by Ruth Langan
“Enough, Windham.” Morgan’s voice was low, intended for Lord Windham’s ears alone. But though he spoke softly, there was a thread of steel in his tone. “The lady should expect better treatment at the hands of an English gentleman.”
“And how would you know how a gentleman behaves? The entire realm knows about you and the men who serve under you, Morgan Grey. You are all savages who are only happy when you are spilling an enemy’s blood on the field of battle.”
“At least I am not a nobleman whose only task in life is despoiling helpless maidens.”
The two men faced each other for long moments. It was the queen who broke the silence.
“Two stallions should never be allowed in the same pasture,” she said dryly.
There was an extended silence.
The queen touched his arm. “Have you brought no lady with you, Lord Windham?”
“Nay, Majesty. There were so many beauties in the kingdom hoping to enjoy your hospitality. And I am but one mere man.”
The queen threw back her head and laughed at his joke. “From the gossip at court, I would say you have the stamina of ten men, my lord.”
He shared a smile with her. “One cannot believe all the court gossip, Majesty.”
“If even half of it be true, Lord Windham, your social life leaves little time for other duties.”
“One must take pleasure where one finds it.” Lord Windham cast a speculative glance at the woman beside the queen. “And perhaps a man’s duty can also become his pleasure.”
Brenna saw the way Morgan tensed. But before he could speak, Alden smoothly interrupted.
“The line of subjects eager to bask in your beauty grows restless, Majesty.”
Lord Windham shot him an icy look before stalking away.
“Beware, my friend,” Alden commented as Morgan’s adversary threaded his way among the guests. “One day Windham may grow weary of your barbs and lift his sword against you.”
“Only if I show him my back. He is too cowardly to face me in a fair fight.”
“Then be warned. A coward is the worst kind of enemy. He never does what is expected.”
“Do not waste a moment’s worry over me. It is the queen who needs our concern.”
The queen’s butler announced that the banquet was awaiting her majesty.
With a knowing smile the queen looked over the assembly, studying the beautifully dressed men and women who formed the inner circle of her court. These were the wealthy, titled nobles with whom she could be at ease. All of them looked up expectantly, eager to see who would be singled out as her escort for the meal.
Lord Windham watched her with a smug expression. If Elizabeth chose her favorite companion, the Scotswoman would be without an escort. He had every intention of offering his arm to the Lady Brenna. It would be great sport to flirt with, and perhaps seduce, the Scotswoman.
If, on the other hand, the queen allowed Morgan Grey to be with the lady he had captured, that would leave Lord Windham as the most eligible escort in the room. He would surely be the queen’s choice. That was why he had not brought a lady with him. He would enjoy being at Elizabeth’s right hand for the rest of the evening. He thrived on being the center of attention.
The queen knew that there was no love lost between Morgan and Lord Windham. And though Morgan was her dear friend, she enjoyed Windham’s dry humor. Besides, he was a worldly, elegant man who could converse with ease. And he was a splendid dancer. If Morgan could not be beside her, Windham would.
“Lord Windham. You will accompany your queen to sup.”
With a look of disdain in Morgan’s direction, Windham offered the queen his arm and led her toward the banquet room. The rest of the assembly followed.
“Morgan,” the queen called over her shoulder. “You and the Scotswoman will sup with us.”
Inwardly Morgan groaned. It took all his willpower to be civil to Windham. Yet he gave no sign of his distress.
“Aye, Majesty. It will be our pleasure.”
Morgan offered his arm to Brenna.
As the guests took their places at the large tables, Brenna and Morgan followed the queen and Windham to the head table, where all could see them.
Morgan held Brenna’s chair. As she brushed past him she murmured, “It would appear that the queen and Lord Windham are exceedingly close friends.”
“Aye. He is often invited to join the queen’s company.”
“And you, my lord?”
“I also enjoy a—close relationship with my queen.”
“I noticed.”
