered around them, he leaned close and whispered, “There will be no more moments of privacy, my lady.”
“You cannot mean that.”
His dark eyes flashed. “You have convinced me that you are not to be trusted. You’d best pray that you have no need for relief between here and the queen’s residence, Brenna MacAlpin. For you are never leaving my side.”
“That is uncivilized.”
He flashed her a rare smile. “I never claimed to be otherwise.”
“The Queen’s standard flies at Richmond Palace, my lord.”
Morgan nodded and urged his tired mount along the winding path of the Thames. Once their party reached the royal grounds, their weariness seemed to vanish. Unmindful of the grime of travel staining their tunics, the men assumed a stiff military bearing. They passed long columns of soldiers patrolling the vast forest surrounding the palace and entered a road wide enough to allow a dozen horsemen to ride abreast.
They rode in silence until they reached the entrance courtyard. At their arrival several servants hurried forward to take their mounts.
There was a commotion from within, and several elegantly dressed gentlemen surged through the open portal. Leading the way was Alden, Morgan’s second in command. But instead of the drab garb of a soldier, he was dressed in the clothes of a titled gentleman, with satin breeches and fine tunic.
“At last,” he called, hurrying to his leader’s side.
Morgan slid from the saddle and unceremoniously dragged Brenna into his arms.
“What kept you, old friend?”
“The lady led us a merry chase.”
“But, as always, you managed to prevail.”
The two men shared a laugh.
“’Tis time to learn your fate, ice maiden.”
“You would not take me to your queen like this. Without even time to refresh myself.”
“Would I not?” Morgan gave her a dangerous smile. “And you look so fetching. Why, every nobleman at court will probably beg for the hand of my dirty little ragamuffin.”
“Please, my lord. I cannot be presented to the queen in such a fashion.”
He closed a hand over her arm and drew her firmly against him. “This is not a royal ball, my lady. And you are not here to be admired. Until the queen decrees otherwise, you are my prisoner.”
She gave him a hate-filled look and tried to pull away, but his fingers closed around her arm in a possessive manner.
To the keeper of the door he called, “Announce me to the queen, my Lord Clive. I come at Her Majesty’s request.”
The old man nodded and scurried away. Minutes later he returned. “The queen will see you immediately, my lord.”
As Brenna was hauled along beside Morgan, her throat went dry at the thought of meeting the Queen of England. If the rumors were true, Queen Elizabeth was a fascinating, beguiling, yet very shrewd monarch.
Alden cast a sympathetic glance at the woman being dragged roughly by his friend. “You could afford to give the lady a few moments to repair her toilette.”
“You have not spent the last days as I have, my friend, or you would not even suggest such a thing. The lady cannot be trusted out of my sight.”
One look at the hard set of Morgan’s mouth caused Alden to hold his silence. He knew when his friend had been pushed to the limit.
More than a hundred people milled about the great room, many of them clustered, talking in low tones. When they noted the standard of Morgan Grey, the hum of conversation increased. The Queen’s Savage was not a man who could pass unnoticed, even in a crowd.
When double doors were thrust open and a dozen or more gaily dressed men and women entered, all conversation ceased. The arrival of the gentlemen who preened like peacocks and the fawning ladies was the signal that the queen would now hold court.
Elizabeth walked alone, with no one to her right or left. Her gown was a dazzling midnight blue, with high ruffled neck and wide sleeves inset with jewels. The bodice was low, the waist tiny. A full skirt twinkled with hundreds of jewels, each one painstakingly sewn on by one of the queen’s army of seamstresses. A magnificent tiara of diamonds and sapphires nestled in her red curls.
She moved quickly, as though in a hurry. Even after she was seated upon her throne, she seemed to radiate energy. With an expectant look her glance scanned the crowd. When at last she spotted Morgan Grey, a warm smile touched her lips.
“At last, my brave warrior, you have returned to your queen. Come forward and tell me what female’s bed kept you from your queen’s side for so long.”
Brenna was shocked at the queen’s crude remark. And even more shocked to see that the men and women at court joined in a chorus of laughter at Elizabeth’s joke. She glanced at Morgan, expecting to see his famous scowl. Instead, his face was wreathed in smiles.
“Forgive me, Majesty, but someone must see to the business of the Crown.”
“Are you suggesting that it was royal business that kept you away so long?”
“Aye, Majesty. If you recall, you sent me to Scotland to investigate the possibility of wedding one of your titled gentlemen to the leader of the MacAlpin clan, whose lands lie on the border.”
“I recall much more, Morgan Grey. I recall that you bristled at such an assignment, suggesting that it was beneath your dignity as a warrior, and fit merely for a lackey. Yet this simple task has taken you away from me for too long. Did you not miss the sight of your queen?”
Morgan stepped closer, leaving Brenna encircled by his men. His voice warmed. “Aye, Majesty. I have missed not only your beauty, but your sharp tongue as well. There are few who can match words as my queen.”
Elizabeth threw back her head and laughed. “I, too, have missed our duel of wits, my Lord Grey. I am truly pleased that you have returned. Now tell me the outcome of your journey to Scotland.”
