Highland Heather - Highland Heather Part 40
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Highland Heather Part 40

Before a servant could reach for the decanter, Brenna lifted it and poured.

From across the table, Morgan watched with interest. He was touched by Brenna's attention to his brother.

Richard gave her a warm smile and leaned back. Now that he had eaten his fill, he desired pleasant conversation. For too long he'd been starved for company. Now he had not only his brother, but this lovely lady as well.

"Morgan tells me you are leader of a warrior clan, my lady."

"We are a peace-loving people. But when pushed to fight, we show skill with our weapons."

"I have had occasion to taste the Scotswoman's skill," Morgan muttered.

Richard grinned at Brenna.

"My brother showed me his wound. Though not mortal, it was most ably inflicted. Well done, my lady." He turned to Morgan.

"I imagine you do not display your battle scars with much pride."

Seeing the flush on Brenna's cheeks, Morgan grinned, enjoying his brother's teasing humor.

"Aye.

"Twould not sit well if my men thought I could be bested by this mere slip of a female."

Brenna's eyes flashed. But with great effort, she managed to hold her silence.

"It would be most distressing to face a woman in battle," Richard mused.

"Aye. You would not know whether to disarm her or charm her."

Brenna flushed, thinking of her scuffles with the man who sat smiling at his brother. Finding her voice she asked the question that had long perplexed her.

"How is it that you and Morgan chose to be soldiers, Richard? Men of wealth do not usually seek such a life."

"Our father, Lord Matthew Grey, was King Henry's chief council. We grew up at court, a part of the wealthy, privileged few who were fortunate enough to live among royalty."

That would explain why Morgan was so comfortable with the queen. And why he was unaffected by the pomp and ceremony that surrounded the throne.

"But why the harsh life of a soldier?"

"Morgan and I formed a pact when we were young." Richard idly watched as Morgan's men began parading from the refectory. A part of him yearned to be with them, to seek their latest adventure. But he had made his peace with his life. Another part of him enjoyed the luxury of unhurried conversation with this lovely lady. She was not like so many of them he had come to know at court. She seemed truly interested in those around her. She showed a shrewd mind. And she seemed completely unaware that she was a beautiful, desirable woman. A beguiling combination. Brains and beauty.

"When Elizabeth ascended the throne, Morgan and I agreed to be in service to our queen. She was more than our monarch--she was friend and sister to us. But do not think us too noble." His eyes twinkled with merriment.

"Both Morgan and I have enjoyed our lives of adventure. We would have withered at court, with nothing more challenging than an occasional wager on who would be the latest to seek the queen's hand in marriage."

"Are there many?"

"Who seek to wed Elizabeth?" He laughed.

"Aye. Philip of Spain, the Archduke Charles, the Earl of Arran. Arran has a claim to the Scottish throne, I believe." When Brenna nodded, he added, "Erick of Sweden, Sir William Pickering, the Earl of Arundel, Lord Robert Dudley. He is the leading contender at the moment. And, of course, Morgan."

So. It was as Brenna had suspected. She drew in a long breath and glanced at Morgan.

"So many suitors."

"Elizabeth is ruler of the most powerful kingdom in the world."

"And still she has not wed."

"She is a lady after your own heart, Brenna MacAlpin. Elizabeth would choose her own destiny."

"Aye. I can understand that."

The door opened and the young servant, Rosamunde, entered. Behind her were two serving girls carrying an assortment of gowns and accessories.

"My lady," Rosamunde said gently.

"My Lord Grey ordered Mistress Leems to find you some clothes. She hopes you will approve of these until something better can be made by the seamstress."

"Thank you for such kindness, my lord." Brenna shot Richard a look of gratitude and was surprised when he said dryly, "You thank the wrong Lord Grey.

"Twas my brother, Morgan, who thought of your wardrobe."

She blushed clear to her toes.

"Thank you, my lord."

Morgan's lips twitched, but he held the smile at bay.

"You are most welcome, my lady."

Brenna stood on the balcony and studied the hills in the distance. How far to the Scottish border? If she were to slip away under cover of darkness, could she evade the soldiers who would most certainly come after her? Would she perhaps find a peasant who would take pity on her and offer her a safe haven? Or would the queen put a price on her head, making her capture all the more challenging?

She turned to find Morgan standing in the doorway between their rooms, watching her intently.

"Plotting again, my lady?"

She flushed. Could the man read her mind?

"No matter." He strapped on his sword and scabbard, and Brenna realized he was dressed for travel.

"My men have their orders. If you attempt to flee, they will subdue you in any manner necessary."

As he walked from the room she followed.

"Do you think I fear death at the hands of your soldiers?"

He paused on the stair, then began his descent. With her hands on her hips she gave him a contemptuous look as she flounced by his side.