Was that a trace of jealousy he heard in Brenna’s tone? Or was he merely imagining something that didn’t exist?
Morgan took the seat beside her. Though he had chafed at the thought of spending a long evening with the queen’s peacocks at court, Morgan suddenly found himself looking forward to the next few hours. The Scotswoman, it would seem, was not as indifferent to him as she pretended. And there was nothing he enjoyed more than a duel. Especially a duel with a bright and beautiful woman.
Chapter Nine
The banquet hall at Richmond was festive. Servants in colorful satin livery attended each table. There were platters of whole roasted pig, as well as trays laden with pheasant, partridge and dove. There were baskets of bread still warm from the ovens and bowls of steaming pudding. The goblets and tankards were filled and refilled with wine and ale. With each course there were endless toasts to the queen, to her health, to her country and her people.
A man in brilliant robes took a seat at the end of the queen’s table. Each course was presented to the queen by a servant on bended knee. The queen inspected it, nodded with a slightly bored expression, then turned away as the tray was carried to the man at the end of the table.
“Who is that?” Brenna whispered.
“Lord Quigley, the queen’s taster.”
Brenna watched in amazement as the white-haired man tasted a morsel of each serving before giving his approval. Then the servant approached the queen again on bended knee and waited while a second liveried servant spooned a portion of each food onto the queen’s plate.
Though this went on through course after course, neither the queen nor Lord Quigley acknowledged each other.
Brenna was seated at the queen’s table between Morgan and Lord Windham. But though there was a whirlwind of activity around her, she found herself mesmerized by the man beside her. His voice was low and deep, in contrast to the shrill sounds of laughter around them. And his eyes pinned her, daring her to try to look away.
“How did you happen to become the MacAlpin?” Morgan asked as a serving wench filled his goblet with ale.
Her eyes lit with a passionate fire that fascinated him. “My father was murdered by a coward, and my older sister, Meredith, assumed the leadership of the clan.”
He heard the venom in her voice and felt a wave of pity for the man who had dared to cross her family. “Was this coward an Englishman?”
“Nay. He was one of our own countrymen, who coveted our land.”
“So.” A smile touched the corner of his lips. “Not all the evil villains in the land are English.”
She failed to see the humor of his statement. “We have had our fill of English.”
He was in no mood for a debate while in the presence of the queen. He decided to steer the conversation to a safer course. “Why is your sister no longer the MacAlpin?”
Brenna’s voice took on a softer note. It was obvious that she adored her elder sister. “Meredith married a Highland chieftain and went to live in his mountain fortress. As next eldest, the task of defending my clan fell to me.”
“So, you think it was a love match between your sister and her husband?”
She glanced at him. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you seemed glad when you spoke of it. This Highland chieftain makes your sister happy?”
“Aye.” Brenna actually smiled, and Morgan was reminded once more how truly soft and delicate she appeared.
“The rogue stole her heart. ’Tis true love.”
Lord Windham, hearing their discussion, made a derisive sound. “That will last a year or two at most, while they explore the pleasures of their bed. Then true love will show its true colors.”
Brenna looked horror-stricken at his words. “I saw the undying love that shone between my father and mother. That same love shines between Meredith and Brice. It is there in their eyes, in their touch, in the gentle way they treat one another.”
Resenting Windham’s intrusion, Morgan steered the conversation once again. “What about the villain who murdered your father?”
Morgan Grey, she realized, was very good at changing the subject when it suited him. “He is buried with those of his clan who dared to cross the MacAlpins.”
Morgan studied the young woman before him. Though there was no doubt that she was every inch a lady, he had witnessed another side to her. She had the respect of her people. People who had been besieged for generations. And she thought like a soldier. Twice she had nearly outwitted him. He lifted a goblet to his lips and smiled. Twice she had been foiled.
Aye. He would enjoy dueling with the lady. With both words and skill.
