"Nothing. Thank you."
Brenna watched as the serving girl scooped up her clothes. On the
morrow they would be clean and pressed and hung neatly, awaiting the
next time their mistress needed them.
"Good night, my lady."
"Good night."
Before the door closed, Brenna's smile faded. The shadow of a guard
could be seen just beyond the open doorway, reminding her again that
all this finery did not hide the fact that she was a prisoner. Morgan
Grey took no chance that she might attempt to escape into the night.
She felt a wave of loathing for the man who had brought her to this
place of horrors. It was because of him that she had been taken from
her home. And because of him she would be forced into marriage with
one of his countrymen.
She would rather face death at the hands of her guards than endure such
a fate.
She buried her face in her hands, to blot out the terrible thought of a
lifetime spent in such decadence.
Morgan dismissed the servants. He needed to be alone. To thimc. To
brood.
He drained his goblet and stared into the flames of the fire. He was
still seething with fury at the scene he had witnessed on the
balcony.
What fine irony that he should feel anything at all for the Scotswoman.
She was not his responsibility. He had merely been following
Elizabeth's orders. He'd no choice but to bring her here.
But that decision had cost him. Cost him dearly.
He was a man who lived alone by choice. He liked his life the way it
was. And he resented having this woman thrust upon him like a stray
pup. His eyes narrowed. Especially now that he had discovered the
sort of woman she was.
Lord Windham. His hand curled into a fist. He reached for the
decanter and filled his goblet. If she had gone off with anyone but
Windham, he might have been able to overlook it.
He drank again and shook his head slightly. Nay. That was a lie. Even
if it had been one of the others, he still would have been angry. But
the thought of her with Windham sickened him.
He drained his goblet, then suddenly hurled it against the hearth where
it shattered into a thousand pieces. With a savage oath he turned and
stormed toward Brenna's sleeping chamber.
At the sound of shattering glass and the door opening, Brenna turned.
The commanding figure of Morgan Grey filled the doorway.
For a moment she could not speak. Then she swallowed back her fear and
stiffened her spine.
"You have no right to come into my sleeping chamber."
His voice was controlled and tight with fury.
"You will not speak to me of rights."
"I order you to leave here at once."
"You order, my lady?" There was the thread of steel in his tone.
"Have you forgotten that you are no longer in Scotland? You can issue
no orders here, Brenna MacAlpin. You heard the queen. Until she
decides what to do with you, you are my prisoner" -he spoke each word
very carefully "--to do with as I please."
Her throat went dry.
"Why have you come here?"
There was something new in her tone. Fear? That thought pleased
him.
She should be afraid of him. His temper was something to be feared and
it was time she had a taste of it.
He studied the way she looked in the glow of firelight. Her hair,
black as midnight, fell in a luxurious cloud around her face and
shoulders. The pristine night shift gave her a look of innocence. But
this was no innocent child before him. She was a woman. A beautiful,
enticing creature. Every line and curve of her lush body could be seen
through the opaque fabric. Her little scene with Windham on the
balcony had shown him that she knew very well how to use her body, her
beauty, to her advantage.
He'd had the impression, when they were in her country, that the lass
was an innocent. But now he knew better. He felt his temper slip
another notch, until he could no longer control it. She was no better
than the women at court.
A warning sounded in his mind, but before he took the time to think,
his hand snaked out, catching her by the wrist.
"I came here to teach you a lesson."
"No." She tried to pull back but she was no match for him.
He dragged her roughly against him and pulled her hands behind her in a
painful grip.
"You have strained my patience to the breaking point."
His breath was hot against her cheek.
"And I am not a patient man."
"Damn you, Morgan Grey." She felt a welling of tears and blinked them
away.
"Damn you to hell."
He shot her a dangerous smile.
"Oh, I already know my eternal destination, my lady." He plunged a
hand into the tangles of her hair and drew her head back until he was
staring deeply into her eyes.
He had not come in here for this. In fact, he'd had no plan in mind.
It was merely his intention to vent some of his anger. But now that he
was holding her, there seemed to be no turning back.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his head.
She knew what he intended to do, but she was helpless to stop him. Her
heart began a painful hammering in her chest. She could not cry out;
could not even speak. Her eyes remained open, watching, watching until
his lips closed over hers.
As his mouth met hers she felt the first wild rush of sensation and
struggled to resist it. This was, after all, not a kiss, but a
punishment. She had to resist feeling anything at all for this
monster. But the fire in him engulfed her, like a flame set to dry
leaves.
The kiss was raw and savage like the man. There was so much passion in
him.
Again it seemed there was no time for soft, seductive kisses, or sweet,
honeyed words. There was only this need building inside with the force
of a raging tide. And as his mouth plundered hers, she gave up all
attempts at a struggle and endured rigidly in his arms.
