His lips left hers to follow the pale column of her throat. She arched against him, afraid of the way her body was betraying her, yet hungry for more. The touch of his lips on her throat caused the strangest sensations deep inside her.
He brought his lips to hers, and her mouth opened to receive his taste.
There was about this man danger, and darkness, and the secrets of desire. And yet, for some reason that eluded her, she had a desperate need to learn all that he could teach.
She could no more resist his lips than she could refuse the air that she drew into her lungs.
The sound of a door opening penetrated the mists that shrouded her mind.
With a low, savage oath, Morgan lifted his head. For a moment Brenna felt bereft. Then she became aware of the sound of footsteps across the floor of the sitting chamber.
"My lady."
Still holding her, Morgan turned his head. Dazed, Brenna followed suit.
A serving girl glanced at them, then quickly looked down, studying a spot on the floor.
"Her majesty has sent a seamstress to begin your gown for the festivities, my lady."
Brenna noticed a stooped old woman standing just inside the doorway.
She became aware of a chill breeze blowing off the Thames. Why had she not noticed it before?
"Thank you."
The servant hurried away. The seamstress began setting out her bolts of fabric.
Embarrassed, Brenna tried to pull away, but Morgan continued to hold her. Lifting her chin, he stared down into her eyes and read her confusion. A smile touched the corner of his lips.
"I think, my lady, you do not find my touch so repulsive as you claim."
She felt her cheeks flame. What had he done to her? How had she become so lost in his caresses that she forgot who he was, what he was?
"Go now. Have your gown made. But remember, this thing between us is far from settled."
She pulled away, suddenly mortified by her lapse.
He leaned a hip against the balcony railing as she fled into the sitting chamber. Then he turned and watched as the small boat disappeared around a bend in the river. His hands, he noted, were not quite steady. Perhaps Brenna was right about him. If they had not been interrupted, he would surely have taken her here on the hard, cold floor of the balcony. Like the savage she thought him to be.
Chapter Eight
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i ij Is it not good to be back in England? " Alden pulled a chair in front of the fire and settled himself comfortably.
"Aye." Morgan stood in front of the fireplace and lifted a goblet of ale to his lips.
From behind the closed door of Brenna's sleeping chamber could be heard the babble of women's voices and an occasional muffled exclamation. The servants, it would seem, were having a fine time preparing the Scotswoman for the queen's festivities.
"This time you will stay a while."
"So it would seem. Concern for the queen's safety has altered my plans. If the whispers prove to have substance, I will bring swift justice to any who would plot against Elizabeth." His hand clenched at his side. She was more than his beloved monarch; she was his dearest friend, his closest confidante. No one would threaten her life and live to boast of it.
When that matter was taken care of, he thought, swallowing another drink, he would put an end to this other trouble in his life.
"See to the guards." His voice was low, conspiratorial.
"They are to watch the lady at all times. But they must be discreet."
"How discreet, old friend?"
"They are not to parade around the palace with drawn swords. But they are not to let the lady out of their sight except when she is in these rooms."
"Is that necessary? Do you really think she can flee this fortress?"
Morgan's hand clenched around the stem of the goblet.
"You were not with us in the Highlands. Nor on the journey home." He touched a hand to the dressing on his wound. He would not soon forget Brenna's skill with a knife.
"The lady has a mind of her own."
"Aye. I have heard the men talk." Alden flushed when Morgan arched an eyebrow.
"I will have their heads if I catch them spreading rumors about the Scotswoman while she is under my protection."
"I merely meant that the men speak of her with respect," Alden was quick to add. He stood.
"I will alert the guards."
As Alden started for the door, Morgan added softly, "When this is over, we need to find another war to wage, somewhere far from here, old friend."
"I thought you had grown weary of the battle."
"That was before I was made nurse for the female."
"Aye." Alden shot him a quick grin before departing. The sooner the queen found a partner for Brenna, Morgan thought with a trace of anger, the sooner he could get on with his life.
His life. His world. He had made a satisfying life for himself.
Whatever mistakes had been made, he had risen above them. He had no wish for the disruption of this woman in his well-ordered life.
The tapers had all been lighted, casting a soft glow over the room.
From the windows could be seen the dark curtain of night sky. Morgan walked to the balcony and stared down at the lights of villages in the distance. His gaze was drawn to the shimmering torches of boats far out on the river.
He had a sudden yearning to sail the Thames. To be one with the sky and the water, in a peaceful setting far from the political intrigue of the court.
He heard the door open, and listened to the soft rustle of skirts as the servants swept from the room. When there was only silence, he slowly turned.
Brenna stood just inside the doorway of the sitting chamber.