In The Warrior’s Bed by Mary Wine

Chapter Ten

She was nervous.

Bronwyn hugged herself and marveled at the quiver making her insides jelly. Sybil stood near the door watching two maids turn the bedding down. The girl knew her job well. She took no task lightly when it came to ensuring that everything was correctly attended to for her mistress.

Watching the sheets being revealed sent gooseflesh down her arms. It was ridiculous to be so aware of the coming night. She wasn’t a maiden any longer to wonder and fret about the unknown of the marriage bed.

That isn’t what you are contemplating…

With a small sigh she admitted that the voice in her head was correct. She was thinking about what Cullen had said. Actually excited by the idea of doing more than being taken as she already had.

It must be wicked to feel as she did.

The maids finished and curtsied to her before leaving the room. Sybil remained until they had gone.

“Is there anything else, Mistress?”

“Call me Bronwyn.” She said it hopefully but Sybil frowned and remained silent.

“Good night, Sybil. Yer mistress does not require ye any longer.” Cullen appeared in the doorway, his hair still damp. His shirt was sticking to his upper torso in dark patches where his skin had not been dry.

“Good night.” Sybil lowered herself before leaving. Cullen closed the door behind her.

“Why do ye refuse the title of mistress? Do ye really prefer the staff no respect ye?”

“I’ve never been called mistress before…” Her words trailed off because Cullen’s face tightened dangerously. He shut the door, still frowning.

“Are ye refusing Sybil because she’s a McJames?” He asked the question quietly but she heard the anger in it.

“No. I would no be so hard hearted.”

He drew a deep breath but didn’t relax his guard. “I suppose I shall have to take yer word on that or I can no expect ye to trust me.”

The suspicion in his voice agitated her. She lifted her chin. “I suppose ye shall.”

It was half challenge and half admission. But the response she witnessed in his eyes made her aware of how her skin felt fresh from her bath. Her hair was lying down her back to dry in the heat from the fire coals, the thin fabric of her chemise wet from it. Her surcoat was already hung up, leaving her once more nearly bare for her captor.

Tonight it excited her.

Anticipation sent heat coursing through her. Need licked along her skin, awakening it. She felt the heat from the fire behind her but also the soft throb of passion in her passage. A yearning began building there, a need to be filled.

Cullen watched her, his gaze lingering on her body in a slow motion that traveled from her head to her toes. His expression changed, the suspicion melting away to be replaced by hunger.

“Sterling is a fine home, Bronwyn. Give its people a bit of time to win ye over.” He reached for the end of his wide leather belt and pulled it. His kilt dropped and he laid it aside with nothing but his shirt covering his skin.

“Ye mean give ye time.” She felt vulnerable for some reason. As if she had no defense against him when it came to her feelings. The side of him that she encountered behind the closed door of their chamber seemed to be able to touch her heart. It was the single place that she called her own.

He offered her a grin. “Aye. What’s wrong with hoping ye’ll grow to like me?”

“We’re already married.”

“Och now, and ye think that should satisfy me?” He closed the distance between them with a playful grin on his lips. Reaching out he stroked her cheek with the back of one hand. She shuddered as sensation ripped through her.

“The first time I saw ye, I wanted to win ye over, lass. That has no changed.” His lips came closer as his hand made a second pass over her cheek. “We’re still the same two people who met on an autumn afternoon and drew sparks from each other. Admit that ye wanted me to kiss ye there in the meadow.”

Her lips curved up in a guilty smile. “Maybe. But I’d never been kissed afore so maybe not.”

His eyebrows lowered. “Never? I would have thought at least one man wearing yer father’s colors would have braved his laird’s displeasure to get a taste of ye.” His gaze lowered to her mouth. “I was willing to challenge my king for ye.”

She gasped, the sound barely making it past her lips before he claimed them. A strong arm slid down her back and around her waist to pull her tightly against his body. She was keenly aware of how hard he was compared to her softness. Her breasts pressed against his solid chest and her belly cushioned the hard shape of his erect cock. Heat flowed through her veins as he pushed her lips apart so that his tongue could invade her mouth. It was the sweetest breaching, one that she encouraged. She teased his tongue with hers, tracing it and stroking along its length. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, frustrated by the fabric of his shirt.

“I couldna agree more.” He grasped the fabric covering her back and drew it up and over her head. Tossing it aside, he cupped her hips, holding her steady as he looked at her bare body.

“I think I’ll order a fire built every night just so that I can keep ye nude.” He slid his hand up her body to cup each breast. The soft globes fit neatly into his hands. He controlled his grip and brushed the nipples with his thumbs.

She wanted to touch him…

Be it surrender or something wicked born out of lust, she did not care. The rules and expectations that she had been raised with didn’t seem to apply to this moment. She tugged on his shirt, seeking the warm skin beneath it. But he was too tall for her to remove the shirt like he had pulled her chemise from her.

She slid her hands down to where it ended over his thighs, a soft sound of triumph crossing her lips when she found his bare skin. She bent her knees slightly to press her hands against his legs. The muscles were corded and defined.

“Touch me, lass.”

There was a note of enjoyment in his voice that surprised her. It lacked the mocking sound she might have expected. Instead she felt her confidence rise because she was affecting him once more. Her own weakness for him was suddenly acceptable as long as he was as susceptible to her touch.

