In Bed With A Stranger by Mary Wine

Chapter Eight

She did not suffer inactivity well.

Before noon, she was pacing for want of something to do. Every maid in the castle seemed intent on feeding her until she burst. The well-meaning girls and women bore trays to her, all of them carefully laid out to please not only the palate but the eyes as well. It was the women who were harder to send away with their dishes unsampled. Lady Mary was spoilt enough to slash others’ effort without a care, yet Anne knew what it was to heat an iron on the coals. She herself had carefully smoothed the wrinkles from linen napery in preparation for it being laid on a tray for the head table. Extreme care had to be taken to ensure that no soot marred the fine fabric. She’d burned her fingers a few times when the cloth wrapping the handle of the iron slipped or was too thin.

She was not callous enough to reject such offerings but her stays were growing too tight to bear.

She froze as she turned to face yet another lowered head. Deception or not, she was finished acting contrary to her nature.

“I believe it’s time for me to meet the cook.”

The maid lowered herself. “I’ll fetch her straight away, Mistress.”

“Nay, no. I believe the woman should be busy, what with the noon meal so close to serving. I will follow you to the kitchen.”

The girl looked unsure. Her teeth appeared, pressing into her lower lip. Anne refused to be swayed. Just the mention of going to the kitchen had started her thinking. Yes, she was done being idle. She could not be Mary, didn’t know how to act as her half-sister. It was much better to be herself. At least that way, she would not be stumbling over mistakes every other hour of the day.

“What is your name?”

“Ginny, Mistress. I greeted ye this morning.”

“I recall your face now. Do be kind and show me the way to the kitchen. It is time for work now that all of these wedding traditions have been seen to.”

Ginny beamed at her, clearly approving of her work ethic. “We didn’t know exactly what ye might be expecting.”

The maid hesitated, her mouth closing as she stopped mid-thought.

“Because I’m English, you mean.” It was a fact. The coming secession would change hundreds of years of battling between the two countries. Some questioned Elizabeth Tudor’s decision not to marry, but Anne saw the benefit of it. Was not peace worth one woman remaining unwed? She had been one of the best monarchs in history, cultivating a richer economy. Who was to say Elizabeth hadn’t decided long ago that remaining a spinster was a path to a better future for her people? The queen had often said she was married to her subjects. Anne could see the wisdom in it.

Anne followed Ginny. They walked through the circular eating hall she’d supped in last night. The tables were empty now, the floor swept clean. The scent of roasting meat drifted from the kitchen. In back of the tower was a building with a slopped roof. Five huge fireplaces were built along the outer wall. There were also ovens between them, iron doors covering them. Long tables ran the length of the building, thick, wooden tables that bore the marks of use. One end was dusted with flour. Two women worked large lumps of dough there, their chemises rolled up past their elbows. They looked up, watching her enter, but never stopped kneading. But their motions slowed down.

“This is Bythe. She’s the head cook.”

The woman was formidable. Age didn’t mark her face but confidence did. Bythe nodded respectfully. A strip of linen was wound around her head. Only a tiny hint of her dark hair peeked out at the edges. Her forehead was shinny with perspiration. The end of her nose was slightly red from leaning into the fire pits. Her forearms were bare too. A large apron was pinned to the wool of her bodice as well as being tied around her waist. She wore a strip of tartan over one shoulder that draped down her back. In fact all the women did. The plaid was the same weave of colors the men wore in their kilts.

“Welcome, mistress.”

Bythe was clearly uncertain as to what to do with her. Anne offered her a calm smile before looking at the table closest to her. Fresh fish lay on it, their scales still shiny with water. The lenten season had begun and good Christians dined on fish. Two large bowls stood ready for cleaning, a large knife lying nearby. Several smaller bowls were neatly set out awaiting the fish, holding spices of salt, rosemary, pepper and even nutmeg.

“I see you are very confident in your position, Bythe.”

The cook’s expression flickered with a hint of relaxation. Anne unbuttoned one sleeve at her wrist, folding the fabric back along her forearm.

“Yet there is always work for another set of hands in any kitchen.”

The rest of the work slowed to nearly a standstill. Anne reached for the knife, hefting it in a firm hand. She grasped a slippery fish with the other, not a hint of hesitation in her. With a few skilled slices, she cleaned it, removed the bones carefully, inspecting the skeleton to make sure she had them all. She felt the weight of every set of eyes on her. But that was something she could thank Philipa for teaching her.

How to keep her back straight under pressure. She would not falter.

She finished the fish without looking away from her task even once. Laying the meat on a clean tray between cleaning bowls and the ones holding the spices, she reached for another fish.

“I see yer mother taught ye yer way around the kitchen, Mistress.” Bythe took up another long knife. With a quick slice, another fish was well on its way to being ready for cooking. “Since I heard ye were at yer English court for some years, I’m pleasantly surprised to see ye so practiced.”

Anne laid another fish on the tray. She didn’t want to outright lie by claiming that she’d worked in the kitchens at court. Yet she had to find some answer.

“I was sent to the kitchens at Warwickshire when I turned eleven.” That much was true.

Bythe nodded. “My mother worked her entire life at this table. I turned pastry on it when I still needed a stool to see over the top.”

Work resumed around them but not the conversation. The others were listening, waiting to judge her character. She was their mistress, yet English. There were many who didn’t think the two could coexist. More than one English bride had spent years in her chambers, remaining a stranger even as she bore the next generation. She did pity her half-sister that fate. With Mary’s vanity and spoilt nature, she would have been bitterly unhappy at Sterling.

I like it though.

It was another one of those unexpected thoughts. They were coming more often now. Maybe her mind was becoming soft. She’d heard about prison breaking first the personality of its victims and then the body.

She mustn’t think about such a fate.

With a stiff back, she began spicing the fish. There was much to do and Anne dedicated her attention to the tasks. There was a sense of security in doing the things that she would have been doing if she were still at Warwickshire. She kept her mind away from the fact that she hadn’t slept behind the kitchen.

But her body refused to forget that she’d spent the night with Brodick. Heat whispered over her skin. Need awakened from places that two days past she’d never noticed she might feel. Such as the skin on her thighs. Gooseflesh spread up her arms with the recollection of the way Brodick stroked it. His hands were large, the skin suffused with heat.

Her blood ran warmer, her heart beating faster. Even sore, her passage began to clamor for another taste of his hard flesh. She failed to understand how being impaled could feel so good.

Yet it had.

Her lust had truly opened Pandora’s box because now she craved more. She could feel the insanity flowing along with her blood. It unleashed a desire to be stripped bare like Brodick had taken her. No clothing to separate them.

And just as any lunatic at Bedlam, she was cheerful in her insanity. Her lust was welcome because she knew what delights were to be gained by feeding it.

She would adore a babe.

