In The Warrior’s Bed by Mary Wine

Chapter Three

Sterling

“Iswear to God, if I never lay eyes on another royal messenger, I’ll die a happy man.” Cullen took a seat next to his brother at the head table at Sterling. Brodick had taken to eating at the high table only after bringing his son home. It was something he agreed with. The table had been the place where he and his own father broke bread together. It was not to be used but by a family. As unwed bachelors, he and his brother had supped with the men at the lower tables.

Brodick shot him a glare. “I agree with ye, Cullen. But it seems these messengers are looking for ye.”

Cullen looked at the four men once more. They wore Jamie’s colors but they were far better behaved than the last set to sit at a Sterling table. “Is that so?”

“It is.” Brodick ripped a round of bread in half. He tore one in half again and handed a quarter of it to his wife. Anne sat with her son gurgling happily on one knee. Brendan was busy chewing on a knotted linen cloth but his eyes were bright and interested in everything going on around him.

“Well, Jamie can wait until I’ve eaten.” Cullen reached into the center of the table to stab a piece of roast lamb with his dirk. The idea of running off to do the king’s bidding wasn’t sitting on his mind very well. Now that Brodick was wed with a family, it looked as though their king was turning his demands onto him.

Marrying was looking better and better, especially when he considered the snow threatening to fly outside. Jamie’s court was a two-day ride from Sterling.

The face of his McQuade lass came to mind. He indulged his imagination for a moment as he chewed. But he chuckled as he considered what it would take to bring the girl to his bed. Since she was a McQuade, he’d have to steal her. Beneath his kilt, his cock throbbed softly, applauding that idea. The sensible part of his mind argued against it. If she were a McKorey or McAlister, tossing her across his saddle might serve since in time there might be happiness for both families.

But nay for a McQuade.

If he stole her, she’d never see her family again. That was a cruelty he’d rather not inflict on anyone, even for his own clan’s gain. But he knew well that there were many men who did not share such a soft spot for the feelings of their stolen brides. In Scotland, weddings were often quick and shrouded in threats to get the bride to kneel in front of the altar.

“I hope the king does not call ye back to court, Cullen.”

Anne’s English accent jerked him away from thoughts of stealing a bride. What he needed to do was settle on a lass who would bring the clan something. As the laird’s brother, he needed to marry a girl who came with a good dowry, or at least powerful connections.

Now, if she happened to be Bronwyn McQuade…

He shook his head to shake the idea loose. She’d been wearing a common wool dress. His own sister was clothed better and she had no affection for clothing at all. But the royal messengers suddenly drew a second glance from him. Most lasses did not venture out so far alone, not in a land where raiding was as common as kilts. Now, a laird’s daughter might be so bold. With her father away at court, there was no one to tell her nay.

And she had refused to tell him her name…

“What does Bronwyn McQuade look like?”

The table went silent for a moment. His cousin, Druce, looked at Brodick and he shrugged.

Druce titled his head. “I don’t suppose any of us really know. The rumors run from pitifully ugly to beauty worthy of a prince.”

“Why do ye want to know?” Brodick asked the question quietly. Too quietly for Cullen’s taste.

“I’m just thinking.”

Druce grinned and it made Cullen want to fight. He could not explain it but the idea of any man poking fun at his McQuade lass sparked his temper.

“Since ye both seem to think I should marry her, I thought to ask what she looks like.”

Druce chuckled. “Well, it’s a fair bet ye won’t get the chance to court her any too much.”

Cullen glared at his cousin. “McKorey has a pair of sisters, too. Either would make a fine wife, bringing the McKoreys closer to the McJames.”

“Aye, if ye’ve a taste for fashionable ladies. Those two are serving Queen Anne as maids of honor. Better brush up on yer dancing and posy reading if ye plan to wed one of them.”

“Isn’t it time ye took a bride, Druce? Ye aren’t getting any younger.” Cullen pointed at Druce. “I’m nae the only one who should think of securing a new connection for the McJames.”

His cousin bristled and Brodick laughed. “Now that’s a truth.”

