In The Warrior’s Bed by Mary Wine

Chapter One

Red Stone Castle, McQuade land, 1603

“Father writes that the king has given him leave from court.”

Bronwyn McQuade flinched. In spite of years of steeling her feelings against her father’s disdain, she still dreaded his return. Her sire was a hard man, and that was thinking kindly about him. Erik McQuade was laird and he enjoyed making sure that every man, woman, and child born on his land knew that bettering the clan was the most important duty they were charged with.

As his daughter, she felt the bite of his expectations more than most.

“I hope he has a safe journey home.”

Her brother snorted. Keir McQuade failed to mask his personal feelings completely, too. The parchment in his grasp crinkled when his fingers tightened on it. Born third, Keir was often relegated by their sire to the more mundane tasks of running the estate while their older brothers stood at their father’s side. Keir didn’t seem to mind, though. He had a keen mind and raiding alongside his father wasn’t the only thing that captured his attention. Their older brothers, Liam and Sodac, lived for night marauding—a fact that endeared them to their father. Keir shook his head before refolding the letter and storing it inside his writing desk.

“At least Jamie no’ sent him home with snow on the road.” A shadow darkened her brother’s face. “No’ that I’d blame our monarch for it.”

Bronwyn didn’t reply. She held her tongue with the aid of years of practice. Her father had no patience for any spirit in his only daughter. In truth, the man had little stomach for the sight of her at all. A girl child was of no use to Laird McQuade. Quite the opposite, and she’d grown up listening to her father lament the fact that someday he’d be pressed to dower her.

There was little chance of that happening, though.

Bronwyn sighed. She didn’t love anyone and still her father’s distaste for her chafed. There was no man wearing her father’s colors who would dare flirt with her. Liam and Sodac helped ensure that by telling one and all that she was a shrew cursed with a demon temperament.

“Och now, sister, dinna look like that.”

Bronwyn fluttered her eyelashes. “Look like what?”

Keir clicked his tongue. Raising a single finger, he pointed at her. “I know ye too well.”

“But Father does not, so there is no reason to warn me. He’ll see nothing but what he wants to see.”

Her brother grunted. The sound reprimanded her by reminding her that she was not the only child their sire valued lowly. Keir was a huge man, his hands twice the size of her own. His lack of zeal for war earned him the cutting edge of his father’s tongue. He was not a coward, simply a man who understood the value of finding other solutions that didn’t include using a sword.

“Aye, ye have the right of it and still I see the hurt in yer eyes.”

A soft smile lifted her lips. “My life is nae so hard as many have. Save yer pity for those that truly suffer.”

She didn’t want it. Nor need it. Holding her chin steady, Bronwyn pushed the floor pedal of the large loom she was working to switch the threads for the next pass of the shuttle. Rolled up on the finished end of the loom were several measures of the McQuade plaid. The loom itself was a prized possession. Modern and efficient, cloth could be woven as fine as any found in Edinburgh.

By a skilled hand, of course.

Trailing her fingers over the fabric nearest to the working edge, she smiled at how smooth it was. The heather, tan, and green stripes were perfectly repeated over and over throughout the length of fabric where they crossed, squares formed to perfection.

“Ye do fine work, Bronwyn.”

Keir’s voice was soft but she savored the approval she heard in the tone. Flashing her brother a smile, she pressed down on the opposite foot pedal.

“And ye are a master at managing the estate funds.”

One of Keir’s eyebrows rose. “I came to warn ye to take a ride afore ye canna anymore.”

Her brother bowed before turning in a swirl of pleated McQuade kilt, the back ones falling longer than the front. A sturdy, thick belt was buckled around his waist to hold the wool against his lean frame. His shoulders were wide and thickly muscled, because while Keir might not lust for war, that did not mean he was any less skilled in the art of wielding a sword than any McQuade retainer.

But her brother’s true worth was in his thinking. Keir had a keen mind when it came to investing. Their father had married three times in his effort to amass more wealth, but it was Keir’s careful handling of the family’s gold that saw the McQuade’s fortunes increasing now. Her brother had seen the value in buying the loom she worked. They had wool aplenty from the sheep that grazed on their land. Four more of the large looms sat in the long room built alongside the great hall. Other McQuade women sat working them now, each one of them having earned the right to use the modern machines by spending years working the smaller looms that produced rougher fabric.

Being the laird’s daughter did not mean she squandered the daylight hours away. Now that winter was creeping over the land, Bronwyn would work the loom almost every day. When she was not passing the shuttle back and forth between the threads, another woman would be. Not a single machine was allowed to be idle during daylight. In a single year, the looms had paid for themselves and Keir intended to see a profit by next spring.

That was her brother’s way of proving his worth to their sire. She was not so confident that her father would see the part she played in turning coin for the family. Her feet and hands moved as her mind turned ideas over and over. She should have learned in twenty-three years to stop lamenting her sire’s lack of affection for her. From her earliest memories he had told her often and bluntly that he had no use for a girl child. It was the harsh truth that many men agreed with him. Her mother was the one to pity. Her father’s third wife, she had suffered every day until her death for birthing an unwanted daughter.