“Touch me…” His voice grew rough.

Her hands were already sliding up in answer to that plea. Smoothing over his warm skin until she touched the soft sac that hung beneath his cock. He drew a sharp breath, his eyes narrowing.

“More.”

Her confidence made her bold. Reaching up farther, she closed her hand around his length. His staff was long and thick in her hand. The flesh stiff and hard. Both her hands gripped it at the same time. He shuddered, a soft growl echoing in the room.

With a quick motion he ripped his shirt up and over his head. The ruby coals cast him in crimson.

“Now stroke it.”

His words were a command, but she didn’t mind obeying. The rough breath he sucked in stole the authority from his stern command. Moving her hands, she worked them up and down his cock. A muscle began to twitch on the side of his jaw as his neck corded. Seeing him enjoy her touch sent a bolt of need through her hot enough to burn. Her passage was demanding the hard flesh she held.

Cullen leaned his head back, his chest rising in hard, fast breaths. She worked her hands faster and his hips began moving toward her softly. He looked back at her, his teeth clenched.

“Now for a bit of reciprocation, lass.”

His hands grasped her hips in a firm grip. He lifted her right off her feet and up onto the table that was alongside the wall. The wood was warm from the fire but it was startling against her bare bottom. Her thighs spread around his hips as he moved closer to her. He released her hips and pushed her thighs farther apart.

“Put yer hands behind ye.”

“Why?”

“Because it will thrust yer beautiful breasts upward.”

She shivered as the idea filled her mind. “That must be wrong…wicked.”

“We’re married. I see nothing wrong with enjoying every part of the body God created for us.”

“That is clear.” Her voice was husky, surprising her with how wanton she sounded.

He chuckled, his hands sliding along her thighs. It was wicked but more exciting than she might ignore. Where their skin met, pleasure radiated. Her hands were already moving to the position he’d demanded. When she pressed them onto the smooth surface of the table behind her, it arched her back, thrusting her breasts up. He slid his hands all the way to her breasts to cup each one. He leaned down and sucked one hard nipple deeply into his mouth. She gasped because it was so hot. His mouth against her nipple felt like a brand. He flicked the tip of his tongue over it before lifting his head.

“Now I’ll show ye the advantages of obeying yer husband.”

He sank down between her spread thighs until his head was level with her open sex. She gasped, sitting up in shock, but he pressed her thighs wide with a hand on each one.

“Cullen…”

He looked up at her face. “I enjoy hearing ye use my name.”

His voice was hard. His gaze returned to her folds and he leaned forward until she felt his warm breath against her spread flesh.

“Cullen, ye canna mean to…”

“I assure ye I do.”

Her next words were lost as he pressed a soft kiss against her clitoris. She jerked because it was too intense. Pleasure shot into her passage so fast it was impossible to remain still. His hand moved around her thighs to grasp her hips in a flash. His grip was firm, keeping her in place, the tip of his tongue slipping between the folds of her sex and traveling up toward her clitoris. She wasn’t sure if it was pleasure or agony that tore through her when he tongued her. All Bronwyn was certain of was that she didn’t care if she died.

If this was wicked, then let her be damned because she could not refuse it. Pleasure gripped her tighter than it ever had. Cullen toyed with the sensitive little nub, flicking his tongue over it again and again until she sobbed. Her fingers curled on the tabletop, trying to grip it. Gooseflesh spread across her belly as every muscle tightened. Her breath came in hard pants and she began lifting her hips toward him, offering her clitoris to his mouth. She craved more pressure, more friction.

But he denied her. Cullen raised his head, keeping her hips prisoner in his grasp. Need clawed through her so fiercely it hurt. She cried out, every bit of pride drowned in her body’s need for release.

“Look at me.”

Lifting her eyelids felt impossible. She wanted to fall back into the swirling pool of desire and passion. A soft lapping across her folds forced her eyes to open.

“Call me husband.”

His eyes glittered with determination. One hand slipped off her hip and down across her belly. Her clitoris began throbbing as his fingers neared it, demanding the friction that would send release ripping through her. But he rubbed her so softly, a single fingertip lightly brushing the sensitive bud, that all she felt was more need.

He would not relent. She saw it in his eyes.

“Husband.”

“Ah, but do ye believe that, sweet Bronwyn?”

He stood up, magnificent in the glow of the coals, every inch of his body hard and sculpted. She craved that strength. Even his pride was attractive because it was something that made him the man he was.

Unrelenting and unbending.

“I wonder…” He sat in one of the X chairs, his gaze fashioned on her.

“Come here, wife. Yer husband demands ye.”

Sitting up, she glared at him because her body was an inferno. One he’d ignited knowingly. But his cock stood straight up, telling her that he shared the same need.

“Is that so? Husband?”

“It is.”

Slipping off the table, she stood still for a long moment. His gaze traveled over her nude body, the tic returning to the side of his jaw. The response made her bold, her attention dropping to his erection, her mind pondering whether or not he would be as susceptible to her tongue.

Wicked…but impossible to ignore.

Moving forward, she stopped in front of him. Her fingers trailing lightly over his length. A harsh breath and she leaned forward to tease him with her breasts.

