That was his undoing. He felt a rush of heat that startled him.
At his touch Brenna drew herself up stiffly, fighting the feeling of panic that threatened to paralyze her.
"I must go." As she tried to pull away, Morgan caught her by the upper arms, forcing her to stay.
Her throat went dry. Like a cornered animal she looked around, hoping to spot one of her men. But the tangled growth around the arbor shielded her from their view.
"Unhand me," she said fiercely, "or I shall be forced to defend myself." She pulled the knife from her waistband and brandished it menacingly.
"I see that you are indeed no pale English lady. In fact, in England you would not be considered a lady at all. I know of no lady who would threaten a man with a knife unless she intended to use it."
"I fully intend to use this on you unless you retreat this minute."
Without warning Morgan caught her hands in a painful grip and twisted the knife from her fingers. When she lifted her free hand to push away, he caught it and dragged her roughly against him.
"There are few who have drawn a weapon against me and lived to tell about it." His words were choked with anger.
She stared at the knife, glittering dully in his hands. Her chin lifted in a defiant gesture.
"Is this how your queen intends to bring peace to our borders?"
"Nay, my lady. Not like this." He dropped the knife onto the earth at their feet.
"Like this."
Without warning he lowered his head and ground his mouth over hers.
He fully intended to punish her with his kiss, knowing how much she would detest being touched by an English soldier. He would enjoy humbling this arrogant wench. But the moment their lips met, all his intentions were forgotten.
God in heaven. Where had the fire come from? The heat that flowed between them was shocking in its intensity. And though he knew he would be burned, he could not pull away.
She was pliant and warm, and her breath was as sweet as the flowers that filled the arbor. The soft contours of her body seemed to melt against him. Her hands were balled into fists that she kept firmly between them.
Brenna held herself stiffly, fighting the reaction that shuddered through her at his touch. This could not be happening. Not with this hated Englishman. Yet even while she fought to resist, her body betrayed her. As his lips closed over hers a tiny ripple of pleasure shot along her spine, leaving her trembling. Though she continued to keep her hands b&tween them, with a will of their own her fingers uncurled until her open palms rested against his chest.
He pulled back, staring down at her as if seeing her for the first time.
Her eyes were wide with fear and loathing. But even as he watched he saw that there was another emotion mirrored in those depths, as well.
Desire? Could it be the first tiny stirrings of desire?
He knew he should walk away. Now, before her guards became suspicious and decided to investigate why their leader lingered so long in the rose arbor. A disturbance at MacAlpin Castle could shatter the fragile peace that Elizabeth was trying so hard to establish.
While he studied her, his thumbs unknowingly made lazy circles on the flesh of her upper arms. God in heaven. She was stunning. Her dark hair had pulled loose from its comb and drifted like a veil around her face and shoulders. Her lips were pursed in a little mew of surprise.
Though he knew he should resist, he lowered his head and gave in to the desire to kiss her again.
This time the kiss was the merest touching of mouth to mouth. His lips softened, moving slowly, lazily over hers, savoring the sweetness of her.
Brenna held herself rigidly in his arms, fighting the overwhelming feelings that threatened to swamp her.
Never before had her body betrayed her like this. Though she wanted to resist, she could not. Even though his hands held her as gently as if she were a fragile flower, she was imprisoned as if by arms of steel.
The sweetest prison she had ever known. His lips were warm and firm, and as they moved slowly over hers, she felt a delicious tingle that left her limbs weak, her head swimming.
What had this man done to her? Why was she behaving in such an outrageous manner with this Englishman?
Every instinct told Morgan to walk away from this woman now, while he was yet able. And still he lingered over her lips. Such tempting lips. Why had it taken him so long to notice how perfect they were?
Without warning he drew her more firmly into his arms and took the kiss deeper. His mouth devoured her, searching for a release from the sudden hunger that gnawed at him. Her breath filled his lungs. Her lips seduced. Her breasts were flattened against his chest. He dragged her hips against his and heard her little moan as his tongue brazenly invaded the sweetness of her mouth.
This could not be happening. Brenna barely recognized the sound of her own voice as a moan slipped unbidden from low in her throat. When his tongue touched hers, she drew back. But the hands at her spine were strong, holding her even closer when she tried to resist. Damn the man! And damn this strange weakness within her that seemed to have robbed her of all strength to resist.
Tentatively she drew in the taste of him. Dark. Mysterious. And then, for one brief instant, she relaxed against him, savoring his magnificent strength.
The thought crept unbidden into her mind. He kisses the way he does everything else in his life. With such wild abandon, it is marvelous to behold, impossible to resist.
But resist she must, if she were to survive. Slowly, like one awakening from a dream, she surfaced and brought her hands to his chest.
He felt the pressure of her hands and struggled for control. Though he was a man of many appetites, it was not his way to force himself upon a woman.
Lifting his head, he stared down into her eyes.
"A man might be tempted to risk your dirk in his back just for sake of another kiss like that one, my lady."
With a mocking bow he scooped the knife from the dust and handed it to her. She snatched it from his hand and, lifting her skirts, ran until she reached the safety of the open portal, where old Bancroft stood awaiting her return.
Morgan stood very still, watching until she had disappeared inside the castle. With a savage oath he turned and strode among the hedges, seeking to exorcise the fire that raged within his loins.
His arms were still warm from the touch of her. His lips still full of the taste of her.
Chapter Three
Q^yys^Q
-Orenna stood in the shadows of her upper balcony and watched the movements of the figure far below. Unconsciously she touched a finger to her lips. A ripple of feeling coursed along her spine. She shook it off. How dare the Englishman kiss her like a lowly serving girl.
Never before had a man dared to treat her in such a manner.
And what of her reaction? Even now she could feel the heat rush to her cheeks at the thought of the way she had melted into his arms. Just thinking about the way he had kissed her brought a weakness to her limbs.
She must get rid of this man, and soon, before he had time to cause any more havoc.
A tap on her door caused her to whirl nervously. At the sight of her sister, she let out a long breath of air.
Megan was taken aback at her sister's display of nerves. For as long as she could remember, Brenna had been the calm in the eye of the storm.
"I cannot sleep knowing the English lie within our castle walls."
"Aye." Brenna turned her attention back to the one who walked the garden paths.