by Ruth Langan
He shifted uncomfortably. “Aye. I have much work to do. I have been neglecting my roses.”
He picked up the shears and made an attempt at a stalk. He snipped off a perfect bloom. It fluttered to the ground. Taking no notice he snipped another and another, until an entire row of rose bushes had been shorn of their blooms.
“Perhaps I should leave you,” she said softly, “before you destroy your beautiful rose garden.”
“Aye. I believe we said everything we had to say last night.”
“About last night…” Adrianna saw the way he flinched at her words and paused. Then, licking her lips, she forced herself to go on. “I do not regret what I did, my lord. I know it was brazen of me, and I know that I have shocked you. But I do not regret it. My only regret is that you refused me.”
He wondered if she could hear the wild thundering of his heart. God in heaven, how much should a man have to take? In a voice trembling with passion he said, “We will speak no more of this.”
“Oui. We will never again speak of it. And I will go back to France only because you will not permit me to stay with you. But know this, my Lord Richard. You cannot command my heart. That stays here with you. I love you. I will always love you.”
“That is the child in you speaking. You think you love me out of some noble need to help the less fortunate. But when you return to your home, you will be grateful to me for setting you free to love the way you deserve to love.”
For a moment the fire inside her raged out of control. “The child in me? Nay, my lord. It is the woman in me who speaks. I will be grateful for having known you, my lord.” Her voice caught in her throat. “But I will never thank you for sending me away.”
She turned, but not before he saw the tears that filled her eyes. Without thinking he caught her hand and folded it between both of his.
In a voice filled with pain he whispered, “For God’s sake, Adrianna, leave me. Now. Before I weaken.”
“How—touching.”
Richard and Adrianna looked up in surprise at the sound of Lord Windham’s caustic tones.
Seeing his torn and bloody tunic, his dirty breeches, Richard commented, “It would seem you’ve taken another nasty fall, Windham.”
“Aye.” Windham’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. “A fall from grace.”
“I do not…”
Windham took his sword from the scabbard and studied it. “All my life in my climb to power I have been thwarted by one man.” He looked up and fixed his gaze on Richard. “Your brother.”
“Morgan? What are you talking about, Windham?”
Lord Windham took a step closer. His eyes narrowed. “Morgan Grey thinks I am a beaten man. But he has not yet won. There are still some things I can do to hurt him.”
Instinctively Richard shoved Adrianna roughly aside. In a sharp commanding tone she had never heard before he said curtly, “You will go inside at once, Adrianna. And you will not look back.”
Windham’s cruel smile grew. “You would spare this sweet child the sight of your death at my hands?”
Adrianna sucked in her breath. “What are you saying?”
“Go, Adrianna.” Richard caught at the wheels of his chair, turning it so that he placed himself between the woman and Windham. “I command you. Go now.”
“Nay, my lord.” Though her face had gone pale and her voice trembled, she did not move. “I obeyed you last night. And I was wrong. I should have disobeyed you and stayed as I wanted. But now you cannot command. If you must die at this man’s hand, I would rather die beside you than live without you.”
“There is little enough challenge here,” Windham said, lifting his sword. “One with no legs, the other with no courage.”
Richard recalled the way his blood had always heated just before the battle. His heart would race, his palms would sweat, and he would feel the kicking, churning juices deep inside begin to pump as the battle began. He felt that way now. It was as if he had never been away from it.
He glanced down at the shears in his lap. They were his only weapon. But he would do what he had to. Adrianna’s life depended upon it. As for his own, it mattered not.
As Windham thrust the sword, Richard ducked and waited until his opponent moved in closer. Then, slashing out, he managed to cut Windham’s arm. With a savage oath Windham dropped his sword and clutched at his bloody arm.
“For every wound you inflict on me, I shall inflict a dozen upon you and the woman. Before I finish with you, you will beg me to kill you.”
They heard the sound of horses’ hooves, but neither man was willing to take his gaze from the other long enough to see who was riding toward them.
