Hamish MacPherson was overjoyed. Never in his wildest dreams had he hoped for such tender treatment from Brenna MacAlpin. Always in the past, the young woman had treated him like a leper, holding him, like all the others, at arm's length. Perhaps she was more afraid of this Englishman than she admitted. It would seem that he had arrived just in time.
He puffed up his chest and -allowed himself to be led to the great room. Once there, however, he found himself left alone with the younger one, Megan, while Brenna went off to her chambers.
It was not until midday, when everyone had gathered for a meal, that Brenna once more singled out Hamish for her attention.
Beside her, Morgan Grey seethed. The ice maiden, it seemed, had a fondness for pink-cheeked boys with broad shoulders and little between their ears.
"A rider approaches, my lady. He carries the standard of the English warrior, Morgan Grey."
Brenna looked up from her embroidery. Across the room, her sister and Hamish were enjoying a rousing game of cards. Though darkness had descended, the room was made bright by the light of the fire and the candles that burned in sconces along the walls.
"Does he ride alone?"
"Aye, my lady."
"Since he is a lone rider, allow him to enter."
The order was given. Scots soldiers lowered their weapons. The wooden staves were thrown, allowing the huge double doors to swing wide.
Brenna watched as old Bancroft, the keeper of the door, accepted a scroll from the stranger.
"He carries a message for his leader, Morgan Grey."
Brenna nodded and waited while a servant went in search of the man she had been avoiding all day. When Morgan appeared, she shot him a haughty glance before looking away.
Morgan scanned the words of the scroll, then looked up with a frown.
"Was there nothing more?"
"Nay, my lord."
"Tell the men camped beyond the walls that we will leave at first light."
Brenna could scarcely believe what she was hearing. Though she carefully schooled her features to hide the excitement she felt, she could not help but give a sigh of relief as the soldier smartly saluted and turned away.
"You are leaving, my lord?"
He heard the note of eagerness in her tone and silently cursed her.
"Aye." He ignored Hamish, who had crossed the room to stand protectively beside Brenna. Morgan experienced such a rush of anger it puzzled him. Jealousy? That was impossible. How could he harbor such ridiculous feelings over a woman he didn't even like?
"It seems the queen has need of me."
"You are returning to England?" At his nod she added, "I will immediately instruct my servants to prepare food for your journey."
"You are too kind, my lady. You need not hurry. We do not leave until the morrow."
"But there is much to prepare. The day begins early."
As she turned away he saw the relief lurking just below the surface of her composed features. She was overjoyed to be rid of him. If she could, she would see him gone within the hour.
Well, he thought, watching her retreating back, did he not feel the same way? He had resented this mission. Had resented wasting his time and his men on something so trivial as this Scotswoman. The time he had spent here could have been better spent subduing enemies of the Crown.
He made his way to the men's quarters and instructed them to prepare to leave at dawn. Then he made his way to his chambers and packed his few supplies.
From the desk, he picked up a tankard of ale, then glanced at the notes he had written chronicling the MacAlpin holdings. The Scotswoman was unexpectedly wealthy even by English standards. Brenna MacAlpin would make a fine bride for one of England's titled noblemen.
He walked to the balcony and stared at the darkened hills below.
Brenna understood what the queen had in mind. And from all that he had observed, she would rather die than allow herself to be wed to an Englishman.
He swirled the contents of the tankard, deep in thought. She was an intelligent woman. More intelligent than most he had met. If she intended to thwart the queen's plans, there was a simple enough solution. Before he had a chance to reach England and present his findings to the queen, the
MacAlpin woman could easily persuade one of her own countrymen to marry her. The oaf below stairs would need no persuasion. He was already a poor dog, eating out of the lady's hand.
Once wed, even the Queen of England did not have the power to rule against such a union.
God in heaven! In just the short time he had known her, he could already glimpse her devious little mind at work. It was what he would do in her place.
He downed the ale and slammed the tankard onto the desk. As a loyal servant of Elizabeth, he knew what he had to do. With the decision firm in his mind, he felt more lighthearted than he had in days.
This was not a personal feud, he assured himself. But that would not prevent him from enjoying a certain amount of personal satisfaction at the lady's discomfort.
To keep Lady Brenna MacAlpin from marrying another, he would have to force her to accompany him and his men to England.
Chapter Four
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1 he sky to the east was still dark when Brenna awoke. With a light heart she climbed from her bed. At the first sound of her footsteps, old Mora, her maid, was at her side, helping her with her morning toilette.
"You be anxious, child."
"Aye. The English soldiers are leaving us this morrow."
"Thanks be to God. Their leader, Morgan Grey, is a fearsome man. He reminds me of the one who wed our dear Meredith."
"How can you say such a thing?" Brenna studied the old woman's reflection in her mirror.
"Brice Campbell is a Scotsman. Morgan Grey is English."
Old Morna shrugged.
"Aye. But there is a look about him. A bit of a rogue. If I were fifty years younger..."
"Are you daft?" Brenna stood and smoothed her skirts.
"The man owes his allegiance to the English queen. That makes him our enemy."