Ruth Langan Highlanders Bundle

by Ruth Langan

  “I cannot say the same.” He moved his mouth along her temple, and felt her trembling response.

  She struggled to feel nothing. Why were his lips so gentle upon her skin? Even the hands imprisoning her were as gentle as a caress.

  “Do not do this, my lord.”

  He lifted his head for a moment, and she took in a deep breath, hoping to clear her mind. But before she could think, he lifted her hand to his lips in a courtly gesture. The merest brush of his lips on her fingertips caused another tremor.

  He continued to hold her hand for a moment before running his fingers along her arm. He watched her eyes darken as his fingertips skimmed her upper arm, then traced her throat to her collarbone.

  “You are a beautiful woman, Brenna MacAlpin. A beautiful woman whose family has strong traditions, is that not so?”

  She tried to nod her head, but he reached a finger to her lips, causing her to go very still.

  “I come from a family of many traditions as well. Unfortunately we have become civilized.” His rough, callused finger traced the outline of her mouth until her lips quivered and parted for him. “There was a time when a member of the Grey family, seeing a beautiful woman with hair like a raven’s wing and eyes the color of a field of heather…” His wicked smile alerted her to danger. “…would simply take her.”

  His mouth crushed down on hers, cutting off her protest.

  At the first contact with his lips, she felt a rush of heat that left her trembling. A flame raced alone her spine, heating her blood, searing her flesh. His lips were warm and firm and practiced. Her lips trembled beneath his, then slowly softened, then invited. She would not have believed it possible to be taken so high by a single kiss.

  A breeze blew across the balcony, billowing her skirts, lifting her hair, but it was not enough to cool her skin. She was hot, so hot, where he was touching her.

  While his lips continued their seduction, his hand moved along her spine, drawing her even closer, until she could feel his body imprinted upon hers. She attempted to push him away. But even her hands betrayed her. They grasped his shoulders and she held on tightly to keep from falling. Surely her knees would buckle and her legs refuse to support her. She clung to him, hating the weakness in herself. A weakness that she had not been aware of until she had met this man. Though she claimed to detest his touch, she had not the will to stop him.

  Morgan took the kiss deeper. She tightened her grip and clung to him with a fierceness that surprised her. What was happening to her? Without soft words, without tender touches, some primitive force seemed to have taken over her will. Or perhaps it had taken over both of them, consuming them with its intensity.

  The hand at her back tightened perceptibly, drawing her even closer, until she could feel his heartbeat inside her own breast.

  His lips left hers to follow the pale column of her throat. She arched against him, afraid of the way her body was betraying her, yet hungry for more. The touch of his lips on her throat caused the strangest sensations deep inside her.

  He brought his lips to hers, and her mouth opened to receive his taste. There was about this man danger, and darkness, and the secrets of desire. And yet, for some reason that eluded her, she had a desperate need to learn all that he could teach. She could no more resist his lips than she could refuse the air that she drew into her lungs.

  The sound of a door opening penetrated the mists that shrouded her mind.

  With a low, savage oath, Morgan lifted his head. For a moment Brenna felt bereft. Then she became aware of the sound of footsteps across the floor of the sitting chamber.

  “My lady.”

  Still holding her, Morgan turned his head. Dazed, Brenna followed suit.

  A serving girl glanced at them, then quickly looked down, studying a spot on the floor. “Her majesty has sent a seamstress to begin your gown for the festivities, my lady.”

  Brenna noticed a stooped old woman standing just inside the doorway. She became aware of a chill breeze blowing off the Thames. Why had she not noticed it before?

  “Thank you.”

  The servant hurried away. The seamstress began setting out her bolts of fabric.

  Embarrassed, Brenna tried to pull away, but Morgan continued to hold her. Lifting her chin, he stared down into her eyes and read her confusion. A smile touched the corner of his lips.

  “I think, my lady, you do not find my touch so repulsive as you claim.”

  She felt her cheeks flame. What had he done to her? How had she become so lost in his caresses that she forgot who he was, what he was?