His hands moved along her back, drawing her firmly against him.
The first stirrings of pleasure curled along her spine. Where had all
these strange new feelings come from? How was it possible that this
cruel tyrant should be the one to open the floodgate to a passion that
had slumbered for so long?
Slowly, against her will, her arms found their way around his waist.
Her lithe young body strained against his.
He felt her gradual surrender and thrilled to it. For a moment he
lifted his head and touched a finger to her swollen lips. Lips that
seemed to have been made for him alone.
What was there about this damnable female that brought out a tenderness
in him that he was determined to deny? His hand stroked her cheek,
then slid around to cup the back of her head. He avoided looking into
her eyes, and concentrated instead on lips still swollen from his
kiss.
He was not, he thought savagely, a tender man. Whatever tenderness he
had once known had been brutally cut away years a
go.
His lips covered hers once more in a hot, hungry kiss that left her
breathless.
His big hands slid along her body to her hips and dragged her against
him, alerting her to his complete arousal. Though she thought of
pushing away, the thought was gone in an instant.
Kisses were no longer enough. He longed to fill himself with the
taste, the smell, the feel of her. He needed to fill himself with this
woman.
She felt herself slipping beyond reason into a world of mindless
pleasure, where the only thing that mattered was this man and the
feelings he aroused in her.
His lips left hers to follow the line of her jaw to her neck. He ran
kisses along the sensitive column of her throat, and thrilled to her
trembling response.
She sighed and arched in his arms, giving him easier access. But when
his strong fingers tore at the lace bodice of her gown, a moment of
sanity rose through the layers of mist that clouded her mind.
"This is madness."
"Aye. Madness." For an instant he lifted his head and seemed to
remember who they were, where they were. He studied her lips, swollen
from his kisses. Though he knew that he had no right, he could not
stop himself. He brought his lips to hers, tasting, nibbling,
seducing.
No woman had ever tasted as sweetly innocent. Was she truly what she
appeared, or was she just a clever actress? At the moment it didn't
matter. At this moment nothing mattered except the pleasure of her
lips.
Brenna felt everything, experienced everything, with unbelievable
clarity: the musky, masculine scent of him; the warmth of his breath as
it mingled with hers; the way his hands felt, strong and firm; the
fragrance of candle wax and wood smoke as it filled the room; the sound
of their heartbeats thundering in perfect rhythm.
Morgan hadn't wanted this; hadn't planned it. If anything, he had
wanted her to taste his temper, not his need.
Need. Never had he needed anyone with such desperation. What had this
woman done to him? How had he let it go this far? She was taking over
his senses, filling his mind, crowding out all other thought. And yet
she was wrong for him.
He was a soldier, who had probably met her father, her uncles, her
clansmen, on the battlefield. She was a foreigner, who hated his
beloved land.
She was too innocent, too inexperienced, for a rake like him. Aye, his
first instincts about her were correct, he knew, as his lips moved over
hers. She was a virgin who would expect the man who took her innocence
to wed her.
Marriage. The thought seemed to come from nowhere. Marriage to Brenna
MacAlpin would be an adventure like no other. She was the kind of
woman who made a man think about marriage, and children, and forever.
He came to his senses, abruptly cutting off such thoughts. What
foolishness was this?
He knew he had taken her too far, too fast. Or had she taken him?
Still he lingered, unwilling to break contact. One more kiss. One
more taste of her. One more touch.
Morgan tasted her honey sweetness one last time and dragged himself
away.
They were both shaken by what they had just experienced. And both too
proud to admit it.
Brenna was shocked by the strange new feelings that surged through her.
Hundreds of tiny pulses seemed to throb within her. Her body hummed.
Her knees were weak, and to hide it, she stood very still, lifting her
head at a haughty angle.
Morgan tensed, watching her. He held his hands stiffly at his sides.
He had come in here to shake her, to throttle her.
Instead, he had just lost something of himself to this woman.
Something he'd sworn no woman would ever again take.
His voice was rough.
"I have decided that we leave on the morrow for Greystone Abbey."
"Greystone Abbey?" Her eyes widened.
"My manor house in Richmond. Where you can be removed from anyone who
might be persuaded to help you escape England. Once there you will do
nothing without my permission. And where you go, my soldiers go with
you. Is that clear?"
"And..." She hadn't known it would be so difficult to speak. She
swallowed and tried again.
"If I wish to bathe, my lord?" Her voice dripped sarcasm.
"Will you at least have the decency to leave me to my privacy?"
His eyes flashed.
"Unless I say otherwise, even that privilege will not be granted." His
lips curved into a thin, tight line. He lifted her chin, forcing her
to meet his eyes.
"I may, of course, enjoy keeping you under my watchful eye while you
bathe."
She slapped his hand away.
His eyes narrowed.
"You will not be alone, do you understand?"