But Bronwyn remembered her kindly. For the first seven years of her life there had been loving arms that held her. Soft kisses placed on her head and a mother that had delighted in sharing time with her daughter. Who knew? Perhaps it was the difference between men and women. The kitchens were forever full of new tales of lovers forsaking their lady loves once their bellies were full. Maybe men did not love. At least, it seemed they did not love women, anyway. Her father loved his land and money; that was a fact for certain. But Laird McQuade had never loved a woman as far as she knew.

Still, there was advantage to her struggle to please him. Her cloth was so fine no one could deny that her hands were skilled. Her entire life had been devoted to bettering herself, and the lack of interest from the men around her was more a blessing than burden. Her older siblings might label her ill-tempered but they could not call her slut. Some might say she was foolish to value her chastity when her sire planned to keep her unwed, but she still cradled the knowledge that she was pure close to her heart. Besides, her sire might change his mind and she had her own pride, too. Enough of it to make sure there was a soiled sheet to fly the morning after her vows, anyway. If that was a sin, so be it.

No one had a perfect life. Her heart rate increased as she considered her brother’s words. Aye, she would take the opportunity to escape the castle before her father returned to flay her with his sharp words. Bronwyn stood and quit the weaving room. Hurrying up the stone stairs that led to the second story, she ducked into the small chamber that was hers. It was simple and modest, but private. Grabbing a good wool surcoat, she pulled a pair of gloves from a chest and turned back around. She cast a look both ways in the hallway before descending to the lower floor. The servants answered to her father and wouldn’t protect her. The staff knew well who paid their wages.

The smell of supper filled the lower floor. Walking along the smooth stone, Bronwyn ducked into the kitchen. Set away from the main buildings of the castle, the kitchens were filled with the aromas of stewing meats and baking bread. Women worked on the long tables, kneading and shaping pastry. Some held long knives that they set to dicing vegetables brought up from the root cellars. Well into November, the vegetables, summer ones that had dried out in the root cellar over the months they had been stored, would need to simmer over the coals for hours to make them soft and palatable. The cook would stew them until it was time to sleep and then leave them in the huge iron kettles hanging in the fireplaces. These would form the base of tomorrow’s meals.

She was not mistress of this house and her father had made it plain that she never would be. Most of the maids did not give her a second glance. They were not unkind, simply uninterested in being associated with her. Bronwyn could not blame them. Any new wife her father might bring home would detest her on sight simply because she represented a potential loss of income should she marry.

“Bronwyn…”

The voice was low. Turning, she found young Terri holding out a bundle. A kitchen cloth was tied around several lumps. The maid pressed it toward Bronwyn as her eyes cut quick glances about to see who was watching.

“Thank ye.”

Tucking the bundle inside the loose surcoat, Bronwyn hurried away before Terri’s kindness was noticed. The girl was sweet and one of her few friends. Bronwyn went to great lengths to make sure their liking for each other wasn’t known by many. But Terri knew her and understood what wearing a surcoat in the middle of the day meant. The bundle clasped under her arm would have some sort of meal for her. Terri knew the kitchen and how to skim off scraps without being caught by anyone who would scold her.

Getting to the stables wasn’t hard. Her dress was the same as any other. Good wool, grown, carded, spun and even woven at Red Stone Castle. There was no finery for her. The only silk gowns were locked away in the chests of her father’s deceased wives. She did not have a mare of her own but the stable lads would not deny her a mount. No one was unkind to her. They simply did what they could within the rules the master of the estate set down.

Horses took feed and shelter. It took labor to tend to them properly. To have one simply for her own personal use was something that would turn her sire’s face purple with rage if she ever asked him.

But she had never been one for wasting time.

Pulling a saddle from a rail, Bronwyn set it on top of a mare herself. Old Gilly, the stable master, noticed her but did not offer help. A smile graced her lips as she tugged the straps into position, checking to make sure they were not too tight across the belly of the horse. When she glanced toward Gilly, she received a single nod of approval from his silver-haired head.

The praise warmed her heart.

Old Gilly had taught her to ride. As well as every other aspect that went along with horses and their keeping. The man didn’t seem to mind that she was a girl. Gilly was far more interested in whether or not she learned how to saddle a horse with a careful hand. Gaining approval from Gilly meant a great deal to her.

But that only fueled her quest to ride. She yearned for freedom, if only for one afternoon. The hills would offer her a feast of things to admire and savor. Fresh air filled with the scent of clover and cut hay. The clouds would offer her the renewing smell of water as they darkened with the promise of snow. She walked her mare out of the stall and swung up into the saddle with a happy smile on her lips. Once her father returned, she dare not take even a moment for herself lest she gain his notice.