“Shall ye put yer hands behind ye and let me have my way with ye, husband?”

A harsh grunt accompanied his reply.

“As ye wish…wife.”

There was a challenge in his voice. One she cheerfully accepted. Kneeling in front of him, she closed her fingers around his cock. Hot and hard, the skin was silky smooth, the scent of his male skin slightly intoxicating. Leaning forward she glided her tongue over the ridge that crowned his cock.

“Sweet Christ.”

He reached for her head and grasped her hair. Looking up, she found his eyes wide and focused on her. Surprise flickered in his eyes but it was the hunger drawing his face tight that spurred her on. Looking down, she began licking the length from the base to the crown. His breathing turned rough when she tasted the slit on top of the head.

“Take me inside yer mouth…” His voice was a husky whisper, as if he did not dare say it any louder for fear of divine retribution. But he wanted it so much, he couldn’t resist asking for it.

That was as close to begging as a warrior such as he might get.

Opening her jaw, she sucked the head inside her mouth. The hand in her hair tightened, pulling the strands. The little nips of pain encouraged her. Lifting her head, she moved close between his thighs so that she might take more of his length on her next dive. Her own hunger was still burning. Her passage hot and needy for the hard flesh in her grasp. His hips lifted slightly, and when she took him deep, harsh growls drifted over her bent head.

“Enough.”

Harsh and ragged, his voice told her that he was as needy as she. Raising her head, she teased the slick length of his cock with her fingers while their eyes met. His were narrowed to slits, his lips a hard line.

“Enough toying, Bronwyn.”

“Aye. Enough.” She spoke softly, agreeing. For that moment they both craved each other. There was no captor, no captive. Only a man and woman.

“Stand.” He was commanding her but at the same time hypnotized by her when she complied. His eyes roamed over her body, making her feel pretty. It wasn’t something conveyed in polished words, it was in his expression and the way his jaw was clenched.

He liked what he saw.

“Enough playing.” He leaned forward and grasped her hips. He lifted her off her feet and set her in his lap. She grasped his wide shoulders for balance, gasping as his cock pressed along her slit. The seat of the chair was wide enough for her knees to rest on the padded seat on either side of his hips.

“Have ye ever ridden astride, wife?”

The picture that blossomed in her mind stole her breath. Heat surged through her passage. His hands stroked her bare bottom, cupping each side.

“Aye, ye understand my meaning don’t ye?”

“But—”

“No buts, lass.” He lifted her up with his hands under her bottom, and his cock straightened once she was high enough above him, the head pressing against the opening to her passage. He began to lower her onto it, a soft growl leaving his lips as she sheathed him.

She shivered. Her hands curled on his shoulders. Pleasure engulfed her as her body took him. But she craved friction. She rose off his cock on her own. All the way up until only the head was still clasped inside her passage.

“Yes, Bronwyn…yes.” He captured her hips and pushed her back down.

She gasped, delight spearing into her along with his cock. She was rising off it in a swift motion before he had time to lift her, the hard length rubbing against her clit when she leaned toward him. Completely in control, she increased the pace.

“That’s it, ride me.”

“Aye, husband.”

Her voice had turned husky and he chuckled, the hands on her hips tightening. He lifted his hips with each downward plunge from her, sending his cock up to meet her. Pleasure tightened more and more until it burst through her. She lost the rhythm when it flooded her belly, the muscles contracting around his cock. He took command in that instant, lifting his hips beneath her and guiding her up and down with his hands. His sharp cry echoed off the back wall and he slammed her down on to his length, holding her tightly in place while his seed filled her. Hot pulses of it hit her womb while she was held in the grip of the pleasure still shaking her body.

A soft kiss was pressed against her neck and then another. Then hands on her hips released, smoothing over her curves before sliding up her back. It was a sweet touch that unleashed tender emotions. He didn’t have to be kind to her and still he was even after having her. Maybe she was a fool to think such things, but at the moment she was powerless to prevent her emotions from going soft.

He cupped both sides of her head, lifting her face so that he could press a kiss against her mouth. His lips teased hers, his tongue tracing along her lower lip in a lazy motion that sent little ripples of enjoyment through her.

A soft ringing intruded on the moment. Cullen raised his head, breaking their kiss quickly. One bell was joined by two others and then more until the sound echoed up and down the long walls.

Cullen was on his feet in a second. He spared a moment to make sure she had her balance before striding to where he’d left his clothing. Bronwyn followed him without thinking. The bells meant trouble and a castle’s defense was her men. It didn’t matter that she was newly arrived at Sterling; if it was set upon, she would suffer the same fate as the other inhabitants.

She made quick work of pleating Cullen’s kilt without stopping to put any clothing on herself. In a battle, his colors would keep his own men from mistaking him for the enemy.

“That’s something I no expected to see ye doing.”

His voice startled her because she’d been so intent on her task. The length of McJames wool was neatly folded over the wide belt that would hold it secure around his waist.

“I know that the bells mean ye need to hurry.”

He was in his shirt and had his boots laced up to his knees. He cupped her face and pressed a hard kiss against her mouth.

“Aye, but no in so much of a hurry that I won’t tell ye that it warms my heart to see yer hands folding my kilt.”

