In The Warrior’s Bed by Mary Wine

Chapter Eleven

Dawn came too early.

Bronwyn rubbed her eyes and groaned when she sat up. The chamber was lighter, and with the bed curtains still open, the light roused her.

“I agree.”

Her husband yawned before rolling over the edge of the bed. Her gaze followed him because she just couldn’t help herself. She’d never noticed that men were attractive. Cullen was magnificent. Every ridge of hard muscle a delight for her eyes.

“Ye look like a siren sitting there tempting me back into bed.”

A blush warmed her cheeks. She stood up, enjoying the grin playing across his lips. He didn’t have to tease her, didn’t have to be kind to her.

Yet he was.

“There are not enough hours of daylight to be wasting any.”

Cullen pulled his shirt over his head. “Well now, if that’s a promise that ye’ll be welcoming to me once the sun sets, I’m content to endure the daylight.”

“Stop yer teasing.”

She walked across the room and picked up her surcoat. But Cullen hooked her around the waist and pulled her back against his body.

“Why should I do that, lass? Yer cheeks are rosy from my teasing and yer eyes shining.”

He nuzzled her neck, sending ripples of excitement down her. It was playful and sweet, drawing a soft laugh from her.

“Ye are an overgrown boy.”

“Ah, but ye enjoy the fully grown man in the dark.”

She giggled, and gasped when she heard the sound crossing her own lips. Cullen’s wide chest rumbled with a deep chuckle against her back. He nipped her ear with a teasing bite.

“Ah, it’s true, Bronwyn, ye cry out so sweetly when the man pleases ye in our bed.” He cupped one breast and turned her slightly. “Or chair.”

She slapped the arm holding her against him, but the blow lacked any real strength. “Enough.”

He hugged her tight before releasing her. His kilt was already pleated and waiting for him on the table. He leaned over it and pulled the ends of his belt around his waist. When he straightened back up it took mere moments for him to buckle the belt and pull the loose end of his plaid up and over his right shoulder. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief but also determination.

“It is no enough, no nearly enough. I plan to tease ye much more.”

“Why?” The chilly morning air made her shrug into the surcoat in spite of her distaste for the garment. She longed for a dress and that was a fact.

Cullen tugged a round Celtic bonnet down over one side of his head. He walked back toward her and she stood fast, watching him in fascination. This was not her captor and yet he was. What mesmerized her was the fact that she was enjoying being the target of his teasing.

He cupped her chin in a warm hand. “Maybe because I like the way ye laugh when I tease ye. ’Tis a sound I want to hear more of.”

She looked away, unsure of what to feel. He hooked her around her waist and pulled her against his body. He threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled gently to raise her eyes back to his.

“I plan to give ye more reasons to be happy, Bronwyn.”

She was tempted to believe in his words. So tempted.

“Ye have had what ye want of me.”

“And ye think I’m callous enough to believe that is the extent of what we should hope for from our marriage?”

“It is what most couples are content with.”

He placed a soft kiss on her lips but didn’t linger. “Ah well, it isn’t enough for me.”

He released her and turned, walking toward the door. He stopped when he reached it, looking back at her.

“Ye puzzle me, Cullen McJames.”

“No more than ye did by folding my plaid last night. My McJames plaid.” He winked at her and pulled the door wide. “But we’ll have to wait until later to discover what our hearts are trying to tell us both.”

She scoffed at him, but he left the room instead of taking issue with her.

What her heart was trying to say?

Nonsense.

Insanity.

The man had stolen her.

But from what?

Her life at Red Stone was not so nice. She saw the difference now. Her pride was still sore, making it impossible to simply let her feelings bleed away. But she was confused this morning. She didn’t feel like a captive anymore. Somewhere in the dark hours as she’d enjoyed being held against him, the struggle that kept them from relaxing had vanished. Maybe it was her father’s death. Feuds did sometimes go to the grave with the laird.

Their future was suddenly full of possibilities.

Sybil arrived with two girls in tow, saving her from her thoughts. They bustled about the chamber while Sybil insisted on braiding her hair once again.

“I’m so glad ye dinna try to run away last night, Mistress Bronwyn.”

The two maids paused in their straightening of the bed. They were taking the sheets and replacing them with fresh ones.

Sybil continued, raising her voice enough so that the maids could not mistake her words.

“Now there will be no more talk about whether or no ye are trustworthy.”

“I should think every person that was awoken from their rest will have far worse things to think of me now.”

Sybil slid a final hairpin into her hair and smiled. “Och now, where do ye think ye are, England? A bit of determination in a woman is a fine thing. If ye gave that husband of yers too much obedience, he’d walk across ye like a carpet. Just where would that place the rest of us, I ask ye? Every McJames man would be expecting the same meek behavior.”

One of the maids laughed while the other grinned. Sybil shrugged. “There are some things that women and men dinna understand about each other.”

It was a peace offering from a McJames woman who hadn’t had any more choice on what land she was born on than Bronwyn had. The tension was missing from yesterday and it was a welcome relief.

“I am learning that, Sybil. Thank ye for braiding my hair. We should go before we are late to break our fast.”

A soft expression of approval shone on Sybil’s face. It was a fragile truce but one that made it much easier to walk toward the hall. The walls didn’t seem so cold today in spite of the ice edging the windows.

Cullen sat at the table with his brother and family. Alarik McKorey looked as though his head ached, while Bonnie frowned at him from where she sat beside her sister. But what captured her attention was the way her husband watched her. His eyes were glued to her, with a playful grin on his lips, like the one he’d shown her the day they first met. She suddenly felt the warmth of that afternoon and the chill of winter couldn’t melt it.

Perhaps affection was not as horrible as Shakespeare wrote it to be.

But then again, maybe her mind was simply broken.

Bronwyn’s shoulders ached by the end of the day. But her cloth was rolled neatly into a length that would be cut and sewn into a dress on the morrow. Sybil and the other maids had worked diligently plying their needles on her behalf to produce undergarments. A pair of soft drawers restored some of her modesty. They came none too soon as her monthly courses arrived.

She would not share Cullen’s bed tonight…

The thought should have filled her with delight. Instead her heart became heavy with disappointment. The supper bells rang and she sighed.

Her mind must truly be broken. There was no other explanation for her melancholy mood. It should have delighted her to discover that she did not carry a babe that would further cement her union.

Instead she dreaded sleeping alone.

Which was absurd since she had so newly begun sampling what it was like to share a bed. She was too quiet over her meal and more than one person at the high table considered her from under lowered eyebrows. She tried to shake her mood but it stuck to her as she felt the night looming over her like an empty cavern.

With a sigh she departed, leaving Sybil to inform her laird that he would be sleeping alone. It was a common thing for the maid to convey such information, but Bronwyn still felt her cheek color slightly. Her body had always been her own and it was unnerving to have her personal details discussed with others.