That idea sobered her, washing her fever aside. It was the secret of her heart, the desire for a child. Living under Philipa had robbed her of that joy. She’d buried it deep down inside her to avoid the pain of watching her friends grow large and round with child.

Brodick wanted a child from her.

Temptation urged her to take the chance offered her. Conceive and let the details be damned.

It might be she that ended up cursed if she did. Setting her thoughts to remaining childless, Anne forced her cheerful ideas of a babe back down to where she’d buried them.

She would not find happiness here. Such a reward couldn’t possibly result from so ill a deception.

Yet that did not stop her from lamenting.

“I have heard a most interesting rumor.” Cullen was in full teasing form. Brodick rolled his eyes. He was more interested in finding his wife, but that only made him grimace. Enjoying her was one thing. No man needed to be drawn to a woman when there was work to be done.

Cullen smirked. “It seems yer wife spent the day in the kitchen.”

“Doing what?”

“Ye sound mighty suspicious for a man who had his doubts about his bride’s purity proven so recently.”

“Dinnae play with me, Brother. Someday soon ye’ll marry and I’ve a fine memory.”

A hint of contriteness covered Cullen’s face. “Och well, I forget that ye cannae stand for a wee bit o’ teasing. Ye buckle like a moist reed.”

“Cullen…”

His sibling grinned. “Ye’ll know soon enough. She cooked yer supper. I hope yer stomach is stronger than yer tolerance to jesting.”

Brodick turned his attention to the table, fearing what he might see. Attending court didn’t teach a woman how to turn a loaf of bread. But as mistress of the house, his wife could do whatever she pleased in the kitchen. None of the staff would argue with her, even if they knew she was incorrect.

“I have nae seen you so pale since Father caught ye with yer first woman.”

His brother laughed at him, his voice echoing down the supper table. The food there looked wholesome and normal enough to his eye. But it was taste that mattered.

“You will nae be so smug if she laced supper with foxglove.”

“Still so ready to tell me that you will not doubt me at every opportunity, my lord?”

He flushed, the soft voice reprimanding him better than any slap might have. He was being a brute, even if he had been verbally sparring with his brother.

“I meant that for my brother, nae you.”

She paused, sweeping the men at the table with her gaze. Her lips set into a tight line.

“I see, my lord.” Her voice was tight as she added his title.

His wife passed him. A large meat pie in her hands. Steam rose from it, spreading the scent of spices in the air. The men at the table watched them intently. His wife set the pie down. She cut into it with a knife, letting a cloud of steam loose.

“I suppose it is a good thing that I understand how you prefer to have matters settled between us.” She dished up a hearty slice and presented it to him. Her gaze was steady, the plate unwavering. Challenge shone from her eyes, sending heat down his body. Need prickled along his skin, her stance sparking more lust to fill his cock. The organ twitched, swelling to stand up beneath his kilt. She lifted one eyebrow.

“I thought you said your words were for Cullen. Do you suspect me of foul play?”

The conversations near them died abruptly, his men casting worried looks at them. With a frown, she broke off a chunk of pie. She tossed it into her mouth without a thought, chewing and swallowing it quickly.

She deposited the plate on the table, her face turning red.

“I find I have no stomach for meals frosted with suspicions.”

She lowered herself before turning in a huff and flurry of skirts. But she did it artfully as though she was accustomed to holding her displeasure inside.

He found that fact most unsettling of all.

A man should not be able to hurt her feelings.

Anne fought off tears while her feet moved quickly through the tables. Pain filled her. She hissed with frustration when she entered the hallway. She should not care. It made no sense. So what if the man had doubted her cooking? Let him and every one of his men go to bed with rumbling bellies.

Yet it chafed. His suspicions. She had given him her chastity to prove her worth. That gift she might only bestow on one man her entire life. Hurt filled her chest. She didn’t go up the stairs. The chamber was filled with the memory of the night before and that drew more pain from the wound.

The turmoil gave her feet more speed. Walking through the entry doors of the tower, she moved into the bailey. There was much of Sterling that was still a mystery.

Moving across the courtyard, she paused near the stables. The horses snorted in their stalls. The musty smell of hay permeated the air. It was quarter moon now. Little light shone down from the night sky to pierce the night. Along the walls, fires were lit in iron torch cages. They were set along the castle fortifications every twenty feet. There was no lantern left near the stables for fear of fire. The horses were expensive. No one dare risk losing some of them to a mishap caused by the wind.

But enough light drifted down from the walls. Moving into the stable, she marveled at the number of horses. Hundreds of them stood quietly in the dark all in neat rows. Reaching up, she rubbed a velvet-covered muzzle.

“I didnae say I suspected ye of poisoning my table on purpose.” Brodick’s voice was low but she still heard the exasperation in it. “There be a difference.”

“Yet you stood there afraid to touch the plate.”

Her anger made little sense to her but she couldn’t seem to contain it. It bubbled up, spilling out of her. She heard him snort. “What do you expect from me? Am I to sit idle during the day awaiting your return?” She turned on him, pointing a finger at his larger chest. “So that I might spread my thighs to be of service?”

“The idea has merit.” His voice was deep with frustration. He grasped her wrist, tugging her forward. She tumbled into his chest. He locked her against him with a hard arm. “Since we appear to find more peace when we’re fucking, I find that idea very appealing.”

His brogue thickened. A hard hand slapped against her bottom, pushing her hips toward him. His hard cock pressed against her belly.

“That’s what held my attention, Wife. I looked at ye and stiffened up like a fresh-faced lad.”

His lips claimed her in a solid kiss. He demanded surrender but she twisted away from his lips. With a growl he followed her, one hand gripping the back of her head. He plundered her mouth, pressing her lips apart. A hard thrust from his tongue invaded her mouth, drawing a soft moan from her. Delight washed over her, the heat she’d tried to suppress all day igniting. His warm male skin smelled so good. Her hands spread, searching for the button that held his collar closed. She needed to touch him. Wanted to press against him.

“I spent half the day thinking about getting back between yer thighs.”

He didn’t sound very happy about it, either. But his confession pleased her, her nipples tingling behind her stays.

“I thought about you as well.”

The words tumbled past her lips. There was no considering them. The grip on the back of her head softened.

“Och lass, we’ve more than our share of passion, that’s for sure.”

The hand on her bottom began stroking her. Heat moved through her passage in response, hot and heavy need settling inside her. The hard outline of his cock was a teasing torment to her. She shuddered as her clitoris pulsed, hungry for friction.

“Best ye ken, lass. I will never send ye back to yer father.”

There was a hard edge to his voice. Fierce possession that somehow made her feel cherished. He picked her up, sweeping her up against his chest as if she were no more than a child.

“Ye’re mine and I dinnae care if I have to remind ye of that over and over.”

He carried her into an empty stall. There was new hay on the ground, smelling clean and fresh. Brodick knelt, lowering her to the floor as he followed her. The hay got caught in her hair as he pressed her back onto it, his lips finding hers and taking them in another long kiss. The tip of his tongue stroked over her lower lip before thrusting into her mouth to tease her tongue.

