In The Warrior’s Bed by Mary Wine

Chapter Five

Her bed was moving.

Bronwyn frowned but opened her eyes when she felt the bite of the leather at the corners of her mouth. A hard, male arm was draped across her body, the hand cupping her hips far too familiarly. Her teeth ground against the leather, grinding it with her fury. The chest behind her rumbled, increasing her anger. Dawn was chasing the night away, the pink sky telling her that she’d slept the entire night.

The hand holding her hip slid up to cup her chin. She was sitting sideways across the horse, one thigh completely numb from the constant bouncing. Cullen raised her face to meet his stare.

“Good morning to ye, Bronwyn.” Satisfaction coated his words. Bronwyn ground her teeth against her gag in reply. He chuckled, his fingers gently smoothing over her jaw.

“I think I’ll leave that leather between yer teeth for a bit longer.” He slipped a finger beneath it, testing how tight it was. The concern baffled her. The man was abducting her. She jerked her head, pulling her chin out of his hand. All traces of tenderness evaporated from his face, leaving only determination staring at her.

“We’ll be discussing that a wee bit later, Bronwyn. But be assured that I will touch ye.”

She snorted at his attention and refused to look at him.

He was too attractive.

She hated her body right then. Finding anything to like about her captor was intolerable. She needed to find her pride and refuse to notice that he was such a handsome man.

Well, Satan had been a cherub before falling from grace, too.

The last of night was rapidly giving way to daylight. They had left the city and the side of the road was rocky. The grass had turned brown now with the colder temperatures of the nights. Her toes were like ice in her boots. It was little wonder considering she was wearing only her chemise and stockings. A length of wool was wound around her and even up over her head. In spite of that she was freezing, a hard shiver shaking her. The hand on her hip moved, stroking her waist as though it were the most natural thing. As though he had the right to touch her.

She swallowed roughly. He had taken the right.

A rough breath rattled past her gag and there was no stopping the flood of despair that swept into her thoughts. Each pound of a hoof sounded louder than the last as the road kept falling away behind them. She had gone from being the property of a father who detested her to being the possession of a man who held good cause to hate her blood. It was disheartening, to say the least. Keir’s face floated in her mind as she considered never seeing her brother again.

Or worse yet, hearing that he had taken up his sword to defend her. Her father would revel in another reason to rain violence on the McJames clan. Blood would be spilt and it sickened her.

The sun rose completely while she was lost in her dilemma. She felt the steady beat of her captor’s heart against her shoulder and tried to wiggle away from it. The powerful stride of the horse threw her back until she gave up and remained still. She noticed the scent of his skin and tossed her head but there was no escaping. She’d never noticed that men smelled different. It touched off a current of awareness that made her quiver. The skin on her face recalled vividly how his fingers had felt against it.

He suddenly pulled his horse to a stop.

“There, lass.” Ahead of them was a large stone tower. It was constructed of lighter castle stone and the morning sunlight made it look as though it were golden.

“Welcome to White Tower.” The man beside them spoke to her. His face lit up as he looked at the tower with its large curtain wall that surrounded it. Set up on a rise, White Tower held the high ground, making it a formidable fortress.

The man beside them spurred his horse forward. Cullen stroked her hip once more. She turned her head and glared at his boldness. The look in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine because it lacked all remorse. Worse than that, there was a firm determination burning in his eyes that said the man considered it his right to touch her.

“My cousin Druce is lord of White Tower. It’s the first castle on McJames land.”

Bronwyn turned her head away to hide the fear that spiked through her. Cullen captured her chin, returning her face to where he could see it.

“Best that ye understand that there is no man who will help ye leave McJames land, Bronwyn.”

She hissed at him, unable to fling the scathing retort that formed in her mind. She didn’t need help. He was not the only one who knew how to make their way in this world.

“I suppose that sound means ye disagree with me.” A hint of amusement edged his words now and it sparkled in his blue eyes. “‘Tis nice to know that ye are nae a disappointment as far as yer spirit goes.”