It was harder still to enter the chamber she shared with Cullen. But she didn’t know where else to go. Would he sleep elsewhere? Or would he send her away until she was clean again? Her mother had never shared a chamber with her father. Erik McQuade had sent his man to inquire from her maid if she was clean any time he was of the mind to mount her. Bronwyn had always known when her father came to her mother’s bed because she was sent away with a maid to sleep in the kitchen.

The door opened and she turned to face it, her face set against exposing her lament.

“Och now, dinna frown so. I swear I’ve seen kinder faces across the battlefield.” Cullen held the door wide for Sybil, who was grasping a tray. She set it down on the table and curtsied.

“Good night, Mistress Bronwyn.”

Cullen chuckled as soon as the door was closed. “I see Sybil found a way around ye asking her to no call ye mistress.”

“She is a fine maid.” Bronwyn fingered the wool of her surcoat. “Do ye want me to sleep in the kitchens?”

“Ye sleep here with me.” There was nothing teasing about his tone now. It was edged with hard authority.

“Did Sybil tell ye…”

He tossed his bonnet onto a hook set into the wall. “Aye, she did.” His tone softened a bit. But his eyes flickered with the hard determination she’d seen in her captor. “I keep what I steal near.”

“Is that so?” Her temper rose along with her chin.

But Cullen flashed her a smile. “Well now, ye are the first thing I’ve ever stolen so I think that be the way of it.”

He was toying with her. She glared at him, frustrated and amused at the same time.

“Did yer father send yer mother to the kitchen?”

“He did not share a chamber with my mother. He only came when he was of a mind to…” Her voice trailed off as she realized how much information she was spilling to a man her sire called his enemy. A few days ago, she would have been horrified. Tonight she was simply weary of the need for walls. Where did their clans stop and each of them begin?

“Whenever he wanted to use her?”

Her cheeks colored slightly at the bluntness of the words. “Aye.”

Cullen frowned. “I’ll hold my tongue since the man has departed this world.”

“Ye sound as if it is commonplace for couples to share a chamber.”

He shrugged and pulled one of the X chairs around next to the table. “My parents did as my brother and Anne do now.” A glimmer of playfulness returned to his face. “They seem to be very happy with the arrangement.”

“I see.” She didn’t, but the tension knotting her shoulders suddenly released its grip on her.

“Sit down, wife. Alarik brought us a wedding gift.”

Cullen reached for a pottery bottle sitting on the tray. He removed the costly cork stopper in it and poured a measure of whatever was inside it into a small drinking cup.

“Honey mead to celebrate our marriage.”

A smile lifted her lips. She couldn’t help it. Honey mead was the traditional drink given by the friends of the bride and groom. You knew if you were popular if the entire first month of yer marriage ye had enough honey mead to drink. It was a sweet drink that made ye think of spring even in the dead of winter.

“That was kind of him.” Sniffing the cup, Bronwyn took a sip and grinned. Sweet as May Day.

“More likely he’s trying to soothe yer ruffled feathers for helping to steal ye.”

“That is no a topic to jest about.” She glared at Cullen while he poured himself a measure of the honey mead.

“Now dinna be trying to tell me that McQuade men are so different from McJames men in that they don’t tease about stealing brides.” He opened his hands wide. “Admit it.”

Her eyes narrowed but she couldn’t remain vexed. He was correct. “Men jest about it, but nae women.”

“Ah, but I am a man.”

“I have noticed that.”

His face brightened with victory. It went into his eyes and they glittered with male satisfaction. “’Tis glad I am to hear it. ’Course I’ll be happy to remind ye as often as necessary.”

He reached onto the tray and produced a set of dice. Challenge flickered in his eyes as he rolled them in the palm of his hand.

“What do ye plan to do with those?”

One golden eyebrow rose arrogantly. “I was thinking to get to know ye better, Bronwyn McQuade.”

She laughed at him, but the way he rolled the dice intrigued her. “With dice?”

“Aye, ye and I thrive on challenge. So we’ll play for the right of one honest answer for each win.”

Her breath froze in her lungs as she contemplated his offer. It was a challenge and one that came with plenty of risk. The risk of laying out her most intimate secrets if the dice favored him instead of her. But the chance to discover what sort of man he was with her own questions was hard to resist.

He grinned at her, arrogant and mischievous at the same time. “Unless yer too timid to try me at a few rounds of chance.”

She pulled the other chair closer to his and slapped the table with her hand. “Hardly. Ye dinna frighten me.”

And she realized that he never had. That was truly surprising because she should have been scared of him. But something had always kept her from fearing him. It was rooted deep inside her, in that place where you didn’t decide what you felt; the emotion was simply there like a living breathing thing. There was no decision making, only feeling it when it rose up to engulf you.

“I am not afraid of ye.”

His face went serious. “Ye had every reason to be.”

“But I wasn’t.”

She was suddenly conscious of how open she was being with him. His keen stare missed nothing. Her eyelashes fluttered, veiling her feelings.

“I believe I am tired.”

His eyebrows rose in mocking judgment but he laid the dice down. “I suppose that’s true.”

She stood up and hung her coat up. Sybil had found her several chemises to wear, so at least she did not have to suffer with wearing a soiled one day in and out. The undergarment was loose enough to allow them to be worn without fitting issues making her uncomfortable.

The bed was warm and welcoming. Cullen blew out the candle that was burning in its holder on the table before he joined her. The mattress rocked as he climbed up onto it, the bed ropes creaking a tiny bit.

A startled gasp escaped her when he pulled her against his body. Her head cracked against his chin and she heard him growl. His arms tightened instantly, the hard strength in his larger body trapping her. But he controlled it expertly, never really hurting her. He adjusted her against him before easing his embrace.

“Cullen…”

“Enough talking, Bronwyn.”

“But…”

He rolled over, pushing her onto her side. His arms held her in place as his warm body pressed up against her from the top of her head to her toes.

“Ye sleep in my bed, Bronwyn, and in my embrace. Always.”

His voice was edged in steel once more. But instead of her captor she heard a warrior tonight, one who was worthy of her respect. He was a man of honor.

“I want more from a wife than the comfort I take between yer thighs.” He sighed against her hair, a soft kiss landing on her temple. “I hope in time ye’ll desire the same.”

His voice was full of doubt and emotion that touched her heart. There was no ignoring it, no missing it. But the truth was she didn’t want to. She was warm and secure for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Not since the days that she’d had a loving mother who had soothed the harsher details of life with her love.

The male scent of his skin surrounded her. She relaxed against him, her hands smoothing over his forearm. He was strong and sturdy and it felt perfect. Sleep claimed her and she went willingly. Contentment wrapped around her, killing every need to struggle.

