by Ruth Langan
“Would you have me forget that I am your prisoner, my lord?”
Prisoner. Aye. One of them was a prisoner. But he was no longer certain which one. He stared down into her eyes and saw himself reflected there. The urge to kiss her was so strong he had to call on all of his willpower to resist.
“I will summon Mistress Leems. Our guests will need sustenance.” As he turned away he was aware that his hand was none too steady. And the sweat on his brow had nothing to do with the heat of the fire. It was was caused by the damnably cool woman beside him.
Chapter Fifteen
Mistress Leems fluttered around the great room, seeing to the placement of the silver tea service and trays of cakes and scones and clotted cream, as well as little pots of fruit conserve.
A fire crackled invitingly in the fireplace. Though it was still early afternoon, candles burned in sconces along the walls, adding a soft glow to the room.
When they had removed the dust of their journey, the guests began descending the staircase in clusters of twos and threes. Soon the tinkle of fine crystal and the hum of conversation filled the great room.
All conversation ceased when the queen entered. Elizabeth was resplendent in a gown of scarlet satin shot with gold thread. Gold and silver had been worked into scrolls on the sleeves and bodice. A cap of gold and silver filigree set with precious stones nestled in her red hair. She wore a necklace made of dozens of rubies surrounded by diamonds, and matching diamond and ruby earrings.
Everyone in the room curtsied. A servant positioned an elegant, ermine-covered chair in front of the fireplace, beside Richard’s. The queen sank down gratefully. Mistress Leems handed Lord Quigley a cup of tea and a plate of freshly baked scones. After he had tasted, he handed them to a servant, who offered them to the queen. With one taste, she arched an eyebrow in surprise.
“Your scones are the finest I have ever tasted, Mistress Leems. Please teach my cook how to make these fine biscuits.”
The housekeeper beamed with pleasure.
“Ah.” Elizabeth sighed in contentment, then turned to Richard. “I have yearned for the peace, the solitude of Greystone Abbey.”
“Aye, Majesty. I know the feeling.”
She glanced at him. “There are times I envy you, Richard.”
Envy. He stifled a laugh.
“There are so many people tugging at me, wishing my ear. I am never alone, with time to collect my thoughts. Solitude is a luxury a monarch cannot afford.”
“Perhaps, when your consort is chosen,” Madeline said innocently, “your husband will lift some of the burden from your shoulders.”
The queen’s eyes flashed. “Husband. It does not seem fair that I should have no choice in the matter.” Her gaze fastened on Brenna. “But then, as you have learned, life has never been fair to those of our sex, has it?”
Brenna’s lips curved into a smile. “As a child I used to wonder what it would be like to be born queen of the land. Now I realize that life is life. Whether in a palace or a hovel, there is birth and death, love and hate, and obligations, no matter how distasteful, to be met.”
“Then you are indeed wise for your age, Brenna MacAlpin.” The queen gave her an odd little smile. “But I have always enjoyed a challenge.” Elizabeth turned to Madeline. “It is good to have your sister and brother with you, is it not?”
Brenna glanced at Adrianna, who sat primly beside her brother, her eyes downcast. Every so often she glanced at the man in the wheeled chair. But each time he looked at her, she flushed and stared at the floor.
“Aye, Majesty. I miss them so much when we are apart. Ours is a large, happy family.”
“Family.” The queen spoke the word softly. “I have no family left. ’Twas my fondest wish that Edward could have lived.”
Brenna detected the note of pain in Elizabeth’s tone as she spoke the name of the young prince who had died of tuberculosis at the tender age of sixteen.
“I adored my half-brother. As you and Richard did, Morgan.”
“Aye, Majesty.” Morgan placed a hand over the queen’s in a gesture of comfort and affection. “Richard and I taught him to ride. As we did you.”
She chuckled. “You were very impatient teachers. You allowed me to fall on my royal—” She seemed to catch herself, remembering that there were strangers in the room. “I threatened to have you both whipped. Do you remember?”