Druce grumbled but it was no more than the normal fun they all poked at one another. The only person at the table that didn’t join in the banter was Anne’s younger sister Bonnie. The girl was always quiet, her eyes watching as keen as a falcon’s. At sixteen, she sat in her brother-in-law’s house instead of her father’s because she was wed by proxy to a violent man. The marriage had been arranged by Anne’s father’s noble wife in an attempt to force Anne to return to England before her son was born, so that Brodick might never know that Anne was not the noblewoman’s daughter whom he had wed. Anne and Bonnie were the children of the Earl of Warwickshire’s mistress, that the man loved full well. Even though the noblewoman was now dead, the proxy marriage stood firm in the eyes of the law. So Bonnie stayed on McJames land, well out of the reach of her husband.

Her attention was on him, and Cullen stared back at her. A tingle shot down his spine, but he was used to it now. Bonnie had the sight. Anne went to great lengths to conceal it, but there was no denying the way the girl looked straight into his soul. There were also only so many times that anyone might be right about the future. Bonnie had surpassed that the first two months she’d been at Sterling. But he understood why his sister-in-law tried to keep it hidden. There were men in the church who saw such sight as mark of the devil.

Bonnie spoke to him in a low tone. “You need to go to court.”

The table went quiet. Bonnie bit into her lower lip when she noticed how much attention her words gained. But her blue eyes were still focused on him.

“Then I’ll go.”

He felt another ripple of sensation travel along his spine. Bonnie looked at the tabletop, severing their connection. Her meal sat half eaten but she rose to her feet and offered them all a curtsy before turning and leaving. His own appetite fled as the feeling wrapped tightly around him. His McQuade lass rose once more to capture his full attention. Her face so vivid in his mind, he was sure he could reach out and touch her cheek. There had to be over a thousand women wearing McQuade colors, but he was certain that she was Bronwyn. Not many could ride simply for pleasure. Her father had money or she would never have been out on such a fine horse. He felt it in his gut, and the tingle that had gone down his back turned into a burning desire to find her. Standing up, he looked at his brother and cousin.

“I’m going to court.” He shot a look at Druce. “Maybe I’ll come back with permission to wed Bronwyn McQuade.”

His cousin snorted. “That wouldna do ye any good. I hear tell she’s never been off her father’s land.”

Cullen tilted his head, considering his brother. “Well then, I suppose that’s all the more reason for me to ask Jamie what he thinks of the idea. It’s a fair bet I won’t be gaining her father’s blessing on the match.”

Her father be damned. He was tired of the raids, and marrying his enemy’s daughter was a tradition that went back longer than any other they knew.

Of course, he’d have to steal her, but turning the tables on McQuade sounded right fine to him.

Brodick lifted a hand and pointed at him. “We’ll talk after ye have that permission from the king. I dinna need Jamie breathing fire on me because ye’ve decided to give McQuade a taste of raiding.”

Druce looked disappointed but Cullen felt twice as much so. His brother aimed a harsh look at him. But it was nothing personal. Brodick was doing his best to make sure the McJames people prospered. He shared that ideal.

Which was why he was going to court.

And he was coming home with permission to wed Bronwyn McQuade.

Her father be damned.

Cullen wasn’t planning on waiting. His mind was racing too fast to consider sleeping and starting for Jamie’s court at dawn. It wasn’t the first time he’d ridden out at night. His blood was hot, singing with the need to move.

He forced himself to take the time to inspect his sword. Pulling it from its leather scabbard, he eyed it critically. ’Twas a job that he never rushed. The weapon had served him well in many a battle. Making sure it was fit was a priority.

He did feel as though he was heading toward a conflict. His muscles were tight and his mind intently focused. He could practically hear his own heart beat.

After sheathing the sword, he shrugged into a leather doublet before hooking the sword to his back. The thick leather was dyed dark brown and quilted with small iron pieces between the leather and the wool lining. The doublet was designed to keep a blade from slicing into his body. Tonight it would also keep the winter chill off his skin. His kilt was belted firmly around his waist and his boots rose to just below his knees. Good leather lined with sheep’s skin with the wool still attached. Tugging a knitted bonnet onto his head, he turned around and took his gauntlets up off the table.