  “Go now. Have your gown made. But remember, this thing between us is far from settled.”

  She pulled away, suddenly mortified by her lapse.

  He leaned a hip against the balcony railing as she fled into the sitting chamber. Then he turned and watched as the small boat disappeared around a bend in the river. His hands, he noted, were not quite steady. Perhaps Brenna was right about him. If they had not been interrupted, he would surely have taken her here on the hard, cold floor of the balcony. Like the savage she thought him to be.

  Chapter Eight

  “Is it not good to be back in England?” Alden pulled a chair in front of the fire and settled himself comfortably.

  “Aye.” Morgan stood in front of the fireplace and lifted a goblet of ale to his lips.

  From behind the closed door of Brenna’s sleeping chamber could be heard the babble of women’s voices and an occasional muffled exclamation. The servants, it would seem, were having a fine time preparing the Scotswoman for the queen’s festivities.

  “This time you will stay a while.”

  “So it would seem. Concern for the queen’s safety has altered my plans. If the whispers prove to have substance, I will bring swift justice to any who would plot against Elizabeth.” His hand clenched at his side. She was more than his beloved monarch; she was his dearest friend, his closest confidante. No one would threaten her life and live to boast of it.

  When that matter was taken care of, he thought, swallowing another drink, he would put an end to this other trouble in his life. “See to the guards.” His voice was low, conspiratorial. “They are to watch the lady at all times. But they must be discreet.”

  “How discreet, old friend?”

  “They are not to parade around the palace with drawn swords. But they are not to let the lady out of their sight except when she is in these rooms.”

  “Is that necessary? Do you really think she can flee this fortress?”

  Morgan’s hand clenched around the stem of the goblet. “You were not with us in the Highlands. Nor on the journey home.” He touched a hand to the dressing on his wound. He would not soon forget Brenna’s skill with a knife. “The lady has a mind of her own.”

  “Aye. I have heard the men talk.”

  Alden flushed when Morgan arched an eyebrow.

  “I will have their heads if I catch them spreading rumors about the Scotswoman while she is under my protection.”

  “I merely meant that the men speak of her with respect,” Alden was quick to add. He stood. “I will alert the guards.”

  As Alden started for the door, Morgan added softly, “When this is over, we need to find another war to wage, somewhere far from here, old friend.”

  “I thought you had grown weary of the battle.”

  “That was before I was made nurse for the female.”

  “Aye.” Alden shot him a quick grin before departing.

  The sooner the queen found a partner for Brenna, Morgan thought with a trace of anger, the sooner he could get on with his life.

  His life. His world. He had made a satisfying life for himself. Whatever mistakes had been made, he had risen above them. He had no wish for the disruption of this woman in his well-ordered life.

  The tapers had all been lighted, casting a soft glow over the room. From the windows could be seen the dark curtain of night sky. Morgan walked to the balcony and stared down at the lights of villages in t
he distance. His gaze was drawn to the shimmering torches of boats far out on the river.

  He had a sudden yearning to sail the Thames. To be one with the sky and the water, in a peaceful setting far from the political intrigue of the court.

  He heard the door open, and listened to the soft rustle of skirts as the servants swept from the room. When there was only silence, he slowly turned.

  Brenna stood just inside the doorway of the sitting chamber.

  Once, when Morgan was a callow youth, he had challenged a soldier reputed to be the most skilled equestrian in all of England. During the jumping, the soldier’s mount had taken the tall hedgerow easily, while Morgan’s horse had pulled up short and refused to jump. Sailing through the air, Morgan had cleared the hedgerow, but landed on the far side on a boulder the size of a wagon seat. The blow would have killed a lesser man. He would never forget the feeling when all the air was knocked from his lungs, leaving him struggling for breath.

  He felt the same way now.

  Her gown was crimson satin, with a fashionably low neckline revealing high, firm breasts and a tiny waist. The skirt fell in soft gathers to the tips of her crimson slippers. The sleeves and skirt were inset with bands of delicate lace. A wide ruff of the same lace formed a stiff collar at the back of her neck.

