Highland Heather Page 8

utmost importance.

  "Would you like to tell me about yourself?" Madeline asked softly.

  Brenna shook her head slightly, afraid her voice would tremble.

  "Then I shall tell you about myself," Madeline said in her charming

  French accent.

  Brenna gave a grateful smile, relieved to be free for the moment from

  the scrutiny of Morgan and the queen.

  "I am married to Charles Crowel, Duke of Eton. He is one of the

  queen's most trusted aides."

  "You are not English."

  "Won." Madeline gave a low chuckle.

  "That I could never pretend. Not with this accent. My home, until my

  marriage, was France."

  "Do you not miss your home?"

  "Oh, of course. But I go there often to visit. And my beloved brother

  and sister come to England to stay with me so that I am not nearly so

  homesick."

  Brenna grew silent and turned to watch the queen and Morgan.

  "So, cherie," Madeline said, noting the direction of Brenna's gaze.

  "Already you have become the object of much speculation. How did you

  happen to get captured by that fascinating man?"

  Brenna gave a wry smile.

  "There is no mystery to it. He overpowered me."

  "No mystery?" The Frenchwoman handed the damp cloth to a serving girl,

  then began plumping the pillows about Brenna's head.

  "Morgan Grey does not capture women; he eludes them. He has managed to

  evade the snares set by every eager woman at court." She gave a

  knowing smile.

  "And, cherie, there were many hoping to ensnare him. Why, even the

  queen was rendered speechless when he presented you at court. I think,

  from the way he looks at you, that he desires you."

  fainted. " The very thought of such a weakness was repugnant to her.

  The woman placed her hand gently on Brenna's shoulder and forced her to

  lie still.

  "That may be so. But I have known a great many people who react

  violently to strange circumstances. Even the strongest woman must give

  in to the demands of her body, cherie."

  "Who are you?"

  "I am Madeline d'Arbeville, Duchess of Eton. And I am told that you

  are Brenna MacAlpin, leader of a Borderer clan in Scotland."

  "Aye." Brenna gave her a grateful smile.

  "Thank you for your kindness.

  Where am I? " She glanced around at the sumptuous bed hangings.

  "You are in my chambers." The queen leaned close.

  In the queen's own bed!

  "Majesty, I did not mean to create such a disturbance. Forgive me for

  my weakness," Brenna whispered.

  Again she struggled to sit up. This time it was Morgan who restrained

  her.

  "Rest a while longer." His tone was gentler than he'd intended.

  "Aye." The queen gave a conspiratorial smile.

  "Your little spell gave me the perfect opportunity to dismiss the court

  and free myself of all duties for the rest of the day. A rare thing

  indeed. Now," she said, linking her arm through Morgan's, "perhaps I

  can spend some time with you, dear rogue. We have much to discuss."

  Morgan turned toward the figure in the bed. His eyes narrowed as he

  studied her carefully, noting with satisfaction that the color was

  returning to her cheeks.

  "You will stay with Brenna, Madeline?"

  "Oui. It will give us a chance to become acquainted."

  Brenna watched as Morgan and the queen retired to a small alcove.

  Instantly a servant approached the two with goblets of wine. When the

  servant left, the queen and her loyal soldier bent their heads close in

  intimate conversation. Though they kept their voices low, Brenna was

  aware of the tension in their tones. Whatever was being discussed, it

  was obviously of utmost importance.

  "Would you like to tell me about yourself?" Madeline asked softly.

  Brenna shook her head slightly, afraid her voice would tremble.

  "Then I shall tell you about myself," Madeline said in her charming

  French accent.

  Brenna gave a grateful smile, relieved to be free for the moment from

  the scrutiny of Morgan and the queen.

  "I am married to Charles Crowel, Duke of Eton. He is one of the

  queen's most trusted aides."

  "You are not English."

  "Non." Madeline gave a low chuckle.

  "That I could never pretend. Not with this accent. My home, until my

  marriage, was France."

