Highland Heather

by Ruth Ryan Langan

Elizabeth with warmth. The affection was obviously returned, as the

  queen smiled and chatted before turning to include the others.

  "Charles, your wife seems to have made a friend today. But you have

  not yet met the Scotswoman. Introduce the lady, Morgan."

  "Charles Crowel, Duke of Eton, may I present Brenna MacAlpin, recently

  of the Scottish Borderland."

  As the courtly gentleman bent to brush his lips over Brenna's hand, she

  studied the man who was married to the Frenchwoman. His green eyes

  were friendly, his smile genuine. His dark breeches and emerald satin

  tunic were perfectly tailored to his tall frame. His dark hair was

  gray at the temples, giving him a look of charm and elegance.

  "Madeline has told me about you, my lady." He released Brenna's hand

  and continued to smile as he entwined his fingers with his wife's.

  Charles and Madeline made a handsome couple. And a happy one. That

  thought caused an ache around Brenna's heart. Whatever match the queen

  made for her, she would never truly be happy.

  "We look forward to having you visit our home when you are comfortably

  settled in England."

  Morgan glanced at Brenna in time to see the look of consternation that

  suddenly crossed her face. Like the queen, these good people were

  taking for granted that she would settle and become a wife to an

  Englishman. The thought sickened her. And though she made a valiant

  effort, she could not hide it.

  As he watched her, Morgan felt his respect for this Scotswoman growing.

  She was handling a difficult situation with great control.

  As more people came forward to greet the queen, Charles and Madeline

  moved aside. Madeline touched Brenna's hand as she passed.

  "There will be little time to visit tonight. But soon, if Morgan will

  permit it, I will arrange a tea, cherie. There are many here who are

  eager to get to know you."

  Morgan's permission indeed, Brenna wanted to cry out. But before she

  could comment, another couple was presented to her. And another, until

  the names and faces seemed to blend together into a jumbled blur.

  A man strode forward alone and greeted the queen, then turned

  expectantly, awaiting an introduction to the beauty beside Morgan.

  "Ah, Lord Windham." The queen became animated in the company of this

  man.

  "You have not yet met our Scotswoman. Morgan, will you handle the

  introductions?"

  "Brenna MacAlpin, may I present Lord Windham, aide to the queen." Was

  it her imagination, Brenna wondered, or was there a trace of tension in

  Morgan's voice?

  "Lord Windham." She looked up into gray opaque eyes the color of the

  sky before a storm. His clothes were perfectly tailored to his long

  legs and slender form. The scarlet of his tunic would have been

  suitable for royalty. He was the most splendidly dressed man in the

  room.

  "My lady." His eyes raked her before he bent to brush a kiss to her

  hand. As his lips touched her skin she instinctively cringed.

  When he straightened, he continued holding her hand until she pulled it

  free.

  "The queen tells me you are Morgan Grey's spoils of war."

  Brenna itched to slap his arrogant face. Instead she lifted her head a

  fraction and straightened her spine.

  "I am no one's spoils of war, my lord."

  "Are you not?" He smiled, and Brenna thought it the most evil smile

  she had ever seen.

  "You mean you came to England to seek a husband willingly?" His smile

  grew.

  "Are there so few satisfying men in your homeland that you would

  abandon them for one such as Morgan Grey?"

  When Brenna remained silent he spoke loud enough for the entire

  assembly to hear.

  "I was told that the queen intended to make a match for you. But if,

  as you say, you are not here against your will, perhaps you will go to

  a man's bed most willingly?"

  "Enough, Windham." Morgan's voice was low, intended for Lord Windham's

  ears alone. But though he spoke softly, there was a thread of steel in

  his tone.

  "The lady should expect better treatment at the hands of an English

  gentleman."

  "And how would you know how a gentleman behaves? The entire realm

  knows about you and the men who serve under you, Morgan Grey. You are

  all savages who are only happy when you are spilling an enemy's blood

  on the field of battle."

