"It is the same for me."
Megan crossed the room and paused beside her sister. Following Brenna's gaze, she spied Morgan Grey.
"Is that not their leader?" At her sister's nod, she said softly, "Why do you permit him to move about unmolested? What if he should open the gates and admit the rest of his men who wait beyond our walls?"
"He claims to be on a mission of peace from Elizabeth of England."
"You believe him?"
Brenna shrugged.
"I have not yet decided what to believe about Morgan Grey."
Megan was puzzled by the inflection in her sister's voice. It was not anger she detected, but something not quite definable.
"And how does England's queen hope to achieve this miracle of peace?"
"By arranging marriages between our people, especially those of us who are Borderers."
"God in heaven." With a stricken look Megan caught her sister by the arm.
"Does that mean that you and I would be forced to marry Englishmen?"
"Nay." Brenna's eyes narrowed at the thought of allowing her sister to be sacrificed in such a manner. As for herself, she was the MacAlpin.
No one told her what to do.
"I would pay any price for peace, save that one." Her voice softened.
Her eyes took on a dreamy, faraway look.
"I recall the way Father grieved after Mother's death. Theirs was a true and lasting love. As is the love our sister, Meredith, feels for Brice, her beloved Highlander."
Megan nodded.
"But no one expected her to give her heart to the barbarian."
"It matters not that he was not one of us. Brice Campbell is devoted to Meredith, just the way Father was devoted to Mother. I'll not settle for less." Brenna's eyes burned with a determination that sent her younger sister's heart soaring with renewed hope. Brenna could be counted upon to stand firm in the face of danger.
"I swear, Megan, I'll give myself to no man until my heart tells me 'tis true love." She opened her arms and gathered the girl close.
Against her temple she murmured, "We must remain true to ourselves and our people. And the English queen be damned."
Morgan Grey awoke in a foul temper. He had slept badly, despite the softness of down beneath his head and the warmth' of a cozy fire in the sleeping chamber. It was not down he needed. Nor a warm bed. It was the softness of a woman's:
body next to him. A woman slender of frame and beautiful of face, with raven hair and a voice that whispered over his;;
senses. A woman like. Nay. He wanted no part of the Scots-1 woman.
He wanted only to be rid of this place and the woman who fired his blood. She was not at all the sort of female he would willingly!
seek out. He much preferred a plump tavern wench, all soft curves, with a boisterous wit and a lusty laugh. Or one ofi the many willing women at Elizabeth's court, who dressed;
to please the men and knew how to brazenly flirt. With that kind of woman there need be no fear of entrapment. They were seeking merely a few moments of pleasure. Love was not part of the bargain. That was why he enjoyed their company. He had no intention of losing his heart only to have it shattered. Never again.
He dressed quickly, then went to inspect the soldiers' quarters. Once there he took his time listening to the complaints of his men.
Ordinarily he would have berated them for their petty quarrels. The food was not as tasty as English food. Their beds were hard. The horses were not being stabled properly. But this day he let them ramble on without reprimand. He found the company of his men far more inviting than that of the woman with whom he would be forced to break the fast.
When at last the men assembled for their morning meal, he had no choice but to accompany them.
Brenna stood in the center of the refectory, giving orders to one of the serving girls. She knew the exact moment Morgan Grey entered the room. Though she finished her command, she had no idea what she was saying. She babbled on, achingly aware of dark eyes staring at her with such intensity, she could feel the heat clear across the room.
She turned and acknowledged him with a slight nod.
"Good morrow, my lady." He cautioned himself to be pleasant if it killed him.
"I trust you slept well." She prayed her cheeks were not as flushed as they felt.
"Very well." He studied her gown of palest pink, the sleeves crusted with jewels. Her lush, dark hair was held back with pale pink netting.
He had a fleeting wish to tear away the netting and watch her hair cascade down her back, loose and free. That thought brought an instant frown to his face.
"Your accommodations are most satisfying."
So satisfying that he looked as if he had slept in a briar patch the entire night.
"You will join me at the head table?"
"As you wish."
He walked beside her, then paused to hold her chair. As he bent forward he inhaled the fragrance of heather. Damn the woman for all her soft looks and polite words. Why couldn't she be a hag, with bad teeth and the scent of the stables about her?
"I trust you will be leaving for England this day."
"Nay." He saw the look that came into her eyes and began to enjoy himself for the first time since he had awakened. So she was eager to be rid of him, was she?
"My men and I will tarry here for a few days longer."
"For what purpose, my lord?"
"To--assess the situation for the queen."
As a servant approached with a tray of food, Brenna felt her stomach lurch. A few more days of this man. How could she even think about eating after such an unpleasant bit of news? Why did the man have to sit so close? Just the thought of those hands touching her, soiling her, caused strange sensations deep inside.
Morgan broke the bread, still warm from the oven, into thick slabs and handed one to her. She watched as he spooned honey over his and tasted it. He gave a smile of pure pleasure.
"To a soldier who has been long away from his home, there is nothing more satisfying than good food." He noted that she had not yet eaten.
"Taste, my lady." There was the hint of a smile on his lips.