With each toast the crowd grew more raucous. With each sip of ale, the young noblemen at the banquet grew bolder, until at last Lord Windham stood to offer his own toast.
“To my gracious queen, Elizabeth, the most wonderful monarch God ever created.” Windham pressed his hands to the table to steady himself. His voice rose with emotion. “To her hair, which shines like the sun’s own radiance. To her eyes, like perfect sapphires. To her mouth, which emits only pearls of wisdom.”
He paused, wiping a tear from his eye, too overcome by his own brilliance to continue.
“You neglected to mention my teeth,” the queen said in an aside that only Morgan and Brenna could overhear. “They are my own.”
Morgan threw back his head and roared. For a moment Brenna was so surprised at the queen’s dry humor that she could only stare. Then a smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
“To her teeth,” Windham began.
But Morgan lifted his glass, and the others in the room did the same, drowning out whatever the nobleman was about to say. He sat down flushed and happy at what he considered a monumental success.
“What think you of my feast?” The queen leaned across Lord Windham to direct her question at Brenna.
“It is quite wonderful,” Brenna replied honestly. “I have never seen so many splendidly dressed gentlemen and ladies.”
“I see you have not touched your wine.” Elizabeth motioned toward Brenna’s nearly full goblet.
“I was warned that there would be many toasts, Majesty. I did not wish to make a fool of myself.”
“You would be in excellent company,” the queen said. “The room is full of fools. Is that not so, Windham?”
“Aye, Majesty.” His words were slightly slurred. “We are fools in love with your beauty.”
“You see why I chose him to be my escort? I bask in his honeyed words.”
Morgan set down his goblet. “A woman of your strength and intelligence needs no empty flattery to fill her head.”
“That is where you and I disagree, my Lord Grey.” Elizabeth gave a gay, girlish laugh. “Even a strong, intelligent woman desires pretty words. Is that not so, Brenna MacAlpin?”
Brenna was startled by the question. “I would prefer honesty to flattery.”
The queen’s eyes narrowed on her guest. “You are indeed a rare woman. But I think, if the right man were to flatter you, you would discover that you harbor a bit of the same weakness.”
The queen turned from her guests to watch the musicians. Suddenly she stood and the entire assembly scrambled to their feet.
“I have had enough of feasting. I wish to dance.” The queen took Lord Windham’s proffered arm, then turned to Brenna. “Do you dance?”
Brenna shook her head. “John Knox considers dancing a tool of the devil. It is now forbidden in my country.”
“Ah, yes. Knox.” Elizabeth gave a short laugh. “How terrible for my fun-loving, romantic cousin, Mary, that such a dull man could hold sway over her people.” She studied the lovely young woman for a moment, then glanced at the man beside her. “Morgan, bring our—guest along. While she is on English soil, we shall cast aside those prophets of gloom and teach her the joy of an open English society.”
Once again Brenna was forced to take Morgan’s arm and follow behind the queen.
While the crowd hastily assembled, the musicians began to play. Within minutes the queen and her escort formed a circle with several other couples and began a racy, naughty dance.
Morgan led Brenna to a chaise and handed her a goblet of wine before seating himself beside her. When he stretched out his long legs she found herself staring at his muscled thighs, until she suddenly blushed and looked away.
Watching the dancers was no better. Everywhere she looked, she saw hints of seduction. The women bowed low, baring their bosoms to their partners. The men in tight-fitting breeches, strutted in circles, then caught the women in shockingly close embraces before beginning the dance steps. Brenna was amazed to note that none of the women seemed to mind being held so intimately. In fact, from the giggles and whispers, they encouraged it.
When the dance ended, the men bent low and kissed the ladies’ hands. A few of the women offered their cheeks to be kissed. And one woman actually lifted her lips for her partner’s kiss. Seeing it, Brenna blushed and lifted the goblet to her mouth to hide her embarrassment.
Morgan was fascinated by her reaction. “Are you blushing, my lady?”