Sybil placed a set of long stays on the work table and stood up. “They are finished, Mistress Bronwyn.”

Fingering the corset, Bronwyn smiled. “Yer stitches are very even.”

“Sybil has always had a steady hand with a needle.” Gerty’s voice cracked but it didn’t cut the way it had before. The older woman paused to inspect the new cloth Bronwyn had woven. She inclined her head slightly, acknowledging her skill.

“Ye turn a fair length of cloth.”

Bronwyn smiled. She turned in a circle and her new skirts flared out around her ankles. A new hip roll was sitting just perfectly around her hips and the cartridge pleated skirt sat on it nicely.

Clothing. She would never take it for granted again.

Two sleeves were already finished, and a doublet was being worked on as well. Sybil had managed to keep two other girls with her the entire week to sew on her clothing. Tomorrow morning she would have a dress to wear once again. She felt like a child receiving a present. Anticipation made her happy enough to twirl across the floor. No silk damask court dress could have made her happier.

The reason was simple. This dress was hers. She had woven the cloth and helped to construct it. The women in the workroom were now women she knew things about instead of strangers. The dress represented far more than just a return to modesty. It was a beginning of life at Sterling as more than just a captive.

Sybil followed her with the corset. Bronwyn eagerly laced into them. Happiness seemed to surround her. The corset was tightened and her doublet buttoned. The other girls brought the sleeves forward to be tied into the shoulders.

“I never thought a dress could feel so good.”

“Wait until ye have to wear a surcoat for an entire year while growing a babe inside your womb.”

Bronwyn turned to look at Gerty. The older woman cast her a knowing look full of her years of wisdom.

“With the way young McJames looks at ye, I doubt that dress will fit come the spring.”

She wasn’t being unkind, but Bronwyn felt her sunny mood darken. Uncertainty sat on her shoulders every day; only leaving her once she was held against Cullen in their bed. While the bed curtains were drawn it was so simple to allow herself to be content, but once the sun rose her doubts returned.

Was he attentive only because he wanted to breed her?

Would he have done with her once she bore him a child that would make their marriage impossible to dissolve?

Such doubts crowded her mind.

Her mother had lived such a life. Existing in a place where she was housed because of her dowry and the connection she brought to her husband. The McQuade clan had never truly accepted her as one of their own, her husband only using her as he pleased but never remaining faithful. Erik McQuade had enjoyed any woman in the clan he desired. He’d used his title as laird to take what he wanted.

The world would not think harshly of Cullen for doing the same. In truth, her father had sowed the seeds for his enemy to take her. It was a depressing idea, one that punctured the joy she’d sampled so recently. Now that her courses were finished, she faced the possibility that she might conceive. Her choice to follow her heart into Cullen’s embrace might well affect more than just herself.

But doubt was a cruel thing, nipping at her joy. The passion between them might very well grow cold, leaving her a forgotten wife like her mother had been.

“Yer husband will enjoy the way that blue sets off yer hair.”

Sybil carried a costly mirror over and held it up for Bronwyn to study her reflection. Her cheeks were full of color just like in the spring, and her blond hair did look nice against the blue of the wool. She had never been a vain girl, but she suddenly smiled because she felt pretty. And the idea that Cullen might agree with her was intoxicating.

Bronwyn allowed it to take her melancholy mood away. After all, there was no point in worrying about what could not be changed. If she was destined to become a forgotten wife, she should enjoy today all that much more.

The memory would become one of her dearest possessions.

Anne looked at her sister, Bonnie, and cautioned the younger girl to remain poised with her features pleasant and unjudging.

It was quite the effort, but Anne remained sweetly helpful while searching for the single book of sonnets she owned.

“Ah yes. Here it is. I do hope ye enjoy it.”

Cullen glared at her. The sternness of the look cracked through her composure. Her brother-in-law scowled.

“Dinna ye laugh at me.”

“Of course, Cullen, whatever do ye mean?”

Bonnie covered a giggle with a fake sneeze that allowed her to cup a hand over her face and hide her smile.

Cullen huffed but took the book of sonnets. He stared at it for a long moment, confusion on his face. He suddenly shook it off, noticing that both Anne and Bonnie where watching him.

“Thank ye.”

He stomped through the doorway and Anne held her breath until she heard his steps fade near the end of the hallway.

Bonnie collapsed against the back of her chair in giggles. She wrapped her arms around herself as she shook with amusement. Anne wasn’t far behind. The image of her stern brother-in-law reading love sonnets was enough to make her wet herself.

But it was also sweet. So sweet that she sobered.

“It looks like I may have misjudged Cullen in the matter of his marriage.”

Bonnie sat up, all traces of humor washing off her face. “He stole her.”

“Yes, but I had never thought to ever see Cullen McJames asking for sonnets.” Anne sent a gentle smile toward her sister. “It proves that he is not intent on merely breaking his new bride’s spirit. He intends to woo her.”

“He still kidnapped her.” Bonnie’s voice rose in her passion to champion Bronwyn’s cause. “Stole her without any regard for her feelings.”

Anne sighed. She and her family had spoiled Bonnie. As the youngest child, they had all allowed Bonnie to remain whimsical when the world was anything but. Bonnie believed in gallant knights who protected the honor of their lady fair. Such was fine for bedtime stories and winter nights when everyone needed diversion, but it was not a way of life. Anne stiffened her spine. The look of righteous anger on her sister’s face was bound to end with young Bonnie in trouble if someone did not crack the shell sheltering her. With their mother in England, the task fell to her.

“Bonnie, you will have to begin growing up now.” Anne kept her voice low but firm. “It is a good match between Cullen and Bronwyn. Even blessed by the king. Marriage is a union best forged for reasons other than affection.”

“But you love Brodick.” Hurt edged Bonnie’s voice. “He rode into Warwickshire to rescue you and—”

“And we are truly blessed, but he courted our marriage because of the gain it would bring him and his clan.”

Bonnie frowned. She stood up, her body quivering with anger. “Well, I shall never allow a man to touch me that I do not love with all my heart. I swear it.”

“Bonnie.” Anne’s reprimand was lost on her sister because Bonnie ran out of the chamber before it passed her lips. Anne sighed. Dear sweet Bonnie. What was she going to do with her sister? At sixteen, the time for maturity was at hand. Anne might wish otherwise, but it was going to be a crushing blow for her sister. Brodick had sent his own sister to Warwickshire for the winter to begin the process of learning to manage a large house. More importantly, to grow confident in herself and learn to live outside her family’s embrace. Such was the expectation of a noble daughter.

Bonnie would have to go next season to some place where she had no family to indulge her whims. It might sound harsh, but it was what made girls into women.