  Her dark hair had been pulled to one side and allowed to drift in soft curls over her breast.

  Her pale column of throat was unadorned by jewelry. The effect was simple. And stunning.

  The thought came unbidden to his mind. Every man at court would ask for her hand. The queen would have no trouble finding a suitable husband. Why did that thought bring such an unpleasant taste to his mouth?

  The door to the sitting room opened and Alden entered. For a moment he glanced at his friend. Then his gaze was riveted on the beautiful young woman.

  Alden cleared his throat. “You look lovely, my lady.”

  Morgan said nothing. Mere words could not convey what he saw when he looked at her. How could he describe skin as pale as alabaster, eyes the shade of the violets that grew deep in the forest glades?

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  She gave Alden a shy smile, and Morgan realized that he would give anything to see her smile at him that way. If the Lady Brenna was beautiful when angry, she was breathtaking when happy.

  Then the hint of a smile was gone, replaced by a shy look. “Your queen’s seamstresses must have magic in their needles. Though I am skilled in sewing, I have never made anything as splendid as this.”

  Morgan crossed the room and picked up a goblet of wine from a silver tray. When he handed it to her, their fingers brushed and he felt the heat.

  “The gown would be nothing without the woman who wears it.”

  Was that a blush he saw on her cheeks? It pleased him, though he couldn’t say why.

  Brenna took a sip of wine and felt a rush of warmth. It was the wine, she told herself. Not the nearness of this man. Though he had exchanged his soldier’s garb for slim breeches and an elegantly tailored black silk tunic emblazoned with his family crest, he still had a look of danger about him. She must take great pains to keep her distance from him.

  She turned to Alden. “I am unaware of your customs, my lord. Will anything be expected of me at your queen’s feast?”

  “Our customs are not so different from your own. We will merely eat and drink, and enjoy the company of good friends.”

  “Friends.”

  Alden blithely ignored the sarcasm in her tone. “These people will be your friends if you let them. Of course,” he added with a gleam of humor in his eyes, “there will be many toasts to the queen’s health. I would advise you to use caution, my lady. Enough toasts and the wine will go to your head.”

  “Thank you. I shall remember.” The frown was back. It was necessary to keep her wits about her. Alden and Morgan were her enemies. As were the people below stairs.

  She set the goblet down.

  Morgan drained his glass before reluctantly offering his arm. The mere touch of her caused a tension in him that was completely out of character. He steeled himself against feeling anything for the woman beside him.

  As they left the room, Brenna noted the two soldiers positioned outside her sleeping chamber. They came to attention and followed a few paces behind. So. Even here in the queen’s palace, her freedom was to be restricted.

  As they descended the stairs, they could hear the hum of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter. But when they entered the withdrawing room, all conversation suddenly ceased. All heads turned to watch the handsome couple.

  A ripple of excitement coursed through the crowd. Hands were discreetly lifted while whispered exclamations were exchanged. Those who had been at court earlier were surprised at the transformation in the Scotswoman. Gone was the travel-weary creature, and in her place a vision of perfection.

  Many a man in the crowd felt a twinge of envy at the prize Morgan Grey had captured. Many a woman hated her on sight.

  Morgan felt the slight trembling of Brenna’s hand upon his sleeve. So, the lady was not immune to the stares of these strangers. Though he was not aware of any kindness in his gesture, he covered her hand with his, as if to lend her his strength.

  He led her across the room toward their regal hostess. Brenna felt the curious stares of the guests. But she kept her head lifted at a proud angle, looking neither left nor right. When they came to a stop before the queen, Brenna curtsied, while Morgan bowed slightly, then lifted Elizabeth’s hand to his lips.

  “Can this possibly be the same ragged waif you presented at court, Morgan?”

  “Aye, Majesty. The Lady Brenna remarked that she thought your seamstresses had magic in their needles.”

