Highland Heather

by Ruth Ryan Langan

garden paths.

  "It is the same for me."

  Megan crossed the room and paused beside her sister. Following

  Brenna's gaze, she spied Morgan Grey.

  "Is that not their leader?" At her sister's nod, she said softly, "Why

  do you permit him to move about unmolested? What if he should open the

  gates and admit the rest of his men who wait beyond our walls?"

  "He claims to be on a mission of peace from Elizabeth of England."

  "You believe him?"

  Brenna shrugged.

  "I have not yet decided what to believe about Morgan Grey."

  Megan was puzzled by the inflection in her sister's voice. It was not

  anger she detected, but something not quite definable.

  "And how does England's queen hope to achieve this miracle of peace?"

  "By arranging marriages between our people, especially those of us who

  are Borderers."

  "God in heaven." With a stricken look Megan caught her sister by the

  arm.

  "Does that mean that you and I would be forced to marry Englishmen?"

  "Nay." Brenna's eyes narrowed at the thought of allowing her sister to

  be sacrificed in such a manner. As for herself, she was the

  MacAlpin.

  No one told her what to do.

  "I would pay any price for peace, save that one." Her voice softened.

  Her eyes took on a dreamy, faraway look.

  "I recall the way Father grieved after Mother's death. Theirs was a

  true and lasting love. As is the love our sister, Meredith, feels for

  Brice, her beloved Highlander."

  Megan nodded.

  "But no one expected her to give her heart to the barbarian."

  "It matters not that he was not one of us. Brice Campbell is devoted

  to Meredith, just the way Father was devoted to Mother. I'll not

  settle for less." Brenna's eyes burned with a determination that sent

  her younger sister's heart soaring with renewed hope. Brenna could be

  counted upon to stand firm in the face of danger.

  "I swear, Megan, I'll give myself to no man until my heart tells me

  'tis true love." She opened her arms and gathered the girl close.

  Against her temple she murmured, "We must remain true to ourselves and

  our people. And the English queen be damned."

  Morgan Grey awoke in a foul temper. He had slept badly, despite the

  softness of down beneath his head and the warmth' of a cozy fire in the

  sleeping chamber. It was not down he needed. Nor a warm bed. It was

  the softness of a woman's:

  body next to him. A woman slender of frame and beautiful of face, with

  raven hair and a voice that whispered over his;;

  senses. A woman like. Nay. He wanted no part of the Scots-1 woman.

  He wanted only to be rid of this place and the| woman who fired his

  blood. | She was not at all the sort of female he would willingly!

  seek out. He much preferred a plump tavern wench, all soft| curves,

  with a boisterous wit and a lusty laugh. Or one ofi the many willing

  women at Elizabeth's court, who dressed;

  to please the men and knew how to brazenly flirt. With that kind of

  woman there need be no fear of entrapment. They were seeking merely a

  few moments of pleasure. Love was not part of the bargain. That was

  why he enjoyed their company. He had no intention of losing his heart

  only to have it shattered. Never again.

  He dressed quickly, then went to inspect the soldiers' quarters. Once

  there he took his time listening to the complaints of his men.

  Ordinarily he would have berated them for their petty quarrels. The

  food was not as tasty as English food. Their beds were hard. The

  horses were not being stabled properly. But this day he let them

  ramble on without reprimand. He found the company of his men far more

  inviting than that of the woman with whom he would be forced to break

  the fast.

  When at last the men assembled for their morning meal, he had no choice

  but to accompany them.

  Brenna stood in the center of the refectory, giving orders to one of

  the serving girls. She knew the exact moment Morgan Grey entered the

  room. Though she finished her command, she had no idea what she was

  saying. She babbled on, achingly aware of dark eyes staring at her

  with such intensity, she could feel the heat clear across the room.

  She turned and acknowledged him with a slight nod.

  "Good morrow, my lady." He cautioned himself to be pleasant if it

  killed him.