Cullen didn’t arrive at the evening meal. The seat beside her remained empty. She found herself keenly aware of his absence, actually missing him. The others made light attempts to include her in their conversation, but her appetite died anyway.

She tried to finish her meal, actually ordered herself to continue eating. But her stomach refused to obey, the food looking unappetizing.

“Excuse me, please.” With a nod to her host, she left the table. There was an odd pulse of anticipation moving through her that made sitting still difficult.

Would Cullen want her tonight?

She wanted him…

Her cheeks colored, but she could not deny her own thoughts. The little quiver of excitement was moving through her blood like fine wine. She began walking without a destination and ended up at the bath house.

A shudder shook her when she realized how much her body wanted Cullen to have her tonight. Subconsciously she was thinking about it, her instincts guiding her, undermining the things she thought she wanted with the things her body craved.

“A bath is a fine idea, Mistress Bronwyn.” Sybil arrived a bit out of breath. Her hurry sent a shaft of guilt through Bronwyn for making the girl nervous.

“I’m sorry, Sybil, I wasn’t thinking when I left the hall so quickly. I dinna mean to interrupt yer supper.”

Sybil grinned as she began setting one of the tubs for bathing. There was a splash of cold water running into it, although since this was snow that had slid off the kitchen roofs and melted against the hearths that burned all day, it was already warm. The large rain barrels were frozen over and wouldn’t be used until spring. Sterling was quite modern in its bathing facilities.

“Not to worry, Mistress Bronwyn. With such a handsome man awaiting ye, I believe I would be anxious to join him myself.”

“What do ye mean?”

Sybil took a piece of soap from where it was stored. She looked perplexed for a moment. “I told yer husband that yer courses were finished this morning.”

Of course she had.

That was a personal maid’s responsibility, especially considering that Cullen also used Sybil to keep an eye on her when he wasn’t with her.

Her temper surged forward but it collided with the excitement pulsing through her. If she wanted to be angry then she had to aim part of that temper at herself. Cullen was not the only one interested in resuming their marriage bed activities.

She sighed as she sat down in the tub, her new dress set carefully aside. Confusion held her in its grip. Why was it so wrong to crave her husband anyway? Because her father called him enemy? She scoffed at that idea, completely dismissing it.

He’d stolen her…

That was true enough, but she’d been foolishly naïve to think that she would never marry. She was the laird’s daughter. In spite of her father’s determination to hold on to every silver penny he had, it was not beyond the power of the king to see her wed.

Cullen was not a brute, her father had pushed him too far and that was the truth.

She sighed as Sybil rinsed her hair. Cullen would be a fool to not keep track of when her courses ended. Planting a child in her would make their marriage solid.

“Sit by the fire and I’ll brush yer hair out. Won’t ye look lovely with it all flowing down yer back.”

Bronwyn sat down. She lifted her chin and enjoyed the heat of the fire on her back. Sybil drew the brush in long, even strokes down her hair. It was soon a cloud of golden silk, the ends curling gently in the heat from the fire. Each stroke had set her heart rate going a tiny bit faster. Anticipation tightened every muscle. Her dress felt constricting, her breasts slightly swollen behind the new long stays. Remaining still for her hair to dry took more and more self-discipline. The battle was mesmerizing in a way because the more she resisted the urge to go to Cullen, the deeper the longing burrowed into her belly. Her body began to throb gently and she stood up.

“Thank ye, Sybil.”

There was too much light in the outer hall. Darkness seemed to suit her mood. Most of the supper had been cleared away, but with snow on the ground, a good number of retainers sat at the tables passing the time. Some with cards or dice. Several women were playing music at one end of the hall. Even with a few missed notes, it was delightful to hear.

Bronwyn passed through them and conversation died. She captured their attention but this time genuine smiles appeared on their lips. Hands tugged on bonnets while several of the women blew her kisses for good luck.

She suddenly felt like a bride, with all of the happy looks and enjoyment that went along with weddings.

Most importantly, she wanted to go to her bride groom. Joy filled her, urging her forward. Her cheeks flushed, but not because she was horrified by the fact that everyone knew she was going to bed with a man, but instead because she wanted to join him in that bed.

It was sinfully luring, drawing her toward the chamber where she’d known her captor’s touch. Tonight she would enjoy her husband’s.

Cullen was indeed waiting for her, the chamber lit by beeswax candles, the sweet scent of summer honey drifting lightly in the air. There was also rosemary in the air. A very small ceramic pot sat carefully on the table with the dried herb boiling over a candle flame. It was the traditional herb for bridal nights, one that midwives swore increased fertility and passion.

Sybil and the maids following her did not enter the chamber. They remained in the hallway.

“Good night, Mistress Bronwyn.”

Bronwyn didn’t really hear Sybil. She was too distracted by the man waiting for her.

And Cullen was waiting for her.

He was magnificent. Her gaze being drawn to the wide shoulders and his towering height. He wore only his kilt and shirt, the doublet he’d taken to wearing in the cold weather hung up behind him. His bonnet was missing, too, leaving his hair free to softly curl. What drew her attention the most was the way he looked at her. The door closed softly behind her. The moment it thumped against the door frame, he came toward her. His body moving like the powerful animal he was. She’d never considered that watching a man might be as awe inspiring as watching a stallion, but it was.

His gaze roamed over her, lingering on her unbound hair. Reaching out, he fingered it, a soft smile decorating his lips. Without a word he’d managed to make her feel pretty. More beautiful than she ever had in her life. The expression on his face worth far more than her reflection in the mirror.

“Yer beautiful, Bronwyn, so much so, I’m afraid to touch ye for fear ye’ll disappear like a dream.”

Reaching up, she touched his forearm. He had his sleeves caught up near the shoulder. Her fingertips slid lightly along his warm skin, a tiny shiver racing up her arm from the contact.

He drew in a stiff breath.

“The chamber is very lovely.” And he had gone to some trouble on her behalf. That knowledge warmed her heart.

“Aye.” He frowned. “I planned to woo ye properly for a change but I dinna understand these sonnets.”

He picked up a small book from the tabletop, clearly vexed by the verse on the page. “One is lively and the next depressing.”

“Poets are often melancholy. Or so I have heard.” She reached for the book. Taking it from his hand, she closed it gently. “But it was very sweet of ye to fetch this here.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Bronwyn looked down at the table and laid the book on its polished top while trying to hide her amusement.

“Yer laughing at me.”

“Nay. I am not.” She walked away from him, but he followed. It was a teasing chase. She shied backward and he closed the gap every time.

“Aye, ye are. Yer eyes are sparkling.”

Bronwyn shrugged. “I am no laughing at ye.”

“But ye are laughing.” He said it triumphantly and hooked an arm around her. With one more step he closed the remaining distance between them. She gasped when their bodies connected. Sensation rippled down her length, unleashing every urge she’d restrained.