Windham’s voice grew shrill with growing rage and frustration. “You will pay for this, Grey. You and your brother. I will see you both destroyed.”
As he bent to take up his sword, a dainty foot pressed down over the jewelled hilt. With his mouth open, Windham looked up to see the young Frenchwoman facing him, her eyes blazing.
“You will not harm Richard.”
“Harm him?” Windham gave an evil laugh. “I will kill him. And you as well, little fool.”
“Toss me the sword, Adrianna.” Richard watched in horror as Adrianna and Windham struggled for control of the sword.
But when Lord Windham lifted his hand and slapped her, knocking her to the ground, Richard’s horror turned to fury.
“No!” As Windham lifted his sword above Adrianna’s head, Richard gathered all his strength and lunged from his chair, taking Windham with him.
From their positions on their horses, the queen, Brenna and Morgan watched helplessly as the two men collided, their fists raised, their voices muffled in grunts of pain.
For long, agonizing minutes the two men lay very still. Around them no one spoke. No one seemed able to move. All who watched were paralyzed in fear. At long last Richard lifted himself up on his powerful hands and stared down at the man beneath him.
Lord Windham lay, faceup, the pruning shears buried in his chest. His tunic was stained crimson. His mouth was twisted in a soundless cry of rage. His eyes stared, lifeless, vacant, fixed on some distant pinnacle he would never reach.
Adrianna fell into Richard’s arms, sobbing against his chest, “Oh, my beloved. Never, never will I permit you to send me away again.”
He clutched her to him. Against her hair he murmured, “Nor will I try. When I thought I might lose you, I realized just how much I love you. I can only pray that I will bring you half as much happiness as I know you will bring me.”
Though she rejoiced in their triumph, a terrible weakness seemed to have taken over Brenna. She turned to Morgan, her head swimming. Her relief turned to shock when she saw the blood seeping from him in half a dozen places. His face had lost all its color. His lips moved but no words came out. His eyes rolled back in his head. And without a sound he slid from his horse and fell to the ground.
With a cry she dropped from the saddle and clutched him. If it took her last breath, she would see to his needs.
Morgan came awake slowly, as if from a long, drugging sleep. Sunlight streaming through the balcony windows stabbed at his eyes and he had to blink several times before he could bear the light. He glanced around the suite of rooms that had been his since boyhood. The familiar surroundings brought him comfort.
He felt a stirring beside him on the bed and turned his head. Even that slight movement sent pain crashing through him.
Brenna lay curled on her side, facing him. He drank in the sight of her.
Bits and pieces of his tormented dreams still clouded his mind. In each of them, his beloved Brenna had suffered at the hands of demons. He studied her carefully. Except for a dressing on her arm, she seemed unharmed.
He watched as her lids flickered, then opened. At the sight of him a smile touched her lips, animating all her features.
“At last you have returned to me.” She knelt and placed a hand on his forehead, then gave an audible sigh. “Oh, my beloved.”
She felt her lips tremble as tears filled her eyes. During the long days and nights of her silent vigil she had held all her dark fears at bay. Now, when the danger was over, she gave in to a bout of weeping. “I was so afraid I would lose you.”
“How could I give up my life now, when there is so much to live for?” Morgan drew her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her, offering her his quiet strength.
That was how the queen and her servants found them. Flustered, Brenna tried to draw away, but Morgan caught her hand, forcing her to stay by his side.
“So, my friend,” Elizabeth said as she strode across the room and paused beside his bed. “You have rejoined the living. Your wounds were grave. You had us all alarmed. But Brenna never gave up.”
With a tender smile Morgan turned to the woman beside him.
“When my physician insisted upon bleeding you, Brenna chased him from your chambers and took over your complete care.”
At that, Morgan threw back his head and roared. “You dismissed the queen’s own physician?”
“You had already lost too much blood. I feared if he had his way you would have no blood left.”