But winter was closing its grasp on them now. Small white flurries danced in the air. They melted when they hit the ground but the swirling white flakes made for a magical scene as she rode out of Red Stone. Among the hills she was no longer the unwanted girl child. Here there was hope, the hope that life might hand her any number of things if she was simply willing to dare to dream.

Maybe the whispers of fairies weren’t untrue at all. Bronwyn leaned close to the neck of her mare, urging the animal faster. The horse eagerly increased her pace as if she, too, understood that out here they both surrendered to no one.

Even if it was an illusion, Bronwyn enjoyed it all the same.

Sterling Castle, McJames land

“Cullen McJames, stop tossing my baby.”

Anne glared at him as he softly patted the back of his new nephew. His brother’s bride narrowed her eyes at him.

“Och now, why do ye look at me like that?”

“Because you have earned my suspicions. That is a baby, not a toy.”

Cullen placed a kiss on top of Brendan McJames’s head. The baby curled his small hand in his hair and yanked a handful of it toward his mouth. Cullen turned his head as the baby began gnawing on a hank of his shoulder-length hair.

“That’s it, lad. Show yer uncle how strong ye are.” Brodick McJames, earl of Alcaon, offered his brother a sheepish grin. But Cullen couldn’t really work up any true temper. His brother was just too much in love and it made for an envious sight. That was the truth.

His English wife drew looks of longing from his brother that should have made him laugh but instead he found jealousy rising at the way the two longed for one another. Brodick lifted his son away, pride shimmering in his eyes. The baby squirmed, making smacking sounds with his lips. Anne sighed.

“He eats constantly.” Her words lost a great deal of power when Cullen watched the way she cradled her son. Happiness illuminated her features as she turned to climb the stairs to her chamber. Anne would not let a wet nurse tend to her son. She’d turned her back on the English tradition, choosing to suckle her child. That made Cullen even more envious.

It shouldn’t and still he couldn’t dismiss the idea of it from his mind. A year ago, he’d have laughed good and hard at the idea of marriage and family. Now he watched his sister-in-law like a hungry man, enjoying the scent of a good meal.

Brodick straddled the bench next to him. With Anne gone, his brother’s expression sobered. Cullen knew the look well. Inheriting the title of earl from their father had introduced both men to the weight of responsibility. The English queen was rumored to be on her death bed and Scotland was set to inherit the crown. The times were riddled with ambitious men all fighting to take as much English land as possible.

“I’ve news from the king.” Brodick reached for a mug. “He’s released McQuade and his sons from court.”

Cullen scowled. Their neighbor would soon be raiding McJames land once more.

“That greedy bastard will be nibbling on our winter stocks the moment he returns.”

“Aye, that’s what I was thinking.” Brodick held his tongue for a long moment.

Cullen stared at his brother. “What?”

Brodick merely raised an eyebrow.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

Brodick shrugged. “Nothing.”

Cullen snorted. “Well, it sure looks like something.”

Brodick aimed a hard look at him. “Ye seem to be watching my family a lot. It looks like ye enjoy the sight of it, too.”

“Is there something wrong with that? Would ye rather I brought a mistress home with me?”

Brodick shook his head. “I was thinking that there was something right about it.”

“Get to yer point, brother, before I have to knock it out of ye.”

“I was thinking that it is time to petition the king for a possible marriage between ye and Bronwyn McQuade.”

Cullen stared at his brother. The teasing tone of their conversation died instantly. His brother might hold the title but the family was strong because they worked together to ensure that the McJames clan remained powerful.

Brodick ran a hand over his chin. “It’s a sure thing that McQuade will no deal with either of us on the matter.”

“Which leaves Jamie.”

Their monarch might decide to grant them the match. If for no other reason than to rid himself of the headache McQuade caused with his endless ranting. Cullen’s mother had been betrothed to the man but he’d lost her contract in a game of dice. McQuade still held a grudge against every McJames. His men raided and burned their farms every season. It was also a sure bet that some of his neighbors were thinking the same thing. Everyone knew McQuade had a single daughter and that she was of a good age for marriage. It wouldn’t be the first time a laird’s son took a wife based on the peace it might ensure over his lands.

“It would be a good match, I agree. I’ll think upon it.”

His brother nodded, not pressing the issue. Cullen rose and strode through the hall. His brother’s faith in him weighed more on his shoulders than any well-rehearsed words might have. Brodick held his tongue because he trusted that Cullen would do right by the McJames people. As the son of the last laird it was his duty to place the welfare of the clan above his own wishes.

Even if that meant marrying a shrew.

Cullen didn’t stop at the double doors that led to the inner yard. He kept walking, his legs covering the yard in a quick pace.

A loving family sounded good but not binding himself to a demon hellcat that would likely carve his eyes out if he fell asleep in her bed. Bronwyn McQuade was her father’s daughter, born and reared to hate every drop of McJames blood flowing through his veins. Marrying for the good of the clan was one thing, but taking Bronwyn to his bed promised a life of misery. Even his brother had better hopes for his marriage and his bride had been English.