“It’s nae very kind of ye to be amused by my attempts to seduce ye.”

She reached up to stroke his cheek. He narrowed his eyes, enjoyment showing on his face. “I dinna mean to be unkind, but ye have never struck me as the sort of man who uses poetry.”

He snorted, a wicked gleam twinkling in his eyes. “Aye, that is correct, lass.”

He hefted her up and tossed her over his shoulder.

“I’m more of a hands-on sort of man. I love to wrap my fingers around the lass I’m trying to catch.” A soft smack landed on her bottom before he turned in a circle. A dizzy wave of excitement went through her while she grabbed his waist to steady herself.

“Put me down, ye brute.”

“Ah now, I’m getting to that part. But I do enjoy knowing that yer eager for me to place ye on yer back.” He crossed to the bed and tossed her onto it. Bronwyn came up in a tangle of skirts and hair. She scowled at him, her face turning scarlet because she was indeed on her back. It was infuriating but exciting at the same time. Cullen looked too pleased by far.

“Ye’ll ruin my new dress.”

“Not so.” He pushed the blue wool right up to her waist, baring her thighs in one swift motion. “I heard the women complimenting ye on the fine cloth ye wove. Trust me when I say that Sterling wool will hold up to a bit of rolling in the hay.”

“Ye’ll be the one ending up in the stocks if ye keep talking like that.” She had never heard such talk from a man. It was wicked, to be sure, but her clitoris began throbbing again, betraying how much she enjoyed his shocking behavior.

He chuckled at her, a wicked sound of intention that sent a shiver through her.

“It might be worth a bit of time in the stocks if I get to lay down with ye.” He pressed her thighs apart until they were spread wide. “Yer flesh is tempting me to indulge my lust.”

A shiver raced down her spine as the night air brushed against the folds of her flesh. With her skirts raised, she was completely exposed. Cullen hovered over her, using gentle strength to keep her thighs apart when she would have closed them. His attention lowered to her sex, hunger replacing the playful glint in his eyes.

“But I dinna think I’m alone in my desires.”

His fingers slid all the way along the inside of her thighs until they found her tender folds. A whimper crossed her lips when he stroked one fingertip across her clitoris. Pleasure speared up into her passage, her heart increasing its rate. He fingered her again, this time stroking her from clitoris to the opening of her passage. A soft cry left her lips as pleasure erupted inside her. Her eyes closed and her hands fisted in the bedding beneath her.

“Am I, sweet, passionate wife?”

She jerked back up when his mouth touched her sex. Her thighs closed around his head and she tried to push him away.

“Cullen!”

He raised his head to stare into her shocked eyes. Hard determination glittered in his. He pushed her legs wide once more.

He grinned at her. “Ah…have I discovered the way to tame ye, lass?” He pressed his thumb on her clitoris, rubbing it gently. Her breathing became hard, bolts of white-hot delight spearing through her.

“Ye like that, don’t ye?”

There was no way to hide that she did. A moan surfaced from her chest when he lowered his gaze to her spread body. Her eyes went wide but she couldn’t stop herself from watching. She felt his breath on her before the first touch of his lips.

She collapsed back onto the bed, incapable of controlling anything. Her body twitched, jerking in small motions while Cullen sucked her. Never had she even considered that her body could feel such intense pleasure. It burned through her, the flames eagerly licking every inch of her body. Need clawed at her and her passage ached to be filled. Cullen toyed with her clitoris, flicking his tongue across it over and over until sweat dotted her skin. Tension knotted tighter and tighter beneath his lips. She lifted her hips toward him, eager for more.

Abruptly, he raised his head. Bronwyn moaned. The sound wasn’t anything she recognized. It was deep and husky and completely wanton. She wanted him, and lying so submissively made her angry. Pushing up off the bed, she reached for him. He caught her, pulling her into a hard embrace.

She kissed him.

Holding onto the sides of his head, she angled hers so that their lips might meet. He didn’t claim her mouth but followed her, mimicking her motions, allowing her to lead the kiss. She licked his lower lip, urging him to open his mouth. He took command of the kiss the moment her tongue slipped inside his mouth. One hand cupping the back of her head, his fingers gently pulling her hair. Little twinges of pain moved over her scalp but somehow it only added to the heat of the moment. Part of her enjoyed feeling his strength.

But the fabric of his kilt and her skirts prevented her from gaining what she really craved. She groaned, trying to pull at the layers of clothing between them. Cullen chuckled at her frustration.

“Well now, rolling in the hay does take a wee bit of skill. It’s a bit awkward the first time. But I’m rather happy knowing that ye never learned the art of lifting yer skirt for a bit of afternoon pleasure.” He laid her back down on her back and raised his kilt. His cock stood at attention, stiff and swollen.

“Are ye now?” Wasn’t that just like a man to say. “Ye know the art rather well, telling me that ye have done some rolling, but wanted a pure bride.”

He shot her a hard look. “I wanted ye and it dinna stay my course to hear that ye were considered impure. Besides, I dinna know what is wrong with a few spring trysts. It’s a way to know if they will be able to enjoy the winter as man and wife.”

“I dinna want to know how ye know anything about rolling in the hay.” She sounded jealous and realized that she was. “And ye can just tell any woman that ye trysted with last spring that ye are wed now.”

He laughed at her, but reached for her hips and pulled her back onto his lap. This time his cock nudged the slippery folds of her sex, the round head pushing into her passage with ease. He gripped her hips, pulling her toward him until his length was buried inside her.

“Now, why is that, Bronwyn? Are ye jealous?”

“Maybe. I am yer wife.” She clasped her hands around his neck for balance. He lifted her until only the head of his cock was still stretching her passage. It was a sweet torment, waiting for him to lower her again.

He thrust upward at the same time that he lowered her. His cock penetrating in a smooth thrust that made her gasp. Pleasure filled her, the walls of her passage full and satisfied.

“Ah, well then, I suppose I shall have to do my rolling in the hay with ye from now on.”

He tried to sound playful, but need made his voice raspy. His hips thrust harder and faster as his face became drawn.

“I may hope.”

His eyes opened all the way and he stared at her. His hands held her in place, all motion stopping.

“Ye may depend upon it. I’m going to make sure ye yell loud enough with yer pleasure for half of Sterling to hear.”

He lifted her free and sat her away from him. “Now, if yer going to be the lass I’m rolling in the hay, we need to practice a wee bit to make sure we have it right.”

“Are ye daft?”

He winked at her. “I’m a lusty man that wants to dally with ye. Let us hope we don’t get caught.”

A giggle escaped her lips because she’d heard the maids talking about such things. Many a lass and lad rolled in the hay. And many a bride had a plump belly on her wedding day, too.

“What’s the matter, husband? Do ye fear the stocks?”