She felt her cheeks grow red and hotly denied it. “I am just a bit warm, my lord.”
“Perhaps a walk in the night air.” His voice was warm with unspoken laughter.
“Nay.” She realized at once that she had rejected his offer too quickly. Now he would have even more to laugh at.
“I suppose you will not dance.”
“I cannot.”
“Then we will sit here and enjoy our wine.”
He lifted his goblet and watched as she drained hers. A serving wench quickly refilled it.
“Morgan, you must dance,” the queen called as she twirled by on the arm of a new partner.
Morgan turned to Brenna. She shook her head and stared at the floor.
“Is it John Knox you fear? Is that why you cannot dance?” Morgan smiled. “I do not think anyone from the queen’s court will carry tales of this night back to your people.”
“I do not fear John Knox.”
“Is it the sin itself, then? Will you be damned if you dance?”
“I do not consider dancing sinful, my lord.”
“Then why can you not dance?”
She sighed. “Except with my sisters, and a few of the youth at wedding feasts, I have never danced. I fear I would be—clumsy.”
His smile gentled. “Clumsy? You, my lady? That would not be possible. Come.” He stood and held out his hand.
She bit her lip. “I do not know what to do.”
“I will teach you.” Taking the goblet from her, he set it on a small table and took her hand.
While the musicians played a tender ballad, Morgan led Brenna through the intricate steps of the dance.
“Allow me to lead. In my arms, you need only follow.”
“But I am moving right while you move left.”
She was achingly aware of the hand at her back, pressing ever so lightly as he guided her. She could feel every one of his fingers touching her flesh.
“Do not watch your feet,” he whispered, tipping up her chin.
Her gaze fastened on his as his fingertip stroked her cheek. Oh, why did he have to have such a gentle touch? Why was he so graceful in the dance?
She fit so perfectly into the circle of his embrace. It was as if she had been made for his arms alone. He drew her closer and moved to the music. And the woman in his arms began to move with him in pe
rfect rhythm.
“I pray that John Knox does not choose this night to visit the Queen of England,” Morgan murmured against her temple.
“I told you, I do not consider dancing a sin.”
“Perhaps. But anyone watching us can see what I am thinking. And what I am thinking is definitely a sin, my lady.”
Her cheeks flamed. Only a crude Englishman would dare to make such a joke. She did not know how to deal with such a blunt manner.
“Forgive me, my lady.” His deep voice whispered over her senses, causing a prickly feeling along her spine. “I can see that a sheltered woman would feel lost in such decadence.”
He gave a chuckle that sent icy shivers along her spine. She tried to pull away but he gathered her even closer and continued to sway to the music.
She was caught in the gentlest of prisons. Through her satin skirts she could feel the brush of his thighs against hers. Her breasts were crushed against his chest. Each time he breathed, she felt the warmth of his breath ruffle the hair at her temple. Slowly, against her will, she closed her eyes and with a sigh gave in to the overpowering need to surrender to his touch. Her fingers played with the dark hair at his nape. The hand engulfed in his relaxed until their fingers were gently laced.
“You are an excellent student, my lady.” His words were whispered against her temple.
She sighed. It was not the student who was excellent; it was the teacher. But she was too content to speak.
“Is there anything else you would like to learn, my lady?”
Her lids snapped open. She found herself staring into his dark, laughing eyes.
“I fear there is nothing else you could teach me.”
“Would you care to bet a gold sovereign on that?”
She suddenly resented his mocking laughter.
“I no longer wish to dance with you, Morgan Grey.”
An aging earl stepped forward and tapped Morgan on the shoulder.
“It seems your every wish is my command, my lady.” With a smile Morgan took a step back, breaking contact. Before she knew what was happening, Brenna was swept away in the old man’s arms. When she glanced over his shoulder she saw Morgan dancing with the queen. Lord Windham was standing in the center of the floor looking over the dancing couples.