Highland Heather - Highland Heather Part 3
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Highland Heather Part 3

"For hundreds of years my people have lived in the path of English, hungry for our land. Your people covet what we have--rich, fertile hills and sleek, desirable cattle."

"Not to mention your women."

She heard the hint of laughter in his voice, and her tone hardened.

"Do not cross words with me, my lord."

"Would you rather we cross swords?"

"Do you think me some pale English lady, who would grow faint and swoon at the sight of a sword? The MacAlpins, though peaceful by nature, have been forced to become a warrior clan. And as leader of my people, I would not hesitate to take up the sword against anyone who threatened mine."

Morgan felt grudging admiration for the woman's spirit. Still, her attitude rankled.

"Forgive me, my lady, if I remove myself from the fray. Now that my men have been admirably fortified with food and drink, I will see that they withdraw to the quarters you have so generously prepared for them."

Brenna watched as he pushed away from the table and strode across the room. There was an arrogance even in his movements.

At a single command his men followed.

From his position at the table, Duncan waited for her signal. Brenna nodded and he assembled his men. While the English slept, he and the Scots would keep careful watch. In MacAlpin Castle, the word of the English was worthy only of scorn.

As the English soldiers cleared the room, Brenna felt herself relax for the first time in an hour. It was impossible to be at ease in the company of Morgan Grey.

The cool evening air was fragrant with the delicate scent of heather.

Clouds scudded across a half-moon, throwing the gardens into shadow.

Brenna pulled the cloak about her and walked among the carefully tended hedges. She was troubled by the presence of the English, and especially Morgan Grey. His reputation had preceded him. He was no mere messenger, carrying a missive from his queen. The man was legend, not only among his own people, but among those he had fought, as well.

His name caused armies to tremble. From Scotland to Wales and even across the Channel to Ireland, the Queen's Savage was a man to be feared.

He was much more than a soldier, however; he was a titled English gentleman. Among the political factions dividing England he was a leader. His father had been one of King Henry's closest advisers. The English queen, Elizabeth, trusted Morgan Grey as she trusted few within her circle. And, in fact, if rumors were to be believed, he was one of the men being considered as consort for the queen.

Knowing all this, Brenna had still not been prepared for the man himself. His mere presence was daunting.

She heard the sound of footsteps and turned, her hand on the dirk at her waist.

Morgan's voice was hushed in the darkness.

"Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to startle you." When he recognized the glint of metal, his voice lowered.

"I know of no English lady who would arm herself for a simple walk in the garden."

"Then your Englishwomen are most fortunate, my lord. May they never have to fear an attack from those who would take what they do not wish to give."

Once again he was startled by the anger in her tone.

"If you do not trust me, perhaps the stalwart Duncan should be at your side."

She couldn't help but smile.

"Duncan and his Mary are most surely asleep by now. With the arrival of your men, he was forced to put in a full day."

"And what of your safety, my lady?"

Her smile grew.

"I do not think you will spend even one minute worrying about my safety. But just so you understand..." She inclined her head.

"My men walk the perimeter of the garden, as well as all the castle grounds. If a single night bird should call, they will note it.

Despite the presence of English soldiers within these walls, my men will see to my safety. "

"You need have no fear." As she started to walk, he moved along at her side. They passed a planting of roses surrounded by rows of wild heather, and he was reminded of the woman beside him. She was as delicate as a single rose petal. But her words were as sharp as any thorn. She appeared as cultured as the rose, and yet as wild as the heather.

"Have you read the missive from my queen?"

"Aye." Brenna bent her head to inhale the wonderful perfume from a perfect red rose.

"The English monarch declares that yours is a peaceful mission. But peace has long eluded our people. She does not say how she hopes to unite our borders."

"It is the queen's belief that if the lands bordering our two countries could be united, the bloodletting would cease. Elizabeth sends an emissary to your Queen Mary in Edinburgh to arrange suitable marriages that will ensure peace."

"Marriage. To an Englishman." Brenna paused in the act of touching the flower and prayed that her hands would not tremble and betray her.

"Does that trouble you, my lady?"

Brenna forced herself to meet his cool look. Was that a hint of mocking laughter lurking in those dark depths?

With a flounce of skirts she turned away and began walking until she came to an arbor of vines and climbing roses. Unable to contain her anger, she turned on him.

"Why should it trouble me? Should I not be willing, nay, i eager, to hand over my loyal people, my fertile lands, and i the castle that has been in my family for generations in return for the ill treatment I am bound to receive at the hands of an English husband?" Her tone lowered to a furious whisper.

"Should I not be overjoyed to lose all that I hold dear for the sake of peace between our countries?"

"And what about the unhappy Englishman who is forced into marriage with his enemy? Will the poor lout not be forced to watch his back each time he lies in his bed?"

Her eyes glittered.

"He will if he insists upon marrying a MacAlpin."

"Such anger in one so young." The mockery was wiped from his eyes. His voice softened.

"What have the English done to you that you should bear such hatred?"

"My mother was killed at the hands of the English. For all that my sisters and I suffered, my father suffered a hundred times more. She was his reason for living. I saw the light go out of his eyes after her death."

"I am sorry." Without thinking, Morgan placed his hand on her arm.