“I’ll fetch yer Argyll.” One of the younger lads that tended the horses was already running for his horse before Cullen realized he’d gained the stables.

With a grunt he shook his head. He was in a fine state, that was for sure. So deep in thought that he didn’t know where his feet were taking him. The lad returned with Argyll, quite possibly the finest horse in Scotland. Reaching for his head, Cullen offered the beast a firm rub between the eyes. The animal snorted, stamping at the ground.

“Aye, I agree with ye.”

Argyll liked to run and at the moment Cullen wanted to feel the slap of the Scottish wind against his face as well. Tugging on the saddle, he made sure it was solid before swinging up into it. Argyll shifted, snorting with his excitement. Cullen held the reins in a tight grasp, keeping the stallion still.

“Milord.” The stable lad ran forward with a leather bag.

“Aye, lad, that’s what I’m waiting for.”

Cullen held Argyll steady as the lad tied the bag onto the rear of the saddle. It was the simplest of provisions. Oats, wine, and maybe some bread left from the midday meal. Leaving Sterling without it was a choice designed to see his belly rumbling by sundown. The boy finished his task and backed away from Argyll. Cullen flashed him a grin. He was a young lad but he had courage. McJames courage. Argyll was a powerful animal, one with the strength to kill the lad but he wasna afraid of the stallion.

Shrugging, Cullen felt the weight of his sword. It was strapped to his back, highland style. With a flick of the reins, he gave Argyll his freedom. The animal headed for the main gate, his hooves picking up speed as they neared the opening in the main wall that surrounded Sterling Castle.

Argyll charged forward, leaving the walls behind. The wind was brisk, hinting at winter. But the hills were still green and giving the stallion his head allowed Cullen to release his mental burden for a time. He pulled Argyll to a stop some time later. Looking down over the next valley, Cullen frowned.

He’d been here before. Summoned in the dark of night to defend the farmers below. There were three newly thatched roofs in sight, the reeds a brighter yellow than that of the others. It was a blunt reminder of the McQuade’s lust for revenge. The man was nae content with plunder, his retainers always set the flame to the farms they attacked. The feud was near thirty-five years old now.

It seemed too simple to think that one wedding might wipe all that bitterness aside.

Kneeing Argyll forward, Cullen left the valley behind without a care for the sinking sun. He pressed onward and up the next ridge. Pulling up on the reins, he listened carefully. Only the wind whistled but he had to be sure. McQuade retainers would delight in hauling him back to their laird as a prize. Dismounting, he climbed the last few measures of the hill on foot. Staying low, he gazed down onto his enemy’s land.

Wedding Bronwyn would only end the feud when her father was dead. Peering down into the valley below, he noted there was nothing but tall grass and heather swaying in the breeze. No one dared farm the land here because it was so often in the path of raids. A river ran through it and twisted among the rocks. It was good land and a testament to just how much the bitterness between the two neighbors cost. McQuade was so busy waging war, he was passing up the opportunity to have his land worked.

No marriage would dissolve that sort of hatred.

Not that the man would ever willingly give his only daughter over to a McJames. A sheepish grin worked over his lips. It was a pure shame that the lass didn’t attend court. Wooing her might be fun. Asking the king for her dinna interest him but seducing her sounded like fun.

Of course, Jamie didn’t allow hellcats in his court. That likely accounted for the fact that Bronwyn McQuade had never stepped foot in the presence of her king.

His thoughts faded as a rider entered the valley below him. Argyll snorted, shifting as the large horse lifted his nose to smell the air. Patting the thick neck of the animal, Cullen grinned. Gripping the saddle, Cullen swung back on top of Argyll. Getting caught on his feet was certainly no a good idea.

“What do ye smell, my friend? A pretty mare?”

Argyll stamped at the ground, taking a few steps before Cullen pulled him to a halt. He couldn’t blame Argyll. No a bit. On top of that mare was a female that his own body approved of. Now, he’d always appreciated a pretty lass but this one was something more. He wasn’t sure just what drew his attention so keenly. It wasna her face. She wasn’t plain but neither was she a great beauty. He’d bedded a few lasses that were true beauties.

It was the way she rode the mare. Like she was as free as the flakes of snow floating in the air. His grip slacked and Argyll took advantage, moving down the slope toward the mare. The rider hadn’t seen them yet. She was too absorbed in her moment of escape. Aye that was it, what drew his attention. She looked like she had no a care in the world and knew what a blessing it was to have nothing weighing down her shoulders.

His own burdens felt lighter just watching her.

A thick braid of hair bounced against her shoulders but her face was framed by strands that had been tugged free by her brisk ride.

It didn’t seem to trouble her any. A tinkling of laughter was swept up to his ears by the wind. Argyll nickered, gaining another smell of the mare. The rider pulled up on her reins suddenly. She sat up tall in the saddle, soothing the neck of her mare with a steady hand. But the horse tossed her head and danced in a wide circle.

“There now, girl. What’s yer worry?”