He chuckled but didn’t waste any more time on talking. She felt his body move as he dug his heels into the sides of his horse. The huge beast took to the trail with amazing speed, covering the ground far faster than any mare she’d ever ridden. Before long they passed under the open gate of the outer wall. It was an iron one, held high by thick ropes on either side of the road. The inner yard was full of men and women working. Curious eyes moved over her but there wasn’t a hint of disapproval. Quite the opposite. Many of the men grinned when Cullen allowed his cousin Druce to lift her off the saddle. The blue, yellow, and orange colors of the McJames’s kilts surrounding her burned her eyes. The length of wool wrapped around her slithered down the moment she was stood on her feet.

A soft sound of distress made it past the gag when the bindings on her hands held them behind her. Her chemise was thin and the sunlight bright enough to illuminate her body.

“Here now, lass.”

Druce grabbed the fabric and tossed it awkwardly around her body. The fabric didn’t have anything to hold onto and it continued to slip toward her ankles in spite of his efforts.

Cullen ended his cousin’s struggle by scooping her off her feet. A cheer went up from his men as the brute carried her up the steps that led into the tower. An arrogant grin covered his face as hers flamed scarlet.

To be sure, she hated him.

“Bastard.” Bronwyn spat the word the moment her lips were free. She glared at her tormentor.

“Now there’s the thing yer father hates me most for. I am legitimate. He won my mother away from yer father fair as could be and married her.”

“Arrogant son of a thief.”

Cullen clicked his tongue in reprimand. He held a dirk up in front of her eyes. “Careful, lass. Wound my feelings and I’ll leave ye trussed up.”

Bronwyn bit into her lip before she ended up earning a lesson from the cad. Her arms ached and her body was nearing its limit of endurance before she wet herself like a babe.

“If ye enjoy a foul-smelling captive, by all means leave me helpless.”

The playful expression disappeared from his face instantly. He reached for her arms and she felt the steel of the blade kiss her skin. With one sharp jerk the binding loosened, allowing her to work it free. He cut the one holding her knees before she got her hands completely loose.

“I’ll leave ye for a moment.”

Bronwyn shot a stern look at his departing back. She wanted to spit a retort at him, but the needs of her body took precedence. It was indeed humbling to know that she was dependent on his goodwill to use the garderobe in private.

However, ’twas better than wetting herself.

Emerging from the closet that housed the necessities, she looked around the chamber. It was furnished with a large bed, hung with wool curtains that would keep the occupant warmer at night. The garderobe was set out a few feet from the rest of the room to allow the waste to drop into a barrel set below it. That barrel would be emptied often to keep disease and the stench from becoming a menace. It was a step up from chamber pots, to be sure, and one not found in many castles. Looking at the doorway of the closet, she noticed the newer stonework that edged it.

Besides the bed, there were two wide chairs sitting in front of the fireplace. They were built in the “X” fashion with padded seats and wide arms for resting your hands on. Both were huge, though, reminding her of how much larger Cullen was than herself.

Her chemise floated around her knees when she moved, making her keenly aware of how little clothing she had on her body. The soft linen was almost transparent; tonight when the fire was lit it would be. But she didn’t have many options to cover herself. The length of McJames plaid was lying on the floor. She reached for it out of pure instinct to keep things tidy, folding it before her eyes really saw the McJames colors. She froze with it stretched out between her hands.

Never once had she thought to touch a McJames plaid.

It felt oddly intimate. Coupled with her new captivity, she felt possessed already and the man hadn’t even stolen that kiss yet.

Be silent, Bronwyn…Longing for kisses is sure to land you in trouble…

The thoughts inside her head were wicked.

The hinges groaned as the door pressed inward. Part of her wanted to drop the plaid to show her defiance but the practical side of her brain reminded her that she’d be left standing in her shift if she did. Pride or modesty, she could not have both.

She dropped the McJames plaid.

Cullen’s face was unreadable. He held the door wide for a young maid who stared at the dropped plaid as if it were a Bible flung carelessly to the floor. Her hands were full with a tray; she walked to the table and placed it down. She turned quickly, displaying the length of McJames plaid that was draped down her back, held by a belt at her waist and secured to her shoulder with a brass broach. It was the mark of a woman of the clan and she wore it proudly. She dipped down to pick up the wool lying on the floor. But Cullen pulled it from her hands when she went to pass him. She offered him a quick curtsy before disappearing into the hallway.