"I understand that you are a cold, unfeeling animal."
His hand snaked out so fast she had no time to move. He caught her by
the arm and dragged her close, until his lips were mere inches from
hers. Once again she felt drawn to him.
"I am neither cold nor unfeeling, my lady, as we both well know. But I
am not about to become a fool for you. I suspect that you will use
anything, or anyone" -his thoughts flew to the scene with Windham and
his fury returned "--to help you evade your fate and return to
Scotland."
"Scotland." Her voice broke and he saw the way her lower lip suddenly
trembled as tears filled her eyes.
"Aye. I will never rest until I am allowed to return to my home."
"England is your home now." He turned, unwilling to be moved by her
pain.
"The queen has decreed it. And I intend to see to it that you do not
attempt another escape with the likes ofWindham."
He strode quickly from the room, suddenly eager to escape from her. As
he moved to his own sleeping chambers, he heard the scrape of something
heavy being moved in Brenna's room.
His eyes narrowed. Damn the woman. She was barring him from entering
her room. Were he not so weary, he would tear down the door and send
the barricade crashing across the room.
He entered his room and peeled his clothes away. He would deal with
her even more harshly on the morrow.
Chapter Eleven
q^t^s^q
Urenna stood on the balcony and watched as the first light began to
color the hills to the east. Her eyes were red-rimmed from lack of
sleep. All night she had tossed and turned, running from demons that
had relentlessly pursued her in her troubled dreams.
Her gaze followed the guards who patrolled in the courtyard below.
Were all of them there to protect the queen? Or had Morgan ordered
them to see that his captive did not escape?
Beyond the door she heard the sounds of morning activity. Fresh tapers
were being placed in the sconces. Logs were being added to the hot
coals in the fireplaces. Servants scurried along the hallways,
carrying fresh linen and basins of water. A few personal maids were
already assisting their ladies with their morning t
oilet. From the
refectory came the mouth-watering fragrance of bread and roasting
meat.
Brenna tensed when she heard the sound of footsteps in the sitting
chamber. Her glance flew to the heavy chaise she had pushed against
her door. But before she could hurry across the room and move it,
there was a tremendous crashing sound and the chaise was rolled end
over end as the door was kicked in.
Morgan stood in the doorway, his feet apart, hands on his hips. He
wore tight-fitting breeches tucked into his tall boots.
He was shirtless, and his dark hair was slightly mussed. A stubble of
beard darkened his cheeks and chin.
His first thought upon awakening had been to teach this damnable woman
a lesson.
"If you ever attempt to bar me from this room again, I will force you
to sleep in my room, where I can watch you night and day. Is that
understood?"
She thrust her chin out defiantly.
"If you had but given me a moment's notice, my lord, I would have
removed the barrier."
"There was no reason to place a barrier at your door in the first
place."
"I believed there was."
She forced herself to meet his dark look. She had never before seen a
man who had just awakened. And though Morgan's arrogant stance and
scowling face caused her heartbeat to race, she couldn't help thinking
that there was something oddly appealing about his rumpled
appearance.
What foolish thoughts, she reminded herself. Only an arrogant lout
would appear before a lady in such an indecent manner.
His gaze swept her, noting the throw she had snatched from the bed and
draped over her shoulders for modesty. He nearly laughed at her
prudishness. Did she think that little bit of cover could hide her
beauty? In his mind's eye he could still recall the way she had looked
last night. Beneath the opaque night shift he could still see every
lush curve of her body. His fingers could remember the flare of her
hips, the waist so tiny his hands were able to easily span it.
Such thoughts had caused him a long, sleepless night.
Her hair was a mass of dark tangles that begged for his touch. He
clenched a fist. His gaze roamed her body, then came to rest at her
bare feet. Such small feet.
He forced himself to look away, and noticed the upended chaise. He
seemed relieved to have something to do. Bending, he righted it as
effortlessly as if it were a child's toy.
Brenna found herself staring in fascination at the powerful muscles of
his back and arms. As he turned she studied the mat of dark hair that
covered his chest and dipped below the waistband of his breeches.
Her cheeks were hot. She blamed it on anger.
"If you will be so good as to leave, my lord, I will begin my morning
ablutions."
"And if I choose not to leave?"
She glared at him a moment, then turned her back, making an attempt to
completely ignore him.
"If you insist upon playing the part of my jailer..." She poured water
into a basin.
"So be it."
As she began to wash her hands and face, Morgan leaned a hip against
the door and watched. He had never seen a woman move with such
grace.
She lifted a linen square to her face to blot the water, and he had a
sudden desire to lick each tiny droplet from her cheeks and lips. The
mere thought left him reeling.
The first rays of sunlight streamed through the balcony window, bathing
her in liquid gold. She picked up a gilt- handled brush and brought
her hair forward over one breast. As she ran the brush through the
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