Snuffing the candle, he walked into the hallway. A set of stairs allowed him to descend to the ground floor of the keep. Sterling had six towers in all with thick walls connecting each one together. Tin lanterns were always kept burning on the first floor of the keeps and every thirty feet along the walls. The tin shell had cuts in it to let the light out but the metal kept the fire hazard minimal. A lone figure stood near the door that let out onto the yard. A skirt telling him it was a female. A few more steps and he recognized young Bonnie.

That flare of sensation twisted in his gut again. She watched him, holding a square parcel that looked like a small pillow.

“You should take this with you.” With only the lantern light, her voice took on a mystical quality. But the night often seemed alive with things the church told him not to listen to. He’d learned long ago to respect the night because a wise man kept all his senses open or he ended up dead.

“What is it?”

Bonnie shook her head and offered it to him. “You will need it after you leave court. Leave it wrapped until then.”

The bundle was soft. Bonnie had wrapped it in soft wool and even sewn the edges tightly closed. She watched him grip it firmly. “Do not forget to place it in your riding bag, else you will forget it.”

His brow furled as he tried to understand what the girl was hinting at. She shook her head but a small grin decorated her face.

“Och now, look at ye, teasing me when I’ve got a cold night of riding ahead.”

Bonnie laughed, soft and delicately. “You are not cold because you feel the pull, too.”

Cullen sobered. ’Tis a truth that I do, lass.”

Bonnie lifted a hand, waving to him. “Safe journey, Cullen.”

His horse was already waiting in the yard. Cullen stared at it, and his cousin. Druce tossed the reins toward him, keeping his own in a tight grip.

“When did I invite ye to join me?”

Druce mounted and flashed him a cocksure grin. “Ye dinna. ’Course I always said ye were a slow wit.”

“And I always said ye talk too much.”

Druce kneed his horse to follow when Cullen took to the road. Retainers followed them in a steady flow of horses and men. Druce’s men following his cousin, and Cullen’s men following him. His brother might be the earl, but Cullen was not without titles of his own. He remained at Sterling because they were stronger together. He really wasn’t surprised to find Druce waiting for him. His father and Druce were brothers so his cousin had been raised with the same sense of family that he and Brodick shared. They were all McJames and that was what made them powerful. Druce had his own lands and title but he didn’t hide on his estate wallowing in his station. The McJames were stronger because Druce refused to take his holding, and separate from the rest of the family. Cullen followed the same example. His land would always be McJames land.

And he was off to claim a bride who would benefit the clan. Of course, he was looking forward to it.

And that was a fact.

McQuade town house, Edinburgh

“Yer to attend court with us today.”

Liam announced his father’s wishes with a voice that lacked the normal tone of superiority she was accustomed to hearing from her sibling. It oddly sounded like her brother valued her this morning. Or pitied her. Having been ignored for a fortnight, she discovered that she enjoyed the lack of interest in her. Going back to court held no appeal, not with the slicing tongue sure to greet her there. As the days had dragged on, she’d hoped her father was satisfied with his vengeance.

Clearly he wasn’t.

“That makes no sense to me.” Bronwyn didn’t care if Liam took exception to her words. Returning to the royal hall held no appeal for her. Better to let her father do as he would without her witnessing it. She could not change what blood flowed in her veins after all, and she didn’t need to dislike herself.

“Be ready to leave within the hour.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse. But Liam remained, silently waiting for her to speak. The flicker of expectation in his eyes made her still the words before they got past her lips. At least she might keep him guessing at her true thoughts. A small thing but it was the only one in her control. Liam finally broke as the silence stretched out.

“Within the hour.”

“So ye said already.”

He grunted and stomped out of her doorway. A little wave of satisfaction washed through her. Her sibling was so easy to manipulate. Somehow she doubted that Liam would enjoy knowing that she felt that way. Which was why she enjoyed it so much.

But the feeling did not last.

Returning to court sent a wave of nausea through her. The half-eaten porridge in front of her lost its appeal instantly. Rising from her chair, she left the table in the small kitchen. Climbing back up the stairs to her room, she found a brush sitting on the table. A pitcher and washbasin had arrived as well. Linen and soap were placed neatly beside the basin.

She could thank the maid for such niceties. It was for certain that her father knew nothing of it, else she’d be fetching her own.

