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.
Oh, to be on that craft, sailing away from here. From the clutches of this madman who had torn her world asunder.
She heard his footsteps and knew that he'd followed her to the balcony.
His voice, low and deep, caused a little flutter in her stomach.
'"Tis a beautiful land, is it not?"
She refused to answer him.
"There is no lovelier sight in all the world than that of the sun seeming to rise clear out of the Thames and color the eastern sky."
"Then you have not seen a blue sky hanging o'er the Cheviot hills of Scotland, all silvery with dew." Her voice trembled, and she realized she was close to tears.
"You will see your land again." His voice was so near she was startled and had to force herself not to recoil.
"When?" She studied the progress of the boat.
"When you are safely wed and have declared your loyalty to my queen, you will be allowed to return often to your people."
"How generous of you, my lord." She turned on him, feeling all her fear and loathing bubbling to the surface. "When you English have succeeded in stealing my land, my crops and my cattle, you will send me back to watch my people starve."
"Little fool." Without thinking he grabbed her by the upper arms, as if to shake her. But the moment he touched her, everything changed.
His words vibrated with intensity.
"We are not your enemy. A wealthy Englishman has no need of your land, crops or cattle. It is not the queen's intention to take from you."
"Is it not?" She tossed her head and tried to push away, but the more she struggled, the more firmly he dragged her against him, until she found herself completely imprisoned in his arms.
Her breasts rose and fell with each measured breath. Her hair, wild and tangled, invited his touch. Her lips were pursed in anger.
Morgan was aware of his lie. Though he needed neither her goods nor her land, there was something he wanted from her each time he looked at her. And wanted it desperately.
"So you find my touch repulsive?" His lips hovered a fraction above hers. Their breath mingled, hers hesitant and a little afraid, his hot and simmering with excitement.
"Aye, my lord," she answered, though she did not try to draw away from the strong hands holding her.
"I cannot say the same." He moved his mouth along her temple, and felt her trembling response.
She struggled to feel nothing. Why were his lips so gentle upon her skin? Even the hands imprisoning her were as gentle as a caress.
"Do not do this, my lord."
He lifted his head for a moment, and she took in a deep breath, hoping to clear her mind. But before she could think, he lifted her hand to his lips in a courtly gesture. The merest brush of his lips on her fingertips caused another tremor.
He continued to hold her hand for a moment before running his fingers along her arm. He watched her eyes darken as his fingertips skimmed her upper arm, then traced her throat to her collarbone.
"You are a beautiful woman, Brenna MacAlpin. A beautiful woman whose family has strong traditions, is that not so?"
She tried to nod her head, but he reached a finger to her lips, causing her to go very still.
"I come from a family of many traditions as well. Unfortunately we have become civilized." His rough, callused finger traced the outline of her mouth until her lips quivered and parted for him.
"There was a time when a member of the Grey family, seeing a beautiful woman with hair like a raven's wing and eyes the color of a field of heather..."
His wicked smile alerted her to danger, "would simply take her."
His mouth crushed down on hers, cutting off her protest.
At the first contact with his lips, she felt a rush of heat that left her trembling. A flame raced alone her spine, heating her blood, searing her flesh. His lips were warm and firm and practiced. Her lips trembled beneath his, then slowly softened, then invited. She would not have believed it possible to be taken so high by a single kiss.
A breeze blew across the balcony, billowing her skirts, lifting her hair, but it was not enough to cool her skin. She was hot, so hot, where he was touching her.
While his lips continued their seduction, his hand moved along her spine, drawing her even closer, until she could feel his body imprinted upon hers. She attempted to push him away. But even her hands betrayed her. They grasped his shoulders and she held on tightly to keep from falling. Surely her knees would buckle and her legs refuse to support her. She clung to him, hating the weakness in herself. A weakness that she had not been aware of until she had met this man.
Though she claimed to detest his touch, she had not the will to stop him.
Morgan took the kiss deeper. She tightened her grip and clung to him with a fierceness that surprised her. What was happening to her?
Without soft words, without tender touches, some primitive force seemed to have taken over her will. Or perhaps it had taken over both of them, consuming them with its intensity.
The hand at her back tightened perceptibly, drawing her even closer, until she could feel his heartbeat inside her own breast.