“I’d stand in them proudly next to ye, lass.”

She pouted at him. “Yer a brute. Aren’t ye supposed to suffer the chastisement while protecting my name?”

He winked. “But it would be yer yelling that would get us caught.” He reached out and fingered her sex, running his finger between the swollen folds to her clitoris. He rubbed the little nub and her breathing became rough. All hints of teasing left her. Need clawed at her, demanding she appease it.

Cullen slipped an arm beneath her hips and turned her over in one swift motion. She flopped onto her belly, pushing her hands against the bedding to rise. Cullen grasped her hips and lifted her bottom until she was poised on her knees.

“Ah, one of my favorite hay positions. Just right for keeping yer skirts out of the way.” He tossed her skirts up to her waist again, making sure to raise the tail of her chemise as well. The cool night air brushed against her bare bottom, sending a shiver through her.

A warm hand cupped one side of her bottom, smoothing over it before delivering a soft slap.

“Cullen…”

He rubbed the spot again, removing the sting. “Ah, yer a hungry one, are ye? No patience for playing, ye want yer maypole dance right now.”

“Cullen McJames.”

He clasped her hips and the folds of his kilt covered her bottom. His cock slid into her again, drawing a moan from her lips.

“What? Isn’t that what the maypole is about? Fertility?”

He thrust in a steady motion behind her, moving the bed with each steady forward thrust. She was losing track of the conversation, her body more than content to sink into the rising tide of pleasure.

“May Day is one of the best days to roll in the hay, Bronwyn. I can’t wait to take ye out to the festival and sneak ye off into the shade to fuck.”

“Um…yes…”

She didn’t care what he said, only that he kept up the hard thrusting behind her. Each time he pushed his length deep, her passage tightened around him, trying to milk his seed from him. Every time he withdrew, she nearly cried for his return. She was too needy, too hungry for the release he’d given her before. She wanted it and she wanted it now.

“Aye, yes is right. I want to hear ye say yes to me over and over.”

He flipped her back over, covering her before she finished bouncing. “Just as I want to see ye lying back with yer thighs open in welcome.” He thrust hard, burying his length in one quick motion. A groan left her lips and then another. Her spine arched and her eyes shut. He moved on her with increasing speed, his cock harder and larger than she remembered. It filled her completely, satisfying her need to be stretched again.

“Aye, lass, let it out. Yell for me.”

With her on her back, his cock slid along her clitoris with each stroke. There was no containing the pleasure inside her, there was too much. She sobbed with delight, clasping him with her thighs and lifting her hips to meet him. It took only a few more thrusts to burst the knot of tension he’d built deep in her belly. It sent intense pleasure racing through her. It drove the breath from her lungs but she dinna care. Cullen ground himself into her a few times more before his seed finally began to pump into her. He gripped her head, holding her in place while pleasure shook them both.

He rolled over onto his back, his breathing as labored as hers was. One hand clasped hers, their fingers interlacing while they panted.

“I meant to seduce ye.”

He sat up, gently pulling her with him. A soft sigh left his lips before he stood up and turned to lift her onto her feet.

“Truly I did.”

He reached for the buttons on her doublet, undoing each one swiftly. “I planned to take yer clothing off, one piece at a time, and pausing to kiss each new patch of skin before I went any further.”

He pulled her doublet down her arms and tossed it aside.

“That’s my new dress yer throwing on the floor for the mice to nest in.”

Bronwyn hurried after her clothing, rescuing it from the floor. A male groan made her turn around but she wasn’t impressed with the look of frustration on Cullen’s face.

“I can’t go to any May Day festival without a dress, ye know.”

He was frowning at her, but she could tell that he was thinking now. Their teasing dropped as his mind identified something he wanted to take issue with. This was the harder side of him, the one who had taken her captive, but she didn’t find it so cold anymore. This was the man who was a warrior. He was only a boy when they played. That was a secret part of him he chose to share with her. It was a gift and one that she suddenly understood the value of.

“I always knew yer father was possessive of his land, but he treated ye poorly.”

It wasn’t a question. Bronwyn turned to hide her expression from him but he cupped her shoulder, making her face him. She raised her chin, refusing to lament who she was.

“My life molded me into who I am. Would ye truly prefer a delicate wife who needed looking after? Yer brother’s wife seems very practical. I dinna see her snapping her fingers at the servants. She works beside them.”

“Anne is that, true enough.” His gaze turned hard. “Her stepmother had her serving in her father’s home afore she was sent to my brother in the place of her noble half-sister. Anne’s life was a poor one and ye are very much like her. Competent, self-reliant, and ye never think to ask for help with anything.”

Her throat tightened just a tiny amount. “I dinna see why it matters. I am healthy and able to see to my own needs. There is no shame in that.”

She turned around in a swish of skirts, moving fast enough to avoid his hand. Placing her doublet on a hook, she took care to hang it correctly, lest the fabric become pulled. Cullen’s hands appeared in front of her, pulling gently on the laces that held her skirts closed. His hard body brushed against her back, surrounding her with security.

“It matters because I ken now that ye were not insulting Sybil when ye said ye dinna need a maid, and ye weren’t trying to escape me.”

Her waistband loosened and he reached into the opening to untie her hip roll.

“I told ye that I’d never had a maid before.” And she didn’t care for how hurt her words sounded.

“Aye, ye did. But it appears that I was nae listening to ye, only making assumptions on what I thought I knew of ye.” The hip roll dropped down her legs and her skirts were simple to push over the curve of her hips.

“We both have to learn to trust one another.”

Cullen didn’t let her step out of her skirts on her own. He began unlacing her new corset from the front, his fingers dipping in to tease the swells of her breasts.

“I won’t let ye go without, Bronwyn. Dinna fret about that. There are plenty of hands who can see to sewing clothes for ye with the snow drifting outside the walls.”

“They have sewing of their own to do. I’ll see to myself.”

He sighed. Her long stays were open and he pulled them down her arms. They landed on a hook and one second later he’d pulled her chemise up her body and over her head. She felt the wool of his plaid against the back of her bare thighs and quivered, suddenly aware of the fact that she was nude.

“I will see to ye, Bronwyn, even if the person I need to convince most is ye. But there is something to be said for learning how to make the people around ye feel needed. Wear some cloth woven by a McJames woman’s hand and there will be more smiles aimed yer way because they dinna think ye believe yerself too good for what they produce. Even if ye are a fine weaver.” He scooped her up, cradling her against his wide chest. There was a solemn look on his face that made her shiver. He placed her in his bed, standing at the foot of it, watching her pull the covers up with his keen eyes.

“That is a good idea.” She should have thought of it, too, but had never had the option to choose before. She did it herself or went without. Sewing her own dresses had become her duty since she was small, each winter spent in the work rooms of Red Stone along with the other women.