  "I trust you slept well." She prayed her cheeks were not as flushed as

  they felt.

  "Very well." He studied her gown of palest pink, the sleeves crusted

  with jewels. Her lush, dark hair was held back with pale pink

  netting.

  He had a fleeting wish to tear away the netting and watch her hair

  cascade down her back, loose and free. That thought brought an instant

  frown to his face.

  "Your accommodations are most satisfying."

  So satisfying that he looked as if he had slept in a briar patch the

  entire night.

  "You will join me at the head table?"

  "As you wish."

  He walked beside her, then paused to hold her chair. As he bent

  forward he inhaled the fragrance of heather. Damn the woman for all

  her soft looks and polite words. Why couldn't she be a hag, with bad

  teeth and the scent of the stables about her?

  "I trust you will be leaving for England this day."

  "Nay." He saw the look that came into her eyes and began to enjoy

  himself for the first time since he had awakened. So she was eager to

  be rid of him, was she?

  "My men and I will tarry here for a few days longer."

  "For what purpose, my lord?"

  "To--assess the situation for the queen."

  As a servant approached with a tray of food, Brenna felt her stomach

  lurch. A few more days of this man. How could she even think about

  eating after such an unpleasant bit of news? Why did the man have to

  sit so close? Just the thought of those hands touching her, soiling

  her, caused strange sensations deep inside.

  Morgan broke the bread, still warm from the oven, into thick slabs and

  handed one to her. She watched as he spooned honey over his and tasted

  it. He gave a smile of pure pleasure.

  "To a soldier who has been long away from his home, there is nothing

  more satisfying than good food." He noted that she had not yet

  eaten.

  "Taste, my lady." There was the hint of a smile on his lips.

  "Mayhap it will sweeten your day."

  She took a dainty bite and prayed she would be able to swallow.

  "Is your sister not joining us this morrow?"

  "She was still abed when I came below stairs. She did not sleep well

  last night."

  "A pity." His appetite had just sharpened considerably. Now if only

  he could cause the one beside him to sleep badly as well. But that was

  probably asking too much. She was too regal to ever lose her

  composure.

  "A little mutton, my lady? Venison?" As Morgan filled his plate, he

  insisted on filling Brenna's as well. While he ate until he was sated,

  she nibbled at a piece of honeyed bread and left the rest untouched.

 
; Morgan emptied a tankard of mulled wine and felt his blood heat. After

  such a repast, he could lay siege to an entire enemy stronghold. Or at

  least the enemy beside him.

  He leaned back and glanced at Brenna. A drop of honey clung to her

  lip. Without thinking he touched a finger to the spot, then brought

  his finger to his tongue.

  With a look of astonishment she watched him lick the honey from his

  finger.

  He gave her a mocking smile.

  "Your lips made the honey even sweeter."

  "You are too bold, sir. This time you go too far."

  She scraped back her chair, nearly knocking it over in her haste to

  escape his touch. Without a backward glance she lifted her skirts and

  hurried from the room.

  As she disappeared, Morgan's lips curved into a lazy, satisfied

  smile.

  So, he had managed to ruffle the lady's feathers. He just might enjoy

  his stay at MacAlpin Castle after all.

  From his place across the room, old Duncan MacAlpin watched through

  narrowed gaze.

  "Hamish." Brenna and Megan launched themselves into the arms of the

  tall, handsome youth who came to call mid 7

  morning.

  Across the room, Morgan assumed a bored expression as he watched.

  "What brings you to MacAlpin Castle?"

  "Everyone knows that there are English soldiers camped about your

  lands. I could not sleep another night without knowing whether or not

  you were safe."

  He took Brenna's hands and studied her carefully. Too carefully,

  Morgan thought. Like a lover.

  "Have you or your sister been molested?"

  "We are safe enough. But I am grateful for your concern. Come,"

  Brenna said.

  "Meet the leader of the English soldiers."