Cullen released the door and it fell closed with a heavy thud. He wound the plaid around his fist before slowly running his eyes down her length. It was a bold reprimand for her insolence. But Bronwyn raised her head, refusing to duck her chin. He was not her father, nor her brother or kin. Cullen McJames was her captor and she owed him nothing save contempt.

“Ye have lost yer mind, McJames. Stealing brides is a barbaric custom best left in years gone by.”

Cullen raised one eyebrow. “Yer the one that is losing yer grip on what is what if ye think I am going to stand by while yer father calls me a blackguard who soils his neighbors’ daughters.”

“Do ye mean to say that ye dragged me here because of yer pride?”

He lifted his hand with the plaid. “Isn’t that why ye dropped this when ye have nothing on but a chemise?” He tossed the plaid onto one of the chairs. “Or maybe ye’re in the habit of displaying yer body to men.”

“I am not.” She said it too quickly. The heat edging her words betrayed just how much her father’s words had hurt her. Cullen didn’t need to know that she was as wounded by her father’s words as he was. Discovering they had something in common felt wrong considering the man had abducted her. She could not look to him as a compatriot.

“But ye would rather let me see yer nipples instead of wearing a McJames plaid.”

She crossed her arms over her chest but realized that the hair on her mons must also be showing through the thin fabric. Moving toward the bed, she tore the top coverlet back and yanked a sheet free.

“I would not even tell ye my name when we met.”

He grunted. “I wondered about that.”

“Good.” She wrapped her body in the sheet while glaring at her captor. He granted her no mercy but stared at her the entire time, his eyes keenly observing her struggle to gather up the shreds of her modesty.

That eyebrow rose again but this time so did the corners of his lips. Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Ye enjoy knowing that I wonder about what sort of a woman ye are?”

Bronwyn hesitated. He was cleverly setting her words against her. She had never considered that he thought of her, too, but had believed that her dreams were something she alone experienced.

“This is nonsense.” She crossed her arms on her chest. “Ye need to come to yer senses and end this game ye’re playing with me.” She didn’t like how needy her words sounded.

“I assure ye, Bronwyn, ’tis no a game.” He lost his teasing air, his face taking on a determined expression that sent a chill down her back. “I plan to wed ye.”

She gasped, startled by his announcement. The man was boldness incarnate. “It is a game. Always with men there is the struggle to win. I am nae the first woman that has been taken to be held up as a prize between two arguing men. Or clans.” Bronwyn shook her head, offering him a kind look in the hope that it might appeal to his sense of fairness. “Have done, Cullen, and send me home. My father will never change his ways, nae even for me.”

Especially not for her…but it was her home and she had nowhere else to go. Better the devil she knew than the unknown one facing her. A husband had the right to beat his wife. At Red Stone, she had Keir and work she enjoyed doing. Cullen might lock her in a tower room with only enough necessities to keep her alive.

He moved toward her, closing the space with slow strides, his nearness making the breath freeze in her chest. The differences in their heights became obvious when she was forced to tip her head back to look up at him. She was too aware of him, too conscious of how little she wore and how much her skin longed to be stroked by his hands. Her feet scooted backward in retreat.

He stopped when she moved, a frown marking his mouth. “I’m sorry for that, Bronwyn.”

He was, too. It stunned her, such caring from a man her father called enemy. There was honest sincerity in his eyes and it made him far more attractive than she’d already decided he was. It was so tempting to sink into that feeling and allow it to wrap around her. But how did she trust this man who had hauled her away from her family? She was his prize, nothing more.

“I won’t marry ye.” It was the only threat she held. His eyes narrowed when her words hit him.

“Then ye’ll watch our first child be baptized a bastard.”

Bronwyn gasped. She reached out before her stunned mind started working again, her hand delivering a sharp slap to his arrogant face. The sound was startling in the quiet room, but Cullen grinned at her, sending her temper into a full blaze again.