“Since ye were a maiden, ye’ve never been tumbled in the hay afore.” He rose above her on his elbows, a shadowy figure. “I feel the need to introduce ye to trysting.”

“A tryst is between lovers.” But it made her breathless. Excitement made her voice sultry.

“And ye nae think a husband might serve as a lover?” His fingers found the buttons of her doublet, working them loose. “I assure ye I’m up to the task.”

She suddenly felt bold. Reaching down, she found the bulge of his cock. A harsh breath was his response as she stroked it through the pleats of his kilt.

“A statement that I must insist you prove.”

She pushed at his wide shoulders, unsure if he would allow her to lead him. The night didn’t let her see his expression. She pushed harder, lifting her own shoulders up. He dropped back as she sat up.

“I’ve heard a few tales of trysts and lovers’ ways.”

“I insist that ye confess every one of them to me.”

With one hand, she loosened the button at his collar. She stroked her fingers down the center of his chest, easing between the edges of his open shirt.

“The church does command that a wife obey her husband.” She stopped with her hand beneath his shirt, the crisp hair on his chest holding her attention.

“It does indeed.”

His words were clipped. It was very arousing the way he laid so still when she knew he was much stronger than she. A fragile trust threaded its way between them, unleashing her curiosity.

“I heard that there is more than one type of kiss. A meeting of lips and male flesh that the French ladies use to beguile their lovers.”

“Who told ye about that?”

She shrugged, trailing her fingers over his belt. There was no way to tell him that the servants knew absolutely everything in a large estate. When important nobles had visited Warwickshire, the nightly escapades provided many evenings of entertainment for the gossips. Just because she was a maiden did not mean she hadn’t heard exactly how men and women coupled. She stopped over his cock, her hand resting on top of the hard bulge.

“I suppose I could put it out of my mind…”

A hard hand gripped her hair. He wound her thick braid around his hand. The hold drew her against his chest.

“Lift my kilt and try it, lass. I dare ye.”

She stroked her fingers to the edge of his kilt, fingering the fabric. “Does that mean you’re not afraid I might bewitch you? I hear many Puritans believe pleasure of the flesh to be the work of demons leading us sinners to eternal damnation.”

He pressed her back against the hay. She gasped at the speed with which he rose up. There was a great deal of power in his body. It should have frightened her but she trusted him. That was often the difference between a lover and a husband. The lover you shared your body with. A husband you prayed might not be too much to bear.

“I suppose I’ll just have to beguile ye first.”

He pulled her skirts up, the night air bushing her thighs, making her shiver. But it wasn’t with cold. Her heart raced, making her skin warm.

“Now, about that spreading yer thighs bit you mentioned earlier…I’ve a mind to sample that bit of wifely service.”

Her breath caught. Brodick chuckled as he stroked one thigh. “There’s something that we are going to have to practice, lass. Talking.”

“One does not talk about intimacies.”

He touched her slit. A single stroke that sent pleasure up along her passage. His fingertips remained touching her clitoris, rubbing a slow circle over the top of it. The urge to lift her hips took great amounts of self discipline to quell. She was struck dumb by how good that touch felt. It didn’t seem possible that any single part of her body could feel so much pleasure.

“Then how did ye learn about French kissing?”

She blushed in the dark. “That was talk shared between women.”

“Yet it was about sucking a man’s cock between yer lips. Did ye just overhear or were ye asking for advice on how to handle me?”

“Brodick.”

He chuckled, low and deep. The sound sent a shiver up her body because it sounded so…hungry. He hovered over her slit for a moment, teasing it with his fingertips. Sweet pleasure flooded her with each tiny touch but soon it wasn’t enough. She felt empty, aching to be filled.

“You smell hot, Wife.” He pushed her knees up. “Just the way I like my lover to be.”

A breathless whimper crossed her lips. His lips pressed a kiss against her spread slit, the tip of his tongue flickering across the sensitive bud at the top of her sex. There was too much sensation. Pleasure, need, hunger all twisted inside her. It was impossible to remain still. She arched toward his teasing tongue. Her hands curled into the hay, grasping handfuls of it. He lapped her slit from the opening of her channel to the top where her clitoris pulsed for friction.

“Sweet, verra sweet.” He pulled the folds of her slit apart to expose her clitoris further. He sucked it deep into his mouth, pushing her to the brink of climax. But she didn’t tumble off the peak of arousal yet. He kept her there, her sheath begging for penetration. One thick finger slid deep and she moaned.

“Now, there’s a sound that I approve of ye making.”

He pulled free and returned to her sheath with two fingers. He teased the opening before thrusting back in. His lips returned to her clitoris, sucking on the tender bud while his fingers worked in and out of her body.

“Brodick…”

“Aye, any more of yer sweet nectar and I’ll spill myself like a green lad.”

Her body pulsed, hungry and aching for fulfillment. She was poised on the edge of climax, so close, one hard thrust from his cock would send the hard pleasure shooting through her.

She was at his mercy once more.

That rubbed her temper. Jerking up, out of the hay, she pushed him onto his back. She wanted to be more than complacent. More than quietly going along with Philipa’s plan. She wanted to take a lover.

He flopped back onto the hay, raising a thin cloud of dust. It smelled of spring, suiting her mood. Moving down his body, she boldly pushed his kilt up to expose his cock. The organ was stiff, swollen with the same need that burned inside her passage. Reaching for it, she clasped it, stroking the soft skin. It was very hard, making her long to lay back for his possession.

But not just yet.

“Go on, lass.”

His voice was tight as though his control was stretched. She enjoyed that idea. Touching her tongue to the head, she tasted the skin. It was pleasant, filling her with a sense of control over him and his greater strength. A soft groan rose from his chest when she licked the slit. There was a drop of slightly salty fluid hidden there that her tongue carried away. Opening her mouth she sucked the entire head between her lips. His hips jerked, thrusting toward her head. His hand grasped her braid once more, a harsh sound coming from his lips. For long moments she flicked her tongue over the cock in her mouth. Little thrusts from his hips moved it in and out. She listened to his breathing turn ragged, the fingers in her hair tightening. Little zips of pain crossed her scalp, but they only added to the intensity of the moment. Her body was so alive with need that every sensation added to the inferno.

“Enough.” He pulled her head away from his cock, the head leaving her lips with a small pop. “Ye’ve a wicked grasp of applying what ye hear to the practical act.”

He sounded immensely pleased by that fact, too.

“I suppose it’s a good thing you don’t want a dim-witted wife.”

He scoffed at her. “We were both born to the positions that required we marry well. I’m pleasantly surprised by who ye be without yer father’s lands.”

The hand in her hair pulled her back up his body, until they were face-to-face once again. Clasping her tightly against his chest, he rolled over, her thighs spreading for his hips. She whimpered when her skirts got in the way. She loathed the barrier, reaching down to yank the fabric out of the way herself.