  "At least I am not a nobleman whose only task in life is despoiling

  helpless maidens."

  The two men faced each other for long moments. It was the queen who

  broke the silence.

  "Two stallions should never be allowed in the same pasture," she said

  dryly.

  There was an extended silence.

  The queen touched his arm.

  "Have you brought no lady with you. Lord Windham?"

  "Nay, Majesty. There were so many beauties in the kingdom hoping to

  enjoy your hospitality. And I am but one mere man."

  The queen threw back her head and laughed at his joke.

  "From the gossip at court, I would say you have the stamina of ten men,

  my lord."

  He shared a smile with her.

  "One cannot believe all the court gossip, Majesty."

  "If even half of it be true, Lord Windham, your social life leaves

  little time for other duties."

  "One must take pleasure where one finds it." Lord Windham cast a

  speculative glance at the woman beside the queen.

  "And perhaps a man's duty can also become his pleasure."

  Brenna saw the way Morgan tensed. But before he could speak, Alden

  smoothly interrupted. "The line of subjects eager to bask in your

  beauty grows restless, Majesty."

  Lord Windham shot him an icy look before stalking away.

  "Beware, my friend," Alden commented as Morgan's adversary threaded his

  way among the guests.

  "One day Windham may grow weary of your barbs and lift his sword

  against you."

  "Only if I show him my back. He is too cowardly to face me in a fair

  fight."

  "Then be warned. A coward is the worst kind of enemy. He never does

  what is expected."

  "Do not waste a moment's worry over me. It is the queen who needs our

  concern."

  The queen's butler announced that the banquet was awaiting her

  majesty.

  With a knowing smile the queen looked over the assembly, studying the

  beautifully dressed men and women who formed the inner circle of her

  court. These were the wealthy, titled nobles with whom she could be at

  ease. All of them looked up expectantly, eager to see who would be

  singled out as her escort for the meal.

  Lord Windham watched her with a smug expression. If Elizabeth chose

  her favorite companion, the Scotswoman would be without an escort. He

  had every intention of offering his arm to the Lady Brenna. It would

  be great sport to flirt with, and perhaps seduce, the Scotswoman.

  If, on the other hand, the queen allowed Morgan Grey to be with the

  lady he had captured, that would leave Lord Windham as the most

  eligible escort in the room. He would surely be the quee
n's choice.

  That was why he had not brought a lady with him. He would enjoy being

  at Elizabeth's right hand for the rest of the evening. He thrived on

  being the center of attention.

  The queen knew that there was no love lost between Morgan and Lord

  Windham. And though Morgan was her dear friend, she enjoyed Windham's

  dry humor. Besides, he was a worldly, elegant man who could converse

  with ease. And he was a splendid dancer. If Morgan could not be

  beside her, Windham would.

  "Lord Windham. You will accompany your queen to sup."

  With a look of disdain in Morgan's direction, Windham offered the queen

  his arm and led her toward the banquet room. The rest of the assembly

  followed.

  "Morgan," the queen called over her shoulder.

  "You and the Scotswoman will sup with us."

  Inwardly Morgan groaned. It took all his willpower to be civil to

  Windham. Yet he gave no sign of his distress.

  "Aye, Majesty. It will be our pleasure."

  Morgan offered his arm to Brenna.

  As the guests took their places at the large tables, Brenna and Morgan

  followed the queen and Windham to the head table, where all could see

  them.

  Morgan held Brenna's chair. As she brushed past him she murmured, "It

  would appear that the queen and Lord Windham are exceedingly close

  friends."

  "Aye. He is often invited to join the queen's company."

  "And you, my lord?"

  "I also enjoy a--close relationship with my queen."

  "I noticed."

  Was that a trace of jealousy he heard in Brenna's tone? Or was he

  merely imagining something that didn't exist?

