down beside her.
"But do not fear. Even the English must rest."
"But what if this Highlander finds us in his fields?" Megan
shivered.
"I cannot rid myself of the old fears of the Highlands."
"I know. But they are part of our family now. With Brice Campbell wed
to Meredith, we have nothing to fear."
"Unless we are in the field of one who is foe to Brice."
That thought had already occurred to Brenna.
"Sleep," she whispered.
"I will keep watch."
As the moon slipped beneath a bank of clouds, Brenna strained to peer
into the darkness. It was not the Highlanders she feared. Even those
who were foe to her sister's husband. There was only one to be feared
this night. The Englishman who would separate her from all that she
loved.
The thrill of the hunt was invigorating to a soldier like Morgan. He
awoke quickly, his mind sharp, his thoughts clearly focused on his
goal. This day he would have his victory. He could already taste
it.
He led his mount to the trail of prints made by a small, feminine boot.
The trail disappeared into a wooded glen. Before the first flicker of
light touched the horizon, he and his men pulled themselves into the
saddle.
"The men are hungry," his aide grumbled.
"As am I. But there will be time enough to satisfy our hunger when this
task is behind us. We ride until we find the woman." He tossed his
aide the dried meat that often accompanied the soldiers to battle.
"Chew on this until your hunger is abated."
The grim-faced soldiers fell into line behind their leader.
They rode for nearly an hour before coming upon a Highland woman busy
milking her cows. When she saw the English standard, she began to race
toward the small hut in the distance.
"We will not harm you," Morgan called.
Ignoring his words, the woman ran for her life.
"Stop her."
As his men urged their mounts forward, he added, "But take care that
the woman is not harmed. She must be made to understand that we come
in peace."
Though she bit and kicked and scratched at the hands holding her, his
men did as they were bid and brought her to their leader. She stood
before him, sullen and silent.
"We seek two young women from the lowlands." Morgan caught the woman
by the chin and forced her to look at him.
"Did you see them?"
"I saw no one."
"And if you saw them, would you tell me?"
She shot him a look of defiance.
"I would not."
"I thought as much." He nodded toward the small pen where the cows
waited patiently before being turned into pasture.
"Was there any sign of them in the animal shelter?"
The woman shook her head.
Morgan nodded toward his men.
"See to it."
After a thorough inspection, the men returned to confirm what the woman
had said.
"There is no sign of them."
Morgan released his hold on the woman.
"Then we search elsewhere."
"But what of the woman?" one of his men cried.
"If you release her, we will have an entire Highland clan on our
heels."
"Our fight is not with you," Morgan said sternly.
"Or with your people. When we find the women we seek, we will be gone.
Do you understand?"
She nodded.
As he pulled himself into the saddle, the woman spat at him, then
turned and began to run for safety.
'"Twas a mistake to turn her loose," his aide muttered.
"At least until we find the ones we seek."
"It is a risk we must take. I wish to show the Highlanders that I do
not come to do battle."
'"Twill prove our downfall."
"Perhaps." Morgan's eyes narrowed as he studied the hay on the far
side of the pasture.
"Would women from the lowlands risk sleeping in the animal pen, so near
their enemy?" He prodded his horse into a trot.
"Or would they rather sleep in the open, where they could slip
unnoticed into the forest at first light?"
His men followed as he rode toward the hay. Dismounting, he studied
the slight indentation.
"Did the Lady Brenna rest here perhaps?" He suddenly knelt and
breathed in the scent that he knew to be hers, mingled with the
fragrance of dried grasses and heather. Excitement rippled through
him.
"She was here." He would never mistake the scent of her. It was
already deeply imprinted in his memory.
He stood and pulled himself into the saddle, then studied the trail of
trampled grass leading to the forest once more.
"She is close. I can sense it."
"One pair of tracks leads that way," a soldier cried.
"A second pair is headed there."
"Would the two women separate?" the soldier asked.
"Nay." Morgan smiled, remembering how calmly Brenna had faced his
knife until her younger sister was safely inside the castle walls. The
woman would do anything to save her sister. Anything except leave her
to the dangers of this primitive environment.
"It is a clever ploy to divide our strength and send us on a merry
chase."
"Which tracks will we follow?"
Morgan shrugged.
"It matters not. I have every confidence that they will come together
at a prearranged destination."
As the soldiers moved out, Morgan was forced to admit a grudging
respect for the Lady Brenna. In her place, he would have done the
same. It would seem that despite her delicate appearance, she had the
instincts of a soldier.
They followed a set of tracks as it wove through a forest of towering
evergreen. The sky was obscured by the thick canopy of boughs.
Gradually the woods thinned until they found themselves in a high,
grassy meadow.
For a moment the sun was so bright, they had to shield their eyes. But
as his eyes grew accustomed to the light, Morgan drank in the sight of
a field of blue-violet heather that stretched as far as the eye could
see. He was reminded of Brenna. The flowers were the exact color of
the eyes of the woman he sought.