  As she led the youth toward him, Morgan noted the dull copper hair, and

  barely hidden beneath the plaid, the muscled arms and shoulders.

  The lad's skin was kissed by the sun, and displayed not a whisker nor a

  blemish.

  "Hamish MacPherson," Brenna said with a smile, "this is Morgan Grey,

  who carries a message of peace from his queen, Elizabeth."

  The two men studied each other somberly, each taking the measure of the

  other.

  "Are you a messenger for your clan, lad?"

  Hamish pulled himself up to his full height. He knew of Morgan Grey,

  called the Queen's Savage. All of Scotland did. But even his fierce

  reputation did not give him the right to be insulting. Especially in

  front of the MacAlpin women.

  "I am the eldest son of Blair, leader of the clan MacPherson. We are

  pledged to the protection of our neighbors, the MacAlpins, against any

  danger."

  "How noble." Morgan suddenly despised this youth, with his unlined

  face and ready smile. He'd bet a gold sovereign that the only MacAlpin

  this callow youth cared about was Brenna.

  "I assure you, I pose no threat to these good people."

  Hamish smiled down at the woman beside him.

  "I am greatly relieved. I came prepared to do battle. You know I

  would die rather than see you harmed."

  Brenna lifted her face to him and gave him a look of pure adoration.

  "I know, Hamish. That was good of you."

  "Foolish, I would say."

  All eyes turned toward Morgan.

  "If you came prepared to fight my soldiers, you should have brought

  half of Scotland with you. One puny man would hardly cause us to

  change our minds, if we had come on a mission of war instead of

  peace."

  The smile was wiped from Hamish's eyes. His hand went to the sword at

  his waist. Instantly Brenna caught his hand and twined her fingers in

  his.

  "Pay no attention to this man's words, my friend. It is enough to know

  that you cared enough to risk your life for ours. My sister Megan and

  I are forever in your debt."

  The youth caught her hand to his lips and stared deeply into her

  eyes.

  "Perhaps you and Megan could come to stay with my people until the

  English have gone."

  Brenna turned in time to see the look of fury in Morgan's dark eyes.

  What a sense of power it gave her to know that she could rouse the

  Englishman's are with such ease.

  "That is most kind of you. But of course I cannot leave my castle

  unattended. Nor my guests." She gave what she hoped was her sweetest

  smile.

  "Come, Hamish. You must stay and visit a while. Perhaps you can sup

  with us this night and return to your own home on the morrow."

  Hamish MacPherson was overjoyed. Never in his wildest dreams had he

  hoped for such tender treatment from Brenna MacAlpin. Always in the

  past, the young woman had treated him like a leper, holding him, like

  all the others, at arm's length. Perhaps she was more afraid of this

  Englishman than she admitted. It would seem that he had arrived just

  in time.

  He puffed up his chest and -allowed himself to be led to the great

  room. Once there, however, he found himself left alone with the

  younger one, Megan, while Brenna went off to her chambers.

  It was not until midday, when everyone had gathered for a meal, that

  Brenna once more singled out Hamish for her attention.

  Beside her, Morgan Grey seethed. The ice maiden, it seemed, had a

  fondness for pink-cheeked boys with broad shoulders and little between

  their ears.

  "A rider approaches, my lady. He carries the standard of the English

  warrior, Morgan Grey."

  Brenna looked up from her embroidery. Across the room, her sister and

  Hamish were enjoying a rousing game of cards. Though darkness had

  descended, the room was made bright by the light of the fire and the

  candles that burned in sconces along the walls.

  "Does he ride alone?"

  "Aye, my lady."

  "Since he is a lone rider, allow him to enter."

  The order was given. Scots soldiers lowered their weapons. The wooden

  staves were thrown, allowing the huge double doors to swing wide.

  Brenna watched as old Bancroft, the keeper of the door, accepted a

  scroll from the stranger.

  "He carries a message for his leader, Morgan Grey."