With a sigh she poured water into the basin. There was no point in being bitter. Life was not fair, and men were greedy. Her mother had taught her that. The Laird McQuade did not part with his gold, not even for a daughter. Done with washing her face, she enjoyed the feel of clean skin. The soap was plain with only a hint of rosemary for good luck, but it cleansed the dirt away, leaving her refreshed. Picking up the brush, she tended to her hair. When it was neat and braided once more, she reached for the door. She would not linger in the room. Her father might say many things about her, but Bronwyn McQuade was not a coward. She knew the truth of her own virtue, so she would hold her chin steady.

Cullen didn’t waste time. He stopped at the McJames city house just long enough to wash the road dust from his body. The servants scurried to heat water and pull a clean doublet out of a chest for him. Neither he nor Brodick had any true liking for court so the staff dinna expect him, but they were always ready. A good wool doublet, made to his measurements, was kept on hand along with a shirt and clean kilt. It was constructed of smooth, russet wool and set with silver buttons. There were boots that didn’t have the dirt from the road clinging to them A new bonnet, and pinned to the side was a broach with the McJames arms. He shaved his three days of beard off with the aid of a mirror.

When he entered the royal hall he remembered why he didn’t care for court. Nobles watched him, their lips moving as they muttered some cutting remark to the man standing beside them. He didn’t even bother to give them the benefit of the doubt, they were no saying anything kind. That was court, full of intrigue and suspicion. Gossip fueled the ambitions of most of the velvet-clad men. They looked like actors on the stage in their slashed silk hose and puffy pants that no real Scot needed. Most of the men had more jewels sewn to their court costumes than the woman wore in their jewelry.

He was quite content in his kilt and wool doublet. Pretty trimmings and shinny baubles were for women, not a man who often had to use a sword to defend his land. Some of the pants worn by the court men were so overstuffed, they had to stand in carefully posed positions. A few even had lace-edged handkerchiefs dangling from their gloved fingertips.

Fops. Half of them had boy lovers.

The ladies were just as repulsive to him. White powder covered their faces until one couldn’t see what color their skin was. Thick red rouge colored their cheeks and lips. Some wore black “patches” on their skin in the shape of tiny stars or crescent moons. Their dresses were huge piles of lavish fabrics strapped to them over steel and wire so everything that he found pleasing about the female body was pushed into another shape. The only thing he did see was their breasts. The necklines of their court dresses were low and square cut. Their stiff corsets pushed their soft breasts up until the flesh looked hard and ready to burst from their bodices.

He far preferred Bronwyn as she’d looked riding…

The thought made him clench his teeth. No woman should be able to take command of his thoughts when he had not even tasted her kiss.

Yet…

He snorted in frustration. ’Twas becoming irritating, it was. There were other lasses who would make fine brides for him, too. Since he was at court, maybe he should take a look at some of them.

“Young McJames, I did no expect to see ye back this year.” Alarik McKorey offered his hand in greeting. Neighbors on the southern side of McJames property, the man was a long-time ally against the McQuades. He also wore good Scottish wool without the elaborate trim and jewels. It was a welcome sight among the sea of presumptuous status seekers.

“I decided that both yer lovely sisters were too far away from me.”

McKorey’s sister Raelin peered over her lace fan at him. Her face wasn’t painted, only a touch of color on her lips. It made for a refreshing sight that earned her a smile from his lips. Aye, here was a woman who would bring a good connection if he married her.

“Good day to ye, Raelin.”

Her eyes narrowed in distaste before she gripped her sister’s arm and tugged her away from him. Alarik shot them a hard look.

“What goes on here, Alarik? I dinna know I’d offended yer sisters.” And it appeared that whatever his sin was, everyone around him knew it because there were whispers aplenty.

“I told them to reserve their judgment until yer side of the tale was voiced.” Alarik offered him a hard look. “I know the McQuades have been a thorn in yer side too long.”

“What are ye talking about, man? I’ve no done anything that I need my friends to make excuses for.”

Alarik didn’t answer. He looked past Cullen as another wave of whispers rippled across the courtiers. Turning around he gazed at the face he’d seen one too many times in his memory. A flare of satisfaction burned through him as he confirmed his suspicions. She stood next to McQuade, confirming that she was his daughter.