  Morgan took the seat beside her. Though he had chafed at the thought

  of spending a long evening with the queen's peacocks at court, Morgan

  suddenly found himself looking for

  ward to the next few hours. The Scotswoman, it would seem, was not as

  indifferent to him as she pretended. And there was nothing he enjoyed

  more than a duel. Especially a duel with a bright and beautiful

  woman.

  Chapter Nine

  Q^^ps^Q

  1 he banquet hall at Richmond was festive. Servants in colorful satin

  livery attended each table. There were platters of whole roasted pig,

  as well as trays laden with pheasant, partridge and dove. There were

  baskets of bread still warm from the ovens and bowls of steaming

  pudding. The goblets and tankards were filled and refilled with wine

  and ale. With each course there were endless toasts to the queen, to

  her health, to her country and her people.

  A man in brilliant robes took a seat at the end of the queen's table.

  Each course was presented to the queen by a servant on bended knee.

  The queen inspected it, nodded with a slightly bored expression, then

  turned away as the tray was carried to the man at the end of the

  table.

  "Who is that?" Brenna whispered.

  "Lord Quigley, the queen's taster."

  Brenna watched in amazement as the white-haired man tasted a morsel of

  each serving before giving his approval. Then the servant approached

  the queen again on bended knee and waited while a second liveried

  servant spooned a portion of each food onto the queen's 'plate.

  Though this went on through course after course, neither the queen nor

  Lord Quigley acknowledged each other.

  Brenna was seated at the queen's table between Morgan and Lord Windham.

  But though there was a whirlwind of activity around her, she found

  herself mesmerized by the man beside her. His voice was low and deep,

  in contrast to the shrill sounds of laughter around them. And his eyes

  pinned her, daring her to try to look away.

  "How did you happen to become the MacAlpin?" Morgan asked as a serving

  wench filled his goblet with ale.

  Her eyes lit with a passionate fire that fascinated him.

  "My father was murdered by a coward, and my older sister, Meredith,

  assumed the leadership of the clan."

  He heard the venom in her voice and felt a wave of pity for the man who

  had dared to cross her family.

  "Was this coward an Englishman?"

  "Nay. He was one of our own countrymen, who coveted our land."

  "So." A smile touched the corner of his lips.

  "Not all the evil villains in the land are English."

  She failed to see the humor of his statement.

  "We have had our fill of English."

  He was in no mood for a debate while in the presence of the queen. He

  decided to steer the conversation to a safer course.

  "Why is your sister no longer the MacAlpin?"

  Brenna's voice took on a softer note. It was obvious that she adored

  her elder sister.

  "Meredith married a Highland chieftain and went to live in his mountain

  fortress. As next eldest, the task of defending my clan fell to me."

  "So, you think it was a love match between your sister and her

  husband?"

  She glanced at him.

  "Why do you ask?"

  "Because you seemed glad when you spoke of it. This Highland chieftain

  makes your sister happy?"

  "Aye." Brenna actually smiled, and Morgan was reminded once more how

  truly soft and delicate she appeared.

  "The rogue stole her heart.

  "Tis true love."

  Lord Windham, hearing their discussion, made a derisive sound.

  "That will last a year or two at most, while they explore the pleasures

  of their bed. Then true love will show its true colors."

  Brenna looked horror-stricken at his words.

  "I saw the undying love that shone between my father and mother. That

  same love shines between Meredith and Brice. It is there in their

  eyes, in their touch, in the gentle way they treat one another."

  Resenting Windham's intrusion, Morgan steered the conversation once

  again.

  "What about the villain who murdered your father?"

  Morgan Grey, she realized, was very good at changing the subject when

  it suited him.

  "He is buried with those of his clan who dared to cross the

  MacAlpins."

  Morgan studied the young woman before him. Though there was no doubt

  that she was every inch a lady, he had witnessed another side to her.

