Highland Heather

by Ruth Ryan Langan

strength, she could sense the supreme effort he made to hold his needs

  at bay. He was exerting careful control, she realized, in order to

  give her the time she needed.

  She was afraid to touch him. And yet the urge to run her hands over

  his naked torso was too tempting to ignore. She reached a tentative

  finger to his chest, then drew back, embarrassed by her boldness.

  "Touch me again, Brenna."

  At his urging she touched a hand to his chest and rubbed her open palm

  across the mat of hair. A bubble of laughter escaped her lips.

  "It tickles."

  He smiled up at her. She was such a wonder. Such a delight.

  Her fingertips brushed his nipples and she felt them harden. Instantly

  she drew her hand away, but he reached out and pulled it to him.

  "Nay.

  Do not stop, little one. "

  She ran a hand along his shoulder and thrilled to the ripple of muscle

  beneath her palm. Suddenly she encountered the raised scar made by her

  dirk when she had fought him in the Highlands. The laughter faded from

  her eyes.

  "I cannot bear that I inflicted this pain on you."

  "It no longer hurts, Brenna."

  "But it was made by my hand." Without thinking she brought her lips to

  the spot.

  Instantly the heat flared, until he was engulfed by fire. He gave a

  moan low in his throat.

  His reaction to her touch gave her new courage. Growing bolder she

  brought her hands to the flat planes of his stomach and" felt him

  flinch.

  Could it be that her mere touch had the power to weaken this mighty

  soldier?

  "Afraid, my lord?" Laughter warmed her tone.

  "Nay, witch." His dark eyes were full upon her, daring her.

  "Afraid only that you will stop."

  Accepting his challenge she moved her hand lower still, until her hand

  encountered the waistband of his breeches. When her fingers fumbled

  with the fasteners, he helped her, until this last barrier between them

  was discarded.

  She studied him in the glow of moonlight and found herself marveling at

  the beauty of his body. How perfectly the angles and planes of his

  muscled body complemented the softness of hers.

  "Touch me, Brenna. Touch me before the madness overtakes me."

  She felt drunk with her newly discovered power. Moving her hand lower,

  she heard his moan of pleasure, saw his eyes narrow fractionally.

  Then, with his hand beneath her chin, he lifted her face to his and

  covered her mouth in a kiss so hungry, so impatient, she felt as if she

  were being devoured. When at last he came up for air she clutched

  blindly at his waist and brought her lips to his throat. The fire

  spread, heating their bodies, searing their blood.

  When his lips lingered at her throat she arched, giving him free

  access, her head back, her eyes half closed in pleasure. But when they

  moved lower, to close around her breast, his name came out in a broken

  sob.

  "Morgan. Please."

  He nibbled and suckled until she writhed beneath him.

  His lips, his fingertips moved over her, seeking out all the hidden

  pleasures until her body hummed with need. His fingers found her,

  moist and ready.

  "Tell me, love. Tell me you want me."

  She felt herself beginning to climb, high, then higher still, until she

  reached the first peak. But he gave her no time to pause before he

  took her even higher.

  Needs pulsed and shuddered within her until she thought she would

  explode.

  "I do want you. Oh, Morgan, I love you."

  Love. He savored the word as it washed over him. She loved him. It

  was more than he had ever hoped for. That this woman could love him,

  as he loved her. If he never had another blessing in his lifetime,

  this one would be enough.

  Need ripped through him, shattering the last thread of his control. If

  he did not take her now he would go mad with the need for her.

  Mad. Aye, it was madness that had driven him from the first moment he

  saw her. And there was no cure for it. Except this woman.

  As he levered himself above her he looked down into her eyes and could

  read all the love, all the desire, in their blue- violet depths.

  As he gently lowered himself into her and began to move, he was amazed

  to find that her strength, her needs, matched his. She moved with him,

  taking him higher, then higher still, until there was no longer any

  time for gentleness.

  The fragrance of roses clung to her hair and skin. He breathed it in,

  filling his lungs. He was reminded of the field of heather, when he

  had wanted her with this same kind of desperation. From this moment

  on, whenever he smelled roses, he would think of her. And want her

  with this same terrible hunger.

  He murmured words and phrases of love, or thought he did, as together

  they passed through a sky filled with shooting stars until they soared

  beyond the moon and felt themselves shattering into a million

  glittering fragments.

  They lay, still locked in a fierce embrace, neither of them willing to

  break the fragile bond that held them.

  Brenna's face was covered with a fine sheen of moisture. Morgan

  pressed his lips to her forehead. His breathing was shallow.

  He felt the tremors that rocked her and touched a finger to the corner

  of her eye.

  "Tears?" Immediately he started to draw away.

  "I have hurt you."

  "Nay." She caught him and held him to her.

  "It is foolish, I know. But I feel like weeping."

  "I know, love." He touched his lips to her tears and tasted the

  salt.

  "Oh, Morgan." She clung to him and wept openly, no longer trying to

  hide the sobs that were wrenched from her.

  "I know I cannot make up for what happened to you in the past. But if

  I could, I would erase all the pain from your poor heart."