  "Do you not miss your home?"

  "Oh, of course. But I go there often to visit. And my beloved brother

  and sister come to England to stay with me so that I am not nearly so

  homesick."

  Brenna grew silent and turned to watch the queen and Morgan.

  "So, cherie," Madeline said, noting the direction of Brenna's gaze.

  "Already you have become the object of much speculation. How did you

  happen to get captured by that fascinating man?"

  Brenna gave a wry smile.

  "There is no mystery to it. He overpowered me."

  "No mystery?" The Frenchwoman handed the damp cloth to a serving girl,

  then began plumping the pillows about Brenna's head.

  "Morgan Grey does not capture women; he eludes them. He has managed to

  evade the snares set by every eager woman at court." She gave a

  knowing smile. "And, cherie, there were many hoping to ensnare him.

  Why, even the queen was rendered speechless when he presented you at

  court. I think, from the way he looks at you, that he desires you."

  "He does not desire me." Brenna's voice trembled with intensity.

  "He merely wishes to punish me."

  "Punish? But why?"

  "Because I managed to spoil his plans and elude him, delaying his

  return to England. He has brought me here to see me wed to an

  Englishman, so that my lands and holdings will then belong to his

  queen."

  "And that is why he looks at you this way? I do not believe he brought

  you here to see you wed to another. I believe he would keep you for

  himself."

  "Marriage to any Englishman would be horrible. But especially to that

  one. He is a cruel, vindictive man."

  Madeline placed her hand over Brenna's. Feeling the tremors, she

  stared into her eyes.

  "Do not be misled by the name he carries. The Queen's Savage is a

  soldier of the Crown, notorious for his skill in the art of battle. It

  is well known that entire armies fear him. But he has never shown

  himself to be cruel or vindictive."

  "You do not know him," Brenna whispered, shivering.

  "Though I am only in this country a few short years, I know him well,

  cherie." Madeline pulled the blankets around Brenna's shoulders.

  "He is a rogue, and a man of great appetite." She smiled broadly.

  "Great appetite. But I would trust Morgan Grey with all that I hold

  dear. He is a man above reproach."

  Brenna felt a welling of tears and turned her head away. Was there no

  one at court who would take her side in this? Was she truly doomed to

  remain a captive of a man she hated, and to lose forever her land, her

  titles and even her name?

  "Rest, cherie." Madeline brushed the dark hair from Brenna's eyes,

  then settled herself comfortably in a chair alongside the b
ed.

  "I will sit here beside you while you sleep, so that when you awake,

  you' will not find yourself among strangers."

  "Thank you." Brenna's lids fluttered as she blinked away her tears and

  struggled to focus.

  The last thing she saw before she drifted off to sleep was the face of

  the lovely Frenchwoman who had shown her such kindness.

  "There have been several--accidents since you have been away,

  Morgan."

  The queen's head was high, her chin thrust forward defiantly.

  Now that the others were dozing, and the servants had been dismissed,

  she allowed her voice to rise.

  Morgan barely managed to mask the alarm he felt.

  "Tell me about them."

  "There was my personal groom. While riding a mount meant for me, the

  saddle fell, leaving him badly injured."

  Morgan's eyes narrowed.

  "Lord Windham suggests that the poor fellow lied to cover his

  laziness."

  At the mention of the queen's trusted aide, Morgan's temper flared.

  "Windham is a fool. What else has happened while I have gone?"

  "The royal carriage. A wheel came off on our journey here to Richmond

  Palace. No one was hurt. The driver insists that it was an

  accident.

  Still, my servant swore the carriage had been carefully inspected

  before our journey. "

  "God in heaven. Is there more?"

  Elizabeth shook her head.

  "Nothing. Just--rumors."

  "Give me names. Majesty. Who repeats these rumors?"

  Elizabeth grew agitated.

  "I do not know the names. A whispered word here. A hint of something

  there."