Her voice was as enticing as the sight of her. Cullen let Argyll close the distance a few more yards before he pulled up on the bridle. He was on McQuade land now. It was a sure bet that the lass would no be very happy when she noticed him. But he was curious to see what she did when she saw a McJames so close. He had no stomach for women who panicked; their screaming drove him near daft.

The mare smelled Argyll. The animal side-stepped and let out a loud snort. She slid off the saddle because she’d been perched on it side fashion but she didn’t cower in fear. She grabbed the bridle and pulled the mare around to face her. It was impressive to watch because she was a small thing. The mare could hurt her but she kept sure command of the animal, refusing to allow it to rule her.

“Easy now.” Her face rose from where she’d been looking at her horse. Cullen watched her eyes widen as she stared at him. She shook her head as though she were trying to get the sight of him to vanish.

Argyll grunted, proving that he was all too real.

She was a fool.

Bronwyn felt her heart freeze, because the man was huge. The hilt of his sword reflected the last of the daylight. His stallion was a good two hands taller than her mare. It could run her down with no trouble at all. Worse yet, the man wore the kilt of the McJames clan. With her father and brothers raiding their land, he had no reason to treat her kindly. His body was cut with hard muscles, and where his shirt sleeves were rolled up, she saw the evidence that spoke of his firsthand knowledge and skill with that sword. She scanned the ridge above him quickly, fearing that the McJames had decided to repay her father’s raids by doing a few themselves.

But there was no one in the fading light. Her teeth worried her lower lip as she returned her attention to him. She’d never considered that a McJames warrior might enjoy an afternoon ride the same as she.

“Good day to ye, lass.” His voice was deep and edged with playfulness. He reached up and tugged on the corner of his knitted bonnet, a half smile curving his lips. His light-colored hair brushing his wide shoulders, a single thin braid ran down along the side of his face to keep it out of his eyes. He wore only a leather doublet over his shirt and the sleeves of the doublet were hanging behind him. There was a majestic quality to him. One that was mesmerizing. Her brother Keir was a very large man and she wasn’t used to meeting men who measured up to his size. This one did. He radiated strength from his booted feet to his blond hair. There was nothing small or weak about him. In his presence she felt petite, something she was unaccustomed to. Almost as though she noticed that she was a woman and that her body was fashioned to fit against his male one.

“Good day.”

She had no idea why she spoke to him. It was an impulse. A shiver raced down her back. Her eyes widened, heat stinging her cheeks, her mouth suddenly dry. A shudder shook her gently, surprising her. Beneath her doublet, her nipples tingled, the sensation unnerving.

His gaze touched on her face, witnessing the scarlet stain creeping across it. A flicker of heat entered his eyes. It was bold but something inside her enjoyed knowing that she sparked such a look in him.

“It’s a fine day for riding.”

His words were innocent of double meaning, but Bronwyn drew in a sharp breath because her mind imagined a far different sort of riding. Her own thoughts shocked her deeply. She’d never been so aware of just what a man might do with a woman when they were alone, and now was the poorest time for her body to be reacting to such things. It felt as though he could read her mind. At least the roguish smile he flashed her hinted that he could. His lips settled back into a firm line. She had to jerk her eyes away from them but that left her staring into his blue eyes. Hunger flickered there and her body approved. Her nipples drew tight, hitting her boned stays.

“Ye shouldna look at me like that, lass.” He sounded like he was warning himself more than her, but her blush burned hotter because he was very correct.

“Nor should ye look at me as ye are.”

A grin split his lips, flashing a hint of his teeth. “Ye have that right. But what am I to do when ye stand there so tempting? I’m merely a man.”

And for some reason she felt more like a woman than she ever had. Something hot and thick flowed through her veins. There was no thinking about anything. Her body was alive with sensations, touching off longings she’d thought deeply buried beneath the harsh reality of her father’s loathing to see her wed.

“A man who is far from his home.” Her gaze touched on his kilt for a moment, the blue, yellow, and orange of the McJames clan holding her attention. “I’m a McQuade.”

“I figured that already, but its nae my clan that keeps us quarreling.”

He let his horse close the distance again. The mare didn’t move now, she stood quivering as the large stallion made a circle around her. The same flood of excitement swept through Bronwyn, keeping her mesmerized by the man moving around her. Bronwyn shook her head, trying to regain her wits.

“But I’m thinking that we just might be able to get along quite nicely.” His eyes flickered with promise. “Ye and I.”

“Ye should go. Ye’re correct that it is my clansmen that seek trouble with the McJames. Ye shouldna give them a reason to begin a fight.”

“And ye would nae see that happen? I’m pleasantly surprised.”

His stallion was still moving in a circle around her. Bronwyn had to twist her neck to keep him in sight. Every time he went behind her, her body tightened, every muscle drawing taut with anticipation. Such a response defied everything that she knew.

“Surprised that I’ve no desire to see blood spilt? Being a McJames does not mean I am cruel at heart. What is yer name?” he asked.

