In The Warrior’s Bed by Mary Wine
Chapter Thirteen
1603
The court of James of Scotland was pensive. As winter held the country in its grip, rumors of the impending death of the English queen circulated. Elizabeth Tudor was ill and every rider who approached the court was cause for attention. She had ruled longer than any other monarch—both English and Scot—but her time was near. She would do one last thing with her death, and that was to unite two countries that had warred with one another for centuries. James Stuart would wear the crown of both countries, making it one.
Bronwyn set up house in the McJames city house while her husband awaited permission to attend court.
“Mistress Bronwyn, the tailor is come to see ye.” Sybil lowered herself before shepherding in a party of men all intent on staring at her. Assistants followed them, their arms heavy with bolts of fabric. There were French silks and damasks, rare velvet, and costly brocades. Bobbin lace and trims that must have taken months of work to make were laid out for her inspection.
“I dinna need such things.” But her voice lacked conviction. She reached out to touch one silk, too tempted by its luxury to resist feeling it at least once.
“I need them.” Cullen spoke from the doorway, drawing a sigh from the tailor and his entourage. His blue eyes met hers across the space of the dining room. “I’ve a great need to escort ye into court dressed as finely as a lady of Sterling should be.” He closed the distance and grasped her hand. Rising it to his lips, he placed a soft kiss on the back of it that sent heat into her cheeks. His keen stare focused on the crimson stain for a moment. “We’ve a history to repeat.”
“And what do ye mean by that?”
Her husband winked before turning to toss a small bag onto the table. It landed in the middle of the fabric with a clink that was unmistakable. The tailor’s eyes lit up at the sound of gold.
“Why, to promote gossip, dear wife. We must give the wagging tongues something new to report about us. Think of the commotion we shall cause if ye stroll by my side with a smile on yer lips.”
“Ye are being naughty.”
He reached out and tugged some of her hair. A frown appeared on his face when Sybil’s braiding kept his hand from gaining anything but a few wisps. His gaze returned to hers. “Hmm, I’ll have to finish this tonight.” There was a twinkle in his eye that sent a shiver down her spine.
She did enjoy the way the man kept his word…
He paused in the doorway and shot the tailor a stern look. “Something befitting a new bride. We are summoned in two days.”
Brute…
Her lips curved into a smile as she thought the word. Aye, Cullen McJames was indeed an arrogant brute. But he was much more than that, too. He was a caring husband who provided well for her and his people. There was honor in him and she found that more attractive than anything else. Honor would never age, it would shine forever.
She followed her husband into the great receiving hall of the Scottish court two days later. Her gown shimmered in the candlelight, the silk rustling with every step. Lace fans snapped open as they passed, the whispers rising in volume.
James Stuart awaited them with his queen. Princess Elizabeth stood near her mother, smiling with the contentment of childhood. But Bronwyn hesitated in the aisle before they made it to the end where her king was receiving. A familiar face caught her attention. Bishop Shaman nodded his head toward her from across the way.
“So yer bishop is here as well, I see.”
Cullen’s face flushed a tiny bit. “Jamie made me promise that ye’d wed me willingly. He’ll want a witness for that.”
“Is that so?” She narrowed her eyes.
Cullen grinned like a boy once more. “Are ye no even impressed with my cunning?”
“Yer a brute.”
“Aye, but I keep my promises.” He pulled her closer, uncaring for the rise in conversation as he placed a soft kiss on her lips right in public. “And I promise to love ye, Bronwyn McQuade. Until the day I die.”
“Now that is something I plan to hold ye to.”
“I hope so, lass. I truly do.”
Love…insanity or not, it was perfection.