“In fact, I dinnae care a wit if ye’re poor as a beggar. I’m going to tumble ye good and hard.”

He raised his kilt and the head of his cock pressed against the wet opening to her body.

“Ye’ll be tender.” He thrust forward, controlling his speed. His body shuddered with the effort. “Easy…”

He didn’t sound as if he wanted to enter her softly. His voice had deepened and roughened. But pain rose from her sheath as it was stretched by his flesh again. It didn’t last as long as last night, fading into a dull ache almost instantly. Her clitoris begged for friction.

“Take me, lover.”

Her words were as bold as her needs. She heard his swift intake of breath before he pulled free. With a hard thrust he impaled her again, pushing his length deep into her body. Sweet enjoyment speared up into her belly, her back arching to make sure he was lodged completely.

“Aye, lass, that’s exactly what I plan to do with ye.”

His body jerked, setting up a fast rhythm of hard thrusts. Each one drove his cock deep before he pulled free for only a mere second. The skin of their thighs slapped together from the speed and force of his action. Her hips rose up off the hay to meet each downward motion. Each stroke drove more delight into her belly until she couldn’t endure any more. Tension knotted around her sheath and the hard flesh stretching it. She reached for her lover as a cry left her lips. Savage enjoyment flooded her, ripping her away from any thoughts or concerns. There was only the pleasure and the hard body of her lover. He growled in her ear a moment before she felt a spurt of hot fluid hit her deep inside her passage. His cock jerked as it pumped his seed against the mouth of her womb. Her passage tightened around his length, milking every drop from it.

She was suddenly aware of their breathing. It sounded loud against the silence of the night. Perspiration dotted her skin and the night air was cool as it blew across her exposed legs. But her lover was warm. His body weight was caught on his elbows, his chest working like a bellows. Raising a hand, she placed it against his chest. Her fingertips caught the hard thumping of his heart.

A soft kiss touched her forehead.

“Did I hurt ye?” He kissed her cheek and then her lips before raising up to look at her face. “Did I?”

“Only when you looked at me with suspicion.”

That fragile bond of trust was growing into a web. Surrounded by the night, she felt at ease confessing her feelings. He sighed.

“I was so busy fighting off the urge to tumble ye, I didn’t give a damn about supper. I was trying nae to toss ye over my shoulder like a raiding barbarian.”

“Your brother—”

“Was teasing me. So I shot him back a harsh answer.”

Her lower lip trembled. She wanted to believe him. Her heart needed to believe that he trusted her. All of the tender emotions that had begun to grow deep inside her demanded that she embrace his words.

“Since ye nae have any siblings, ye dinnae ken how they can needle at each other. ’Tis a way of showing affection. I swear it.”

He sat back on his haunches, gently closing her legs for her. A firm hand drew her skirts down to cover her legs, too. A shaft of pain went through her heart as she considered how true his words were. She often teased Bonnie, and her brothers were hellions when it came to taunting one another. Only their mother managed to quiet them.

He drew a stiff breath when she remained silent.

“I suppose I’ll have to be patient with expecting ye to trust what I say.”

She could hear how much he didn’t like waiting for that to happen.

“Come on now, lass. I’d better get ye into a warm bed before ye catch a chill.”

He pulled her to her feet, the hay falling off them both. A soft giggle escaped her lips, surprising her. She hadn’t made such a carefree sound in years. Brodick picked a few larger pieces from her hair, brushing his hands down her skirt to dislodge what he could.

He clasped her hand in his, silencing her once more. She looked at their joined hands, oddly touched by the simple gesture.

“Helen will tear a strip off my back if ye take ill from lying down in the stable.”

“Do you actually think women are so frail, or is it merely because I’m English?”

He turned to look at her. “Aye, I see ye’re fine and strong. Maybe I’m a wee bit overprotective. I know many a lass who would have quarreled with sleeping on the trail.”

He sounded pleased with her. Her heart latched onto that information, clutching it tightly.

“But we’ve a fine bed waiting for us tonight. As much as I enjoyed the hay, I believe we’ll leave the stable to the horses and the maids.”

She laughed at his suggestive comment. “You’re a poor example, talking that way.”

“What example? Did I nae get married? Have I nae followed ye out of the hall twice to do my husbandly duty?”

“Brodick.” She cast a look toward the wall. “Your men are listening.”

He leaned close, his breath warm against her ear. “I hope they heard ye yelling with pleasure.”

“Oh…” She slapped a hand in the center of his broad chest. The brute chuckled at her temper, tugging her along behind him.

“Come, Wife. Let us to bed.”

He raised his voice so that it bounced off the walls. Her face flamed scarlet with his amusement ringing in her ears. Yet there was also pride filling her. She could not deny that it pleased her to know that he wanted everyone to know that he enjoyed having her in his bed.

Many noble brides were not so desired.

If that meant she was guilty of the sin of vanity, so be it.

He took her across the courtyard, several of the men on the walls peering down at them. Brodick held her hand fast, even when she wiggled her fingers. Night surrounded them. Even in the tower there was meager light. Few candles were lit along the walls inside. It was quiet, too, no one in sight. Brodick led her up the stairs, his boots making no sound on the stone steps. For so large a man, he moved well. It spoke volumes about him. His father had clearly seen to his training. No man learned the art of carrying his weight without tutoring. Boys began their tutelage at five, the same time daughters began to follow their mothers to work. Lady Mary had been instructed in dance, movement and royal service for years before being placed at court.

Brodick pulled her into the chamber they’d shared the night before. Changes had taken place during the day. Three ornate tapestries covered the walls near the fire. There was also a matching set of candlestick holders on a newly arrived vanity table. Made of silver and carved with artful designs, they held lit candles that filled the chamber with yellow light.

On the table was a mirror. Anne gaped at the costly item. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d snuck a peek in Philipa’s. Such an item was worth more than the mare she’d ridden to Sterling. The candle flame flickered off the polished surface of the mirror in a pagan dance that mesmerized. This was a highly prized possession even for an earl’s house. She reached out, stroking only the silver frame that held the polished glass. Her reflection joined the flame. Anne stared in wonder at her face. Her lips were slightly swollen, far sultrier than she’d ever considered herself. She knew her hair was brown but in the mirror it shimmered with copper highlights, tiny wisps of it loosened from her braid by Brodick’s hands framing her face. Her skin was creamy and smooth like fresh cream in the spring when the cows were eating lots of greenery.

“You’ve met with Helen’s approval for certain.” Brodick appeared behind her. “As well as my own.”

He wrapped his arms around her. The embrace was warm and secure, such as she couldn’t recall sampling from anyone save her mother. A steady reminder of how strong he was. She felt the thumping of his heart against her back. His lips twitched at the corners as he watched her in the mirror. He moved a hand up from her waist and over the swell of her breasts. Even buffeted by her doublet and stays, she shivered, her skin humming with approval. His fingers rubbed a small circle on the soft portion of her upper breasts.