“Perhaps it’s a good thing that it’s winter. That gives us plenty of long cold nights to learn about one another.”

He turned around and undressed. He laid his plaid on the table in even pleats with the belt beneath it so that it was ready in the event of the bells being rung. He snuffed out the candles before coming to bed.

In the dark, he was everything she needed. His hands warm and his kiss potent. She returned his embrace, stroking his warm skin. In the dark there was no suspicion. The clan plaids were not visible. Cullen rolled her beneath him, her thighs parting in welcome. This time their pace was slow and even, the pleasure building in a steady rise until it poured pleasure over them.

“I hope it’s a long winter, lass.”

“As do I.”

His arm held her while the sound of his heart lured her off to sleep.

He would take care of her.

Cullen remained awake long after his bride surrendered to slumber. He didn’t want to miss the moments when she was content in his arms. He wanted to savor it, smell the sweet scent of her skin, and enjoy the way she clung to him.

Every reason he had for bending her to his will evaporated. There was only the knowledge that she had come to him with her hair flowing down her back.

Come to him as his bride…

It was a gift that humbled him. It also filled his heart with tenderness.

There was still much to do the next day. Bronwyn rose early and set to work on another dress. This time she chose a brick red that Gerty had woven. The older woman couldn’t hide the pleased expression that crept across her face.

“Ye’ve got good taste.”

“For a McQuade?”

A few gasps filled the workroom but they were followed by amused giggles when Bronwyn smiled at Gerty. The older woman grinned, and wrinkles appeared around her eyes.

“Well, I’m pleased to see ye have a sense of humor. I was a bit concerned about that. Indeed I was.” She propped a hand on her hip. “Nothing worse than a winter spent working with a sullen girl nearby.”

Many heads nodded. Everyone knew what it was like to suffer the sharp side of a tongue. When it was winter, no one wanted a shrew assigned to where they were spending the chilly days.

“Excuse me, Mistress Bronwyn.”

Bronwyn turned around in a swish of blue wool to face one of Cullen’s captains. She recognized the man now; he was often at Cullen’s side. He inclined his head toward her, tugging quickly on the corner of his bonnet.

“Would ye come with me, ma’am? The earl and his brother would see ye in the armory.”

It wasn’t really a question, in spite of the cordial tone he used. Two more burly retainers stood behind the man, their eyes on her.

“Of course.”

The captain looked beyond her at Sybil. “Ye may stay here.”

Sybil looked torn for a moment, but sat back down and took up her work once more.

“I shall show ye the way, Mistress Bronwyn.”

The captain turned and left the work room, but he waited in the hallway, watching her. Tension returned to her shoulders, knotting between them. The two retainers fell into step behind her. The captain led the way, the sword strapped to his back a blunt reminder of the harsh world outside Sterling’s walls. Peace reigned inside, but it was enforced by the men who defended the McJames stronghold with their lives. Order was necessary or there would be suffering. Sterling was built to ensure safety of the clan. The members of it had helped raise the walls. Along the hallways there were archer cuts in the windows in case the yard was breached. Brass bells were hung from the stone every few hundred feet to be used if help was needed in a hurry.

It was a fine home, to be sure.

They took her to the great hall and past it to the next tower. Armor was stored on the floor level of this keep. Helmets lined the room, set up on wooden stands. There were also arming jerkins made of leather with small rings of metal sewn into them. Even full chain mail shirts were in view. The sound of the blacksmiths working made it through the windows here, a steady clang of metal against metal.

This was where the men held their meetings. It was a place the women of Sterling didn’t venture unless invited. Hard decisions were made here, many times ruthless ones. A plain wood table sat near the far wall with benches and chairs gathered around it. Brodick McJames sat there with Cullen and their cousin Druce. Bronwyn stared at the laird of White Tower. She hadn’t seen the man since riding away toward Sterling on the day of her wedding.

All three men stopped talking when they saw her. Their attention lingered on her as the captain led her toward them. A tingle went down her neck and the final few paces felt excessively long.

“Yer brothers have proposed coming to visit ye.” Brodick McJames spoke quietly, his tone betraying his apprehension.

Surprise held her silent. Cullen aimed a hard stare at her.

“They claim that yer father was the one who wanted to keep our clans fighting.”

“That is true enough.” She had listened to her father curse the name McJames her entire life.

Brodick frowned. “True that only yer father wanted strife?”

She suddenly felt stretched between the two clans. Born McQuade but wed to a McJames. Cullen didn’t care for her silence.

“Are yer brothers honorable men, Bronwyn?”

The question hung over her. Cullen watched her with suspicion, once more rubbing her temper. Once again she was McQuade and he McJames. But there was still a hope burning in her heart that they didn’t have to be separated by the names they were born with. It flickered deep inside her, refusing to die under the suspicious gazes slicing into her, last night’s memory rising up to defend him in the face of her temper. Besides, they had faced her father over drawn swords. Truly, she could not blame them for being suspicious when those same men asked to enter their home.

“My brother Keir is an honorable man. That is all I can tell ye for sure. Liam and Sodac were ever my father’s sons. I dinna know them well.”

The three men relaxed slightly and looked at one another. The earl nodded toward her. “Thank ye.”

It was a dismissal. Bronwyn lowered herself before leaving. Before she rose, Cullen aimed his attention at her. His expression was a stone mask, concealing his feelings from her. But there was a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes that sent a ripple of apprehension down her back. He would use her against her clan; she saw the truth of it reflected in his eyes.

Turning her back on him, she strode out of the room. The captain and his men stayed behind, conversation resuming as she left. She found herself alone for the first time in a week.

And clothed.

Temptation needled her but she was torn.

Liam and Sodac had never been kind to her. Their ugly accusations rose from her memory on that first day she had met Cullen. Returning to their judgment seemed a rather poor choice.

Staying just might be a poor idea as well. The clang of the blacksmiths told her where the stable was. She moved toward a doorway and caught sight of a man working glowing red iron on an anvil. A young stable lad held a horse nearby. The doors here were kept wide open during the day. It gave her a perfect opportunity to step into the yard. Plenty of people were moving around; she might slip away without notice.

But tears stung her eyes as she looked at the open gates. She actually backed away because it hurt to think of leaving.

She ran into a hard body.

A soft cry bounced off the wall, her body fighting against the arms that enclosed her.

“Shh, lass. Easy now.”

A sob passed her lips. Relief surged through her thickly, so that she turned and hit him for frightening her so.

“Ye brute.”

He hugged her close, trapping her arms against his chest. Raising her chin, she glared at him, but ended up feeling the tears ease from her eyes when she looked into his gaze. Approval shone there. So bright it sent more tears onto her cheeks. Cullen brushed them away with gentle hands.