Behind the shutters they heard a commotion in the yard below. Cullen leaned over the table and grasped the ends of the belt. With a hard motion he buckled it, the McJames plaid secure.

“Get dressed, Bronwyn. Hurry, lass, ye dinna know where to go. I should have shown ye.”

“Go on, I’ll find my way. I’m nae a child.”

And hiding wouldn’t be worth anything if the enemy found the walls easy to breach because they weren’t manned. Instead of reaching for her clothing, she grasped his sword from where it had been leaning against the wall behind the chair. Turning around, she held it out to him.

Uncertainty flickered in his eyes because he was ready to go and she still completely bare. Every man would be on the wall in response to the bells, leaving her unguarded.

“Go on, Cullen. I’ll find my way to the other women.”

“I don’t doubt that ye can.”

But what he truly doubted was that she would join the McJames women.

Bronwyn saw that truth in his eyes. He hesitated but the ringing persisted, pulling on the years of training he’d had to become the warrior he was. The castle had to have priority.

“All right, lass, we’ll see where ye go.”

He turned and pulled the door wide. Bronwyn hurried to find her chemise and cover herself.

She was torn.

The desire to run home was nowhere to be found. It had somehow dried up and blown away. It shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have been so swiftly gone from her heart. But all she found instead of the need to escape was the need to remain with Cullen.

Oh, the man was stubborn and arrogant, to be sure, but there was part of him that was tender. Only Keir came close to holding such regard for her. Confusion gripped her hard while she dressed.

Run back to a father who called her slut, or remain with a husband who distrusted her?

Well, that dinna take much thinking. No much at all.

The most surprising thing was that it hurt to think of leaving Cullen. The shock of that emotion held her still in the chamber for long moments she should have been seeking shelter with the other women. The soft kiss he’d given her after sating his lust still lingered on her lips.

She hugged the feeling tight to her heart, feeling it fill that empty place that had ached so badly when her life crumbled in the face of her father’s accusations. She was a McQuade but she was also a McJames wife.

She would join the McJames women.

“McKorey riders!”

Cullen gained the upper wall and stared at the group of horses approaching. They were riding hard, pushing their animals. It wasn’t like Alarik to arrive in such a fashion even if it was past sundown. The man was no afraid of the dark.

“Hold the gate fast!” Cullen gave the order. The men wore the plaid of the McKorey but he could not see their faces yet. He’d be a fool to trust in just the kilts. The group leader raised a hand and the last man raised a banner, flying Alarik’s shield on a flag. No honor-respecting Scot would fly the shield of another, and Jamie had tossed a few into chains for doing it to invade their neighbors.

That wouldna stop the McQuades from attempting it, and he’d bet his sword on it. Erik McQuade would wager a few months in prison against the chance to strike at Sterling.

“Archers ready.”

Brodick’s deep voice bounced off the walls. He gained the wall and peered at their company.

“Do ye think yer new father-in-law is paying us a visit under false colors?”

Cullen lifted a spy glass and angled it toward the riders. They had slowed now, their horses at a walk.

“I wouldna dismiss the idea, but I count only fifty retainers.”

“Not enough for an invasion.” Brodick took the spy glass to take a look at the riders. In the dark it was hard to make out features.

“But enough to lay plenty of men in their graves if we open the gate.”

Brodick grunted. “Aye, that’s a truth.”

Tension held every man on the wall in its grip until the riders closed the gap enough to be recognized. Cullen breathed a sigh of relief as he got a look at Alarik McKorey through the spy glass. Seeing the man was more relieving than he’d anticipated.

“What’s that frown for?” Brodick held his hand up to keep the gate closed. “Is there a reason I should still be worried about our visitors?”

Cullen shook his head. “None that I know of, but Alarik is running his horses rather fast in my opinion.”

“I noticed that meself.” Brodick signaled the captain of his guard to raise the heavy gate. “But that doesna explain the look on yer face, brother.”

“I just dinna want to spill McQuade blood.”

Brodick raised a dark eyebrow. “It’s more likely they will begin raiding again than not.”

Cullen snorted. “I know it, but can still hope for a peace now that we’re joined by marriage.”

The gate lifted with a groan, the thick chains making a metallic sound that echoed through the castle. Brodick moved toward the stairs, eager to assure his people that all was safe.

“We can hope, but it will most likely take Jamie laying down his fist to get McQuade to end his raids.”

It was a truth that Cullen didn’t enjoy. But his marriage would give them the leverage they needed to force the king to involve himself. Yet that wasn’t the reason behind his reluctance to engage the McQuades.

Bronwyn was.

They were her kin, and for the first time in his life he saw them as men who had lives the same as he did. Over the years they had become a faceless enemy that he felt no remorse for. Now he saw Bronwyn with tears in her eyes for her kin. It was a pain he’d like to spare her.

McKorey rode through the gate and into the yard.

“McJames, I’ve news!”

Brodick stood on the steps leading to the hall. “As if I dinna already guess that, man. It had better be something good because I’ve a pretty, warm wife that I left to greet ye.”

Alarik McKorey swung his leg over the head of his horse and dismounted. A stable boy came forward to take the stallion. Alarik took a silver piece from his doublet and tossed it to the boy.

