Highland Heather

by Ruth Ryan Langan

you."

  They heard the sound of horses' hooves, but neither man was willing to

  take his gaze from the other long enough to see who was riding toward

  them.

  Windham's voice grew shrill with growing rage and frustration.

  "You will pay for this. Grey. You and your brother. I will see you

  both destroyed."

  As he bent to take up his sword, a dainty foot pressed down over the

  jewelled hilt. With his mouth open, Windham looked up to see the young

  Frenchwoman facing him, her eyes blazing.

  "You will not harm Richard."

  "Harm him?" Windham gave an evil laugh.

  "I will kill him. And you as well, little fool."

  "Toss me the sword, Adrianna." Richard watched in horror as Adrianna

  and Windham struggled for control of the sword.

  But when Lord Windham lifted his hand and slapped her, knocking her to

  the ground, Richard's horror turned to fury.

  "No!" As Windham lifted his sword above Adrianna's head, Richard

  gathered all his strength and lunged from his chair, taking Windham

  with him.

  From their positions on their horses, the queen, Brenna and Morgan

  watched helplessly as the two men collided, their fists raised, their

  voices muffled in grunts of pain.

  For long, agonizing minutes the two men lay very still. Around them no

  one spoke. No one seemed able to move. All who watched were paralyzed

  in fear. At long last Richard lifted himself up on his powerful hands

  and stared down at the man beneath him.

  Lord Windham lay, faceup, the pruning shears buried in his chest. His

  tunic was stained crimson. His mouth was twisted in a soundless cry of

  rage. His eyes stared, lifeless, vacant, fixed on some distant

  pinnacle he would never reach.

  Adrianna fell into Richard's arms, sobbing against his chest, "Oh, my

  beloved. Never, never will I permit you to send me away again."

  He clutched her to him. Against her hair he murmured, "Nor will I

  try.

  When I thought I might lose you, I realized just how much I love you.

  I can only pray that I will bring you half as much happiness as I know

  you will bring me. "

  Though she rejoiced in their triumph, a terrible weakness seemed to

  have taken over Brenna. She turned to Morgan, her head swimming. Her

  relief turned to shock when she saw the blood seeping from him in half

  a dozen places. His face had lost all its color. His lips moved but

  no words came out. His eyes rolled back in his head. And without a

  sound he slid from his horse and fell to the ground.

  With a cry she dropped from the saddle and clutched him. If it took

  her last breath, she would see to his needs.

  Morgan came awake slowly, as if from a long, drugging sleep. Sunlight

  streaming through the balcony windows stabbed at his eyes and he had to

  blink several times before he could bear the light. He glanced around

  the suite of rooms that had been his since boyhood. The familiar

  surroundings brought him comfort.

  He felt a stirring beside him on the bed and turned his head. Even

  that slight movement sent pain crashing through him.

  Brenna lay curled on her side, facing him. He drank in the sight of

  her.

  Bits and pieces of his tormented dreams still clouded his mind. In

  each of them, his beloved Brenna had suffered at the hands of demons.

  He studied her carefully. Except for a dressing on her arm, she seemed

  unharmed.

  He watched as her lids flickered, then opened. At the sight of him a

  smile touched her lips, animating all her features.

  "At last you have returned to me." She knelt and placed a hand on his

  forehead, then gave an audible sigh.

  "Oh, my beloved." She felt her lips tremble as tears filled her eyes.

  During the long days and nights of her silent vigil she had held all

  her dark fears at bay. Now, when the danger was over, she gave in to a

  bout of weeping.

  "I was so afraid I would lose you."

  "How could I give up my life now, when there is so much to live for?"

  Morgan drew her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her,

  offering her his quiet strength.

  That was how the queen and her servants found them. Flustered, Brenna

  tried to draw away, but Morgan caught her hand, forcing her to stay by

  his side.

  "So, my friend," Elizabeth said as she strode across the room and

  paused beside his bed.

  "You have rejoined the living. Your wounds were grave. You had us all

  alarmed. But Brenna never gave up."

  With a tender smile Morgan turned to the woman beside him.

  "When my physician insisted upon bleeding you, Brenna chased him from

  your chambers and took over your complete care."

  At that, Morgan threw back his head and roared.

  "You dismissed the queen's own physician?"

  "You had already lost too much blood. I feared if he had his way you

  would have no blood left."

  "The lady is truly your champion," Elizabeth said.

  "She has not left your side. She even took her meals here in your

  chambers.

  Such devotion is rare indeed. "

  At the queen's praise, Morgan watched the color rise to Brenna's

  cheeks.

  "And you, Majesty?" Morgan studied the queen.

  "Are you unscathed?"

  "Aye. Thanks to you and the Scotswoman. And to show your queen's

  gratitude," Elizabeth said regally, "there will be a ceremony here in

  the abbey as soon as you are strong enough. You and Richard will

  receive your country's highest honor. And Brenna MacAlpin may ask any

  favor from a grateful queen."

  "That is not necessary, Majesty. It is reward enough to know that you

  are unharmed."

  "It is my desire that all of England will know of your brave deeds."