Fear shot through her, ending her fascination with him. Being the laird’s daughter meant she was a prize worth taking. Riding out alone so far had been a mistake she just might pay for with her body. Few would believe her if she told them her father wouldn’t pay any ransom for her. Beyond money, there were men who would consider taking her virtue a fine way to strike back at her clan.

“I’ll no tell ye that. McQuade is enough for ye to know.”

“I disagree with ye. ’Tis much too formal only knowing your clan name. I want to know what ye were baptized.”

“Yet ye’ll have to be content for I shall nae tell ye my Christian name.” He frowned but Bronwyn forced herself to be firm. This flirtation was dangerous. Her heart was racing but with more than fear. “If ye get caught on McQuade land, I’ll no be able to help ye.”

“Would that make ye sad, lass?”

“No.” He was toying with her. “But it would ruin supper, what with all the gloating from the men that drove ye back onto McJames land. There would be talk of nothing else.”

One golden eyebrow rose as the horse moved closer to her. He swung a leg over the saddle and jumped to the ground. Her belly quivered in the oddest fashion. But she had been correct about one thing—this man was huge.

“Are ye sure, lass? I might be willing to press me luck if I thought ye’d feel something for me.”

“That’s foolishness. Get on with ye. I willna tell ye my name. Ye’re a stranger; I dinna feel anything beyond Christian good will toward ye.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

He flashed another grin at her, but this one was far more calculating and full of intent. “Afraid I might sneak into yer home and steal ye if I know whose daughter ye are?”

He came closer but kept a firm hand on the reins of his mount. Authority shone from his face now, clear, determined, and undeniable. This man was accustomed to leading. It was part of the fibers that made up his being. He would have the nerve to steal her if that was what he decided upon. There was plenty enough arrogance in him, for certain. She felt it in the pit of her belly. What made her eyelashes flutter to conceal her emotions was the excitement such knowledge unleashed in her.

“Enough teasing,” she said. “Neither of us are children.”

“Aye, I noticed that already.”

Her face brightened once more. His eyes swept her and his expression tightened. Maybe she had never seen a man looking at her like that afore but her body seemed to understand exactly what the flicker of hunger meant. She stared at it, mesmerized.

“Tell me yer name, lass.”

His voice was deep and quiet now. But there was no missing the determination edging it. She shook her head, not trusting her voice. It might betray the way her body shivered. She couldn’t allow him to hear how much he affected her. This man was a hunter.

“I will not. Jesting about stealing a woman may be all well and good when ye’re sipping yer whiskey, but it doesna make for good unions. We know nothing about each other.”

“Ah…but if I tossed ye across my saddle, that would change. Once I took ye back to my home, we’d have plenty of time to learn about one another.”

Shock raced through her but what alarmed her was the ripple of excitement that went hand in hand with that shock. He reached out, the back of his hand stroking down the surface of one cheek.

“Ye are blushing for me.”

She jerked away from his touch, ashamed by how much she enjoyed it. Shamed by how much she wanted more than a mere stroke from his fingers. Shamed by how much of a woman he made her feel.

“’Tis nothing.”

He moved toward her again, closing the distance that she’d placed between them. “I disagree, lass. ’Tis something that I’ve a mind to understand better.”

His persistence irritated her. “Are ye telling me that ye would ruin me for the sake of a moment’s impulse? Stolen women are considered soiled when they return home. Is yer need to boast that important to ye?”

“What makes ye think I would return ye?” There was a hint of injured pride in his tone. “Maybe it’s marriage I have on my mind.”

She laughed at him. His lips twitched up and she knew that she’d caught him like a naughty boy pulling her braids.

“As if any man should marry for attraction alone. Ye’d be a fool and yer family would be sure to tell ye that the moment ye took a bride that came with nothing but lust.”

“Ah, maybe, but still the idea is teasing me with possibilities…”

The stallion he held the reins to suddenly reared up, pawing at the air. Her mare jumped, dancing in a wide circle once more. As her horse turned, she stared at the line of her father’s retainers cresting the ridge. Shouts drifted on the wind as they sighted her and her company. She lifted a foot to the stirrup and pushed hard but her body flew upward with the help of a solid hand on her bottom. He gripped one cheek, squeezing it boldly.

“Ye’ve got the nerve!”

He flashed her a grin that wasn’t repentant one bit.

“Something for ye to remember me by since I dinna get the chance to steal a kiss from ye.”

“I wouldna have let ye.”

One golden eyebrow rose mockingly. “That’s why I was planning on stealing it, lass.”

Her mare was still agitated and dancing in a circle. Gripping the reins, she guided her horse back around to find all hints of playfulness gone from the McJames retainer’s face. He frowned, his face taking on a fierce expression while he watched the McQuade clansmen begin racing down toward her. He gained his saddle in a motion that was fluid and strong. His thighs gripped the huge beast with confidence and the hilt of his sword rose above his right shoulder. The man was a warrior, no doubt about it.

A McJames one and that was a pity.