Morgan and Richard burst into laughter. “Aye. We hid in the wine cellar for hours to escape your punishment. And by the time we finally crawled out, we were both too drunk to remember anything.”
“You drank the royal wine?” The queen lifted an eyebrow in a haughty gesture, then dissolved into peals of laughter.
“What else could we do in the wine cellar? We had to wait until your royal temper cooled.”
“Sometimes,” the queen said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, “I am amazed that the two of you lived to manhood.”
“Aye, Majesty. Sometimes we are amazed as well.”
“Do you recall how I begged the two of you to become my ministers?”
“And we argued that we yearned for a life of adventure, away from the stifling rules of court.”
“Aye.” The queen looked fondly at her two friends.
Across the room Lord Windham watched with a look of fury. How he envied Morgan and Richard Grey their close friendship with the queen.
Brenna sipped her tea and nibbled a morsel of cake, and lost herself in thought. It was strange to picture Morgan as a lad. Even living among royalty, it would seem, he managed to be himself, a teasing, fun-loving rogue, and to discover adventure. She smiled. Aye, it was strange to imagine Morgan playing pranks with Richard and a very young Elizabeth.
She glanced at Richard. What must it be like to lose the ability to walk, run, fight? To a strong, virile man like Richard, it must be a nightmare from which he never woke. And yet, he seemed less affected by it than his brother.
She saw the way Richard’s gaze followed the young French woman. And she noted the lingering looks the girl gave Richard when she thought he was not looking. There was no pity in Adrianna’s eyes; only admiration for the handsome rogue who sat beside the queen.
Brenna realized for the first time since her arrival in England, she felt completely relaxed. Was it, she asked herself, because the queen had gone out of her way to be kind? Or was it because she was seeing Morgan Grey as a person, and not as her jailer? Usually, whenever he was around, there was a tension in her that she could not explain.
“And what of your childhood in Scotland, Brenna? Was it so different?” Elizabeth asked.
“I think not. I learned to ride as soon as I could walk. My earliest memories are of being astride my father’s shaggy red stallion while he stood beside me, speaking words of encouragement in that deep, wonderful voice of his.”
Morgan listened with interest. It was rare to hear Brenna speak of her childhood.
“And what of women’s work?” Madeline asked.
“My mother often despaired of her daughters ever learning a skill with needle and thread, or in the kitchen. We adored our father and wanted to share his life.” Brenna smiled. “But after my mother’s death, the many duties of running a household were thrust upon me. Though I must admit that even now the adventure of the hunt is a great love of mine.”
“So the man who weds you will have the best of both teachers, the warrior and the wife.” Cordell was gazing at Brenna with a look of pure adoration.
Across the room Morgan felt a wave of annoyance and an instant dislike for the handsome youth who was devouring Brenna with his eyes. The elegantly attired Frenchman would look more at home at the queen’s court than on a battlefield. It would seem that apple-cheeked boys whose hands were not as yet callused from holding a sword or earning their bread were always attracted to the beautiful Brenna.
Seeing his scowl, Madeline asked, “What is wrong, mon cher? Are the cakes not sweet enough for your taste?”
He shoved
the plate aside. “I have had my fill of tea and cakes.”
“Ale, my lord?” Mistress Leems signaled a servant to fill his goblet.
He gave her a grateful smile.
“I have begun to think,” Lord Windham said to the queen, “that the Scotswoman would indeed be a prize for a titled Englishman. She is easy to look at. She is quite charming. And she can manage a household.”
He stared pointedly at Brenna, and she felt the heat rise to her cheeks. Her eyes darkened with anger. The man was studying her, speaking about her, as if she were a prize sow.
“Have you forgotten her temper, Windham?” The queen leaned back, enjoying herself.
“Nay, Majesty. But I have found that a woman can be controlled much the same as a spirited mare—a firm hand, a tight rein, and,” he added with a cruel smile, “a whip, when all else fails.”