“That is a mean-hearted thing to say to a woman. It’s the mother that is called slut when a babe is born out of marriage.”

“Is that so?” His expression was guarded.

“It is.”

“And yet I am the one saying that we should marry now, afore our child is conceived.” He paused, running his eyes down her length to pause on her flat belly. “If ye refuse me, ye’ll have no one save yerself to blame when the gossips call ye a scarlet woman.”

Her eyes narrowed. The man was far too cunning, but she refused to be trapped by his scheme. “I am no planning on having yer child. Why do ye think I refused to tell ye my name? I am no interested in ye. Not a bit.” She propped her hands on her hips, making a stand that she couldn’t truly back up. If the man was of the mind to force himself on her, there was little she might do to stop him. A twinge of something that felt like disappointment pierced her heart. She didn’t want to think of Cullen as a man who would rape her.

Which was ridiculous. The man had kidnapped her. She had no reason to think highly of him. Better to expect the worst; it would hurt less that way.

“No a bit?” His lips twitched, rising into another grin that annoyed her. “Well now, it seems to me that ye were blushing back on that hillside. Just like ye are now.”

She covered her cheeks with her hands and they were hot. “It is nae more than my temper.”

“’Tis much more.”

He reached out in a motion so fast she stumbled trying to avoid his hand. She straightened up against the wall, any further retreat impossible, and his arms plenty long enough to span the distance between their bodies. His hand pushed her loose, flowing chemise flush against her body. But he did it with absolute control. There was no bite of his superior strength, only perfectly applied pressure. He cupped one breast, his thumb gliding across the hard point of her nipple.

“If ye are nae interested, why is yer nipple hard?”

His opposite hand pressed flat against the wall behind her, caging her between his arms. The knowledge that he could handle her more roughly held her in place to preserve the small distance he granted her. She stiffened as his thumb rubbed her nipple. Never once had she believed that so small a touch, so tiny a contact between two people, might spark such a torrent of sensation. It flooded her, shaking her with its intensity.

“I am cold, ye daft man. Ye stole me in my chemise.”

And she was a liar, God forgive her.

“I’ve noticed that, fair Bronwyn. ’Tis the truth that I’ve enjoyed the sight of ye.” His lips formed a sensuous expression that was sinfully carnal. “It kept me alert all night long knowing how bare ye were beneath that McJames wool.”

“Exactly the sort of thing a blackguard would say. Have ye no decency?” She sounded too desperate for her taste but she was running short on reasons to deny him. Her life at Red Stone was nothing so wonderful. A ragged breath shook her, warm delight flowing through her. It was for sure that no man wearing her father’s colors had ever made her blush.

“I’m not the one refusing to wed. I believe most would say that I’m behaving correctly by insisting that we go to church and marry. Before temptation gets the better of us both.”

He chuckled, leaning closer. She felt the brush of his breath against her lips now and her mouth went dry. His lower lip quivered in anticipation, her gaze lowering to his mouth as she wondered what his kiss would be like.

“It will be my pleasure to help ye warm up.” His voice was husky and dark with promise. His thumb moved once more across the top of her nipple. The hand on the wall moved, capturing the back of her head, his fingers threading through the strands of her unbound hair. Her hands sprang up between them, pushing against the hard wall of his chest.

He took her mouth, sealing her gasp inside. He tasted her lower lip with the tip of his tongue before invading her mouth. The hand on the back of her head held her in place while he tilted his to the side so that their lips met. She jerked in his embrace, out of sheer surprise. There were too many signals rushing through her, too many sensations to understand. When her back left the wall, his hand slid smoothly around her body. Her skin hummed with enjoyment, everywhere he held her. Beneath her hands, she felt the steady beat of his heart. Her fingertips joined her lips in discovering a bounty of pleasurable sensations that she’d never experienced before. His lips pressed hers open, demanding a deeper intimacy while he pulled her up against his body. Heat flared through her. She twisted, attempting to understand why she liked his kiss so much. Her body urged her to return it, move her mouth in unison, to taste him.

A soft moan got past their joined lips.