“For yer loss of sleep, lad.”

“Thank ye, sir!” The boy grinned, showing off a missing tooth. Several of his comrades from the stables eagerly approached the other horses in spite of the hour, hoping for a similar reward. Sterling offered hospitality to all its guests, but sometimes, when you arrived with fifty men in the middle of a freezing winter night, it was wise to add a little something to sweeten the servants’ mood.

McKorey pegged Cullen with a hard stare. “I’ve news for yer wife.”

“Depends on the news.” Cullen shot a harder look back at the man. Friend or not, he’d be the one who decided what manner of news was delivered to his bride. “There’s no need to tell her something her father said in court that is only going to upset her. I’m the one who stole her.”

Alarik joined them on the steps. “Aye, given the last thing her father said about her at court, I canna blame ye for thinking like that.”

They entered the lower floor of the main tower. It was connected to the other towers by long hallways that ran behind the curtain wall of the castle. Above them were the chambers used by Brodick and his family. There was meager light, only a few tin lanterns set onto large iron hooks set into the wall.

“I pushed me men hard to get here.”

Cullen paused along with Brodick. There was a note in McKorey’s voice that promised trouble.

“Erik McQuade is dead by the hand of the king’s guard.”

“How, man?” Cullen demanded.

Alarik clenched his hands into fists. “It’s the truth that I was trying to break his neck with my own hands. The bastard wanted my sister for his bride.” He paused and snarled softly. “McQuade drew a dirk…” He pulled the collar of his shirt down exposing the fresh cut on his throat.

“When I turned aside, he fell toward Jamie.”

“Christ, man, that’s enough to get ye hung.” Cullen swore softly in Gaelic.

“I’m a lucky man to be standing here. His guards ran McQuade through with their pikes, and it crossed me mind that I would follow him.”

“But ye dinna, so I’m guessing that Jamie sorted the mess out.”

“Aye, but the McQuade are no hearing any of it. They blame my sister, Raelin, and have labeled her a witch. I rode hard enough to kill my horse because that clan rode home with vengeance burning in their bellies.” Alarik pointed at Brodick. “If ye are planning on getting any dowry for Bronwyn, ye’d best take yer case to Jamie before McQuade’s son takes over the title.”

The men walked off toward the great hall to find food for Alarik McKorey. Bronwyn stood in the opposite hallway, hidden in the shadows. The stone wall held her up as she sagged against it.

Dead.

It was such a final word. She didn’t know what to feel or even how to feel about the man who had detested her. In spite of his frustration with her gender he was still the only father she would ever have. To loathe him was to hate a portion of herself.

She turned and began walking. The dark corridors suited her mood. Too many things had happened in so short a period of time. Two months past, her life was neatly predictable, now it was nothing like it had been.

She passed the stairs that led to Cullen’s chamber. Another length of hallway and she found herself in the work room that held the loom she’d spent the day at. No one slept here and it must have been to conserve firewood. At Red Stone, several maids laid their pallets on the floor between the looms because no indoor space was wasted.

The empty room felt like a haven once again. She moved through it slowly with only the light shining in through the glass windows to guide her. Sitting down on the stool, she ran her hands over the cloth she’d woven.

Here was a part of her that had come from her father, born of the demand that she earn her keep like the other female servants. Her fingers glided over the soft wool, finding it smooth and even.

No tears wet her cheeks.

She sat waiting for them, but her heart did not ache for her sire. Guilt needled at her but it never grew into shame or anything that hurt her enough to weep.

The only thing that truly saddened her was that she did not grieve for him because he had never been a kind father to her. That was lamentable. She still missed her mother, still ached at times for the woman who had been her sweet parent. That was the wealth of a family—their love for each other.

All her father left her was the talent for making the cloth beneath her fingertips. She leaned down and placed her cheek against it. Her soul was weary. She was tired of the constant struggle her life had become recently. So tired of the uncertainty.

Tears eased from her closed eyes. Not for her father, but for the affection they had never shared. She slipped off into slumber, with the fabric beneath her cheek. For the moment it was the only thing that she might call her own.

The McJames retainers returned to their pallets on the great hall floor. Cullen sat with Alarik and Brodick while their guest ate a hastily gathered meal of bread and cheese along with cold meats left from supper. Alarik didn’t mind, nor did any of his men. They ate with the hunger that all day in the saddle gave to a man. A few of the maids had risen to the chore of serving, many of them still wearing their sleeping caps. But the inhabitants began to settle back down to sleep while they might.

Sybil appeared. She wore only her long stays over her chemise with a length of wool held tightly around her body to keep her warm. She approached the table softly, but with a determined look on her face. Cullen lifted his face and stared at her, his stomach knotting with dread.

He’d trusted Bronwyn.

“I beg yer pardon, but I canna find my mistress.”

Cullen felt his temper ignite but he held it in check. “She dinna join the women?”

Brodick looked at him because his brother knew that the tone of his voice promised retribution to whoever had enraged him.

Sybil shook her head. “And I checked yer chamber. She is no there, either.”

He’d trusted her.

Brodick gripped his arm. “She has to be here, brother. The gate was lowered behind our guests.”