“The people are still mistrustful of the English, Majesty. And though I assured them that we came in peace, I could sense that they did not believe me.”
“They had the word of your queen.”
Morgan smiled at Elizabeth’s sudden flash of anger. “Aye, Majesty. But I think you were wise in your decision to bind the two countries through an arrangement of marriages. We have lost many a good Englishman on the Scottish border.”
“The Highland chiefs,” Elizabeth said dryly, “have already pledged their loyalty to me through the Treaty of Edinburgh.”
“Aye. There is that. But our borders continue to be plagued by outbreaks of fighting, Majesty.”
“So, Morgan, you suddenly approve of these arranged marriages.” Elizabeth held out her hand and drew him close. Many women in the room watched the scene with interest. Morgan Grey was a handsome devil who caused more than a few female hearts to flutter. And the queen was as yet unwed.
“Tell me about this Scotswoman who leads her clan.”
“I will do better than that, Majesty. I will present her to you.”
He turned. At his command his men moved aside, revealing Brenna.
“Majesty, may I present Brenna MacAlpin, leader of the clan MacAlpin of Scotland.”
Many in the crowd gasped. At their reaction, Brenna lifted her head defiantly.
The queen appeared stunned for a moment before regaining her composure. “Can this truly be the leader of her peop
le? In such a state of disarray?”
Brenna’s cheeks went bright red, but she continued to meet Elizabeth’s direct look.
The queen lifted a bejeweled hand. “Look at her. Her hair tumbles wildly around her cheeks and shoulders and spills down her back in a tangle of curls. Her traveling gown and cloak are dusty and wrinkled. And is that blood upon her gown, Morgan?”
He flushed uncomfortably. “Aye, Majesty.”
“Her blood?”
“Mine.”
“You subdued her with your sword?”
“She attacked me with a knife.”
The queen looked more closely at the woman who stood before her. Arching an eyebrow she said, “She more resembles an orphaned waif than a leader.” She turned toward Morgan. “Is she truly the MacAlpin, my Lord Grey, or are you rivaling the Court jester?”
“I do not jest, Majesty.”
“But why have you brought her here like a common prisoner?”
“Because she attempted to evade your wishes, Majesty. The Lady Brenna vowed she would marry a man of her own choosing.”
“She did?” The queen’s look changed suddenly, from one of disdain to one of sharp interest.
“Aye, Majesty. I was forced to track her to the Highlands. Once there, I decided it was in your Majesty’s best interest to keep her with me until your Majesty decided her fate.”
“She ran from you?” The queen studied the young woman before her. “This one small female managed to elude Morgan Grey? And to wound him in the fray?” The queen’s eyes danced with unconcealed humor. “Oh, this is a fine joke. Can it be that the man who subdues entire armies cannot control one woman?”
Morgan’s eyes grew steely.
“And you were forced to follow her to the dangerous Highlands?”
He nodded.
“How very interesting.” The queen studied the way the two refused to look at one another. The emotions flowing between them were raw and savage. “And so you have brought her here against her will.” The queen smiled slowly. “A very—wise decision, my Lord Grey, although my cousin Mary of Scotland would perhaps not agree.”
Elizabeth addressed the woman. “You would choose your own husband?”
“It is the way of the MacAlpin.”
At Brenna’s harsh tone, there was a distinct silence in the room. Every eye was on the woman who sat upon the throne. Though small in stature, Elizabeth was every inch the queen. She tolerated no show of disrespect in her presence. Especially not from one who swore allegiance to another.
The queen turned toward the gallery of robed men who sat to one side.
Brenna’s voice carried through the suddenly quiet crowd. “In my country, women are not chattel, to be bargained for. Nor jewels, to be worn for adornment. We are valued for ourselves. And since our lives are so deeply affected by the choice of partner, our voices are heard.”
Though the queen’s eyes flashed, her lips softened into a smile. There was an audible sigh through the crowd. Once more the queen’s anger had been diffused.
“I would ask the council to pay heed to this Scotswoman. Your queen is not the only one who wishes to choose her own husband.”
Morgan chuckled, low and deep in his throat. Beside him, Alden laughed aloud. Gradually others around the room did the same. The atmosphere became more relaxed.
Turning back to Brenna, the queen said, “What am I to do with you, Brenna MacAlpin? Shall I parade every titled Englishman past you, until you choose the one who piques your interest?”
“Nay, Majesty. The Englishman is not born who will win my heart.”
“Is there, perhaps, a Scotsman who holds your heart?”
Morgan waited a moment, unaware that he was holding his breath.
“There is not. But I will not be bartered like a fatted calf.”
The queen’s smile suddenly faded. “I would advise you, woman, to beware of your sharp tongue. There is only one here who will decide your fate.”
The queen saw the flash of fire in Brenna’s eyes before she lowered her head. And though Elizabeth admired her courage, she would tolerate no show of disrespect.
“What of you, Morgan Grey?” The queen saw the way he watched the woman beside him. “Would you be willing to take on the unpleasant task of marriage to the unwilling lady?”
“Majesty.” Morgan’s tone was patient. “You are aware of my feelings toward the unholy sacrament of misery.”