  She had the respect of her people. People who had been besieged for

  generations. And she thought like a soldier. Twice she had nearly

  outwitted him. He lifted a goblet to his lips and smiled. Twice she

  had been foiled.

  Aye. He would enjoy dueling with the lady. With both words and

  skill.

  With each toast the crowd grew more raucous. With each sip of ale, the

  young noblemen at the banquet grew bolder, until at last Lord Windham

  stood to offer his own toast.

  "To my gracious queen, Elizabeth, the most wonderful monarch God ever

  created." Windham pressed his hands to the table to steady himself.

  His voice rose with emotion.

  "To her hair, which shines like the sun's own radiance. To her eyes,

  like perfect sapphires. To her mouth, which emits only pearls of

  wisdom."

  He paused, wiping a tear from his eye, too overcome by his own

  brilliance to contin
ue.

  "You neglected to mention my teeth," the queen said in an aside that

  only Morgan and Brenna could overhear.

  "They are my own."

  Morgan threw back his head and roared. For a moment Brenna was so

  surprised at the queen's dry humor that she could only stare. Then a

  smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

  "To her teeth," Windham began.

  But Morgan lifted his glass, and the others in the room did the same,

  drowning out whatever the nobleman was about to say. He sat down

  flushed and happy at what he considered a monumental success.

  "What think you of my feast?" The queen leaned across Lord Windham to

  direct her question at Brenna.

  "It is quite wonderful," Brenna replied honestly.

  "I have never seen so many splendidly dressed gentlemen and ladies."

  "I see you have not touched your wine." Elizabeth motioned toward

  Brenna's nearly full goblet.

  "I was warned that there would be many toasts. Majesty. I did not

  wish to make a fool of myself."

  "You would be in excellent company," the queen said.

  "The room is full of fools. Is that not so, Windham?"

  "Aye, Majesty." His words were slightly slurred.

  "We are fools in love with your beauty."

  "You see why I chose him to be my escort? I bask in his honeyed

  words."

  Morgan set down his goblet.

  "A woman of your strength and intelligence needs no empty flattery to

  fill her head."

  "That is where you and I disagree, my Lord Grey." Elizabeth gave a

  gay, girlish laugh.

  "Even a strong, intelligent woman desires pretty words. Is that not

  so, Brenna MacAlpin?"

  Brenna was startled by the question.

  "I would prefer honesty to flattery."

  The queen's eyes narrowed on her guest.

  "You are indeed a rare woman.

  But I think, if the right man were to flatter you, you would discover

  that you harbor a bit of the same weakness. "

  The queen turned from her guests to watch the musicians. Suddenly she

  stood and the entire assembly scrambled to' their feet.

  "I have had enough of feasting. I wish to dance." The queen took Lord

  Windham's proffered arm, then turned to Brenna.

  "Do you dance?"

  Brenna shook her head.

  "John Knox considers dancing a tool of the devil. It is now forbidden

  in my country."

  "Ah, yes. Knox." Elizabeth gave a short laugh.

  "How terrible for my fun-loving, romantic cousin, Mary, that such a

  dull man could hold sway over her people." She studied the lovely

  young woman for a moment, then glanced at the man beside her.

  "Morgan, bring our--guest along. While she is on English soil, we

  shall cast aside those prophets of gloom and teach her the joy of an

  open English society."

  Once again Brenna was forced to take Morgan's arm and follow behind the

  queen.

  While the crowd hastily assembled, the musicians began to play. Within

  minutes the queen and her escort formed a circle with several other

  couples and began a racy, naughty dance.

  Morgan led Brenna to a chaise and handed her a goblet of wine before

  seating himself beside her. When he stretched out his long legs she

  found herself staring at his muscled thighs, until she suddenly blushed

  and looked away.

  Watching the dancers was no better. Everywhere she looked, she saw

  hints of seduction. The women bowed low, baring their bosoms to their

  partners. The men in tight-fitting breeches, strutted in circles, then