  He leaned close, his hands on his knees.

  "Whispers. Hints. These are not enough to call home an entire army.

  You are not telling me everything. You have heard something."

  The queen suddenly stood and stared out the window, hugging her arms

  around herself.

  "I do not forget, Morgan."

  "Forget what?"

  "What it feels like to be marked for death." She shuddered.

  "From the time I was a babe, I have known that even those who should be

  closest to me might want me dead. My own father bastardized me, then

  reluctantly reinstated me to the order of succession. My sister, Mary,

  banished me to the

  Tower, and would have permitted my execution had any incriminating

  evidence been brought to bear. " Her voice lowered.

  "And there was the mistreatment of my mother. Always I must live in

  the shadow of my mother's beheading."

  "We live in a brutal age."

  "Aye. A brutal age. All my life I have heard the threats, Morgan. And

  now the whispers begin again. Someone plots my death. I know it

  here."

  She touched a hand to her heart and turned toward him. In the light

  streaming through the window behind her he saw, not a queen, but a

  young woman. And for one brief moment before she blinked, he saw the

  hint of terror in her eyes. Instantly he was on his feet, drawing her

  into his arms.

  "I am not afraid, Morgan."

  Her words were muffled against his tunic. With a wave of tenderness at

  her bluff, he clutched her to him and pressed his lips to her temple.

  There were few in the kingdom who would dare to take such liberties

  with their queen. But the friendship between these two had begun in

  childhood and had endured through hard times and good.

  "I know that, Majesty. Throughout the realm it is known that you are

  fearless."

  He continued to hold her until the tremors passed. When she was calm,

  she pushed a little away and lifted a palm to his cheek.

  "I needed you here with me, Morgan. You must not leave England

  again."

  He pressed his hand over hers.

  "I will not leave you. I will seek the source of these rumors. And I

  will uncover the truth about these accidents. But you must promise me

  that you will stay here, within these palace walls, until I have had

  time to look into this."

  "I cannot stay confined in Richmond."

  "If you must travel, I will beat your side. Do you understand?"

  She nodded, and he saw the tension slowly drain from her.

  At a sound across the room they both turned.

  Brenna tossed aside her blankets, pondering what she had overheard. The

  words seemed to run together in her mind. Could it be that the Queen

  of England was truly in danger? Or had she merely dreamed it? Now that

  she was completely awake, she was no longer certain of anything.

  Brenna glanced at Madeline d'Arbeville, who was dozing in the chair.

  There would be nothing to be learned from her.

  The queen walked toward the bed. From the coolly regal expression on

  her face, Brenna decided that she must have imagined everything. One

  glance at Morgan's closed expression convinced her. These two could

  have not been discussing anything more pressing than England's misty

  weather.

  "So, Brenna MacAlpin. You are awake. How fare you?"

  "I am fine. Majesty." Brenna pushed herself into a sitting position

  and waited until the dizziness passed.

  Her hesitation did not go unnoticed by Morgan. In quick strides he was

  beside her, his hand grasping her upper arm.

  "Not so fine as you pretend," Morgan said in low tones.

  "Perhaps we should tarry here at Richmond for a day or two before

  proceeding to my estate nearby."

  Brenna stared at the offending hand, wondering if Morgan felt the

  tremors she couldn't hide. But if he took notice, he gave no

  indication.

  "I think that is a fine idea," the queen said. She clapped her hands

  and a dozen servants appeared within moments.

  From her position beside the bed, Madeline d'Arbeville started, then

  looked up in confusion.

  "Mon dieu. Is it possible that I slept?"

  "That is what late nights at the gaming tables will do to you," the

  queen said with a laugh.

  "Madeline, we have good news. Morgan has consented to stay on at

  Richmond for a day or two."

  Brenna felt a surge of hope. As long as she was not forced to be alone

  with Morgan at his residence, there was a chance that she could win a

  reprieve. What could he possibly do to her here in the queen's home?