“I had to follow ye, lass.” His voice was rough with emotion. “But I dinna mean to frighten ye.”

“I told ye before, Cullen McJames, I am no afraid of ye.”

His expression softened. He stroked the side of her face with a warm hand, sending little prickles of delight through her. “Why aren’t ye, Bronwyn? I’ve done more than enough to earn yer fear.”

She pushed against his chest, but he didn’t release her. “I just don’t. My father hated ye enough, don’t ye think? Do ye enjoy knowing there are people who dislike ye?”

“I enjoy knowing that ye do not dislike me. That ye are nae afraid of me in spite of having good reason to be.”

“Ye have never hurt me…” Her words were soft and almost too quiet to hear.

A satisfied smile appeared on his lips. She stared at it because she had pleased him. Knowing it, sent a shaft of deep satisfaction through her. He reached out and stroked a hand across her cheek.

“Trust is nae something I could ever take from ye, Bronwyn. It’s a gift and one I truly value.”

He’d earned it…

Her trust. There had been plenty of times when he could have used his strength to force her into yielding. That was the truest test of honor. Cullen had prevailed, proving himself a man worthy of respect.

“Even with my father dead, I doubt this marriage will bring ye much gain.” Bronwyn heard the disappointment in her own voice. “I am sorry for that.”

“I’m not.” Firm conviction coated his voice. “I wanted ye the first time I met ye.”

“But that is no what ye should marry for.”

His lips curled up into a broader smile. “Is that sweet affection I hear in yer words?”

“No. I just understand that ye will be disappointed. My elder brothers are very much like my father.”

Cullen raised a single finger. “But why do ye care if I’m nae happy?”

Uncertainty held her silent.

She wasn’t sure.

Wasn’t sure why it pleased her to know that he thought she harbored affection for him. Only that her heart was full of happiness for the first time in what felt like years.

There was activity outside in the yard. The blacksmith halted his work and she heard men running. Cullen sighed, his arms tightening momentarily.

“We’ll have to discuss our trust issues later. Yer brothers are here.”

“Now?” He held her in spite of her squirming. His keen eyes watching her.

“Aye, they sent the message from outside the gates. I must admit it was surprising to see McQuade retainers in the light of day on McJames land.”

“As am I…” She spoke without thinking. But his eyes brightened and it was a sight that warmed her heart. She couldn’t say just why, only that earning his approval made her happy. He was not a man who gave it out; it had to be earned.

But as soon as it appeared, it vanished. Cullen frowned, his expression becoming guarded once more. His arms opened.

“I suppose I’d be a true blackguard to be angry over your joy at knowing yer family is here.”

But he was, there was no mistaking it in his voice. She chewed on her lower lip debating her next words. It was the truth that she did not trust Liam or Sodac. Cullen was allowing them into Sterling because of her. Responsibility weighed her shoulders down. A captive wouldn’t have cared about what befell those who imprisoned her.

The weight bearing down on her shoulders was unmistakable.

“Keir.” Her voice was choppy. “I only miss Keir. He is a good man, Cullen. I swear that.”

Cullen’s face tightened. “Only the one, ye say?”

Let her father haunt her, she would not lie just because Cullen was a McJames. He was a good man who deserved honesty.

“Keir will keep his word. If he gives it, he keeps it.”

The bells began ringing, alerting every person at Sterling of the approaching threat. Cullen stiffened. In a swift motion he drew her back against his body, his mouth claiming hers in a searing kiss that was hot and needy. Her hands slipped up his chest to his neck to hold him, her lips moving in unison with his. She forgot about everything except the man holding her. In his embrace there was pleasure and security without the harsh, cutting edge of reality.

Someone cleared their throat loudly. Cullen lifted his head, a scowl on his face.

“So sorry to interrupt ye.”

Brodick McJames didn’t sound repentant. Not a bit. He smirked at his brother but offered her a kind smile. “Sorry, lass, I’m just repaying me brother for a bit of teasing he put me through with my own bride.”

“Damn poor time for ye to recall that.”

“I’m thinking it’s a fine time considering we’ve got McQuades riding through our gate. We’d best get out there and set an example for the men or we’ll find our wives needing permission to visit us in prison when Jamie clamps us in irons for allowing a melee.”

Bronwyn turned to look out the doorway. Liam, Sodac, and Keir sat atop their horses in the middle of the yard. It felt almost like a dream but they were there as sure as she was in Cullen’s arms.

Her siblings stared at her, the open doorway making it simple for them to see her. Liam and Sodac scowled at her. Keir’s face was unreadable.

“I detest yer ruthlessness, Cullen, ’tis a fact I do.”

He didn’t release her quickly. The arms holding her against him remained firmly around her waist until she looked back into his eyes. Determination burned there, so bright it could have blinded her.

“Be that as it is, Bronwyn, but ye are my wife.”

And he intended to make sure her clan knew it. She should have blushed. The few McQuade men with her brothers frowned deeply at her but her face didn’t heat.

She pushed away from Cullen but couldn’t escape the reason she wasn’t blushing. It was simple, she wasn’t ashamed. Her craving for him overwhelmed her sense of clan loyalty.

But he was her husband, too.

Keir swung off his horse first, giving up the position of height. It was a gesture of trust, one the McJames retainers watching him didn’t miss. There was a ripple of approval from the McJames men as Keir walked through to reach her. Tension was thick between the men behind her and her brother. Keir paused at the bottom of the steps, sweeping her with his eyes. With a nod he climbed up until he was facing off with Cullen and Brodick.

A hard hand grasped her wrist, keeping her beside Cullen. Short of jerking against his hold, she was stuck in place.

“It looks like marriage agrees with ye.” Keir sounded tired. More so than she could ever recall.

“It does.” Cullen answered too quickly and far too boastfully for her taste. Her brother frowned.

“I’ll hear that from my sister if ye don’t mind.”

“I mind.”

“Enough.” She jerked on her arm and stumbled between the two men before they too got to quarreling. “This marriage is meant to end the fighting so don’t ye two go picking at one another and quarrelling.”

Keir stared at her, one dark eyebrow twitching up. He suddenly smirked at Cullen. “Well now, it’s good to know ye aren’t cowering at his feet.” Keir’s face darkened. “I’d have to quarrel over that.”

There was silence for a moment before Cullen spoke.

“Is that a fact, McQuade?”

“It is, McJames. My sister is a McQuade and I couldna have her acting like anything else.”

Cullen nodded. “I can live with that.”

Keir grunted. Brodick and Cullen both seemed to understand what the single sound meant. Bronwyn stared out at her other brothers. Liam and Sodac had still not given up their horses. Liam noticed her attention first and his lip curled in disgust. A tingle of foreboding went down her back.

She trusted Keir, only Keir.