Far in the distance he spotted a slight movement. Had it been a
Highland breeze rippling the flowers? Or could it have been a human
form, taking cover beneath the heather?
Brenna broke free of the forest and entered a meadow abloom with
heather. For a moment she stared around with a look of wonder. Not
even the sense of desperation that drove her could detract from the
beauty of her surroundings. How strange these Highlands were. One
minute savage and primitive, the next so lovely they took her breath
away.
At the far side of the meadow she saw Megan emerge from a wild tangle
of shrub and thorn. So far their plan was working. They had skirted
the woods from two different directions and had managed to come
together again without mishap. Now, if the fates continued to smile
upon them, they would reach the fortress of Brice Campbell by midday.
Once there, no English savag
e could dare to touch them.
"Brenna." Megan lifted a hand as she spotted her sister.
Brenna returned the salute and opened her mouth to call out. Suddenly
the words caught in her throat.
Emerging from the dark woods far beyond Megan was a horse and rider.
Even from so great a distance, Brenna had no doubt as to his
identity.
God in heaven. Morgan Grey was already close on Megan's heels, like a
wolf after a helpless fawn.
Several other horsemen followed their leader. Her sister's back was to
the English. As yet, she had no idea that they had trailed her.
With no thought to her own safety, Brenna broke into a run, determined
to reach her sister before the soldiers. With her breath burning in
her throat, she spanned the distance between them and threw herself at
Megan, dragging them both to the ground.
"What...?" Megan pushed against her sister, fighting to regain her
balance.
"Hush." Brenna covered Megan's mouth with her hand, then came to her
knees and chanced a quick glance in the direction of Morgan Grey.
"What is it?"
Brenna frowned and crouched low in the grass.
"English. I count six of them."
"Have they seen us?"
Brenna shrugged.
"I know not."
"But I was so careful to keep to the woods."
"These are soldiers, trained in the art of tracking their enemy. Twas
not your fault." Brenna drew her sister close and pressed her forehead
to Megan's.
"Listen to me. And listen well. From this moment on we must go in
separate directions."
"Nay." Megan clutched at her.
Brenna's whispered voice was unusually calm. It was the way she always
dealt with danger.
"We have no choice. We will crawl through the heather, always keeping
that distant spire as our goal. There lies Brice Campbell. There lies
safety."
"But why must we separate?"
"Because there are only six of them. If they divide, there are only
three against each of us." She gave her sister an impish, engaging
smile, meant to lift her spirits. '"Tis well known that three English
against one Scots warrior would hardly make a fair fight.
"Twould take at least a dozen English soldiers to bring down a single
Scotsman."
Despite their perilous situation, Megan joined her sister's laughter.
"Aye. God help them if they find us." After a moment she sobered and
clutched at Brenna.
"I cannot leave you. You cannot make me."
"Listen to me, Megan." Brenna grasped her sister's arms and stared
into her wide eyes.
"I love you too much to see you sacrificed to the English."
"And what about you?"
"I am the MacAlpin. I order you to leave me."
Megan opened her mouth to protest, but Brenna whispered passionately,
"Megan, my dearest little sister. I could die this moment and find
eternal peace, as long as I knew that you were safe. Promise me that
you will neither stop nor look back until you reach the safety of Brice
Campbell's stronghold."
The younger girl studied her sister, seeing the pain in her clear blue
eyes. There would be no defying Brenna's heartfelt wishes. Slowly she
nodded.
"I go. But only because the MacAlpin has ordered it."
Tears filled Brenna's eyes.
"God go with you, Megan."
"And with you, Brenna."
Brenna watched as Megan flattened herself to the ground and began
crawling slowly toward the distant forest. A gentle breeze ruffled the
heather, making the field look like a sea of rippling blue waves. For
long minutes, Brenna watched, willing her younger sister to the safe
arms of their beloved oldest sister and her warrior husband.
She watched until she saw the girl run and hide herself in a stand of
trees. Safe. Once in that wooded glade, Megan would never be found by
the English.
Dropping to the earth, Brenna began to crawl in the opposite direction.
If the breezes worked in her favor, the English would be unable to
detect her in the heather. If the breezes ceased. Brenna refused to
allow herself to think beyond this moment. She would run, she would
fight and she would die if necessary. But she would not allow herself
to be taken to England.
Morgan studied the waving blossoms of heather and blinked, then studied
them again. Had he seen a movement or were his eyes playing tricks on
him?
As a soldier he had always relied on his instincts in time of battle.
This time was no exception. Though he could not see the Lady Brenna,
he could sense her presence. She was here. Of that he was certain.
He turned to his men.
"Comb this meadow. Trample and pluck every blossom if you must. But
do not return to me unless you have the women."