“That is no the issue.” He stood up. “I trusted her.” His anger bled into his words so clearly Sybil flinched. Her eyes widened before she backed away.

“Perhaps the mistress is lost.”

“And perhaps I should have had the foresight to suspect her of lying to me.”

Brodick stood up. “Easy, Cullen. Dinna condemn the lass afore we discover why she’s nowhere to be found.”

“I’ll help ye search for her.” Alarik wiped his mouth on linen and stood up. “Since it appears that I helped ye lose her with my arrival.”

“Oh, I shall find her and that’s a promise.” One that he was going to enjoy teaching his wife that he would keep for the rest of their lives. Hurt slashed through him but he shoved it aside. He refused to feel anything but anger over her deception. He would not go soft for Bronwyn McQuade.

He would not.

The retainers who had just lain down were roused. They grumbled quietly when told who they were searching for. It was not the first time a McQuade had kept them up all night, and that was precisely why they detested anyone born with that name.

Candles and lanterns were lit. Every hallway burned bright. The maids were awakened when light was shone on their faces to identify them. Every pallet was searched, no door left closed. Cullen gritted his teeth because every person at Sterling knew that his young bride had deserted him. His pride became bruised as the search continued.

It took another two hours to search the outer buildings. By the time the retainers discovered Bronwyn bent over her loom, their tempers were hot enough to melt iron.

She awoke to rough hands on her as she was dragged through the hallways, her feet trying to keep up as her mind attempted to understand what was happening now. They took her toward the great hall, refusing to unhand her.

“Let me go.”

The burly retainers didn’t pay her any mind. They stood with their hands locked around her forearms until Cullen arrived. His face was drawn tight with fury, his eyes already cold with judgment against her.

The men holding her released her abruptly, pushing her forward with their greater strength so that she stumbled.

“Enough. There’s to be no rough handling of my wife.” Cullen’s voice didn’t sound very friendly; in fact, the man was enraged if she didn’t miss her guess. He studied her with hard eyes.

“Ye broke yer word to me.” His voice dropped to a deadly tone. Cullen pointed a finger at her. “Ye said ye would join the women.”

“There was no reason to join them. I watched ye welcoming Alarik McKorey in the keep.”

Her words stopped Cullen in mid-thought. He pressed his lips together, his change of expression showing her a glimpse of the side of him that she hadn’t wanted to run away from. But not enough to soothe her anger away. But the hall was full of pallets and McJames people who were all listening to their quarrel. The two retainers still stood behind her, guarding her. She turned her back on Cullen and challenged them. But they didn’t look at her. Their attention was on Cullen. His men waited for his permission before parting to allow her to leave.

But they followed her.

It was an insult that jabbed through her heart. Back in their chamber, she stood staring at the bed with tears in her eyes. The chair was less appealing. The self-pity she’d avoided descended on her in full force. Hopelessness strangled her spirit. Suspicion was such an ugly thing set with teeth that chewed on the tender emotions.

For the moment it felt as though the life in front of her was nothing but one struggle followed by another.

Bonnie stood silent, overlooked by everyone. She was used to it, in truth encouraged such. The argument made her flinch but she kept her eyes glued to it. There was a lesson to be learned and she forced herself to absorb it.

“Ye should leave. This is no something a young lass should witness.”

Bonnie jumped but held her gasp behind her closed lips. Alarik McKorey slid up beside her, having emerged from the dark hallway behind her. His gaze traveled over her face in a motion that was too familiar for her comfort.

“I am married.” Telling men that fact always sent them away from her. It was the only thing her husband was good for.

“Is that yer way of telling me to leave?” Alarik sounded amused.

“It is my way of reminding ye to not trespass against God’s law.”

The large Scot grunted. He was an entire head taller than herself, his shoulders twice the width of her own. His hair was dark as midnight, his eyes green. The argument in front of her drew her attention again. A firm hand on her arm made her jump. She turned on Alarik, scratching at the fingers that held her. He frowned but tugged her away from the hall before releasing her.

“As I said, lass, there’s no need for ye to witness what is being said.”

Bonnie glared at him, but he stood in the middle of the hallway with his hands braced on his hips. There was no way to go around him.

“I expect a man to advise me so.”

“And why is that?”

She drew herself up straight and proud. “Because you lure women into contentment so that they will not fuss over wedding. But once you have your way, you turn cruel.”

“Cullen is no cruel. ’Tis naught but temper. That lass has as much spirit as Cullen does.”

“You are a man. You shall defend him no matter what he does.” Bonnie cast a last look at the hall but she could no longer tell what was being said. No matter, she understood well enough. The Scot standing in her way only added confirmation to her belief that all men used women regardless of how the woman felt. They bent them to their whims ruthlessly.

“I defend him because I understand that this union would no be a simple one but that it will bring better days to a great many people.”

“Exactly.”

He stepped toward her but Bonnie backed away. She turned around and left. There was no point in remaining. He was a man and would always side with his brethren. Just another example of why a woman was wise to avoid them. She had no desire to become a submissive wife. Bronwyn McQuade had her pity.

Cullen sat back in his chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“That won’t help, lad.” Alarik sat down beside him, keeping his voice low as the men settled in for a few hours of sleep.