Glancing at him, Brenna felt an icy chill at the smile that split his lips. In his eyes there was neither warmth nor humor. She had no doubt that the man was a tyrant who would derive pleasure from inflicting pain.
Morgan’s hand curled into a fist at his side. A whip, indeed! He had spotted the fear in Brenna’s eyes before she blinked it away. He had an almost overpowering urge to go to her and offer his strength and comfort. Though he would derive more pleasure at the moment if he could hold a whip over Windham’s head until he begged for mercy.
Richard glanced from his brother to the woman who held his gaze. Clearing his throat he said, “I pray the tea and cakes have soothed you after your journey, Majesty. Mistress Leems has planned a special dinner. But first, I am certain you will wish to rest.”
“Aye. In a moment.” Elizabeth pursed her lips in thought, then said, “I have been informed that a legion of Highland warriors is seeking an audience with me in London.”
Brenna’s heart soared. Megan had reached the Highlands. Brice would take her from this place.
Elizabeth went on, “It seems that they seek to deliver a petition from my cousin, Mary of Scotland, on behalf of Brice Campbell, to free his wife’s sister.”
Everyone in the room glanced at Brenna, whose eyes were touched with sudden light.
“I sent word with a messenger that I am unable to meet with them at this time. I urged them to return to Scotland secure in the knowledge that the woman they seek is in good hands.” The queen stood, and the others followed suit. “I would sleep an hour or two before we sup.”
Morgan filled the awkward silence. “Then I bid you good rest, Majesty.”
Richard kissed her hand and Morgan did the same. When the queen and her company left the room, Brenna fled to the privacy of her chambers. But while the others slept, she paced the floor, struggling to calm the storm that raged within. She had allowed herself to be lulled by this peaceful retreat. But she was not safe anywhere in England. The queen had no intention of freeing her. And her last hope, her countrymen, had abandoned her.
At any moment, Brenna knew, the queen could decide her fate. A fate that could make her the wife of any Englishman who asked for her. Even a madman.
Lord Windham’s words had struck terror in her heart.
“I tell you he intends to ask for the Lady Brenna.”
Richard’s words were an urgent whisper.
“What would you have me do?” Morgan stood by the window, staring bleakly at the sky.
“God in heaven, man. I have seen the way you look at her. You are not immune to her charms.”
Morgan turned. “I cannot marry her.”
Richard’s hands balled into fists. “If I had legs to carry me, I would wrestle you to the floor and fight you like I did when we were lads until you came to your senses.”
“It would do you no more good now than it did then.”
“Aye. You were always the most stubborn, obstinate lout in all of England.”
Usually such words would bring a wry smile to Morgan’s lips. But his mood was so foul, not even a hint of laughter touched his eyes. Richard watched as Morgan squared his shoulders and began to walk toward the door.
In his fury Richard grabbed a crystal goblet from the table beside him and hurled it. It shattered against the wall just above Morgan’s shoulder, spraying him with shards of broken glass.
“Of the two of us, you are the cripple,” Richard shouted. “Even after all these years you have never allowed yourself to heal.”
Without emotion, Morgan brushed the glass from his tunic and opened the door. When it closed behind him, Richard looked at it for long, silent minutes before turning to stare broodingly into the fire.
Dinner was to be a formal affair. All the guests were assembled when a servant announced the arrival of the queen. When the doors were opened, Elizabeth stood beside Morgan. She was arrayed in a scarlet gown; he in a scarlet tunic. Both of them looked very grave, their heads bent in intimate conversation. Everyone curtsied. Elizabeth acknowledged their greeting, then accepted a goblet from one of the serving wenches.
“Dinner is served,” Mistress Leems intoned.
“I am ravenous,” the queen said. “After your excellent confections earlier, Mistress Leems, I am anxious to see what other surprises you have for me.”
“The Lady Brenna has been most helpful in choosing the menu, Majesty.”