“I’m glad to see that ye like yer bridal gift.”

“Gift?” Her breath caught as he moved his hand to her bare throat. She felt so vulnerable, the column of her neck fragile compared to the strength she knew he had in his hand.

“Aye. The mirror is a present from me. A good friend of mine brought it back from his recent voyage to France.”

“That was very…very kind.”

He leaned down and she watched, fascinated, as he kissed her neck. Seeing it was incredibly arousing. She could see his lips compressing against the smooth surface of her throat. At that same moment, her skin rippled with the warm sensation of his kiss.

“I can think of a few things to do with it myself.”

His hand cupped her jaw, lifting it. With a twist of his fingers he opened the first button and then the second. A tiny gasp crossed her lips as he set his fingers between the open edges of the garment to touch her bare skin.

“Things I nae considered a mirror being useful for, as a matter of fact. It may have been well worth the gold I traded for it.”

The next button separated and several more. She followed his fingers devotedly, excitement rising inside her with each little pop. He used both hands to spread the edges open. The mirror reflected her stays and the swells of her breasts.

“Now that’s something verra pretty to gaze at.”

He pulled her doublet over her shoulders and down her arms. There was a brief moment when he stepped back from her to free the garment from her wrists. She shivered at the loss of contact, sighing when he returned to press up against her from head to toe. Her attention was drawn to the differences between their genders. His wider shoulders that appeared on either side of her own. His face was harder, his jaw more firm with less curves than her own. Her eyes were framed by longer lashes that looked somewhat coquettish.

“We do make an interesting view. I like it much better now that yer sweet skin is in sight.”

“This must be wrong.”

His fingers trailed up the center of her stays and she stared at them intently.

“Why is that?”

His voice had deepened to that tone he used when he was becoming aroused. Her gaze dipped to the kilt shielding his cock from her sight. Was he growing stiff behind the wool?

Her face flooded with heat, her eyelashes fluttering. His eyes glittered as they noticed the telltale movement. With a shaky breath, she tried to leave. His arms tightened to keep her in place. His head tilted and she watched him open his lips. He closed them gently around the lobe of her ear, sucking it into his mouth.

“Brodick…”

“Aye, Wife?” He locked stares with her in the reflection. “What is wrong with enjoying yer gift? I bought it to give ye pleasure. Do ye deny that ye’re quivering with enjoyment?”

Her lips rounded with a little sound of confusion, all other words failing her. He chuckled near her ear, his chest shaking against her back. It was decadent. All of the sensations and sights combining into a mixture that intoxicated her senses. His fingers reached the tie holding the front of her stays closed. With a quick jerk he pulled it loose. Hooking the first crossing of laces with a crooked finger, he tugged the lace out of the eyelets. Her breasts felt heavier, almost swollen. He hooked the next crossing of laces and then the next. The stays lost their supporting hold on her, the stiff garment falling open now that it wasn’t held in place by the strong cord.

“I think there is something very right about this moment.”

He pulled her corset free, dropping it carelessly onto the floor. Her chemise was thin, made of fine cotton, the darkness of her nipples showing through it. Another gasp left her lips. This time Brodick echoed the sound with a swift intake of his own breath. His hands hovered over her breasts, only two fingertips pressing against her chemise to stroke her nipples. A deep shudder sent gooseflesh down her arms. She could actually see the tiny bumps decorating her forearms. Behind the fabric, her nipples drew taut, the hard tips visible in the mirror.

“Now there’s a sight I’m sure I dinnae want to miss. Yer nipples are very pretty.”

Were they? She didn’t know. Moving her gaze to his face, she witnessed the hard hunger drawing his features tight. Her waistband popped open, making her jump.

“I could get used to maiding ye with my own hands.”

“Wait.” Her skirts puddled around her ankles and shins before she spoke. The small padded roll around her hips didn’t last very long either. Brodick had untied it without hesitation. “We already…um…”

“Fucked? I remember it very well.” Amusement coated his voice.

“Why are you toying with me?”

Her chemise billowed now, falling around her body loosely. The flicker of the candle flame illuminated the curves of her body, causing her to look like some pagan offering. Heat moved through her passage, slow and deep. It wasn’t the white-hot flash of need that had assaulted her in the stable; this time it was centered in her womb.

“Who told you that a man and woman could only share intimacies once a night?” He set his hands on her hips, trapping her chemise there. The action drew the fabric tight across her breasts, showing off her hard nipples.

“Now I want to seduce ye.”

His hands smoothed over her hips, moving down her thighs to the edge of the undergarment. When his hands slid onto her bare skin, sensation ripped into her. He curled his fingers into talons, pressing each fingertip into her legs and raking his hands back up her thighs. The chemise rose and she stared in fascination as her thighs became visible. Higher, and the soft hair on her sex was revealed. Breathing became difficult as her belly was exposed. Her own hands gripped his kilt while he drew his fingertip along the sides of her breasts.

She lost the vision in the mirror as he drew the fabric over her head. Her eyelids fluttered, a soft moan crossing her lips when she gazed into the mirror again. The flickering flame illuminated her bare body. Her breasts were small, round globes that hung like tear drops, slightly fuller towards the bottom. Each one was set with a small pink nipple, the tips hard buttons.

“You’re a vision, lass. Like a siren from the Greek voyages. I’d follow ye to the rocks.”

“You shouldn’t say such things.”

He didn’t return his hands to her. He reached up to untie his sword. The dark handle was still visible above his right shoulder. The wide leather strap that held the scabbard along his back was shiny in the candlelight. He untied it with a quick, practiced motion. He set the sword down, leaning it against the wall directly next to the table. His kilt brushed against the back of her thighs when he moved back next to her.

“And ye, sweet wife, shouldnae be so quick to place borders around our union. Our marriage is a tool for sweeping aside outdated ideas.”

His hand hovered over his belt buckle. Her gaze centered on the reflection, her breath stilling in her throat.

“Since it excites ye and me, what is wrong with enjoying our mirror?”

“I don’t know.”

And she didn’t care. His fingers turned slightly white as he gripped the end of the leather belt. With a jerk he pulled it back enough to allow the twin prongs to spring free of the holes in the thick leather. Her gaze became fixated on his kilt. She wanted to know if his cock was hard.

Could the idea of lying with her actually raise him a second time in as many hours?

A wicked idea for certain, but heat flowed into her passage, awakening her clitoris. His grip released and the belt fell. She felt the slither of the fabric dropping along her bare legs until her stockings interrupted. His shirt didn’t allow her to see his cock.

A soft chuckle shook her back. “Dinnae look so disappointed, lass. Patience is a virtue.”

She scoffed at him. “Your teasing is misplaced.”

“Och now, is it?”