“And yer an expert on marriage, are ye?” Cullen offered him a disgruntled look. “I must have missed hearing that ye took a bride.”

Alarik scoffed at him but shook his head. “I dinna understand women any better than ye appear to.”

Something crossed his friend’s face that looked like frustration. Cullen offered him the pottery jug of whiskey. He took it and reached for a small pottery cup.

They sat in silence. It suited his mood. Bronwyn weighed on his mind. Settling her into his house was a far greater challenge than he’d anticipated.

But that was not what bothered him.

What captured his attention was the fact that it hurt to see her unhappy. He expected to be emotionally attached to his brother and sister. Even watching love grow between Brodick and Anne had not prepared him to find something tender in his own heart for a woman. Yet it was there, tangled around all of his motivations. He’d hurt her with his suspicions and it tore a hole in his gut.

“Yer right, this whiskey isna helping. I spoke too harshly to her.”

Cullen stood up and left. Alarik watched him, baffled by the determined stride his friend was using.

“Yer wrong, my friend, this whiskey is helping…me.” Alarik dumped what was left of Cullen’s whiskey into his own cup and leaned back in his chair. Aye, it was helping—helping to keep him from touching a lass who was too tender for what he wanted from her. He raised his glass in a silent salute to young Bonnie. With her blond hair and blue eyes, she was an angel not meant for his hands to touch.

His cock dinna care…

The bed rocked and Bronwyn stirred. Her head ached and her eyes burned. It was dark in the room, but she could feel Cullen near. Actually smell the scent of his skin. A tiny shiver rippled over her skin. The response made her angry because she could not even control her own body. She turned away from him.

He followed her, gripping her in his arms and even laying one leg over the top of her thighs.

“Have done, Cullen, I’ve had enough fighting for one day.”

He pressed a warm kiss against her neck instead. She’d gone to bed in her chemise but he was wearing nothing but his warm skin.

“I will never have done with ye, lass. But ye’re correct that we have spent too many hours fighting. I’m sorry I spoke harshly to ye in the hall. Ye dinna deceive me, I understand that now.” He smoothed his hands over her arms, unleashing another ripple of sensation. With exhaustion pulling at her, his warm embrace felt delightful.

“Leave me be. Ye’ve already had me tonight.”

He sighed, pressing a warm kiss against her neck. “’Tis the truth that ye have more wisdom in ye than I do. Ye have my gratitude for leaving instead of blistering my ears as was yer right.”

“Ye would have deserved it.” Bronwyn sighed inwardly because her voice sounded too forgiving. The man was going to twist her around his finger if she didn’t show more backbone.

“Aye, I know it.”

There was true regret in his voice. She wriggled against his hold but he refused to allow her to place distance between them.

“I understand why ye dinna do as ye said ye would.”

She jabbed her elbow backward and heard him grunt but his arms did not release her. “Ye dinna understand me. If ye did, we wouldna be fighting.”

He suddenly rolled over onto his back, taking her with him. He kept rolling until her back was pressed into the bedding with his body pinning her down. One arm was trapped behind his back and he captured her wrist with the other hand, pressing it to the bed.

“Yer right. But ye are nae the only one that is recently married, Bronwyn. I’ve nae been a husband afore either. We are both bound to make mistakes.”

In the dark he was only a shadow, but she felt him along her bare legs, every inch of her skin enjoying the warm contact. He kept enough of his weigh off her to keep her from being crushed, but she discovered that she enjoyed feeling the rest of it pressing down on her. As if there was some part of her that liked knowing he was stronger than she.

“I am sorry that I dinna trust ye, but I am no apologizing for wanting to keep ye.” He leaned down until his breath touched her lips. She drew in a ragged breath. Even in the dark she saw his eyes glittering.

“I wanted ye when I stole ye away, but now I need ye, Bronwyn.”

He kissed her, brushing a soft one against her mouth before deepening it. She pushed against him, trying to gain space but he insisted, kissing her with a passion that wasn’t hard, but tender instead.

Her resolve buckled. Even her pride dissipated into the night around them. In the dark there was no one to judge her. There was only the hard body of her lover. His kiss soothed her. His hand tangling in her hair while his cock hardened against her thigh. Need built into a steady throb inside her passage this time. It was warm and steady and, in a way, comforting. He trailed his kisses along her neck and she arched to offer more of the smooth column to him.

But he didn’t cover her immediately. One hand slid beneath her chemise, tugging the fabric up until he cupped a breast. Sweet sensation flowed through her as soft sounds passed her lips. She lifted her hands, seeking his skin. It was soft and hot beneath her fingertips but the muscle it covered was hard and full of strength. Every touch was slow this time, there was no rush. He stroked her with a sure hand that didn’t miss any part of her. Over her ribs, lower toward her belly and across its soft surface to the curls at the apex of her thighs.

He teased them for a moment, pulling gently on the silken strands before slipping into the delicate folds that protected her clitoris. His lips claimed hers again in a kiss that was demanding, one fingertip plunging into her sex while his tongue speared deeply into her mouth. Her thighs parted for him, her hips lifting up in welcome.

He covered her then, cupping the sides of her face with his hands. He thrust slowly forward, easing his length back into her passage. Sweet delight filled her, building once more toward pleasure. The bed ropes groaned as he increased his speed, driving faster and harder into her. She shuddered as need tightened around the hard flesh. She lifted toward it, needing just a little more speed.