But her face was pale.

Cullen stared at the ashen shade and her bloodless lips. She held them tightly clamped together. Her chin trembled but only a tiny amount, so small he’d have missed it if he wasn’t staring at her so intently. It was a stark contrast to the memory he held of her. His temper stirred as he watched the way her brothers looked at her; it was far from kind.

She wore no powder or paint. Only a good wool dress that buttoned up to her neck. There were creases where it had been folded back when it warmed up in the afternoons. At court such ware was misplaced almost as much as her somber expression. Even his own doublet had been pressed so that it didn’t look like he’d appeared in front of his king fresh from the road.

The whispers in the room became louder as people noticed his attention on her. Bronwyn turned and found him. Her eyes widened when she saw him. Heat erupted throughout his body. It was instant and undeniable. The only thing that made it endurable was the small flicker he watched emerge in Bronwyn’s eyes. The whispers in the hall increased, cutting through his fascination with her.

“Maybe the king will force them to wed…”

“She’s soiled…”

“Why marry what he’s already had…”

Cullen shot a look at Alarik. “What nonsense goes on here?”

McKorey leaned in closer. “McQuade accused ye of using his daughter.”

Cullen’s gaze shot back toward Bronwyn. His temper erupted but it was laced with desire so thick he wasn’t sure what he felt. It took every shred of self-discipline he owned to remain standing still. Every fiber of his being wanted to close the distance so that he could hear Bronwyn tell him with her own lips what he’d done.

Like father…like child…

Did she really hate him enough to blacken her own reputation with such a lie? Her brothers would, he believed that without a doubt.

“Make way for the king!”

The whispers ceased abruptly. Cullen turned to find Jamie striding toward him. The courtiers all lowered themselves. When his king halted in front of him, he inclined his head in deference as well.

“Cullen McJames, my friend. I am pleased to see ye.”

The tongues didn’t start wagging until the king and Cullen McJames made it far enough down the carpet not to hear what was being said clearly.

Bronwyn did.

She set her mind to not caring but her pride refused to obey her wishes. Pain slashed through her. Her father offered her no mercy. He stood steady as she was forced to endure the public display. He finally turned to look at her.

“Ye may return to the town house. I’ll see ye sent home to Red Stone on the morrow.”

May God forgive her, but even if the scriptures said she should ask for his blessing, every inch of her refused. She did not see a father before her, only the man who legally owned her. And he did. There was no one who would intervene, no one who would challenge his charge against her. The very clothing on her back was his by law.

“Yer greed knows no boundaries.” Bronwyn lowered her voice so that only her sire and siblings heard her. There was a flare of outrage in her father’s eyes, but she shot a look full of loathing back at him. “Deny it and label yourself a liar, sir. Ye blacken me falsely to avoid dowering me. I’m no so simpleminded as to not understand that.”

A rare look of uncertainty entered Erik McQuade’s eyes. “I’m laird and I’ll do what’s best for the clan. Yer place is to mind me. Dinna be laying any curse on my head, Daughter.”

“Yer greed is yer curse and I dinna have anything to do with casting it on ye. ‘Tis something ye have shackled to yerself.”

With another scathing look, Bronwyn turned her back on her father. Heads turned as she walked proudly from the royal hall. She held her chin level and steady.

She was not soiled. All the gossip in the world would not change that.

Erik McQuade shivered. A chill swept over him like an icy winter wind. He looked at Sodac. “Go with her.”

A prickle of fear shot through him, making his voice shake. Erik shook his head, attempting to dislodge the feeling. He pointed at Liam. “Follow her and make sure she stays in her room. Use a few men to ensure it.”

Liam looked confused. “Sodac can deal with Bronwyn.”

“I warned ye, boy. Don’t assume that she’s secure.” He stopped when heads turned toward them. Waving his sons toward the doors he covered the distance in quick strides. Once they reached the outer entry room, he stopped in an empty alcove well away from the main entrance.

“As much as I detest the fact that I have a daughter, there is no getting past the fact that she is my child. Have her watched by my lad. I’d no put it past her to strike out on her own to try her hand at surviving among the middle class. One of those merchants will jump at the chance to wed the daughter of a laird. You can set the men to watching her, but it is you and Sodac that have something to gain by making sure she doesna escape. There’s plenty of men who dinna have land to lose who’d help her out of pity.”