  Elizabeth touched a hand to Morgan's cheek, and Brenna was certain that

  she saw tears in the queen's eyes.

  "Rest now, my brave rogue," Elizabeth murmured. With a rustle of

  skirts she was gone.

  Morgan stood in a small antechamber of the abbey, awaiting Brenna's

  arrival. Rosamunde had insisted that she be allowed to fuss over her

  mistress's hair and clothing before the ceremony. After all, it was

  not every day that the titled lords and ladies of the realm came to the

  humble abbey at Grey- stone to bask in the presence of their queen.

  Morgan moved to the door and peered at the crowd of beautifully dressed

  men and women. How ironic, he thought, that they should come here this

  day to honor him and his brother. He would have much preferred the

  simple gratitude of his queen. But Elizabeth had insisted upon this

  ceremony. He and Richard would be knighted here in the abbey of

  Greystone.

  The original abbey had been built nearly two hundred years earlier.

  When one of his ancestors had successfully defended the monks against

  an attack, his reward from a grateful king had been a gift of the abbey

  and all the surrounding villages.

  Morgan thought about the many ancestors whose blood flowed through his

  veins. How many battles they had fought. How many victories they had


  enjoyed. But the sweetest victory of all, he knew, was the victory of

  the heart. With Brenna at his side, he could do anything. Without

  her. He thought about all the bleak years when he had hardened his

  heart against love. Brenna had been the one to unlock the door,

  freeing him to love again.

  He heard the trumpets blare and knew that the queen had arrived.

  Opening the door, he watched as Elizabeth moved along the center aisle,

  lifting her hand in a blessing as she walked toward the altar.

  The women curtsied, the men bowed as she passed.

  When she was seated upon her throne, she signaled for the ceremony to

  begin. Morgan glanced toward the rear of the abbey and saw Richard

  seated in his chair. With quick steps he joined him.

  "Sir Morgan," Richard said, winking at him.

  "Aye, Sir Richard." Morgan clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder,

  then stepped behind the chair and began to push.

  Together the two men moved up the center aisle toward their smiling

  queen.

  The ceremony was brief and moving. Elizabeth cited her two noble

  warriors for risking their own lives for the life of the queen. With

  gleaming sword she touched their shoulders and spoke the words that

  would forever set them apart from other men. They were exalted

  knights, whose glorious deeds would be recorded for posterity.

  A hush fell over the crowd and Morgan turned expectantly. He saw

  Brenna standing at the back of the abbey. As she began to move up the

  aisle, he thought again about the woman who had refused to leave him

  until his wounds were completely mended. Day and night she had stayed

  by his side, tending him, ministering to him with that same quiet

  dignity he had come to love.

  He watched her now, looking every bit as regal as the woman who sat

  upon the throne. No one in this assembly would believe that she could

  fight like a wildcat and wield a sword like a soldier. Nor would they

  believe how the woman could love.

  He felt a warm glow. Last night their lovemaking had taken on a

  fierce, passionate nature that had left him breathless.

  Brenna bowed low before the queen, then lifted her head.

  "Brenna MacAlpin," Elizabeth said in tones that carried throughout the

  abbey.

  "Though not a citizen of this land, you risked your life so that I may

  live. I proclaim to all assembled that a grateful queen offers to

  grant your most fervent desire."

  Elizabeth looked at the young woman who stood humbly before her and was

  reminded of the proud, rebellious young Scotswoman who had stood before

  her so defiantly on their first meeting.

  "What is your request, Brenna MacAlpin?"

  Brenna felt her heart thundering. She'd had several days to

  contemplate this. Since the queen had first informed her of this

  celebration, she had pondered. The queen had assured her that gold,

  titles, land, were all hers for the asking. But she had known from the

  first that there was only one thing she desired.

  She loved Morgan. Loved him with all her heart. But she would come to

  him freely, of her own choice. He would understand. He was a man who

  valued his own freedom.

  Beside her, Morgan beamed. He had no doubt as to what Brenna would

  choose. She loved him. He loved her. She would choose to stay with

  him forever.

  "Freedom, Majesty. I would return to my people a free woman."

  Morgan caught his breath as a pain as sharp as a dagger pierced his

  heart. This could not be happening. She would not ask such a thing.

  Leave him? Return to Scotland?

  As the queen spoke the words granting Brenna her freedom, Morgan felt

  all the joy of this day turn into ashes.

  From the choir loft came organ music, swelling dramatically as Brenna

  made her way down the aisle. From her position in the first pew

  Adrianna rushed forward and hugged Richard.

  Morgan spun on his heel and bowed before Elizabeth. In hushed tones he

  said, "I was told that Alden has assembled an army to ride to Wales."

  "Aye." The queen looked puzzled.

  ,"r would ride with them."

  "You? Morgan, you have barely recovered from your wounds."

  "I have been away from the battle too long. Majesty. I am weary of

  lolling about like an old man. Give me your blessing."

  The queen stared beyond him to where Brenna waited in the back of the

  abbey.

  "This has to do with the lady's request for freedom, does it not?"

  "It has to do with my freedom, Majesty. The lady has earned her

  freedom. I will not hold her. I freely choose to go to war."