  “There is indeed magic here.” The queen studied the beautiful young woman with a thoughtful look. “Or perhaps witchcraft.” With a laugh she turned to Morgan. “Beware, my friend, lest you be the one bewitched.”

  “You know me better, Majesty.”

  “Indeed.”

  Morgan led Brenna to one side as the queen continued to greet the guests who formed a long line behind them.

  After each guest had been presented to the queen, they paused in front of Morgan for an introduction to the lady who had caused such speculation. After an hour he could read the fatigue in her eyes.

  “So many names and titles,” she whispered.

  “Aye. But in no time you will know them as friends.”

  “They are your friends, my lord. To me they are English.”

  If her words angered him, he gave no indication.

  Madeline d’Arbeville, Duchess of Eton, and her husband greeted Elizabeth with warmth. The affection was obviously returned, as the queen smiled and chatted before turning to include the others.

  “Charles, your wife seems to have made a friend today. But you have not yet met the Scotswoman. Introduce the lady, Morgan.”

  “Charles Crowel, Duke of Eton, may I present Brenna MacAlpin, recently of the Scottish Borderland.”

  As the courtly gentleman bent to brush his lips over Brenna’s hand, she studied the man who was married to the Frenchwoman. His green eyes were friendly, his smile genuine. His dark breeches and emerald satin tunic were perfectly tailored to his tall frame. His dark hair was gray at the temples, giving him a look of charm and elegance.

  “Madeline has told me about you, my lady.” He released Brenna’s hand and continued to smile as he entwined his fingers with his wife’s.

  Charles and Madeline made a handsome couple. And a happy one. That thought caused an ache around Brenna’s heart. Whatever match the queen made for her, she would never truly be happy.

  “We look forward to having you visit our home when you are comfortably settled in England.”

  Morgan glanced at Brenna in time to see the look of consternation that suddenly crossed her face. Like the queen, these good people were taking for granted that she would settle and become a wife to an Englishman. The thought sickened her. A
nd though she made a valiant effort, she could not hide it.

  As he watched her, Morgan felt his respect for this Scotswoman growing. She was handling a difficult situation with great control.

  As more people came forward to greet the queen, Charles and Madeline moved aside. Madeline touched Brenna’s hand as she passed. “There will be little time to visit tonight. But soon, if Morgan will permit it, I will arrange a tea, cherie. There are many here who are eager to get to know you.”

  Morgan’s permission indeed, Brenna wanted to cry out. But before she could comment, another couple was presented to her. And another, until the names and faces seemed to blend together into a jumbled blur.

  A man strode forward alone and greeted the queen, then turned expectantly, awaiting an introduction to the beauty beside Morgan.

  “Ah, Lord Windham.” The queen became animated in the company of this man. “You have not yet met our Scotswoman. Morgan, will you handle the introductions?”

  “Brenna MacAlpin, may I present Lord Windham, aide to the queen.” Was it her imagination, Brenna wondered, or was there a trace of tension in Morgan’s voice?

  “Lord Windham.” She looked up into gray opaque eyes the color of the sky before a storm. His clothes were perfectly tailored to his long legs and slender form. The scarlet of his tunic would have been suitable for royalty. He was the most splendidly dressed man in the room.

  “My lady.” His eyes raked her before he bent to brush a kiss to her hand. As his lips touched her skin she instinctively cringed.

  When he straightened, he continued holding her hand until she pulled it free. “The queen tells me you are Morgan Grey’s spoils of war.”

  Brenna itched to slap his arrogant face. Instead she lifted her head a fraction and straightened her spine. “I am no one’s spoils of war, my lord.”

  “Are you not?” He smiled, and Brenna thought it the most evil smile she had ever seen. “You mean you came to England to seek a husband willingly?” His smile grew. “Are there so few satisfying men in your homeland that you would abandon them for one such as Morgan Grey?”

  When Brenna remained silent he spoke loud enough for the entire assembly to hear. “I was told that the queen intended to make a match for you. But if, as you say, you are not here against your will, perhaps you will go to a man’s bed most willingly?”