  He went very still, absorbing the shock as her words washed over him.

  How generous she was. What a wonderful gift he had bebn given.

  Rolling to one side he drew her into the circle of his arms and pressed

  his lips to her temple. With his thumbs he wiped away her tears.

  "Do not weep for me, Brenna. Whatever happened before has just been

  erased for all time."

  "But you said you never wanted to marry again. And now you have spoken

  for me."

  He placed a finger over her lips to silence her.

  "Hush, love. Forget the things I said earlier. I said them to hide

  the truth from my heart."

  She glanced at him, her eyes wide.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Just this." He lifted a strand of her hair and watched through

  narrowed eyes as it sifted through his fingers.

  "I love you, Brenna. I think I have loved you from the moment of our

  first meeting."

  She knelt beside him. Her dark hair swirled around her breasts.

  "You love me? Truly love me?"

  "Aye." On his lips was a smile of pure pleasure.

  "You are not saying this to soothe me because of what we have just

  shared?"

  His smile grew. Laughter rumbled from deep in
his chest.

  "I love you, my lady. With all my heart and soul."

  "And I love you, Morgan." She spoke the words with a hushed

  reverence.

  She bent low until her hair spread across his chest like a veil.

  "Tell me, my lord. When did you first realize you loved me?"

  "Ah." He stifled the laughter that threatened.

  "Why must a woman know such things?"

  "It is our vanity." She kissed him hard, quick.

  "Now tell me."

  He propped one hand beneath his head, while his other arm cradled her

  against his chest. She felt so good there. So right.

  "I did not admit it to myself until you had retired for the night. And

  I realized what I had just done to you." His fingers idly played with

  her hair. He felt the desire begin anew. God in heaven. How was it

  possible that he wanted her again so soon?

  "I feared that I had just dashed any hope of winning your heart."

  "So, my lord." She ran a finger across his chest. Feeling his

  quivering response to her simple touch, she grew bolder.

  "What were you going to do about this sudden knowledge of your love for

  me?"

  He recognized the gleam in her eye.

  "Are you teasing me, little one?"

  "Nay, my lord. I simply wish to know if you would have ever told me of

  your love."

  His tone grew serious.

  "I knew I had already caused you enough pain, Brenna. I took you from

  your home, from all you love, and thrust you among the vultures at

  court.

  "Twas my intention to comply with the queen's wishes and wed you, then

  return you to your people, where you could live in peace."

  She pressed her hands against his chest and stared into his eyes.

  "Are you saying that you love me so much you would live without me?"

  "I love you so much I would set you free."

  She surprised him by brushing her lips lightly over his. The heat of

  desire rose swiftly.

  "Then we would never have shared this wondrous act, my lord."

  "Aye."

  Her hands moved lower, causing his stomach muscles to jump.

  "Now what are you up to, little one?"

  Her eyes danced with a mischievous light.

  "It is my intention to store up as many wondrous acts as possible, my

  lord. In case you decide to send me away soon."

  He threw back his head and roared with laughter. But a moment later,

  as her hand moved even lower, the laughter died on his lips. With a

  moan of pleasure he pulled her down on top of him and covered her mouth

  in a searing kiss.

  She sighed and wriggled and moved over him until he felt himself once

  again slipping over the edge of sanity. Never, never had he known a

  woman like this one. Some time soon, when he had his wits about him,

  he would sort out all the changes she had wrought in his life. But not

  now. Right now he was beyond thought.

  With sighs and kisses and little moans of pleasure, they lost

  themselves in that wonderful place reserved only for lovers.

  The steady drumming of rain on the roof of the portico roused him.

  Morgan awoke slowly. There was a heaviness on his arm, making it

  impossible to lift it. He opened his eyes to study the beautiful

  creature who lay facing him. His leg was thrown carelessly across her,

  pinning her to the length of him. Her eyes were closed, her breathing

  slow and even. What a delightful surprise she was. All night they had

  loved, slept, then awakened each other to love again.

  He studied the wide, unlined brow, the lips, so right for kissing. How

  had he ever thought her cool and haughty? His little ice maiden. She

  was so generous, so open in her loving. No woman had ever made him

  ache with such desire. He would never have enough of her. Even a

  lifetime together would not be enough. His spirit would follow hers

  even into the hereafter.

  He saw the way her lids nickered. Any moment now she would awaken. He

  was suddenly plagued with a terrible thought. What if, in the cold

  light of morning, she regretted their night of passion? What if she

  had given in to her loneliness in a moment of weakness? Or worse, what

  if she had confused gratitude with love? As her lids opened, he forgot

  to breathe. His heart missed a beat. Though he had fought hundreds of

  enemies on the field of battle, this little woman had him terrified.

  Brenna lay a moment, feeling the weight of Morgan's leg on her. His

  breath was warm against her cheek. Even with her eyes closed she knew

  this man who lay beside her. She knew the touch of him. He had left

  his imprint on her body. And on her heart. The dark, mysterious taste

  of him still lingered on her tongue.

  She opened her eyes to find him watching her intently. His brow was

  wrinkled with concern.