As the men fanned out, he turned once more and studied the place where
he had first seen the movement. Urging his horse into a slow walk, he
studied the ground. A body could easily hide beneath this lush
growth.
Especially a slender young body like Brenna MacAlpin's.
Ahead of him he saw the heather part, then flatten. As his horse moved
closer, he caught a glimpse of small kid boot. The blood began to pump
hot through his veins. Brenna. He'd known she was here. With a flick
of the reins his horse leaped forward, and he spied a length of
ermine-trimmed traveling cloak.
Morgan felt his palms begin to sweat. So close. She was so close. And
yet. The hood slid from her head, revealing a mass of tangled ebony
curls.
Brenna brushed a strand from her eyes and moved forward several paces
before becoming aware of the thundering sound. Her heart? She paused
and lifted her head to peer anxiously behind her. Her heart seemed to
stop before beginning a painful drumming in her chest.
Dear God. Morgan Grey, astride a spirited mount, appeared even more
fierce and threatening than she'd remembered.
"It is useless to try to run any farther, my lady." He slid from the
saddle with an ease of movement that belied his great strength.
"By this time on the morrow, we will have joined the rest of my men on
their journey to..." His words faded as she let out a gasp and darted
out of reach.
Lifting her skirts, she began to run. Morgan was surprised at her
agile movements. Though small and delicate, she made quick strides
through the field of wildflowers.
Her lungs ached from the effort to elude him. But though desperation
made her strong, she was no match for the one who pursued her. His
legs were long and lean. With little effort he caught up with her. His
hand closed over her wrist.
She turned on him with a cry of rage. He stared in surprise at the
jewel-encrusted hilt of the knife held firmly in her hand.
After his initial surprise, a slight smile touched the corner of his
mouth. "Am I to fear one small woman and her puny knife?"
"It takes but one small dirk to spill a man's lifeblood, my lord. And
I intend to spill your
s this day."
As she lunged, he moved aside. The tip of her blade pierced his tunic
above his heart, sending a stream of blood coursing from the wound.
With a savage oath he caught her hand and twisted it until the knife
slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground. As he bent to
retrieve the dirk, she struggled free of his grasp and began to run.
"Damn you, woman." Morgan sprinted after her. With one last burst of
speed he lunged at her, sending both to the ground in a tangle of arms
and legs.
Brenna lay beneath him, struggling to take air into her burning lungs.
Morgan straddled her, his legs firmly pinning her torso, his hands
holding hers above her head in an iron grip. The blood oozing from his
wound stained the front of her cloak and gown.
"Let me up." Though she struggled bravely, she was no match for
Morgan's strength.
"I am no fool, little wildcat. Until you sheathe your claws, you are
staying right here, where I can keep you from attacking me again."
"If you insist upon taking me to England, I swear, Morgan Grey, I will
attack you every chance I get." As she spoke she twisted her head from
side to side.
For long minutes Morgan studied her. With her dark hair wild and
tangled like a Gypsy's, and her eyes matching the heather that bloomed
all around them, she took his breath away.
He caught both her hands in one of his. With the other hand he reached
out a rough finger and traced from the curve of her eyebrow to the
circle of color that suffused her cheek.
"Oh, you are going to England with me, my lady. Of that I have no
doubt."
He saw the way her breasts rose and fell with each agitated breath, and
his own heartbeat quickened.
He wanted her. In some deep, dark corner of his mind the thought
seemed to take shape, then forced its way to his consciousness. God in
heaven. Where was the logic in it? In her bid for freedom she had
inflicted pain, and would have killed him given the chance.
She was all wrong for him. He was a soldier, a man who had been to
hell and back for his queen. She was a lady. Cool, serene,
delicate.
Nay, he corrected quickly. Far from delicate, as his wound proved.
Worst of all, he was English and she was Scots.
His eyes narrowed. She was so lovely. More beautiful than any woman
he'd ever known. And despite her regal bearing, he knew that beneath
the ice maiden's cool facade, there beat the heart of a spirited
woman.
He lowered his face until he was mere inches from her lips. He inhaled
the warmth of her breath and felt his throat go dry. One kiss. While
he held her imprisoned in his grip, he would allow himself one final
kiss. And then he would have her out of his system.
With his tongue he traced the contour of her lips.
"Nay." He heard her quick intake of breath before she turned her head
away.
Excitement, rippled through him.
"Aye, my lady." With his hand he caught her face and held it firmly
for his inspection. There was no fear in her eyes. Only defiance, and
something else. Something--indefinable.
He bent his head until her breath mingled hotly with his, then crushed
his mouth over hers.
Instantly the fire was there, raging between them. And though each of
them tried to give it another name, its name was desire.
Dear God she was sweet. Her lips were as soft as a rose petal, as cool
as a morning mist. He drank deeply and was instantly aroused.
At the first brush of his lips on hers Brenna forgot to breathe. Her
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