Liam scowled. “I dinna think of that.”

“Ye should have. I told ye last night that ye must keep yer sister tucked away or lose that land.” McQuade glared at his sons. “Make sure ye dinna forget again. We must take her back to Red Stone on the morrow and shut her away.”

“Maybe she should slip off her horse.” Sodac raised an eyebrow with his question.

“Nay. She’s a pair of hands that earns gold for our coffers. There’s another thing ye have to learn, boy…no to waste. Bronwyn can be as useful as any other servant. I would have smothered her when she was a babe if murder was on my mind. It would not have been hard to dispose of her while covering up my deed.”

“But the land…” Liam persisted.

“’Tis ours so long as she does not breed. Besides, my marriage to her mother might have been dissolved if we had no living children. I needed Bronwyn to keep her mother because she never gave me any sons.” McQuade eyed his sons. “Shaming Bronwyn in front of the court will see to keeping good offers from coming to my door. I can refuse them all by saying she’s soiled and I’ll no see any man saddled with a slut that bears my name. No man of mine will dally with her. Once she’s back at Red Stone, Scotland will forget that I even have a daughter.” McQuade suddenly chuckled. “And the best part is, I got to blame it on Cullen McJames. If what she says is true, he’ll wear the stain without ever having sampled the delights of knowing her. A fine revenge for all the trouble he’s caused me.”

Liam and Sodac joined their father in his amusement. But Erik sobered quickly.

“Get on with ye. Before she sets out for the Weavers Guild.”

Liam and Sodac rushed toward the door, eager to follow in their father’s footsteps by keeping their hands tight around every measure of land belonging to the McQuades. Erik watched them, satisfaction brushing aside the chill that had assaulted him. Most likely it had been the ghost of Bronwyn’s mother, trying to smite him for his actions, but the spirit had better get back to her grave because it was her own fault for giving him a daughter. He’d married the woman for the land and he intended to keep it any way he had to.

McQuade walked back toward the entrance to the great hall, but the guards refused him admittance. The king’s order to bring Bronwyn had seen him waiting every day that he did not bring her with him. It was the only reason that he’d brought her today, so that he could enter the main hall. Important men attended court and he needed to be viewed as a powerful laird who had the right to enter the royal hall. Appearances were everything.

“Ye saw my daughter this morning.”

The guards looked at each other. One of them gave a barely noticeable nod and the pikes uncrossed to clear the doorway.

Erik enjoyed the fact that the guards raised their pikes to allow him in. There was a ripple of annoyance from the men waiting that placed a smile on his face.

But what he didn’t see was the figure that emerged from the darker shadows of the alcove. Raelin McKorey shook her head slowly. There was no place private at court. She’d learned that lesson her first month attending the queen. A wise person guarded each thought, holding it carefully inside lest it be used against you. She waited for many long moments before approaching the entrance to the hall. The guards instantly allowed her into the hall, recognizing one of the queen’s maids. She thanked them with a shy smile; there was something else she’d learned the value of—always flirt lightly with the royal guard. It endeared a girl to them and made life so much easier. But there was a fine line to observe when dealing with men. Go too far and your reputation suffered. The gossips were vicious. They condemned without mercy any girl who even looked at a man too boldly.

Like Bronwyn McQuade.

It would seem that she should have listened to her brother after all. She was more than glad to hear it because Cullen McJames was a good man. It was just a shame that he was so interested in Bronwyn McQuade. She’d seen the truth of that with her own eyes. Envy bit into her as she threaded her way through the courtiers in search of Cullen. No man had ever looked at her with such a longing. Bronwyn was a lucky girl, to be sure. At least the gossips would be satisfied if the pair married. That was the only solution now.

“She’s her father’s daughter, all right. Nothing but a curse to every living McJames.” Cullen rounded on James Stuart. “I dinna touch her with anything more than me hand.”

“So she said.”

The king’s words deflated his anger. Cullen shook his head trying to make sense of the whole situation. “She did?”

“She did. It is her father who claims otherwise.”