She pursed her lips and shrugged. “I could be as cold as a newly netted fish. Unresponsive and very uninterested in seeing anything you might have behind your kilt.” Reaching back, she pressed his shirt tail against his crotch. The fabric folded around the erect form of his sex, her hands gently fingering it for only a moment. His cheek jerked as his eyes narrowed, the mirror showing her his response clearly.

“Just think, my lord. I might lie upon your bed squeezing my eyes shut as stiff as an effigy.”

Anne turned, retaining her grip on his cock. Watching had lost its appeal. Need was whirling around deep inside her belly. She wanted to touch and be touched. But she was also feeling bold, as though she needed to be as confident with the subject of intimacy as he was. She wanted to tease him with the same ease that he toyed with her, not shiver like an ignorant virgin.

“Ye certainly tried to avoid me well enough.” A hint of frustration laced his tone. Working her fingers over his cock again, Anne shrugged.

“Really? You believe so?”

He grunted. “I have a good memory.”

Anne walked past him, careful to step over of her skirts. She felt his eyes on her bare bottom, her clitoris begging for a stroke from his fingers. The side bed curtains were drawn, the interior of the bed glowing red from the coals in the fireplace. Casting a look over her shoulder, she placed a knee on the bed.

“Be careful what you suggest. I might decide to repent my lustful infatuation.”

The bed ropes groaned when she crawled up onto the ticking.

“I’d have to take ye in hand and warm you up…again.”

He was following her, slowly stalking. He paused near a stool, propping one foot onto it. With a pull and tug, his boot dropped to the floor. The head of his cock pushed against the creamy shirt tail when he moved. A smug look decorated his face because he watched her looking at his crotch. Anne didn’t lower her eyes. She stared straight into his gaze, refusing to consider whether it was right to look at his sex.

Watching in the mirror had been very pleasing and she wasn’t a liar.

His second boot hit the floor. “Lie back.”

“All the way?”

“Aye.”

She scooted back while he gripped the hem of his shirt and drew it over his head. There was no teasing about it. Brodick threw his remaining garment across the room. With him completely bare, she lost a great deal of her bravado. He was magnificent, his body honed into tight ridges of muscle. On an animal she would have been impressed; in this man she quivered because his strength would soon be working between her thighs. The idea was as intoxicating as the reflection had been.

“Now spread yer legs.”

Her thighs pressed tight instead.

“Do it.” Command colored his words. His eyes narrowing with expectation. “Part yer thighs. I want to see if yer slit is glistening with sweet dew.”

It was…

The folds of her slit were already slick. Her attention moved to his cock, the staff thick and engorged.

“Unless ye be too timid.”

She forced her hesitating knees to part. He didn’t chuckle, didn’t mock her for the slightly nervous way she complied, spreading her legs so that he could see her sex.

“Wider. Much wider.”

A ripple of excitement went through her. The folds protecting the opening to her body separated, exposing her completely.

“Now lie back and close yer eyes. No peeking. Wait for me to touch ye.”

His voice was rough. It suited the sharply defined muscles running over his limbs and body. Everything about him felt and looked hard.

And she was soft.

Her body fashioned to be opposite to his. The bed ropes creaked once more as she lay back. Closing her eyes raised a soft moan from her chest. Every inch of her skin suddenly became more aware. She could hear her own heart beating faster, feel her blood accelerating. Goosebumps rose along her arms and down her torso. The tiny bumps covered the mounds of her breasts. Through her eyelids she detected only the flicker of the dancing candle flame.

A moment later it died.

Her heart increased its pace yet again. The folds of her sex turning hot as blood rushed through the delicate tissues. Without her sight, time moved slowly as she waited for a tiny sound to tell her where Brodick was. The bed was still, her ears failing to hear anything.

That left her waiting.

Anticipation was a torment. Her clitoris throbbed with demand. Her passage begged to be filled. A single stroke down the center of her slit drew a cry from her lips.

A hard hand pressed her back down.

“Interesting, isn’t it? The way the flesh heightens its awareness when ye don’t have yer sight.”

“Indeed.” The single word was an effort to force past her lips. Her breathing was uneven, most of her attention needed to keep her eyes closed. She was rapidly losing the ability to conquer her impulses. Signals raced from her skin to her spine and up into her brain so quickly she couldn’t make sense of it all. Couldn’t understand what she wanted anymore. Part of her wanted to open her eyes to restore her balance. A hard shudder shook her, the spasm pressing another sound past her lips and this one sounded more like a wail.

“Enough, lass.”

The bed rocked as she was caught up against his body. Hard arms drew her into his embrace, his skin caressing hers. It was sweet balm to her quivering flesh. Reaching for him, she held tight as he rolled her beneath his large body.

“Enough play for tonight. I just want to rock ye to sleep.”

Her thighs clasped his hips and he cupped the back of her head. His lips sought hers, teasing them with a warm kiss. It was a slow meshing of their mouths, his tongue soothing the dry surface of her lips. His cock pressed against the opening to her body, sliding smoothly into her sheath. There was no protest from her body this time, his cock lodging deep with the first penetration. His tongue delved deep at the same time, filling her mouth.

He moved between her thighs, rocking her with a gentle rhythm. His cock departing and returning slowly. Each breath drew his scent into her senses. Every downward motion pressed his chest against her breasts. The soft globes gave way to his harder torso. Pleasure streamed along her body, first from where he rode her and then back to tighten around his hard flesh. She was keenly aware of the entire length of his cock. It slid against her clitoris, pressing down on the sensitive nub until the head knocked against the mouth of her womb.

She broke their kiss, gasping for breath. Her body was twisting tighter and tighter again. It was far too much to hold inside. Her lips remained open as she panted and wailed. It was a thin sound she didn’t recognize. Pleasure washed over her and she willingly went with the current.

“Aye, lass. That’s the way of it.”

The speed of his thrusting increased, his hips working harder. His embrace tightened as she heard his breathing turn harsh.

“Look at me.”

Her eyelids felt too heavy to move.

“Open your eyes.”

His words were hard. Her eyelashes fluttered to obey. Hard hunger met her stare. It was far more primal than she’d ever seen on a human. His eyes glittered with determination as he thrust harder against her spread body.

“Dinnae ever leave me. I’ll come for ye. Ye have my word on it.”

He gritted his teeth as she felt his seed spurt deep inside her passage. A harsh growl made it past his teeth as he pressed against her to empty all of his offering into her. His shoulders quivered a moment and he drew in several long breaths.

“Ye’re mine.”

He rolled over onto his back, clasping her against his chest. His words echoing inside her head, both endearing and frightening. He stroked her back with a warm hand as she felt his body shudder softly. It was almost too slight to feel, just a mere whisper of vulnerability in his hard body.

Yet she felt it.