  And perhaps the queen, given enough time, might be persuaded to allow

  her to return to her beloved Scotland without being forced into bondage

  to an English lord.

  To the servants the queen said, "Prepare a suite of rooms for Lord Grey

  and his--guest."

  The transformation in the queen was instantaneous. A warm smile

  touched her lips. Her eyes danced with merriment.

  "Oh, Morgan. It has been too long."

  Morgan returned the smile. It pleased him to see the queen forget her

  worries, if only for a little while.

  "Aye, Majesty."

  "We shall celebrate with a feast." Elizabeth cast a speculative glance

  at Brenna.

  "Have you any clothes besides those?"

  "Nay, Majesty." Once again Brenna was reminded of her bedraggled

  appearance.

  "No matter." The queen turned to a waiting servant. />
  "Send a seamstress to see to the lady's needs."

  The servant nodded and scurried away.

  Orders were given. Servants hurried about, carrying news of their

  queen's latest surprise.

  "Madeline, can you drag your husband from his official duties long

  enough to join us?" Morgan asked.

  "Oui. He will be eager to see you, Morgan. He has complained of your

  long absence." Madeline lifted her skirts and curtsied to the queen.

  "By your leave. Majesty." At the queen's nod, she rushed from the

  room.

  In no time, Brenna found herself being ushered from the queen's

  bedchamber. With Morgan beside her, she followed a servant along a

  wide hallway toward a suite of rooms. Several of Morgan's men trailed

  along behind them. Guards? Brenna wondered with alarm. Could it be

  possible that he would have her guarded here in the queen's residence

  like a common criminal?

  The sitting chamber assigned them was a large room overlooking the

  queen's formal gardens. Through the open windows of the balcony

  drifted the fragrance of roses and lavender. Tapestries depicting the

  royal lineage softened the stark walls. The floors were covered with

  ornately woven rugs. Chairs and settles, many draped with magnificent

  animal hides, were drawn up before the huge fireplace that dominated

  one wall. A fire had been set to ward off the chill.

  Brenna was pleased to note that there were doors on either end of the

  sitting chamber. These led to two separate sleeping chambers. At

  least, for the moment, she was not being treated like a prisoner. She

  would have her own sleeping chamber, away from Morgan's scrutiny. She

  noted no chains on the doors.

  The sleeping chambers were nearly identical, with huge beds hung with

  elegant linens, and cheery fires set in the fireplaces. Tapers were

  lighted in sconces along the walls, adding even more light and warmth

  to the rooms.

  When the servants finished showing them to their quarters, they quietly

  withdrew, leaving Brenna and Morgan alone for the first time since

  their arrival in England.

  Feeling Morgan's narrowed gaze upon her, Brenna had a need to be

  busy.

  She moved around the room, dropping her traveling cloak on a settle,

  running her hand along the softness of a hide, stopping to study the

  intricately worked tapestry.

  With her back to him she murmured, "How long do you intend to hold me

  prisoner?"

  "Prisoner? My lady, you are an honored guest of the queen."

  She heard the thread of sarcasm in his tone and stiffened her spine.

  "Nay. I am a prisoner. Despite the fact that I am allowed a room in

  the palace, and wear no shackles, I am still not free."

  "Would you rather be sent to the dungeons, my lady, until the queen

  finds a nobleman willing to wed you?"

  She turned to meet his dark gaze.

  "I do not wish to be wed at all."

  He gave her a dangerous smile.

  "You would shock the women at court with such words. They think of

  nothing except winning a wealthy husband. Or a wealthy lover." He

  seemed to pause a moment before saying softly, "I think there are many

  men who would be only too happy to take you as mistress, my lady."

  His words caused a chill along her spine.

  He did not move, but merely watched her. At last, when she could no

  longer bear his scrutiny, she turned and walked to the balcony, keeping

  her back to him.

  A boat moved along the Thames, and she watched it with a heavy heart.