Cullen snorted. “Well I suppose I might remind ye that the man lied to ye the last time ye summoned me to court because of a charge he made against my clan.”

“I’ve nae forgotten that.” The king sat down, indicating with a wave of his fingers for Cullen to take a chair. ’Twas a privilege to be invited to sit in the presence of his monarch, but he didn’t feel like taking his ease.

“But McQuade accused the girl in the middle of the hall. The gossips are taking it as gospel. He said she was yer whore.”

Cullen snarled. The sound erupted from his throat without any thought. The ashen pallor of Bronwyn’s face suddenly made sense to him. The court had been dining on her.

“That makes no sense. Why would the man want to ruin his own daughter’s name?”

“He’s a greedy pig. Daughters must be dowered if they are to wed well.”

Cullen stared at his king for a long moment. His temper flared and he left the chair behind to pace. He suddenly recalled just how sweet Bronwyn had looked that day on the hillside, her face full of delight. Her eyes had sparkled and at first he’d thought he was imagining her. The woman he’d seen this morning was nothing like the one he’d dreamed of. That idea sent his temper up a few more degrees. He wasn’t a man who hated, but McQuade was earning it. “McQuade is a menace.”

James chuckled. “Now that is something that I shoulder more than ye do, my friend. The McJames are no the only clan that McQuade raids. McKorey is shooting me daggers since I allowed McQuade and his sons back into the royal hall. McAlister is no doubt penning me a letter expressing his displeasure over McQuade being allowed the benefits of laird when the man raids his neighbors like a common thief.”

Cullen offered his king a shake of his head. “Did I mention that I’ve no desire to be king?”

“There’s many a day I feel the same.” Jamie offered him a tankard. Cullen refused it with a quick shake of his head. Jamie chuckled.

“Ye had better watch out, Cullen. It looks like that lass has ye hooked.”

Cullen scowled. “Can I no be angry because my name was dragged through the mud in this scheme?”

“Aye, but that’s no the only reason ye want to run the man through. Ye were undressing the lass with yer eyes.”

Cullen didn’t answer. Since he didn’t understand his thoughts on the matter there was no point in trying to explain anything to the king. “’Tis the truth that I thought her interesting when I met her. She denied me her name. Now I know why.”

Cullen forgot the king for a moment as he considered just how satisfying it would be to have Bronwyn in his hands without her father and brothers around. She’d blushed for him. All their family issues aside, he’d sparked enough interest in her to turn her cheeks scarlet. Beneath his kilt, his cock stiffened.

James waved his hand. “I dinna want to know what yer thinking. Just remember that murder is a high crime, man. Even I canna change that. Ye’ll have to find a way to deal with McQuade without running the man through. Yer free to leave court.”

Cullen inclined his head toward his king before turning around.

“I could order her father to place her at court.”

Cullen turned in a swirl of kilt pleats. “Do not.” His voice cracked like a whip, full of emotions he didn’t understand beyond knowing that he wanted to deal with Bronwyn personally. The royal guards standing silently behind the king moved their eyes to stare at him now. Jamie only grinned.

“Yer mighty defensive, lad. I’ve a mind to see what sort of daughter the man has raised.”

With a shrug, Cullen returned the grin. “Since everyone seems to think I’ve already had the lass, maybe I should keep those wagging tongues from spreading lies for once. Providing ye have no objection to such a match.”

The king’s face turned pensive. It was hard to tell what the man was thinking; he hid his emotions with the years of wearing a crown.

“Have a safe journey, Cullen.”

“Aye, yer Majesty.”

The king lifted one finger. Cullen stood still, his breath freezing in his chest while he waited to hear his monarch’s decision.

“Ye have my permission to wed the lass, providing she kneels at the altar of her own free will. She’s nae like her kin and I’ll nae see her forced to wed.”

“But I have yer permission?”

“Aye, and my blessing. But promise me ye will nae name yer first son after me. We’ve too many James in Scotland nowadays.”

Nae like her kin…

Well, that remained to be seen. Cullen ground his teeth as he covered the distance toward the doors. Fans opened and whispers rippled away from him like waves in a pond. His temper strained against his control, doubling his pace. One word made it clearly to his ears.