  Elizabeth placed a hand on Morgan's shoulder and brought her lips to

  his ear. "You know I cannot refuse your request, my friend. But I

  fear this time you go too far. She loves you. But how long can she be

  expected to wait while you work out your demons?"

  "Have I your permission to go to Wales?"

  Elizabeth gave a long, expressive sigh.

  "Aye, my dear friend. You may go. So long as you promise to stay

  alive."

  He kissed her hand and turned away. Then, steeling himself for the

  final confrontation, he made his way down the aisle and stopped before

  Brenna.

  Her bright smile nearly shattered his resolve.

  "I must bid you goodbye, my lady."

  Brenna stared at him, uncomprehending.

  "The queen is sending me to Wales to put down a rebellion."

  "Wales. For how long...?" Brenna tried again.

  "I had thought that you would accompany me to my home."

  "I will send several of my most trusted men."

  "I had so hoped you would meet my sisters."

  "As you can see, my lady, it is an impossible request. My duty to the

  queen must come first."

  "Aye." Brenna felt her lower lip tremble and bit down hard. Had he

  not made it plain a long time ago that he did not wish to marry

  again?

  What had he said?

  "I would rather face a horde of invaders without a weapon." She had

  been warned. But like all women from the beginning of time, she had

  foolishly thought her love could change everything.

  "I

  shall miss you, Morgan. Will you come to Scotland when this--rebellion

  is put down? "

  Morgan looked away, unable to meet her gaze.

  "If I could but see the future, Brenna."

  He forced himself to take her hand and lift it to his lips. He felt

  the jolt and took a deep breath. For a few minutes longer he must be

  strong.

  "Farewell, Brenna."

  "Goodbye, Morgan. God go with you."

  "And with you, my lady."

  He turned away and squared his shoulders. Behind him Brenna leaned

  against the cold stone wall of the abbey and prayed her legs would

  continue to support her. The pain around her heart was so terrible,

  she feared she would embarrass herself by bursting into tears.

  From her position at the altar a compassionate queen watched with keen

  interest. And when Morgan and Brenna turned away from each other, she

  felt their pain as if it were her own.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  -IVl
organ leaned a hip against the balcony and stared out over the vast

  lands of his estate. Always before, Greystone Abbey had brought him

  peace. After each battle he had returned eagerly to this place so that

  he could refresh his mind, his soul, his body. But that was before

  Brenna. Now he could find no peace at Greystone. Perhaps, he thought

  darkly, there would never be peace for him again.

  Everywhere he looked he saw Brenna. In the cheery rooms that had once

  been so somber. In the refectory, where Mistress Leems still served

  the foods that Brenna had introduced to her. In these very rooms,

  where the air was perfumed with the dried flower petals that lined the

  chest and wardrobe. In the rose garden, where a new fountain bubbled

  beneath the gnarled old tree where he and Richard had played as lads.

  He glanced down. In the rose garden below he watched as Adrianna

  settled herself on Richard's lap and brought her arms around his

  neck.

  Morgan turned away, feeling like an intruder.

  He had returned from Wales in time for their wedding. The celebration

  had been a moving one, causing more than a few tears among the

  guests.

  But though most of the guests had long since left, the queen

  remained.

  She had been badly shaken by Windham's attempt on her life. It

  reminded her, Morgan knew, of her mortality. And though she would soon

  return to London, she put off the journey as long as possible, desiring

  to store up the peace of the country for the long days ahead.

  At the knock on his door he turned.

  "Enter."

  Elizabeth swept in alone.

  "Where are your ever-present ladies. Majesty?"

  "They await me in my chambers. My musician is entertaining them."

  "Sit, Majesty. I will send for a servant."

  "Nay." Elizabeth caught his arm. Then, in a playful gesture, she ran

  her hand along the muscles of his arm.

  "You are so strong, my friend."

  Her tone became brisk.

  "Perhaps too strong."

  "What does that mean?"

  She paused, carefully choosing her words.

  "Have you heard from her?"

  "Who?"

  "You know." She watched the way his eyes narrowed.

  "Brenna."

  "Nay. There have been no messages between us."

  "Why?"

  He shrugged, hating the feeling that came over him at the mere mention

  of her name.

  "We have made our choices. Our lives move in different directions."

  "Perhaps, if you loved her more, you would go to her."

  "If she loved me enough, she would have stayed."

  "She is the MacAlpin, Morgan, the leader of her people. When you

  brought her here against her will, she left many important things

  undone. It was her duty to see to her responsibilities."

  "Aye. And I have responsibilities, as well." He turned blazing eyes

  on the queen.

  "Or would you have me walk away from you, from all that I hold dear,

  and crawl to her."

  "You, Morgan? Crawl?" The queen laughed.

  "It is unthinkable."

  "Aye. So where is the solution? She has her life in Scotland--1 have

  mine in England."

  The queen took a long, deep breath.

  "Brenna is a proud woman. I can understand that. I am also a proud

  woman."

  "What about my pride?"

  "Aye. There is that." The queen studied his firm profile. The merest

  hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

  "My proud savage, I would ask a favor."

  "Anything."

  She arched an eyebrow.