by Ruth Langan
“Be careful, Morgan Grey,” the gentle French voice said, “that your firm hand does not break her into little pieces.”
“I do not break easily.” Brenna’s throat felt parched. Her lids fluttered. Into her line of vision swam an unusual woman’s face. Large, sensuous lips parted in a friendly smile. Almond eyes studied Brenna with concern.
“Ah. You are awake. You fainted, cherie.”
Brenna struggled to sit up. “Impossible. I have never fainted.” The very thought of such a weakness was repugnant to her.
The woman placed her hand gently on Brenna’s shoulder and forced her to lie still. “That may be so. But I have known a great many people who react violently to strange circumstances. Even the strongest woman must give in to the demands of her body, cherie.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Madeline d’Arbeville, Duchess of Eton. And I am told that you are Brenna MacAlpin, leader of a Borderer clan in Scotland.”
“Aye.” Brenna gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you for your kindness. Where am I?” She glanced around at the sumptuous bed hangings.
“You are in my chambers.” The queen leaned close.
In the queen’s own bed! “Majesty, I did not mean to create such a disturbance. Forgive me for my weakness,” Brenna whispered.
Again she struggled to sit up. This time it was Morgan who restrained her.
“Rest a while longer.” His tone was gentler than he’d intended.
“Aye.” The queen gave a conspiratorial smile. “Your little spell gave me the perfect opportunity to dismiss the court and free myself of all duties for the rest of the day. A rare thing indeed. Now,” she said, linking her arm through Morgan’s, “perhaps I can spend some time with you, dear rogue. We have much to discuss.”
Morgan turned toward the figure in the bed. His eyes narrowed as he studied her carefully, noting with satisfaction that the color was returning to her cheeks.
“You will stay with Brenna, Madeline?”
“Oui. It will give us a chance to become acquainted.”
Brenna watched as Morgan and the queen retired to a small alcove. Instantly a servant approached the two with goblets of wine. When the servant left, the queen and her loyal soldier bent their heads close in intimate conversation. Though they kept their voices low, Brenna was aware of the tension in their tones. Whatever was being discussed, it was obviously of utmost importance.
“Would you like to tell me about yourself?” Madeline asked softly.
Brenna shook her head slightly, afraid her voice would tremble.
“Then I shall tell you about myself,” Madeline said in her charming French accent.
Brenna gave a grateful smile, relieved to be free for the moment from the scrutiny of Morgan and the queen.
“I am married to Charles Crowel, Duke of Eton. He is one of the queen’s most trusted aides.”
“You are not English.”
“Non.” Madeline gave a low chuckle. “That I could never pretend. Not with this accent. My home, until my marriage, was France.”
“Do you not miss your home?”
“Oh, of course. But I go there often to visit. And my beloved brother and sister come to England to stay with me so that I am not nearly so homesick.”
Brenna grew silent and turned to watch the queen and Morgan.
“So, cherie,” Madeline said, noting the direction of Brenna’s gaze. “Already you have become the object of much speculation. How did you happen to get captured by that fascinating man?”
Brenna gave a wry smile. “There is no mystery to it. He overpowered me.”
“No mystery?” The Frenchwoman handed the damp cloth to a serving girl, then began plumping the pillows about Brenna’s head. “Morgan Grey does not capture women; he eludes them. He has managed to evade the snares set by every eager woman at court.” She gave a knowing smile.
“And, cherie, there were many hoping to ensnare him. Why, even the queen was rendered speechless when he presented you at court. I think, from the way he looks at you, that he desires you.”
“He does not desire me.” Brenna’s voice trembled with intensity. “He merely wishes to punish me.”
“Punish? But why?”
“Because I managed to spoil his plans and elude him, delaying his return to England. He has brought me here to see me wed to an Englishman, so that my lands and holdings will then belong to his queen.”
“And that is why he looks at you this way? I do not believe he brought you here to see you wed to another. I believe he would keep you for himself.”
“Marriage to any Englishman would be horrible. But especially to that one. He is a cruel, vindictive man.”
Madeline placed her hand over Brenna’s. Feeling the tremors, she stared into her eyes. “Do not be misled by the name he carries. The Queen’s Savage is a soldier of the Crown, notorious for his skill in the art of battle. It is well known that entire armies fear him. But he has never shown himself to be cruel or vindictive.”
“You do not know him,” Brenna whispered, shivering.
“Though I am only in this country a few short years, I know him well, cherie.” Madeline pulled the blankets around Brenna’s shoulders. “He is a rogue, and a man of great appetite.” She smiled broadly. “Great appetite. But I would trust Morgan Grey with all that I hold dear. He is a man above reproach.”
Brenna felt a welling of tears and turned her head away. Was there no one at court who would take her side in this? Was she truly doomed to remain a captive of a man she hated, and to lose forever her land, her titles and even her name?
“Rest, cherie.” Madeline brushed the dark hair from Brenna’s eyes, then settled herself comfortably in a chair alongside the bed. “I will sit here beside you while you sleep, so that when you awake, you will not find yourself among strangers.”
“Thank you.” Brenna’s lids fluttered as she blinked away her tears and struggled to focus.
