"Have you forgotten that I am the MacAlpin, the leader of my people?"
"I have forgotten nothing."
" Especially the color of her eyes when she was angry.
"In my land you are a woman without title or power. You would be ill advised to incur my wrath."
She sniffed and turned away to escape the danger she sensed in his dark look.
"What more can you do to me? You have already stolen my most treasured possession, my freedom. My home, all that I hold dear lie back there, in Scotland. I vow, Morgan Grey, that I will escape you. And if I do not, I will stand and fight you to the death."
He brought his lips close to her ear.
"If you push me too far, " woman, you will feel the sting of my anger.
She shivered. But was it fear that caused the tremors? Or the nearness of this man?
She pushed away such thoughts. He was the enemy. She would remain alert and wait for the first opportunity to run.
As the horses continued at a steady pace, hour after hour, Brenna found herself lulled into a half sleep. Without realizing it, she leaned back against Morgan's chest and settled comfortably into his arms. In repose, all signs of tension were erased from her face. In the sunlight her skin gleamed like fine porcelain. Her eyebrows were slightly arched, her nose upturned. Her lips were perfectly formed.
Her mane of coal- black silk drifted across Morgan's chest and lifted in the breeze, tickling his face. While she dozed, the man who held her was achingly aware of the prize he had captured. The prize that would be claimed by some nobleman in the Queen of England's court.
Morgan sensed Brenna's weariness. Signaling to his men he called, "We will stop and rest for a short time."
When he helped Brenna from his horse she pressed her hands to the small of her back and arched her body.
"Tis a long time to be in the saddle if you are unaccustomed to it."
"Aye." She turned away, averting her gaze, when two of his men stepped into a stand of trees.
Seeing it, Morgan stepped close.
"You would perhaps require a moment of privacy?"
She nodded.
"I will see to it." He strode away and spoke to his men. A moment later he returned.
"You may walk into the woods unmolested, my lady."
She gave him a grateful smile, then lifted her skirts and walked to the place he had indicated. When she entered the dark forest, she turned to ascertain that she was indeed alone. Morgan and his men waited patiently beside the horses. She stepped behind a tree, then turned and peered once more at the soldiers. Three of the men were seated with their backs to the trunk of a gnarled old tree. The other two were talking in low tones to Morgan, who had removed his plumed hat and was mopping his brow. With a last glance at the sky, Brenna began running through the forest. She knew the direction she must take.
North. Toward Scotland. Toward home.
Within minutes she heard the sound of someone shouting. Morgan Grey.
By now he would have realized his mistake in trusting her. She began to run faster, determined to make it to the deepest part of the forest, where the branches grew so thickly together no light could penetrate.
There she would hide until Morgan and his men were forced to abandon their search.
The sound of branches snapping behind her sent her into a panic. The Englishmen were closer than she'd anticipated. She pushed herself to the limit, until her throat burned from the effort. And still she ran, clinging to her last chance to escape.
The men were so close she could make out their words as they called to each other. In desperation she began climbing a tall tree. If the fates were kind, the Englishmen would not think to look up, and they would pass beneath her without notice.
The branches caught the hem of her gown, slowing her progress. With each painful step, the rough bark tore at her tender skin until her hands were raw and bleeding. But still she pulled herself higher into the tree. Standing on tiptoe, she reached for a high branch. Again and again she made a valiant grab for it, until at last her fingers wrapped around it and she drew it down. If she could pull herself to the top, they would never spy her.
As she began to pull herself upward, she felt a mighty tug on her ankle. She looked down, then let out a gasp.
"So, my lady. You like to climb trees? Perhaps your English husband will buy you a manor house in the country and have trees planted there to amuse you."
Though Morgan's words were spoken lightly, she could read the angry scowl on his face.
"Will you climb down, my lady?" His words frosted over.
"Or will I pull you down, unmindful of your modesty?"
"Modesty be damned." She blinked back the tears of frustration that sprang to her eyes. A little more time, a few minutes more, and she would have been free.
Without a word she made her way down. Morgan's fingers remained locked on her ankle until she dropped lightly into his arms.
As his men clustered around them, he leaned close and whispered, "There will be no more moments of privacy, my lady."
"You cannot mean that."
His dark eyes flashed.
"You have convinced me that you are not to be trusted. You'd best pray that you have no need for relief between here and the queen's residence, Brenna MacAlpin. For you are never leaving my side."
"That is uncivilized."
He flashed her a rare smile.
"I never claimed to be otherwise."
"The Queen's standard flies at Richmond Palace, my lord."
Morgan nodded and urged his tired mount along the winding path of the Thames. Once their party reached the royal grounds, their weariness seemed to vanish. Unmindful of the grime of travel staining their tunics, the men assumed a stiff military bearing. They passed long columns of soldiers patrolling the vast forest surrounding the palace and entered a road wide enough to allow a dozen horsemen to ride abreast.
They rode in silence until they reached the entrance court r yard. At their arrival several servants hurried forward to take their mounts.
There was a commotion from within, and several elegantly dressed gentlemen surged through the open portal. Leading the way was Alden, Morgan's second in command. But instead of the drab garb of a soldier, he was dressed in the clothes of a titled gentleman, with satin breeches and fine tunic.
"At last," he called, hurrying to his leader's side.
Morgan slid from the saddle and unceremoniously dragged Brenna into his arms.
"What kept you, old friend?"
"The lady led us a merry chase."