“The lady is truly your champion,” Elizabeth said. “She has not left your side. She even took her meals here in your chambers. Such devotion is rare indeed.”
At the queen’s praise, Morgan watched the color rise to Brenna’s cheeks.
“And you, Majesty?” Morgan studied the queen. “Are you unscathed?”
“Aye. Thanks to you and the Scotswoman. And to show your queen’s gratitude,” Elizabeth said regally, “there will be a ceremony here in the abbey as soon as you are strong enough. You and Richard will receive your country’s highest honor. And Brenna MacAlpin may ask any favor from a grateful queen.”
“That is not necessary, Majesty. It is reward enough to know that you are unharmed.”
“It is my desire that all of England will know of your brave deeds.” Elizabeth touched a hand to Morgan’s cheek, and Brenna was certain that she saw tears in the queen’s eyes.
“Rest now, my brave rogue,” Elizabeth murmured. With a rustle of skirts she was gone.
Morgan stood in a small antechamber of the abbey, awaiting Brenna’s arrival. Rosamunde had insisted that she be allowed to fuss over her mistress’s hair and clothing before the ceremony. After all, it was not every day that the titled lords and ladies of the realm came to the humble abbey at Greystone to bask in the presence of their queen.
Morgan moved to the door and peered at the crowd of beautifully dressed men and women. How ironic, he thought, that they should come here this day to honor him and his brother. He would have much preferred the simple gratitude of his queen. But Elizabeth had insisted upon this ceremony. He and Richard would be knighted here in the abbey of Greystone.
The original abbey had been built nearly two hundred years earlier. When one of his ancestors had successfully defended the monks against an attack, his reward from a grateful king had been a gift of the abbey and all the surrounding villages.
Morgan thought about the many ancestors whose blood flowed through his veins. How many battles they had fought. How many victories they had enjoyed. But the sweetest victory of all, he knew, was the victory of the heart. With Brenna at his side, he could do anything. Without her…He thought about all the bleak years when he had hardened his heart against love. Brenna had been the one to unlock the door, freeing him to love again.
He heard the trumpets blare and knew that the queen had arrived. Opening the door, he watched as Elizabeth moved along the center aisle, lifting her hand in a blessing as she walked toward the altar. The women curtsied, the men bowed as she passed.
When she was seated upon her throne, she signaled for the ceremony to begin. Morgan glanced toward the rear of the abbey and saw Richard seated in his chair. With quick steps he joined him.
“Sir Morgan,” Richard said, winking at him.
“Aye, Sir Richard.” Morgan clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder, then stepped behind the chair and began to push.
Together the two men moved up the center aisle toward their smiling queen.
The ceremony was brief and moving. Elizabeth cited her two noble warriors for risking their own lives for the life of the queen. With gleaming sword she touched their shoulders and spoke the words that would forever set them apart from other men. They were exalted knights, whose glorious deeds would be recorded for posterity.
A hush fell over the crowd and Morgan turned expectantly. He saw Brenna standing at the back of the abbey. As she began to move up the aisle, he thought again about the woman who had refused to leave him until his wounds were completely mended. Day and night she had stayed by his side, tending him, ministering to him with that same quiet dignity he had come to love.
He watched her now, looking every bit as regal as the woman who sat upon the throne. No one in this assembly would believe that she could fight like a wildcat and wield a sword like a soldier. Nor would they believe how the woman could love.
He felt a warm glow. Last night their lovemaking had taken on a fierce, passionate nature that had left him breathless.
Brenna bowed low before the queen, then lifted her head.
“Brenna MacAlpin,” Elizabeth said in tones that carried throughout the abbey. “Though not a citizen of this land, you risked your life so that I may live. I proclaim to all assembled that a grateful queen offers to grant your most fervent desire.”
Elizabeth looked at the young woman who stood humbly before her and was reminded of the proud, rebellious young Scotswoman who had stood before her so defiantly on their first meeting. “What is your request, Brenna MacAlpin?”