She was leaning back against the wall again a moment later. Cullen’s hands pressed flat on either side of her head, imprisoning her without touching her. A dangerous look flickered in his eyes, one that reminded her of a predator that needed only one move from her to trigger the instinct to pounce.

But he was breathing as hard as she was. She placed a hand on his chest before thinking about it, acting on the impulse. Her fingertips pressing against his warm skin and feeling the hard beat of his heart.

His blue eyes captured her gaze, locking and searching her eyes for a long time. Her heart slowed down from its frantic pace, but not all the way to normal. Excitement still pulsed through her, triggered by the scent of his skin.

She liked it…the way he smelled. Shocking, mysterious, and slightly overwhelming, but there was no denying that she found it attractive. The flare of hunger in his gaze mesmerized her. Her pride enjoyed knowing that she aroused him.

“Will ye marry me, Bronwyn McQuade?”

His voice was husky and rough. It tempted her with that edginess because the part of her that had lamented never having a husband wanted to say yes.

But she refused to be another blow in a feud. It would be nothing but a way to strike at her sire, and her father would use it as an excuse to shed blood.

Possibly Cullen’s blood.

Pain nipped at her heart. The frustration of her entire life ripping and tearing at her conscience. There were no good choices, only ones that would hurt others.

“Ye have stolen me, and that is no way to begin a marriage.”

He snarled softly at her, his fingers curling. But she refused to take back her words.

“What do you suggest, Bronwyn? Should I have ridden up to your father’s gate and asked to court ye?”

His eyes narrowed, heat flickering in them. “Or would ye have met me on the border land?”

“I swore I’d never return there. ’Twas a foolish thing to do, riding so far from Red Stone. I’ve no excuse to offer. ’Tis a fact that I’m too old to be acting like such a child. Riding off without any thought for the world around me.”

She pushed her way past him, ducking under his arm and not caring if he did allow her to do it. She didn’t want him to see the lament in her eyes. “There was enough trouble from our meeting to last me a lifetime.”

“Aye, that’s true enough.” His voice rose betraying his anger. “What do ye call this tale spinning around the court that I used ye?”

Her face flamed scarlet. “I never said that.”

“But ye dinna voice an objection when yer father was saying that I used ye to all in earshot either.”

Bronwyn stared at him in shock. “I dinna get a chance. The king took him away as soon as he said it.”

“He is a liar.” Cullen pointed one thick finger at her. “Listen to me well, madam. I’ll nae wear the stain of this. We’ll marry and that’s the end of the matter. That will leave the gossips with nothing to say except that we did things out of order. That is forgivable. Neither of us will wear the mark of sin as long as we wed.”

He was far more noble than any man she knew. She stared at him in awe for a long moment, absorbing the look of integrity on his face. It looked very fine indeed.

Bronwyn shook her head. Cullen wanted her to agree to wed him. Once that was finished and the bedding completed he might begin to extract vengeance on her. She did not know his true nature, knew no one who might tell her what sort of man he was. To trust him was a huge leap of faith and she stood to lose a great deal if it proved he was playing her falsely. Once she was his wife, the law and the church would be on his side.

“My father intended to return me to Red Stone. Set me free. That will end the matter.”

“No to my satisfaction, it willnae.” Cullen transformed into the warrior she’d known he must be. He hooked his hands into his wide belt, the corded muscles showing from the rolled-up cuffs of his shirt. He still wore his great sword, the hilt rising above his left shoulder. There was no sign of the tender concern she’d witnessed earlier; all that showed from his eyes was pure determination.

“Returning ye home will nae cleanse my name and that of my clan.” He stood firm in his belief, his face hard and unrelenting. “As laird, yer father should know what weight his words carry. If he expected me to ignore the stain, he was very much mistaken.”

“Yer quarrel is with my father, not me.”

Cullen offered her a slight break in his stony expression. “And yer father’s quarrel with me is something my father did before I was even born.”

“Which is why there is nothing to be done about it. My father will nae change his ways, no matter what ye and I do. Better to not risk offending God by taking marriage vows that are insincere.”

He pressed his lips tighter together. “I’ll tell ye only once, Bronwyn, never say that I don’t keep my vows. If I make a promise, ‘tis for sure that I will stand behind my words.”