  Brenna nodded and waited while a servant went in search of the man she

  had been avoiding all day. When Morgan appeared, she shot him a

  haughty glance before looking away.

  Morgan scanned the words of the scroll, then looked up with a frown.

  "Was there nothing more?"

  "Nay, my lord."

  "Tell the men camped beyond the walls that we will leave at first

  light."

  Brenna could scarcely believe what she was hearing. Though she

  carefully schooled her features to hide the excitement she felt, she

  could not help but give a sigh of relief as the soldier smartly saluted

  and turned away.

  "You are leaving, my lord?"

  He heard the note of eagerness in her tone and silently cursed her.

  "Aye." He ignored Hamish, who had crossed the room to stand

  protectively beside Brenna. Morgan experienced such a rush of anger it

  puzzled him. Jealousy? That was impossible. How could he harbor such

  ridiculous
feelings over a woman he didn't even like?

  "It seems the queen has need of me."

  "You are returning to England?" At his nod she added, "I will

  immediately instruct my servants to prepare food for your journey."

  "You are too kind, my lady. You need not hurry. We do not leave until

  the morrow."

  "But there is much to prepare. The day begins early."

  As she turned away he saw the relief lurking just below the surface of

  her composed features. She was overjoyed to be rid of him. If she

  could, she would see him gone within the hour.

  Well, he thought, watching her retreating back, did he not feel the

  same way? He had resented this mission. Had resented wasting his time

  and his men on something so trivial as this Scotswoman. The time he

  had spent here could have been better spent subduing enemies of the

  Crown.

  He made his way to the men's quarters and instructed them to prepare to

  leave at dawn. Then he made his way to his chambers and packed his few

  supplies.

  From the desk, he picked up a tankard of ale, then glanced at the notes

  he had written chronicling the MacAlpin holdings. The Scotswoman was

  unexpectedly wealthy even by English standards. Brenna MacAlpin would

  make a fine bride for one of England's titled noblemen.

  He walked to the balcony and stared at the darkened hills below.

  Brenna understood what the queen had in mind. And from all that he had

  observed, she would rather die than allow herself to be wed to an

  Englishman.

  He swirled the contents of the tankard, deep in thought. She was an

  intelligent woman. More intelligent than most he had met. If she

  intended to thwart the queen's plans, there was a simple enough

  solution. Before he had a chance to reach England and present his

  findings to the queen, the

  MacAlpin woman could easily persuade one of her own countrymen to marry

  her. The oaf below stairs would need no persuasion. He was already a

  poor dog, eating out of the lady's hand.

  Once wed, even the Queen of England did not have the power to rule

  against such a union.

  God in heaven! In just the short time he had known her, he could

  already glimpse her devious little mind at work. It was what he would

  do in her place.

  He downed the ale and slammed the tankard onto the desk. As a loyal

  servant of Elizabeth, he knew what he had to do. With the decision

  firm in his mind, he felt more lighthearted than he had in days.

  This was not a personal feud, he assured himself. But that would not

  prevent him from enjoying a certain amount of personal satisfaction at

  the lady's discomfort.

  To keep Lady Brenna MacAlpin from marrying another, he would have to

  force her to accompany him and his men to England.

  Chapter Four

  q^vs^q

  1 he sky to the east was still dark when Brenna awoke. With a light

  heart she climbed from her bed. At the first sound of her footsteps,

  old Mora, her maid, was at her side, helping her with her morning

  toilette.

  "You be anxious, child."

  "Aye. The English soldiers are leaving us this morrow."

  "Thanks be to God. Their leader, Morgan Grey, is a fearsome man. He

  reminds me of the one who wed our dear Meredith."

  "How can you say such a thing?" Brenna studied the old woman's

  reflection in her mirror.

  "Brice Campbell is a Scotsman. Morgan Grey is English."

  Old Morna shrugged.

  "Aye. But there is a look about him. A bit of a rogue. If I were

  fifty years younger..."