Blackguard…

He snarled softly, his pride stung deeply.

His honor demanded action now. McQuade had miscalculated if the man thought he might strike out without gaining McJames retaliation. The man had misjudged him greatly.

A McJames never took disgrace without a fight. Cullen was going to make a struggle McQuade would never forget. He strode from the royal hall, determination fueling his stride. There was no more to think about.

’Twas time for action.

“Yer daft.” Druce swirled the ale in his mug around for a long moment. “But I suppose ’tis my own fault for teasing ye about the lass.”

“I met her.”

Druce straightened up, surprise on his face. “Yer pulling me leg, lad. I dinna want to believe ye had her as her father said.”

“I dinna have her.” His voice was rough, but he’d heard his honor questioned one too many times in a single day to keep his sense of humor. “But we spoke and her brothers caught us.” Cullen didn’t care for the look his cousin gave him. Thinking about having Bronwyn in his bed was not the same sin as doing it. “I havena touched her.”

“Yet.” Druce was done teasing. There was no amusement lurking in his eyes now. The man was pure concentration, his mind considering the details of what needed doing.

“Aye, yet.” He was no liar. Cullen stared straight back at his kin. He wanted her, wanted her enough to steal her. Maybe men talked about such things often, but he’d never truly thought he’d find himself wanting any woman enough to kidnap her. Applying his charm to the art of seduction, now that was more his style.

“Is it just yer pride that is pushing ye to do what ye’ve been accused of, Cullen?”

Druce asked a good question. One Cullen wasn’t sure about himself. There was only one thing he was sure of and that was that he was going to take Bronwyn or die in the trying.

“There will be blood spilt for sure if ye take the lass.”

Cullen snorted. “There’s been blood spilled near every season I can recall in me life by her father and his insistence that my father stole his bride.”

“He’s going to be in a full rage when ye take his daughter as well.”

Cullen shot Druce a deadly look. “McQuade should have thought about that afore he accused me of deflowering her in open court. It is my right to take her to the altar now that her father has said I took her maidenhead. That is the only thing that will save me from being labeled a blackguard.”

“That’s a truth, sure enough, but ye’ll be the one that has to endure her as yer wife. Yer friends will understand if ye dinna shoulder that burden.”

“I do not hold all of Scotland’s nobles as my friends.” Cullen slid a dirk into the top of his boot. He was arming himself for battle and Druce knew it well. “There must be fifty letters being written by those at court talking about me and my lack of honor. I wager few will take the time to debate the reasons.”

He eyed the edge of his sword in silence, his full attention on the task of checking the blade for nicks. Druce held silent until Cullen sheathed the blade.

“If that’s yer decision, I’m going with ye.” Druce reached for his own sword. “McKorey mentioned that he and a few of his men would be waiting outside the McQuade town house tonight.”

Druce shrugged when Cullen gave him a confused look.

“McKorey has as much reason to want that family laid low as the McJames do. The McQuades raid his land as often as yers. I hear Alarik was thinking of pressing the king for Bronwyn’s hand himself.”

“She’s mine.”

And the rest of Scotland could just forget that Bronwyn McQuade was born to a father who was a lying bastard that could not recall that he’d lost his bride thirty-five years ago through nothing but his own actions. His mother never lamented it. She’d loved his father until the day a battle wound took his life. His mother had followed her husband before a year passed. They had loved each other so strongly that death was not going to separate them.

He refused to believe that he and Bronwyn couldn’t work out a decent marriage. His brother had married an English woman and managed to find love. Besides, Druce was right—his pride was stung. The sort of annoying pain that would never dull unless he did something about it. McQuade had called him a defiler of innocent maids so it would serve the man right if he did take Bronwyn to his bed.

It was no more than the greedy, scheming laird deserved for his words. As for Bronwyn…she would adjust. His pride demanded action and Cullen intended to see the matter settled in his favor. The vicious gossip would transform overnight into words of praise when he stole Bronwyn and married her. If he didn’t, finding a good match would become much harder with his own reputation painted black by McQuade’s lies. No decent family would take him for a son-in-law because they’d think he was a marauder and defiler of any lass he came upon.

As he’d come across Bronwyn…