“It seems I’ll have to wait to learn who ye are.” But his expression changed when he looked at her once again. “Now that’s something I’m going to regret.”

Her own thoughts bothered her too much. “Go on with ye, else I’ll think ye a fool.”

“Ah, but ye will think of me and that is something I’ll be treasuring, lass.”

He reached for the corner of his bonnet once more. “Until we met again, sweet McQuade.”

His gaze lingered on her mouth for a long moment before he turned his mount toward McJames land. He dug his knees into the large animal and it bore him up the hill. Stallion and rider looked as strong as a legend, the edges of his kilt bouncing with the motion of riding.

Mesmerizing…

He turned and shot her one last glance at the top of the ridge. She thought she saw him smile but really wasn’t sure at such a distance. Her father’s men swarmed around her, their rough language shattering the moment and allowing reality to rush over her.

“Are ye daft? Keeping company with a McJames?”

Her brother Liam spat before pointing a finger at her. “And Cullen McJames, no less.”

Cullen McJames?

“It canna be…” Her words trailed off as she looked at the ridge. Another shiver shook her. This time it left goose bumps along her arms and legs. The McJames’s laird’s brother was a bold one and that was for sure. Keeping her name from him had been her saving grace.

“I never thought ye’d betray yer own clan.”

Bronwyn snapped out of her own thoughts to stare at her brother. “I dinna betray anyone. I don’t know the man. Dinna even know his name until ye spoke it. How could I know what the man looks like?”

“It dinna look that way to me.”

Liam spat again as did several of the men riding with him. They glared at her, condemning her. Her pride bristled but there was never any reasoning with Liam and his men. They would follow him, whatever he said or did because he was the firstborn son and destined to become laird someday.

She was just an unwanted girl. But that fact wasn’t enough to seal her lips today. Maybe it was the pure magnificence of the man she’d just met or the simple courtesy he’d shown her by tugging on the edge of his bonnet. She didn’t know or care. Liam could choke on his suspicions.

“I was no meeting him.”

Liam reached across the space between them, his hand connecting with her jaw in a hard blow.

“Save yer lies. I know what I saw with my own eyes.”

He reached down and yanked the reins out of her grip. Liam turned and pulled her mare along with his horse toward the waiting line of her father’s men. Their looks were every bit as harsh as the sting of Liam’s hand. But the only thing she felt was her temper rising. Upon reflection, she noticed just how much stronger Cullen McJames had looked, and it had nothing to do with the width of the man’s shoulders. It was in his smile and the way he didn’t cast ugly accusations with his eyes.

Aye, it was the truth that she found him handsome. By far the most fetching man she’d ever laid eyes upon.

“Slut.”

Her father didn’t strike her. He tossed a goblet full of ale across her body. The hall of Red Stone was silent; no one even took a step as the laird condemned his daughter. No one would, either. Bronwyn gathered her strength because the laird ruled absolutely on McQuade land.

“This is the thanks I receive for sheltering ye since yer mother presented me with a daughter.”

“I was not meeting him.”

Her father pointed at her from his seat on the raised dais at one end of the room. She stood in front of him like a criminal facing her judge.

“Ye mean to try and tell me that Cullen McJames just happened to be riding down onto my land and it had never happened before?” There were a few snorts from Liam and Sodac. “That ye dinna have an arrangement, thinking that I was away at court.”

“I do not lie. There is no arrangement between us.”

Her father laughed. But it was not a kind sound. It was harsh and full of bitterness. “Then explain why his hand was on yer arse?” Liam grunted, helping to paint her guilty. Erik McQuade looked at her as though she were vermin. “How long have ye been letting him use ye, slut?”

“Never! I did not lay with him.”

Bronwyn bristled under the harsh scrutiny being aimed at her. Even knowing her sire’s lack of fondness for her, she would not have expected him to cast such filth upon her name. To soil herself was to bring shame on the entire clan. Besides, she knew full well how lowly he treated his own consorts. She had no desire to fall to such a state.

“Bronwyn does not lie, Father. I have never heard her speak falsely.”

Erik McQuade glared at his youngest son. “How dare ye raise yer voice against mine.”

Keir didn’t flinch. He strode forward, uncaring of the hard looks aimed at him from the assembled retainers. He stopped in front of his father, giving the laird the briefest of nods in respect.

“I state a fact, Father. I have never heard Bronwyn lie. If she says she did not have a meeting with the younger McJames, I believe her. It is also a fact that I have never seen Bronwyn conducting herself like a lightskirt.”

Her father erupted. He surged to his feet, roaring with outrage. He flung the empty goblet at her brother. It hit him square in the chest but Keir brushed it aside like a bothersome insect. He did not cower in the face of his sire’s rage but stood straight and tall while their father turned purple.

“Why is fate set to curse me so?” McQuade shook his fist towards the heavens. “It saddles me with a useless daughter and a son who has the courage of Achilles but the temperament of a wife.”