Laying a hand on his chest, she threaded her fingers into the crisp hair. Somewhere inside his honed exterior was the same doubt that plagued her. It was an unspoken thing, but one that gave her peace. With a sigh, she allowed sleep to lead her away. Back to that place where she’d slept last night, where her lover cradled her against his warm body, his heartbeat filling her head.

It was perfection on earth.

The bells on the walls shattered their bliss.

It was soft at first, only invading her slumber like a memory. But more bells rang, bringing the volume up. The chest her head was pillowed on jerked and sat up.

The chamber was much darker now, the candles extinguished. Yet the ringing of the bells was loud.

“What is it?”

“Trouble.”

There was a soft growl in his voice. He left the bed, grabbing a boot first. His hands made quick work of lacing it closed and he pushed the second one onto his foot.

The clanging of the brass bells drove every bit of sleep from her mind. Whatever befell the castle, she would share it. In the eyes of Brodick’s enemies, she was his wife and a possible target to extract vengeance from. Crawling over the heavy coverlet, she stood up, trying to find their clothing in the dim light. His shirt was a soft hump on the floor. Picking it up, she shook it and turned it right side out. She turned and took it toward him, her heart moving faster as the bells continued to ring.

Brodick looked surprised. He was already pleating his kilt across the foot of the bed, his wide leather belt in place. Stretching up, she placed the shirt over his head. She didn’t worry about her own nudity; getting the men to the walls was the first priority. He lifted his arms and put them through the sleeves of the garment. Her fingers were already closing the button at the collar.

“Thank ye, lass.” He sounded surprised but pleasantly so. A soft ripple of emotion went through her as she witnessed the way he watched her maid him.

The bells droned on, instilling urgency in her. There was no time to dwell on the intimacy of the moment. He lay down across his pleated kilt to secure the buckle. When he rose, Anne offered him his sword. The weight of the weapon made her hands tremble. Too many wives performed their last duty to their spouses by handing them their swords. She might be sending him to his death. There was no way to know what set the bells to ringing.

It was a sure thing that it was not good news in the dead of the night.

But she held her worries inside. That, too, was a wife’s duty. Brodick clasped the sword in one large hand.

“Get dressed and join the women in the lower keep until ye’re told otherwise.”

“Aye.” She turned to begin looking for her clothing. An arm snaked around her waist, pulling her back against the body of her lover.

“But kiss me good-bye first.”

“Aye, my lord.”

That was a duty she performed most happily. Reaching up, she placed her hands against his shoulders, his mouth claiming hers in a hard kiss. There was no time to linger, only a mere moment to steal one last press of lips before he set her away from him.

“Hurry, lass.”

He left her and she was suddenly cold. The chill cut all the way to her heart. Moving around in the dark, she pulled her chemise from the floor. The bells stopped, leaving an eerie silence. In the dark, the lace that had secured her stays was nowhere to be found. Half dressed, Anne dropped to her knees to feel across the floor for it. She discovered it hidden on the pattern of one of the newly arrived carpets. Standing back up, she moved in front of the fireplace to use the meager light from the coals to thread the lace through the eyelets. It was slow work.

Many slept in their corsets because the garments were not quickly donned. Tonight, it felt like an eternity before she tugged the lace tight to secure her breasts. Struggling into her doublet, she worried that too much time had passed. She didn’t know her way around Sterling. Her hopes lay in following the other inhabitants to the keep that would be protected down to the last man. Scotland was more violent than England. Yet even Warwickshire feared encroaching raiders. Any castle near the coast kept its walls manned since the Spanish had launched its Grand Armada with the intention to reclaim England for the Catholic faith.

Brodick had left the door open. There was no sound on the steps and none rising from the floor below. The darkness was thick. Anne hesitated. Wandering the dark corridors alone might be more hazardous than remaining in her room. Yet cowering behind her door was certain to drive her insane before dawn. The double doors that led to the courtyard were open, the light from the wall fires coloring it faintly.

Any light was a beacon. Her chamber and the hallway that led to the next tower were nothing but black caverns. Walking toward the open doors, she peered out into the courtyard. It was full of men and horses. Younger boys, their arms laden with armor, wove through the mass. White clouds rose from the horses’ mouths and the men alike. Every man had a sword strapped to his back. In England, her father’s men held their weapons on their hips.

There was the sound of leather tightening and horses being bridled. The men on the walls held their bows ready, an arrow slotted. Brodick was already in the saddle, a thick breast plate secured around his body. Anne pressed back against the wall. The shadow hid her there. Defending his home was the blunt reality of their uncertain times. Brodick needed his wits about him, not the distraction of thinking about her.

“Mount!”

His voice filled the courtyard. There was a flurry of motion as the men gained their saddles, the fires from the walls dancing over them. The huge doors were opened with a loud groaning of chain. Men and horses surged through the opening in a force that held her spellbound. Each man wearing the same patterned kilt with Brodick leading them.

The pounding of hooves fairly shook the ground. Looking through the opening, she saw the signal fires burning in the valley below the castle. The stream of men heading toward the bright point of light left the castle quiet.

It was an eerie kind of silence. Younger lads, still too slight to handle the broadswords, were left to pick up anything left in the courtyard. Only the archers remained on the walls, their attention turned outwards. A loud cracking sound made her shiver as the gate was closed with the huge wheels used to wind the chains. It slammed shut and men pushed heavy bars through wide iron locks to reinforce the door.

There was nothing to do but wait.

And pray.

Half of the men returned at dawn.

Anne ran with the rest of the inhabitants to search their faces but Brodick was not among them.

“Give a hand with the wounded.”

There was a flurry of action as several men were helped from their horses. The morning sun lit the blood on them. But their mood was jovial. Relief settled over most of the women. Anne didn’t breathe easy just yet. Without Brodick she felt alone. It was a selfish way to think yet she could not dislodge it from her mind. For some unknown reason she felt shunned by those around her, the looks cast her way far more cold than yesterday.

It made no rational sense but persisted as the morning wore on.

She was relieved of her concerns as the men filled the tables to break their fast. Every pair of hands was needed to carry food to them, fill tankards and make sure that they were rewarded for placing themselves in harm’s way.

Ginny stopped when most of the meal had passed away. The younger girl gazed at her suspiciously, clearly considering if she wanted to speak with Anne. She finally stepped closer.

“Helen’s daughter was laboring last eve. She went down to Perth to be with her, so Helen will nae be back until the raiding McQuade have been driven back to their dens.”

“I see.”

Ginny didn’t remain to offer any more information. The girl turned her back abruptly without even a nod of respect. The other maids followed suit, ignoring her with cutting glances.

Emotion thickened in her throat, choking her. After so warm a welcome, it was even harsher to be shunned. Without the lord around, his staff saw no point in treating her with kindness. It was not an uncommon fate for brides that were married off into other countries. The lord might order his people to lower their heads but no man held the power to force any servant to like a foreigner.

For herself, she had no liking for false allegiance. Better to know the true feeling of the household staff than live in ignorance.