The last thing she saw before she drifted off to sleep was the face of the lovely Frenchwoman who had shown her such kindness.
“There have been several—accidents since you have been away, Morgan.” The queen’s head was high, her chin thrust forward defiantly.
Now that the others were dozing, and the servants had been dismissed, she allowed her voice to rise.
Morgan barely managed to mask the alarm he felt. “Tell me about them.”
“There was my personal groom. While riding a mount meant for me, the saddle fell, leaving him badly injured.”
Morgan’s eyes narrowed.
“Lord Windham suggests that the poor fellow lied to cover his laziness.”
At the mention of the queen’s trusted aide, Morgan’s temper flared. “Windham is a fool. What else has happened while I have gone?”
“The royal carriage. A wheel came off on our journey here to Richmond Palace. No one was hurt. The driver insists that it was an accident. Still, my servant swore the carriage had been carefully inspected before our journey.”
“God in heaven. Is there more?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Nothing. Just—rumors.”
“Give me names, Majesty. Who repeats these rumors?”
Elizabeth grew agitated. “I do not know the names. A whispered word here. A hint of something there.”
He leaned close, his hands on his knees. “Whispers. Hints. These are not enough to call home an entire army. You are not telling me everything. You have heard something.”
The queen suddenly stood and stared out the window, hugging her arms around herself. “I do not forget, Morgan.”
“Forget what?”
“What it feels like to be marked for death.” She shuddered. “From the time I was a babe, I have known that even those who should be closest to me might want me dead. My own father bastardized me, then reluctantly reinstated me to the order of succession. My sister, Mary, banished me to the Tower, and would have permitted my execution had any incriminating evidence been brought to bear.” H
er voice lowered. “And there was the mistreatment of my mother. Always I must live in the shadow of my mother’s beheading.”
“We live in a brutal age.”
“Aye. A brutal age. All my life I have heard the threats, Morgan. And now the whispers begin again. Someone plots my death. I know it here.”
She touched a hand to her heart and turned toward him. In the light streaming through the window behind her he saw, not a queen, but a young woman. And for one brief moment before she blinked, he saw the hint of terror in her eyes. Instantly he was on his feet, drawing her into his arms.
“I am not afraid, Morgan.”
Her words were muffled against his tunic. With a wave of tenderness at her bluff, he clutched her to him and pressed his lips to her temple. There were few in the kingdom who would dare to take such liberties with their queen. But the friendship between these two had begun in childhood and had endured through hard times and good.
“I know that, Majesty. Throughout the realm it is known that you are fearless.”
He continued to hold her until the tremors passed. When she was calm, she pushed a little away and lifted a palm to his cheek.
“I needed you here with me, Morgan. You must not leave England again.”
He pressed his hand over hers. “I will not leave you. I will seek the source of these rumors. And I will uncover the truth about these accidents. But you must promise me that you will stay here, within these palace walls, until I have had time to look into this.”
“I cannot stay confined in Richmond.”
“If you must travel, I will be at your side. Do you understand?”
She nodded, and he saw the tension slowly drain from her.
At a sound across the room they both turned.
Brenna tossed aside her blankets, pondering what she had overheard. The words seemed to run together in her mind. Could it be that the Queen of England was truly in danger? Or had she merely dreamed it? Now that she was completely awake, she was no longer certain of anything. Brenna glanced at Madeline d’Arbeville, who was dozing in the chair. There would be nothing to be learned from her.
The queen walked toward the bed. From the coolly regal expression on her face, Brenna decided that she must have imagined everything. One glance at Morgan’s closed expression convinced her. These two could have not been discussing anything more pressing than England’s misty weather.
“So, Brenna MacAlpin. You are awake. How fare you?”
“I am fine, Majesty.” Brenna pushed herself into a sitting position and waited until the dizziness passed.
Her hesitation did not go unnoticed by Morgan. In quick strides he was beside her, his hand grasping her upper arm.
“Not so fine as you pretend,” Morgan said in low tones. “Perhaps we should tarry here at Richmond for a day or two before proceeding to my estate nearby.”
Brenna stared at the offending hand, wondering if Morgan felt the tremors she couldn’t hide. But if he took notice, he gave no indication.
“I think that is a fine idea,” the queen said. She clapped her hands and a dozen servants appeared within moments.
From her position beside the bed, Madeline d’Arbeville started, then looked up in confusion. “Mon dieu. Is it possible that I slept?”
“That is what late nights at the gaming tables will do to you,” the queen said with a laugh. “Madeline, we have good news. Morgan has consented to stay on at Richmond for a day or two.”
Brenna felt a surge of hope. As long as she was not forced to be alone with Morgan at his residence, there was a chance that she could win a reprieve. What could he possibly do to her here in the queen’s home? And perhaps the queen, given enough time, might be persuaded to allow her to return to her beloved Scotland without being forced into bondage to an English lord.
To the servants the queen said, “Prepare a suite of rooms for Lord Grey and his—guest.”
The transformation in the queen was instantaneous. A warm smile touched her lips. Her eyes danced with merriment. “Oh, Morgan. It has been too long.”
