His lips curved into a smile that was laced with danger. Morgan Grey had always enjoyed sparring with royalty. And winning.
Chapter Two
JVlorgan Grey leaned a hip against the doorway and watched as his men eagerly filed into the great hall. Behind them came the Scots, their weapons put away, or at least hidden from sight beneath their tunics and capes.
Though there were two armies within the castle walls, the castle did not seem overcrowded. A giant fireplace at either end of the hall, filled with crackling logs, took the chill from the room. Tapers set in sconces along the walls cast a warm glow. The men's heavy boots scraped along the floor as they took their places at long wooden tables, scarred from generations of use.
The English soldiers sat at one end of the hall; the Scots at the other. The room echoed with the sounds of rough language and coarse laughter, as the men, enemies for centuries, self-consciously took the measure of each other.
Abruptly the crowd became subdued as the young women entered the hall.
Morgan's eyes narrowed as he focused on the leader of the two.
Brenna's gown was deep lavender velvet. It hugged her firm, high breasts and tiny waist, then fell in soft folds to the tips of her kid slippers. The wide sleeves were inset with ermine and tapered to narrow cuffs. Her dark hair had been braided with ribbons and fell over one shoulder in a cascade of ebony and silk.
The girl behind her was gowned in pristine white. A cloud of yellow hair drifted around her shoulders like a veil. With her slender figure, she could be mistaken for a much younger lass. But there was nothing childlike about the way she openly studied the soldiers filling the room. Her misgiving about these foreign intruders was obvious.
While the two walked to their position at the head table, the Scots soldiers remained standing at attention. The English soldiers, surprised at the respect being shown, followed suit.
"My lord." A young servant approached Morgan. When he glanced at her, she timidly lowered her gaze.
"My lady asks that you sit at her table while you sup."
He gave her a curt nod and followed. When he reached the table, the two young women looked up in greeting.
"It occurs to me that I have not yet introduced you to my sister.
Megan is the youngest of the MacAlpin clan. "
He bowed over the girl's hand and was aware of the way she cautiously appraised him. When he took her hand in his and brushed his lips over her knuckles, he felt her flinch.
"There is no need to fear. I carry no weapons, my lady."
Brenna saw the way his lips curved into the hint of a smile. But her younger sister was not amused.
"That is wise, my lord. For I was not prepared to trust the word of an Englishman."
She touched the hilt of a dagger at her waist.
His eyes narrowed.
Brenna put a hand on her sister's arm to still her words, then turned to soothe the tension of the man beside her.
"We are not accustomed to entertaining English soldiers in our home."
"It is a new experience for me as well, my lady."
"Please." She was eager to keep this meal from erupting into open warfare.
"Let us take our places at table."
As Morgan took the seat indicated, his thigh brushed Brenna's. Their gazes locked, his amused, hers angered.
He saw the cool disdain in her eyes and looked away. It was obvious that the Lady Brenna would do her duty and entertain him, even though she found it distasteful. He would also abide by his queen's wishes and tolerate the situation, though laying siege to this ice maiden's castle would have been more to his liking.
Brenna took a deep breath to calm the fluttering of her heart. Though she gave every appearance of being in control, her nerves were strung as tightly as the strings of the lute that lay in her sitting chamber.
There was something completely unsettling about the man beside her.
"Have my servants seen to your comfort, my lord?"
"They have." He accepted a tankard from a serving , wench and drained its contents before setting it down. The 1 damnable woman made him uncomfortable, though he could not say why.
When a servant approached with a platter of fowl, Brenna offered the first serving to her guest. She watched as he took the food and broke it into several sections. How big his hands were. What strength lay in his fingers. She felt a tremor along her spine and wondered why such a thought had crept into her mind.
"None for you, my lady?"
"I..." She felt herself blushing.
"I fear I have little appetite this evening."
"I am ravenous." Morgan helped himself to a second serving. This was followed by trays of venison, partridge and salmon, as well as thick-crusted breads still warm from the oven. Morgan savored every serving. Each time his tankard was emptied, it was immediately refilled by a hovering servant.
When at last he was finished, he leaned back with a sigh of contentment.
"You are a most generous hostess, my lady."
Brenna had barely touched her food. Yet she had actually enjoyed the way Morgan indulged himself. There was something oddly satisfying about seeing a man eat with such lusty enthusiasm.
"Do you do everything with such zeal, my lord?"
"Everything that is worthy of doing." He turned his gaze fully upon her.
"My youngest brother died from a fever when he was but ten and five.
With his last breath he fretted that he had not yet lived. Never would he have the chance to lift his sword in the name of his queen. Nor journey to distant lands. Nor bed a woman."
Seeing the color that flooded Brenna's cheeks, Morgan realized that the female beside him, though leader of her people, was probably much like that lad. He discreetly changed the subject.
"Your keep is well fortified, my lady. I find it hard to believe that the old man who stood at your side this morrow is your first man-at-arms."
"Old Duncan stood at my father's side from the time the two were lads.
His loyalty is deserving of my respect. "
"An old man's loyalty will not stay an enemy's sword, my lady."
Her eyes flashed before she responded in a carefully controlled voice.