Yet it hurts.

Anne left the hall, not knowing where to take herself. Once more she was completely on her own. The despair that had imprisoned her when Philipa unveiled her scheme returned. It felt stronger now that she had escaped it for a time. Much more intense since the tender moments in Brodick’s embrace.

He’ll plant a child in you and return to his Scottish warring ways…

Philipa’s words slashed through the fragile happiness she’d enjoyed at Sterling. She walked past the steps that led to her chamber, their bed a place of torment now. Helen had hidden the true nature of the castle folk with her seniority. Now there was nothing to make them accept her.

She didn’t want dishonesty, anyway. Lifting her chin, she moved away from the tower her chamber was in to explore the next section of hallway. Above her was the wall where the archers were poised. Long fingers of sunlight stretched across the floor every five feet. The shutters were open, allowing the morning breeze to sweep inside.

A soft voice touched her ears. It was a woman singing softly. A doorway led to a large room where a young girl sat at a spinning wheel. Her foot worked the pedal as her fingers pulled on the raw wool in her hands. It was a fluffy ball that she skillfully fed into the twisting action produced by the wheel. A large stack of carded wool sat near her and she reached for some of it, her foot pausing until she had mixed it with the wool in her hands. A spindle was winding the new thread on top of the wheel.

“Who’s there?”

She didn’t look at her. In fact the girl didn’t really look at anything. Her eyes were strangely unfocused.

“I could use a pair of eyes if ye’ve a bit o’time to share.”

The girl was clearly blind but her hands were still clever and skilled at the art of weaving.

“How may I help you?”

The foot on the pedal paused. The smile fading from the girl’s face. Anne felt her shoulders resume carrying their heavy burden. But the girl suddenly brightened back to the cheerful state she’d been in before hearing Anne’s unmistakable English accent.

“Good morrow, Mistress. I be Enys.”

“Good day. How may I help?”

Enys paused to reach for more wool. “I didnae ken it was you, Mistress, when I asked.”

Her voice was still kind, lacking the chill that Ginny’s had adopted. It was most welcome, whatever the reason.

“I would be most happy to assist you. Shall I card for you?” Anne moved into the room. The wooden cards were sitting near another stool with a mound of washed raw wool. Each card had thin metal teeth that were used to straighten out the wool hairs. Only after raw wool had been brushed back and forth on the cards several times was it ready for spinning.

“I need the bobbin changed and I don’t know where Tully set the empty ones. The room is rather large to go searching it with my hands.”

Enys added a smile to her comment, her foot steadily working the pedal. The foot-long wooden bobbin at the front of the wheel was getting full.

“I should be happy to lend a hand. It has never been my way to be lazy.”

Enys nodded her head. “I’m most appreciative. Since losing my sight, I find my pride suffering when I’m reduced to asking for help finding things.”

Anne searched the room, finding a crate of empty bobbins. “You weren’t born blind?”

“Nay, and I think that’s more of a torment. Knowing what I miss. My memories are as clear as the daylight used to be.”

Enys sighed, a look of longing passing over her face. She tilted her head when Anne pulled one of the bobbins free and the others clicked against one another. Her foot stopped and she allowed the wheel to stop turning.

“I was in the yard and not minding the horses. One kicked out, planting his hooves in the center of my head. To hear it told, I flew like a bird across the yard. When I woke up, my sight was gone.” She snipped the new thread with a pair of small shears hanging from a lace tied to her skirts. With a confident hand she removed the full bobbin, holding it out toward Anne.

“You appear to use your hearing very effectively for one not born afflicted.”

They traded bobbins, Enys quickly attaching the new one to the end of her thread. The bobbin in her hand held fine work. The spinning was even and the thread thin, both difficult tasks for someone without sight.

“You do very good work.”

Enys beamed. “Thank you. I do enjoy knowing that I’m of use. My mother despaired when my sight didnae return.” She grimaced. “But the man I was set to marry took my cousin instead.”

“Obviously he hasn’t seen your skill with the wheel.”

Merchants paid well for even, smooth thread. To weave good cloth you first needed the thread. In London, young girls who showed such skill were coveted as brides. They needed no dowry, only their skill. It was quite the modern thing now for some women to marry with the only thing changing hands between their families the skill they had. The middle class flourished, too, some families amassing wealth that equaled that of the nobles.

Taking a seat on the stool, Anne reached for the cards. The room was a welcoming refuge from the chilly glances in the eating hall. Enys tilted her head once more when Anne drew the metal teeth past one another. She seemed unsure what to say as the mistress of the house joined her in common chores.

“Do not worry; marriage comes along to us all.”

“Ye sound as though yers took ye a wee bit by surprise.”

Anne sighed, pulling wool with smooth motions of her arms. “Yes, it did.”

But she did not lament it. That was rooted deep inside her now. It was startling to notice just how greatly one week had changed her. The girl who greeted Philipa each morning was foreign to her now. Enys began singing again, a sweet tune of springtime. Anne found her foot keeping time with the melody while her arms worked the cards.

In the wilds of Scotland

“Damn raids. I’ve had a belly full o’ them.” Brodick cussed under his breath.

“More like yer wife has a full belly with the way ye tumbled her in the stable.”

Brodick rounded on his brother. Cullen dropped his jesting when he looked at his brother’s face. He kicked at the ground.

“Och now. Why do ye have to go soft for a woman? That’s sure to ruin half my fun,” Cullen huffed, propping his hands onto his hips. “What am I going to do now? I thought ye were only getting married, no losing yer heart to a lass.”

“I’m nae gone soft.”

“Aye, ye be.” His brother added a Gaelic word under his breath. “Ready to lay me low for mentioning what ye didnae mind shouting out to half the garrison last eve. If that is nae soft, I dinnae know what is.”

Brodick felt his anger deflate. Cullen had the right of it. He had raised his voice, happy to ensure that everyone knew what they’d been about. The true reason for his foul temper was frustration. Looking back over the burnt-out shells of three homes, he cussed. Druce turned to look at him, a frown marring his face.

“They are hiding in the canyons, no doubt.”

“No doubt.” Which meant he and his men were set on a merry chase that might not end soon. But it was a sure wager that they could not return to Sterling. There would be another few homes destroyed by tomorrow if they didn’t chase the guilty down. It was the duty of the lord to protect his people. Every man riding with him served his time in trade for the protection his family received. As the English queen grew nearer to dying, the neighboring clans became bolder. He had to defend his land with hard steel.

He was the McJames.

’Twas his duty and one he shouldered with honor. In spite of his frustration, he mounted his horse to take up the task with renewed faith. The reason was simple; he had a sweet wife who needed the strength of his sword. She was a McJames now and he would not return to her bed until his lands were safe for her and every other McJames soul.

“Let’s run these villains to ground, men!”

A cheer broke the evening chill. His men mounted, determination shining in their eyes. Gaining his own saddle, he led them forward.