Morgan returned the smile. It pleased him to see the queen forget her worries, if only for a little while. “Aye, Majesty.”
“We shall celebrate with a feast.” Elizabeth cast a speculative glance at Brenna. “Have you any clothes besides those?”
“Nay, Majesty.” Once again Brenna was reminded of her bedraggled appearance.
“No matter.” The queen turned to a waiting servant. “Send a seamstress to see to the lady’s needs.”
The servant nodded and scurried away.
Orders were given. Servants hurried about, carrying news of their queen’s latest surprise.
“Madeline, can you drag your husband from his official duties long enough to join us?” Morgan asked.
“Oui. He will be eager to see you, Morgan. He has complained of your long absence.” Madeline lifted her skirts and curtsied to the queen. “By your leave, Majesty.” At the queen’s nod, she rushed from the room.
In no time, Brenna found herself being ushered from the queen’s bedchamber. With Morgan beside her, she followed a servant along a wide hallway toward a suite of rooms. Several of Morgan’s men trailed along behind them. Guards? Brenna wondered with alarm. Could it be possible that he would have her guarded here in the queen’s residence like a common criminal?
The sitting chamber assigned them was a large room overlooking the queen’s formal gardens. Through the open windows of the balcony drifted the fragrance of roses and lavender. Tapestries depicting the royal lineage softened the stark walls. The floors were covered with ornately woven rugs. Chairs and settles, many draped with magnificent animal hides, were drawn up before the huge fireplace that dominated one wall. A fire had been set to ward off the chill.
Brenna was pleased to note that there were doors on either end of the sitting chamber. These led to two separate sleeping chambers. At least, for the moment, she was not being treated like a prisoner. She would have her own sleeping chamber, away from Morgan’s scrutiny. She noted no chains on the doors.
The sleeping chambers were nearly identical, with huge beds hung with elegant linens, and cheery fires set in the fireplaces. Tapers were lighted in sconces along the walls, adding even more light and warmth to the rooms.
When the servants finished showing them to their quarters, they quietly withdrew, leaving Brenna and Morgan alone for the first time since their arrival in England.
Feeling Morgan’s narrowed gaze upon her, Brenna had a need to be busy. She moved around the room, dropping her traveling cloak on a settle, running her hand along the softness of a hide, stopping to study the intricately worked tapestry.
With her back to him she murmured, “How long do you intend to hold me prisoner?”
“Prisoner? My lady, you are an honored guest of the queen.”
She heard the thread of sarcasm in his tone and stiffened her spine.
“Nay. I am a prisoner. Despite the fact that I am allowed a room in the palace, and wear no shackles, I am still not free.”
“Would you rather be sent to the dungeons, my lady, until the queen finds a nobleman willing to wed you?”
She turned to meet his dark gaze. “I do not wish to be wed at all.”
He gave her a dangerous smile. “You would shock the women at court with such words. They think of nothing except winning a wealthy husband. Or a wealthy lover.” He seemed to pause a moment before saying softly, “I think there are many men who would be only too happy to take you as mistress, my lady.”
His words caused a chill along her spine.
He did not move, but merely watched her. At last, when she could no longer bear his scrutiny, she turned and walked to the balcony, keeping her back to him.
A boat moved along the Thames, and she watched it with a heavy heart. Oh, to be on that craft, sailing away from here. From the clutches of this madman who had torn her world asunder.
She heard his footsteps and knew that he’d followed her to the balcon
y. His voice, low and deep, caused a little flutter in her stomach.
“’Tis a beautiful land, is it not?”
She refused to answer him.
“There is no lovelier sight in all the world than that of the sun seeming to rise clear out of the Thames and color the eastern sky.”
“Then you have not seen a blue sky hanging o’er the Cheviot hills of Scotland, all silvery with dew.” Her voice trembled, and she realized she was close to tears.
“You will see your land again.” His voice was so near she was startled and had to force herself not to recoil.
“When?” She studied the progress of the boat.
“When you are safely wed and have declared your loyalty to my queen, you will be allowed to return often to your people.”
“How generous of you, my lord.” She turned on him, feeling all her fear and loathing bubbling to the surface. “When you English have succeeded in stealing my land, my crops and my cattle, you will send me back to watch my people starve.”
“Little fool.” Without thinking he grabbed her by the upper arms, as if to shake her. But the moment he touched her, everything changed. His words vibrated with intensity. “We are not your enemy. A wealthy Englishman has no need of your land, crops or cattle. It is not the queen’s intention to take from you.”
“Is it not?” She tossed her head and tried to push away, but the more she struggled, the more firmly he dragged her against him, until she found herself completely imprisoned in his arms.
Her breasts rose and fell with each measured breath. Her hair, wild and tangled, invited his touch. Her lips were pursed in anger.
Morgan was aware of his lie. Though he needed neither her goods nor her land, there was something he wanted from her each time he looked at her. And wanted it desperately.
“So you find my touch repulsive?” His lips hovered a fraction above hers. Their breath mingled, hers hesitant and a little afraid, his hot and simmering with excitement.
“Aye, my lord,” she answered, though she did not try to draw away from the strong hands holding her.