  "Good morrow," she whispered, reaching a hand to his cheek. Before he

  could respond she pulled his face close and pressed a kiss to his

  forehead.

  "Are you having unhappy thoughts, my lord?"

  He felt his breath come out in a slow sigh of relief. She had not

  blushed nor tried to hide herself. Instead she'd greeted him as if

  they had always awakened together after a night of loving.

  "I was afraid you would awake with regrets, my love."

  "I do have one regret."

  His heart stopped beating.

  Seeing the look on his face she leaned close, pressing her body to

  his.

  "I regret that you have a house filled with guests who will expect to

  be entertained from sunrise to sunset."

  His mouth dropped open. Then he roared with laughter. She joined him,

  a gay, lilting sound that washed away the last of his fears.

  "I suppose we shall have to dress and greet our guests."

  She brushed her lips across his shoulder and began to slip out of

  bed.

  He felt the familiar tingle at her touch and lay very still, allowing

  the fire to build. As she brushed past him he caught her, forcing her

  down. His hands tangled in her hair, drawing her face toward his.

  "The queen will sleep for at least another hour." He nibbled the

  corner of her mouth until she gave a little moan and clutched at his

  waist.

  "And how is it that you can be so certain?"

  "At this moment, my love, I am certain of but one thing." He rolled

  over, pulling her beneath him. Already the fire in his loins was

  raging out of control.

  "If the queen awakes early, she shall have to find her own

  entertainment. I have already found mine. Until we can return to this

  bed tonight, this day promises to be the longest one of my life," he

  murmured against her lips.

  Her laughter died in her throat as he began to work the magic that

  would tumble them both into a world apart. A world of whispered sighs

  and endless delights.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tvosamunde and the servants giggled and chattered among themselves as

  they prepared a bath for Lord Grey and the Lady Brenna.

  Morgan and Brenna seemed unaware of anything except each other. When

  Rosamunde had finished arranging Brenna's hair, she bowed her way from

  t
he room. As she was closing the door she caught a glimpse of Lord

  Grey standing behind the lady, his hands on her shoulders, his gaze

  meeting hers in the looking glass. On both their faces was a look of

  love so intense, so smoldering, it left no doubt in the serving girl's

  mind. The rumors and whispers had been correct. Lord Grey was truly

  intent upon pledging his troth to the lady.

  But Rosamunde had seen something else that had deeply disturbed her.

  The Lady Brenna's flesh had been marred by a wound. Though her

  mistress had insisted that it was merely a scratch, the servant knew

  better. She had seen enough knife wounds in her young life to

  recognize one. The question was, who would inflict such pain upon the

  lovely Brenna MacAlpin? And why?

  The same thought was uppermost in Morgan's mind as he escorted Brenna

  to the refectory. When all were assembled, he intended to study their

  guests and assorted servants very carefully. One among them was a

  vicious madman, who would answer to Morgan's sword.

  One thought nagged at Morgan. Had the attacker been bent upon harming

  Brenna, or had he come upon her by mistake? Many of the servants knew

  that the lady's things had been moved to his room. And in a home such

  as this, what one servant knew, all knew. Rumors and gossip were a way

  of life. Still, the nagging thought persisted. Could he have actually

  been the intended victim?

  As they entered the refectory, Morgan noted that Elizabeth and her

  ladies were already seated at table.

  "So, you have finally dragged yourselves from bed." With great care

  the queen studied Morgan and the woman beside him.

  Under the queen's scrutiny, Brenna blushed. Morgan, looking immensely

  pleased with himself, was unruffled by the queen's perusal.

  Glancing around he asked casually, "Where are the others?"

  "Madeline and Charles were summoned to Cordell's room early this

  morning," the queen said.

  "It would seem that the young Frenchman took a fall down a flight of

  stairs last night."

  "A fall." Morgan's eyes narrowed.

  "Why was I not summoned?"

  "The servants were loath to disturb you, my friend, knowing how you

  were--otherwise occupied."

  At the queen's sly laugh, Morgan felt his temper rising.

  "Where is Lord Windham?"

  "He went for an early morning ride."

  "In this rain?"

  "He said he had a need to be up and about."

  "Did you see him?"

  "Nay. He sent word with a servant. Why?" The queen studied Morgan

  across the table.

  He shrugged.

  "No reason. Majesty. What about my brother?"

  "Richard and the young Frenchwoman took a stroll in the garden."

  "A walk in the rain." Tossing down his napkin Morgan scraped back his

  chair.

  "Now I know that the whole world has gone mad."

  "Where are you going?" The queen looked up from her plate.

  "To see how Madeline's brother fares."

  When Brenna made a move to follow he touched a hand to her shoulder.

  "Nay, my lady. Stay and visit with the queen. I will return

  shortly."

  "Tell me truly." Richard studied the lovely young woman who sat on a

  bench beneath the branches of a gnarled old tree.

  "You do not mind the rain?"

  Adrianna's gaze lifted to the man who sat facing her in the wheeled

  chair.

  "Nay, my lord. I have often walked alone in the rain in Paris."

  "Why would a beautiful woman like you walk alone?"