"Are you happy working for Lord Grey?"
"Oh, aye, my lady. He is a kind and generous man. The people of our village have always been treated fairly by Lord Grey."
With a thoughtful look Brenna lifted her skirts and made her way down the stairs. Though they made no sound, she knew that the guards followed her, as they followed her every move.
She followed the sound of masculine voices and paused in the doorway of a room whose shelves were lined with books. A cheery fire blazed in the fireplace. A desk, piled with ledgers, dominated the center of the room. The two men, seated on either side of the fireplace, were engaged in quiet conversation.
"Norfolk covets the throne. As does the Scots queen, Mary. But of the two, I would suspect Norfolk, the queen's cousin. He has friends in high places."
"Then you truly believe there is a plot?"
Morgan let out a long sigh.
"I know not. But I do not believe in coincidences."
Both men looked up when they noticed Brenna in the doorway.
"Come in, my lady," Richard called.
"I do not wish to disturb you."
"Nonsense. Come in. Will you have a glass of ale with us?"
Brenna could not help but smile at his friendliness and compare it with the wall that seemed to exist between herself and his brother.
"Aye, my lord."
Morgan filled a goblet and handed it to her. When their fingers brushed, she looked down quickly, avoiding his eyes.
"Has the queen set a date for your betrothal?" Richard asked.
"Nay. She said only that she wished me wed as soon as a nobleman speaks for me. She wants me off her hands. As does your brother."
"He does, does he?" Richard glanced at his brother's closed look, then turned back to Brenna.
"Seeing you, I believe there will be many men seeking your hand, my lady."
"I pray you are wrong, my lord."
"Richard," he corrected.
"Aye. Richard. For I am in no hurry to be an Englishman's bride."
He grinned at her.
"Would it be that bad?"
"Aye."
At her vehement response he laughed all the louder.
The housekeeper peered around the corner.
"Your midday meal is ready, my lords."
"Thank you. Mistress Leems." Morgan set down his tankard and pushed his brother's chair. It began to roll across the floor.
Brenna was amazed at the cleverness of it.
"A chair on wheels!"
"Aye. Morgan devised it. A carriage maker assisted him. Without it, I would be forced to stay in one room. I fear I am too heavy to carry like a baby, even for one as strong as Morgan."
"Then I'd bounce you on your head a time or two, just to keep your wits about you."
The two men enjoyed the joke. Brenna found herself relishiqg the sound of their laughter as she followed them to the refectory, where the housekeeper oversaw the meal.
This room, like the other rooms in the castle, had walls of dark stone.
A log smoked on the hearth, emitting a cloud that filled the room.
Servants milled about in disorderly confusion.
There were trays of mutton and partridge, and a thick gruel, as well as ale and mead.
Morgan's soldiers trooped into the room and immediately began eating.
As soon as Brenna was seated, Morgan and Richard tore into their food.
The brothers, Brenna realized, had matching appetites. They took no time for conversation as they ate lustily, then washed each mouthful down with ale. By the time they were finished, there was no food left on the trays. And the housekeeper was beaming with pride.
"Will you have more, my lord?"
"Nay, Mistress Leems. That was sufficient." Morgan rewarded her with a warm smile.
"I have missed your cooking, Mistress Leems. Now I am truly home."
The plump woman beamed at his compliment, then nodded to the servants, who began gathering up the platters and refilling goblets with ale and mead.
Brenna toyed with the food on her plate.
"Is there something wrong, my lady?" Richard asked.
"The lady has little appetite." Morgan drained his tankard.
"Anyone who cannot eat Mistress Leems's gruel must be unwell. Are you unwell, my lady?"
"Nay. It is as your brother says, my lor--Richard. I have little appetite for English food." Or English manners, she thought, if the truth be told.
"I would have more ale." Richard held his tankard.