Her cry, soft and delicate, filled the bed curtains. Pleasure blossomed inside her belly. It didn’t jerk her away from every thought, but instead grew warmer and warmer until her entire body was enveloped. Cullen shuddered and ground himself deep. The hot spurt of his seed hit her womb and the walls of her passage clenched tightly around him to pull every last drop from his length.

He caught his weight on his elbows on either side of her head. Both their breathing was rough as the bed slowly came to a stop. He placed a soft kiss against her cheek and then another on her temple.

“I promise ye, Bronwyn, I shall learn to be a better husband.”

A soft whimper left her lips. She opened her eyes but couldn’t see his expression in the dark. His voice was gruff and hard with emotion.

He kept his promises…

She trusted that. He rolled over onto his back and took her along with him. The bedding was shoved off to one side but he dragged it over them with a single hand, keeping the other around her.

“I canna say that I’m sorry about yer father, but I am sorry for yer pain.”

His hand rubbed her back. It was tender and caring, bringing tears to her eyes. They dropped onto his chest before she lifted her head to hide the weakness. Cullen followed her, rolling onto his side while he allowed her to move. But he clamped a hand around her and pressed against her back, even tucking her head beneath his chin.

He was jealous.

Cullen was stunned, but amazed at the same time. Bronwyn shuddered in his embrace and he soothed her. Envy filled him, envy for the tears she spilled for another person. He wanted her to care that deeply for him. There was no way to deny it. He wouldn’t be jealous of her tears if he didn’t care for her deeply.

He could shove it off on the late hour or the stress of the long day, but that would be lying to himself.

Instead he held her, listening to the way her breathing deepened when sleep took her away. For the first time he understood why he’d often avoided his bed until exhaustion forced him to. The reason was clear.

His bed was a lonely place.

Now he realized it. Now that he had Bronwyn there to share sweet kisses with him, it wasn’t the fucking, it was the intimacy. A word that he’d known but never felt before.

But it meant nothing without her returning the affection. Sleep pulled him away from his thoughts but not before he promised to win Bronwyn’s heart.

It was a promise he would keep.

Laird Erik McQuade was laid to rest on his land with all his retainers in attendance. His three sons stood solemn while the pipes wailed out a last tribute. Keir McQuade watched frozen ground being filled in over his father and found it fitting. Maybe he was a poor son, but his father had always had a cold heart. He left the grave as soon as possible. His temper burned hot and it wasn’t for the same reason his older brothers were cursing about.

He wanted his sister back. The fact that Bronwyn was only his half sibling didn’t matter to him. It never had. She was the only member of his family who cared for him.

Liam and Sodac caught up with him.

“It’s about time ye showed some courage, brother.” Liam slapped him on the shoulder and snickered. “We’ve vengeance to extract on those bastards McKorey. I’m happy to see ye in such a hurry to begin.”

Keir turned to face his siblings. The scent of whiskey was strong on both of them. With their father dead. Liam was making it clear that no one had say over his actions any longer. He drank any time and any place that he wanted to and fucked any woman that caught his eye.

“It’s Bronwyn I’m intent on finding.”

Liam looked confused for a moment. “Aye, the land. Father warned us about making sure she never breeds.”

“What land?”

Liam shrugged. “Her mother came with a dowry that is willed to Bronwyn and her offspring. It’s no McQuade property unless Bronwyn dies without issue.”

Keir spat, rage turning his vision red. It was a good thing his father was dead or he might be tempted to do the deed himself. Greed had rotted the man long before a royal pike was pushed through his heart. He had treated his daughter little better than a servant her entire life because of land. He believed it because that fit with the greed-poisoned picture he had of his sire.

Liam and Sodac watched their younger brother stride away. Sodac pulled a leather flask from his doublet and took a nip. “I forgot about Bronwyn. What are we going to do about her? Cullen McJames will fill her belly for sure.” He snickered. “I’d poke Raelin McKorey a few times before slitting her throat, too.”

Liam smirked in agreement. “Raelin deserves to suffer before we choke the life out of her.” He grabbed the flask and drank a long swallow. “But Cullen isna planning on killing Bronwyn in spite of the fact that she’s his enemy’s daughter. We’ll have to see to that ourselves.”

“Do we have to kill her?”

Liam nodded. “I don’t want to waste all my time making sure she’s no fucking in the hay. Besides, her belly might already be full with a bastard who’ll take our land.”

Sodac stared at his brother. “Ye’re laird now. Make the king give her back.”

“And then what? She just dies after being returned?” Liam raised his hand, threatening to strike his brother for not thinking of a better solution. “Besides, Jamie is smitten by the McJames. He dinna even hang Raelin McKorey for causing our father’s death. No, if we want to keep that land, we’ll have to take care of Bronwyn ourselves.”

Liam McQuade took another swig of whiskey. He was laird now. He’d think of something. It didn’t matter that Bronwyn was his half sister; every McQuade served the laird. Even if it meant their lives. He expected it of his retainers, just as his father had. He wouldn’t go soft over the fact that Bronwyn was a female.

He’d deal with the threat. Permanently.