The laird stood up and swept the room. “We’re returning to court.” He pointed at Bronwyn. “Yer going with me. Until sunrise, someone get this slut out of my sight.”

There was a scuff of boots against the stone floor as several retainers moved toward her. Keir turned in a tightly controlled motion, his kilt flaring out.

“No man touches her, save me.” He turned back toward his father. “I disagree with ye.”

Her father looked as though Keir had struck him. He sat back against the padded chair, shock whitening his face. His jaw worked but no words made it past his lips. Keir turned and hooked her upper arm in one hand. It was a kind grip that she willingly allowed to sweep her out of the hall.

“This will become worse before it is over, sister.”

“I know.”

And there was nothing to do about it. She felt like a leaf that had landed in a spring. The current was sweeping her along without any care for the rocks. There was only the single comfort of Keir willing to champion her. But their father would never forgive such a slight.

“Ye should not have done that, Keir.”

Her brother grunted. “Honor is nae a thing that may be ignored when it is difficult to do what is right.” Keir stopped and stared at her. His eyes were dark as night, inherited from his mother. She felt them looking straight into her soul, if such a thing were possible, but she did not look away.

Keir nodded. “Our father is blinded by hate.”

Heavy distaste coated his words. Keir began walking and Bronwyn followed. She suddenly felt like a stranger in spite of knowing that she had grown up at Red Stone.

“Which is why ye should have remained silent.”

“No.” Keir didn’t raise his voice but that dinna lessen the impact. His tone was solid steel.

“There’s no need for ye to join me in father’s disdain.”

Keir shook his head. “I won’t be his hound like Liam and Sodac. If he wants to dislike me for refusing to lick his boots, so be it. He’ll never be able to say that I am not my own man.”

Bronwyn felt a smile lifting the corners of her lips. She could not prevent it even with such dark things happening around them. But she winced when pain stabbed through her lips. Keir noticed and frowned as he looked at the mark their father had left on her face.

“I believe court is a good place for ye.” Keir sounded pensive. His face was grave but he nodded. “Aye, I believe it is far past time that ye escaped this castle.”

“But at what cost? I’ll no help father accuse the McJames of wrongdoing.”

Keir chuckled. “Ye know our sire too well, Bronwyn. I believe that is exactly what he plans to do by dragging ye to court.”

Keir stopped talking. Bronwyn cast a suspicious look at her brother but he refused to comment further. A chill rippled over her skin. She couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding even when she stood in front of the small fire burning in her chamber. A sense of dread clung to her thoughts as she removed her surcoat. The wind whistled between the boards that made up the shutter for the windows. Once her boots were unlaced, she felt the chill of it on her toes. Her chamber had no floor coverings to help keep her feet warm. But one of the kitchen lasses had brought two buckets of water up. They sat near the fire, making her smile.

At least she would not have to smell of dried ale on the marrow.

Bronwyn undressed as close to the fire as possible to keep warm. Her doublet and wool skirt dropped to puddle around her ankles once she’d unhooked them. Stepping out of them, she stretched. Her chemise floated around her calves as she hurried to rinse her dress out. Once she finished, she hung it over a rough chair near the fire to dry. Working the lace free from her stays, she listened to the wind shake the shutter once more.

It was eerie. Icy fingers stroked across her heart as she crawled into bed with her bundle of kitchen scraps. She was grateful for the impulse that had seen her to the kitchens before her ride because it was a sure thing that no one would bring her supper.

It might have been enjoyable to share the meal with Cullen McJames…

Bronwyn frowned, but the image of her father’s enemy rose in her memory until it was as if the man stood in her chamber. She recalled him clearly. She’d never met a man who drew her attention so keenly. For the moment, she didn’t argue with her mind’s impulse to replay their meeting. Alone with her thoughts, she might as well enjoy them.

Who knew what tomorrow would offer?

He was a fool.

Cullen actually amused himself with his own thoughts as he returned to the crest of the hill the next day. Late in the afternoon, he kneed Argyll up to the top of it so that he might peer down into the valley that belonged to the McQuades.

It was empty.

He should have expected such. And still he had ridden out once again, when there were plenty of other tasks needing his attention.

He wanted to see her again.

Cullen scoffed at himself. He dinna even know who she was. Only that she was a McQuade and her laird had likely chastised her greatly for being anywhere near him.

The sweetness of her face had kept him company most of the night. Something that he’d no been happy about. Not when the lass was so far beyond his reach.

Kneeing Argyll and pulling the reins to guide the stallion back toward Sterling, Cullen turned his back on the valley. He lacked the patience to chase his sweet-faced lass because what he really desired was to be able to touch her. A pulse of need laced his blood as he rode toward home. It was bitter because there was no way to feed it. She was the only lass that held his interest and she was a McQuade.

Fate was a siren at times. Tempting and taunting mortal man with the things he could not have. But the one thing that fate had not counted on was the will of a McJames. He had never been a man to settle for being told that he could not have what he wanted.

He’d learn her name and that was a promise.