Elizabeth shot a glance at the young woman who stood beside Madeline. “Then we shall all have a chance to judge your skill in the kitchen, Brenna.
Out of the corner of her eye, Brenna saw Lord Windham cross the room toward her. Just then Cordell offered her his arm.
“May I accompany you in to sup, my lady?”
“Thank you.” She placed her hand on the young Frenchman’s arm and together they swept past Windham, who stood scowling after them.
Quickly recovering, he offered his arm to Madeline, who cheerfully accepted. The others fell into line behind them. A servant pushed Richard’s chair. Seeing him, Adrianna slowed her steps until she was moving along beside him.
Richard glanced at the lovely young French woman, then away. It galled him that he could not stride gallantly along beside her. Each time he thought he had made his peace with his infirmity, something came along to challenge him. Something or—someone.
“You have a most lovely home, my lord,” Adrianna said softly.
He loved the accent that softened all her words. “Thank you. In truth, it is my brother’s, since Morgan is the eldest.”
“But you live here.”
“Aye. I find life in London too fast for my taste.”
“I have visited my sister in London.”
“Do you like it?”
She shrugged. “It is like Paris. As you said, very fast. But here…” She glanced around as they entered the large, airy refectory. “Here there is time to think, to feel, to breathe.”
“Aye. To breathe. The air is sweeter here than anywhere on earth.”
She smiled shyly. “I noticed. From my chambers I can smell the roses from the garden. They are so lovely.”
“Do you like roses?”
“Oui. They are my favorite, I think.”
His smile grew. “Then I shall have to show you my mother’s rose garden.”
“I would like that.”
“Tomorrow,” he whispered as they took their places at table. “After we break our fast.”
She nodded, then looked up as Morgan offered a toast to the queen.
Beside her, Richard found himself almost trembling with anticipation. He felt as he had when he was a young apprentice, about to enter his first joust.
“A finer meal I have never eaten, Mistress Leems.” The queen sat back, content, replete. She was a woman accustomed to the best. But this time, Morgan’s housekeeper had outdone herself.
“I took the liberty,” the queen said to Morgan, “of inviting my musicians to accompany me.”
“You are too kind.”
“If I need not be at court, I intend to enjoy myself. I wish to dance, to laugh, to forget the troubles of the Crown for a little while.”<
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“Then we shall dance, Majesty.”
Morgan offered his arm and the queen stood. Around the table the others stood and followed Elizabeth and her escort to the great room, where the musicians were assembled.
At the queen’s signal, they began to play. The men and women who had accompanied the queen from Richmond Palace took up their positions for the dance.
Brenna stood to one side and drank in the view. With their long, stiff skirts billowing around their feet, the women in their colorful gowns seemed to float across the floor in the arms of their partners.
The queen accepted Morgan’s outstretched hand. Madeline’s husband kissed her fondly before offering her his arm. Cordell bowed before his sister and was surprised when she demurred.
“You will not dance?”
“Not now,” she said softly. “I would prefer to stay here and watch.” She took a seat beside Richard, all the while keeping her shy gaze averted.
Richard’s smile grew until it was dazzling.
Cordell approached Brenna. “Will you dance, my lady?”
She hesitated for only a moment before placing her hand in his. With a laugh he twirled her around. And then they were caught up in the crush of laughing, dancing couples.
When the dance ended, Cordell returned Brenna to the side of the room, where servants had set up tables and chairs.
Before she could catch her breath Morgan was standing before her. She placed her hand in his and he led her to the dance floor. Without a word he drew her into his arms and began to move. And as if in a trance she moved with him, following his lead as easily as if they had always danced together.
“You have not forgotten.” His breath was warm against her temple.
“I have forgotten nothing, my lord.” Neither the way his strong arms held her as gently as if she were made of crystal, nor the way her heart raced each time they came together. If only he were not English. If only they had met at some other time, some other place. She could have so easily loved him, she thought.