Many in the room laughed at his words.
“Aye. You are, I believe, the man who swore that marriage was the lowest form of slavery.”
Alden swallowed his laughter and pointedly stared at a spot on the floor rather than face his friend.
In her agitation, Elizabeth got up from her throne and walked forward until she came to a halt beside Morgan and the woman. In a low voice she said, “I am more than a little surprised, my Lord Grey. And, I might add, disappointed. Since you dared to risk the fragile peace between our two countries and bring this—ragged woman here against her will, I declare that you are responsible for her until I find someone willing to wed her.”
Morgan frowned. “I was merely following my instincts as a soldier, Majesty. I am convinced that this woman would surely have married one of her own countrymen before your plans could be implemented.”
The queen sighed. “If you were not such a rogue, I would insist that you take your duty a step farther and wed this baggage.” Elizabeth flashed one of her most brilliant smiles. “Of course, since you are descended from royalty, I had always thought you to be one of my suitors.”
Morgan’s eyes twinkled with teasing laughter. “If I thought I had a chance to win your heart, Majesty, you know I would pledge my own. But though we are true friends, I fear your heart lies elsewhere.”
The young queen looked up into his handsome face and felt the familiar twinge. He was indeed a man who could start a fire in her blood, as he did, it seemed, in the blood of every woman in the kingdom. But they both knew that he was far too lusty a man to spend the rest of his life observing rules of protocol while his wife governed. Life at court had always been the part of royal life that Morgan Grey least enjoyed. Which was probably why he sought the battlefield.
Elizabeth looked from Brenna to Morgan. “’Tis said the Scots will need a firm hand if they are to be won over. And there is no firmer hand in all of England than yours. Also, there is no doubt as to your loyalty, my friend. But I suppose I cannot ask this truly supreme sacrifice. Marriage.” She chuckled as if it were a great joke. “To this—untidy foreigner.”
“I would rather face a horde of invaders without a weapon.” Morgan’s tone was crisp. “But ne’er fear, Majesty. You will find a solution to the problem. I agree that the woman will not be easy to marry off, especially when a suitable partner learns how difficult she is to subdue. She is devious, shrewd and cunning.” He touched a hand to his wound. “Not to mention skilled with a knife.”
Even while she shared a laugh with Morgan, the queen saw the look of anguish in Brenna’s eyes and fought to ignore it. Did she not understand the lady’s desire to choose her own destiny? But how many could afford such a luxury? She lifted her head regally. Not even one born to the Crown.
“You know I can refuse you no request, Morgan Grey. I am indebted to you a hundredfold for your loyalty. And so I will not command you to marry your prisoner. But, though I see the wisdom of bringing her here until a decision is reached regarding her future, I cannot ask another to be responsible for the lady. And since she is a woman of noble birth, I am reluctant to consign her to a prison cell until her future is decided.”
“Aye. The Tower would be too harsh.”
Brenna stood rooted to the floor, hearing their words echoing in her head. This could not be happening. While a hundred strangers watched with disinterest, her fate was coldly being decided without any regard for her feelings.
She clenched her hands tightly at her sides and bit her lip to keep from crying out at the unfairness of it.
Morgan glanced at Brenna. He chose to ignore the anger and fury in her gaze. Was there not enough anger in his own heart? He was a soldier, not a nurse. He had seen to his duty, and had brought the Scotswoman to England. Now he wished to be finished with her. He turned to the queen. “I cannot take responsibility for the lady. It is enough that I have brought her here to you.”
The queen watched his eyes, reading the frustration he could not hide. “The lady is your prisoner—you are her jailer. Where you go, she follows. You bear sole responsibility for her.”
“And if I go to battle?”
“Your battlefield lies here in England, for now.”
“Then I pray, Majesty, that you decide the lady’s fate quickly.”
The queen could not resist a quick smile. “All in good time, my lord.”
“You mean—” Brenna’s voice was choked with rage “—I have no voice in my own destiny? I cannot return to my home? I must remain this man’s captive?”
Morgan gave her an indulgent smile. “It seems you are fated to remain under my—protected care.”
“Aye,” the queen said quickly. “Take her and good riddance. Set her up in one of your households, Morgan, until I am able to arrange a suitable marriage.”
Brenna heard no more. She felt the blood rush from her head, leaving her ashen. The queen’s words faded until they were only a slight buzzing in her ears. The room began to spin in a dizzying rush. And as she slid to the floor, a soothing black mantle settled over her.
Chapter Seven
“Mon Dieu. Did you not give this poor child anything to eat during her journey to England?”
Brenna felt the press of a cool, damp cloth against her forehead and struggled to open her eyes.
Morgan’s voice, deep with concern, was very near. “I tried to feed her. The damned female refused all offers of food.”
“And did you allow her to rest, mon cher?”
“Rest? I am a soldier, on a mission for my queen. I expected her to keep up.”
Brenna heard the queen’s voice, low, regal. “Was she not given even a moment’s privacy?”
“I foolishly offered her privacy. But only once. She bolted and tried to run home to Scotland. My men and I were forced to waste precious time chasing after her again. I tell you, the woman needs a firm hand.”