Brenna felt her heart thundering. She’d had several days to contemplate this. Since the queen had first informed her of this celebration, she had pondered. The queen had assured her that gold, titles, land, were all hers for the asking. But she had known from the first that there was only one thing she desired.
She loved Morgan. Loved him with all her heart. But she would come to him freely, of her own choice. He would understand. He was a man who valued his own freedom.
Beside her, Morgan beamed. He had no doubt as to what Brenna would choose. She loved him. He loved her. She would choose to stay with him forever.
“Freedom, Majesty. I would return to my people a free woman.”
Morgan caught his breath as a pain as sharp as a dagger pierced his heart. This could not be happening. She would not ask such a thing. Leave him? Return to Scotland?
As the queen spoke the words granting Brenna her freedom, Morgan felt all the joy of this day turn into ashes.
From the choir loft came organ music, swelling dramatically as Brenna made her way down the aisle. From her position in the first pew Adrianna rushed forward and hugged Richard.
Morgan spun on his heel and bowed before Elizabeth. In hushed tones he said, “I was told that Alden has assembled an army to ride to Wales.”
“Aye.” The queen looked puzzled.
“I would ride with them.”
“You? Morgan, you have barely recovered from your wounds.”
“I have been away from the battle too long, Majesty. I am weary of lolling about like an old man. Give me your blessing.”
The queen stared beyond him to where Brenna waited in the back of the abbey. “This has to do with the lady’s request for freedom, does it not?”
“It has to do with my freedom, Majesty. The lady has earned her freedom. I will not hold her. I freely choose to go to war.”
Elizabeth placed a hand on Morgan’s shoulder and brought her lips to his ear. “You know I cannot refuse your request, my friend. But I fear this time you go too far. She loves you. But how long can she be expected to wait while you work out your demons?”
“Have I your permission to go to Wales?”
Elizabeth gave a long, expressive sigh. “Aye, my dear friend. You may go. So long as you promise to stay alive.”
He kissed her hand an
d turned away. Then, steeling himself for the final confrontation, he made his way down the aisle and stopped before Brenna.
Her bright smile nearly shattered his resolve.
“I must bid you goodbye, my lady.”
Brenna stared at him, uncomprehending.
“The queen is sending me to Wales to put down a rebellion.”
“Wales. For how long…?” Brenna tried again. “I had thought that you would accompany me to my home.”
“I will send several of my most trusted men.”
“I had so hoped you would meet my sisters.”
“As you can see, my lady, it is an impossible request. My duty to the queen must come first.”
“Aye.” Brenna felt her lower lip tremble and bit down hard. Had he not made it plain a long time ago that he did not wish to marry again? What had he said? “I would rather face a horde of invaders without a weapon.” She had been warned. But like all women from the beginning of time, she had foolishly thought her love could change everything. “I shall miss you, Morgan. Will you come to Scotland when this—rebellion is put down?”
Morgan looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “If I could but see the future, Brenna.”
He forced himself to take her hand and lift it to his lips. He felt the jolt and took a deep breath. For a few minutes longer he must be strong.
“Farewell, Brenna.”
“Goodbye, Morgan. God go with you.”
“And with you, my lady.”
He turned away and squared his shoulders. Behind him Brenna leaned against the cold stone wall of the abbey and prayed her legs would continue to support her. The pain around her heart was so terrible, she feared she would embarrass herself by bursting into tears.
From her position at the altar a compassionate queen watched with keen interest. And when Morgan and Brenna turned away from each other, she felt their pain as if it were her own.
Chapter Twenty-five
Morgan leaned a hip against the balcony and stared out over the vast lands of his estate. Always before, Greystone Abbey had brought him peace. After each battle he had returned eagerly to this place so that he could refresh his mind, his soul, his body. But that was before Brenna. Now he could find no peace at Greystone. Perhaps, he thought darkly, there would never be peace for him again.