Highland Heather

by Ruth Ryan Langan

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