Highland Heather - Highland Heather Part 32
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Highland Heather Part 32

The duke gave a fleeting glance toward the door as if regretting the sleep he would be forced to miss. Then he touched her cheek in an affectionate gesture.

"You shall have your wish, my love." He turned to Morgan.

"Will you linger awhile?" , "Nay. We will see you on the morrow."

Morgan's words were clipped.

Brenna bid good-night, then placed her hand on Morgan's arm, moving stiffly at his side as they took their leave.

They spoke not a word as they ascended the stairs to their suite of rooms. Morgan held the door for Brenna, then paused to speak to his men before following her inside.

The rooms had been prepared for the night. In the sitting room, a fire crackled in the fireplace. A chaise had been positioned in front of it. To one side a table held a decanter of wine and two goblets. On a tray were fruit and pastries.

A perfect room for lovers, Brenna thought. But she and

Morgan Grey were far from lovers; they were enemies. And each day her dislike for this man grew.

A servant looked up as they entered. Seeing Morgan's scowling face, she filled a goblet with wine and placed it in his outstretched hand.

Brenna pushed open the door to her sleeping chamber. A cozy fire burned within. The bed linens had been turned down. Across the bed was draped a gauzy ivory night shift of hand-worked lace and finest linen.

The Queen's seamstresses must have worked throughout the entire evening to turn out something so fine.

A second serving girl looked up from the fire she had been attending.

She hurried to Brenna's side and began to assist her in removing her gown and petticoats. When Brenna was dressed in her night shift, the maid brushed her long hair until it fell in soft waves to her waist.

Brenna thought about old Mora, her nurse since childhood. Those old, awkward fingers would have fumbled with the buttons of this fine gown.

And the hairbrush would have snagged and pulled at her long hair. But oh, how desperately she missed that dear, wrinkled face.

"Would you like anything, my lady?"

"Nothing. Thank you."

Brenna watched as the serving girl scooped up her clothes. On the morrow they would be clean and pressed and hung neatly, awaiting the next time their mistress needed them.

"Good night, my lady."

"Good night."

Before the door closed, Brenna's smile faded. The shadow of a guard could be seen just beyond the open doorway, reminding her again that all this finery did not hide the fact that she was a prisoner. Morgan Grey took no chance that she might attempt to escape into the night.

She felt a wave of loathing for the man who had brought her to this place of horrors. It was because of him that she had been taken from her home. And because of him she would be forced into marriage with one of his countrymen.

She would rather face death at the hands of her guards than endure such a fate.

She buried her face in her hands, to blot out the terrible thought of a lifetime spent in such decadence.

Morgan dismissed the servants. He needed to be alone. To thimc. To brood.

He drained his goblet and stared into the flames of the fire. He was still seething with fury at the scene he had witnessed on the balcony.

What fine irony that he should feel anything at all for the Scotswoman.

She was not his responsibility. He had merely been following Elizabeth's orders. He'd no choice but to bring her here.

But that decision had cost him. Cost him dearly.

He was a man who lived alone by choice. He liked his life the way it was. And he resented having this woman thrust upon him like a stray pup. His eyes narrowed. Especially now that he had discovered the sort of woman she was.

Lord Windham. His hand curled into a fist. He reached for the decanter and filled his goblet. If she had gone off with anyone but Windham, he might have been able to overlook it.

He drank again and shook his head slightly. Nay. That was a lie. Even if it had been one of the others, he still would have been angry. But the thought of her with Windham sickened him.

He drained his goblet, then suddenly hurled it against the hearth where it shattered into a thousand pieces. With a savage oath he turned and stormed toward Brenna's sleeping chamber.

At the sound of shattering glass and the door opening, Brenna turned.

The commanding figure of Morgan Grey filled the doorway.

For a moment she could not speak. Then she swallowed back her fear and stiffened her spine.

"You have no right to come into my sleeping chamber."

His voice was controlled and tight with fury.

"You will not speak to me of rights."

"I order you to leave here at once."

"You order, my lady?" There was the thread of steel in his tone.

"Have you forgotten that you are no longer in Scotland? You can issue no orders here, Brenna MacAlpin. You heard the queen. Until she decides what to do with you, you are my prisoner" -he spoke each word very carefully "--to do with as I please."

Her throat went dry.

"Why have you come here?"

There was something new in her tone. Fear? That thought pleased him.

She should be afraid of him. His temper was something to be feared and it was time she had a taste of it.

He studied the way she looked in the glow of firelight. Her hair, black as midnight, fell in a luxurious cloud around her face and shoulders. The pristine night shift gave her a look of innocence. But this was no innocent child before him. She was a woman. A beautiful, enticing creature. Every line and curve of her lush body could be seen through the opaque fabric. Her little scene with Windham on the balcony had shown him that she knew very well how to use her body, her beauty, to her advantage.

He'd had the impression, when they were in her country, that the lass was an innocent. But now he knew better. He felt his temper slip another notch, until he could no longer control it. She was no better than the women at court.

A warning sounded in his mind, but before he took the time to think, his hand snaked out, catching her by the wrist.

"I came here to teach you a lesson."