Once again Brenna was forced to take Morgan's arm and follow behind the queen.
While the crowd hastily assembled, the musicians began to play. Within minutes the queen and her escort formed a circle with several other couples and began a racy, naughty dance.
Morgan led Brenna to a chaise and handed her a goblet of wine before seating himself beside her. When he stretched out his long legs she found herself staring at his muscled thighs, until she suddenly blushed and looked away.
Watching the dancers was no better. Everywhere she looked, she saw hints of seduction. The women bowed low, baring their bosoms to their partners. The men in tight-fitting breeches, strutted in circles, then caught the women in shockingly close embraces before beginning the dance steps. Brenna was amazed to note that none of the women seemed to mind being held so intimately. In fact, from the giggles and whispers, they encouraged it.
When the dance ended, the men bent low and kissed the ladies' hands. A few of the women offered their cheeks to be kissed. And one woman actually lifted her lips for her partner's kiss. Seeing it, Brenna blushed and lifted the goblet to her mouth to hide her embarrassment.
Morgan was fascinated by her reaction.
"Are you blushing, my lady?"
She felt her cheeks grow red and hotly denied it.
"I am just a bit warm, my lord."
"Perhaps a walk in the night air." His voice was warm with unspoken laughter.
"Nay." She realized at once that she had rejected his offer too quickly. Now he would have even more to laugh at.
"I suppose you will not dance."
"I cannot."
"Then we will sit here and enjoy our wine."
He lifted his goblet and watched as she drained hers. A serving wench quickly refilled it.
"Morgan, you must dance," the queen called as she twirled by on the arm of a new partner.
Morgan turned to Brenna. She shook her head and stared at the floor.
"Is it John Knox you fear? Is that why you cannot dance?" Morgan smiled.
"I do not think anyone from the queen's court will carry tales of this night back to your people."
"I do not fear John Knox."
"Is it the sin itself, then? Will you be damned if you dance?"
"I do not consider dancing sinful, my lord."
"Then why can you not dance?"
She sighed.
"Except with my sisters, and a few of the youth at wedding feasts, I have never danced. I fear I would be--clumsy."
His smile gentled.
"Clumsy? You, my lady? That would not be possible.
Come. " He stood and held out his hand.
She bit her lip.
"I do not know what to do."
"I will teach you." Taking the goblet from her, he set it on a small table and took her hand.
While the musicians played a tender ballad, Morgan led Brenna through the intricate steps of the dance.
"Allow me to lead. In my arms, you need only follow."
"But I am moving right while you move left."
She was achingly aware of the hand at her back, pressing ever so lightly as he guided her. She could feel every one of his fingers touching her flesh.
"Do not watch your feet," he whispered, tipping up her chin.
Her gaze fastened on his as his fingertip stroked her cheek.
Oh, why did he have to have such a gentle touch? Why was he so graceful in the dance?
She fit so perfectly into the circle of his embrace. It was as if she had been made for his arms alone. He drew her closer and moved to the music. And the woman in his arms began to move with him in perfect rhythm.
"I pray that John Knox does not choose this night to visit the Queen of England," Morgan murmured against her temple.
"I told you, I do not consider dancing a sin."
"Perhaps. But anyone watching us can see what I am thinking. And what I am thinking is definitely a sin, my lady."
Her cheeks flamed. Only a crude Englishman would dare to make such a joke. She did not know how to deal with such a blunt manner.
"Forgive me, my lady." His deep voice whispered over her senses, causing a prickly feeling along her spine.
"I can see that a sheltered woman would feel lost in such decadence."
He gave a chuckle that sent icy shivers along her spine. She tried to pull away but he gathered her even closer and continued to sway to the music.
She was caught in the gentlest of prisons. Through her satin skirts she could feel the brush of his thighs against hers. Her breasts were crushed against his chest. Each time he breathed, she felt the warmth of his breath ruffle the hair at her temple. Slowly, against her will, she closed her eyes and with a sigh gave in to the overpowering need to surrender to his touch. Her fingers played with the dark hair at his nape. The hand engulfed in his relaxed until their fingers were gently laced.
"You are an excellent student, my lady." His words were whispered against her temple.
She sighed. It was not the student who was excellent; it was the teacher. But she was too content to speak.
"Is there anything else you would like to learn, my lady?"