His voice was solid and edged with determination so sharp it was tempting to surrender to his wishes, just listening to him. Many a wife wished for so devoted a spouse. In truth, there were far too many mothers who wished for a wedding to cleanse the illegitimacy from their children. But Cullen wasn’t simply smitten with her, the man wanted more than her affection.

“I will not be the weapon ye wield against my father. Have done with this. Enough blood has been spilt already between our clans. I dinna want to give anyone an excuse to fight in the spring.”

Cullen snorted. “Obviously ye need time to adjust to yer situation. What I’m offering is the opportunity to put an end to the fighting and the gossip.” His expression tightened. “And that is what I will have of ye, Bronwyn. One way or the other. I’ll wed ye whenever ye decide. If that is in front of a midwife, so be it.”

He turned and strode toward the door. The hinges groaned once again when he yanked it open.

“There’s a meal for ye on the tray. Any of the maids will tell ye where the bathing tubs are. Try to leave the tower and ye’ll be returned to the chamber I’m sleeping in.”

Her eyes widened. “For what?”

His lips twitched up, hunger flickering through his eyes once more. “For me to keep ye warm as a husband should. I suggest ye think about that before testing the alertness of my cousin’s men.” Cullen inspected her with his eyes once more, his gaze lingering on the small points of her nipples where they poked against the supple fabric of her chemise. “Or don’t. I’ve been thinking about ye far too much since meeting ye. I’d just as soon overwhelm ye and have done with all yer arguments.”

“Well, I would not.”

He chuckled but it wasn’t a nice sound. There was a dark promise lurking in his eyes now, one that set her heart to racing again. “We’ll rest the horses for a day and then I intend to take ye to Sterling.”

“I won’t wed with ye, Cullen McJames.”

He smirked at her before moving into the hallway. “Yes ye will, Bronwyn, because I will nae allow any man to blacken my name. No even yer father. The McQuades will learn that a McJames will nae take dishonor from their hand. Yer father thought a union between us something to talk about…well, I intend to have the last word on the matter. And that is a promise.”

The door shut with a hard thump. The sound pierced her heart with a finality that nearly stopped it. Sterling was the earl of Alcaon’s main residence. Brodick McJames was Cullen’s older brother, his only brother. The man had wed himself to an English woman who brought more land to his holding, English land. Her father had launched new raids on the McJames in his rage. She doubted Brodick would make Cullen send her home, but she had to clutch at the tiny seed of hope that the earl might decide he didn’t need more trouble from the McQuades.

It was far more likely that the earl would order her starved until she took her wedding vows.

She snarled as she turned and smothered a scream behind a hand. Her father and his endless greed! She stood a captive in naught but her chemise because of a dice game thirty-five years ago.

Men…

They used women. Pain slashed through her, her eyes burning as she struggled not to shed the tears that welled. It was a futile effort. The wet drops sliding down over her hot cheeks as she looked around the room, desperately trying to think of a solution.

There was none.

Both her father and Cullen wanted nothing but to make her dance to their tune. Perform like a string puppet to amuse them and place gold in their hands.

Now it seemed even her body was betraying her. She wrapped her arms around herself because she ached. Her skin was alive, every nerve ending tingling with awareness, craving another stroke or touch from Cullen. Each nipple remained hard, the fabric of her chemise stimulating the sensitive buds. Both mounds felt swollen and far more tender than she had ever noticed before.

The needy ache bled lower until it settled between her thighs. Never once had she burned for a man. For certain, she had heard talk of it. That thing that otherwise obedient daughters slipped off into the night to sample because they could not resist the hunger for it any longer.

Lust…

She’d listened to many a sermon on the evils of it. In sooth, she’d shaken her head when overhearing the maids talking about their sweethearts. Wondering how they might be so foolish as to follow love anywhere. Love was the path to ruin, the church preached it, even Shakespeare wrote it in his plays. This was her retribution for judging others, this chastisement from her own flesh.

More tears spilled down her cheeks. She abhorred crying but seemed unable to stem the emotional tide washing over her. The fact that she was in a strange home, however finer it was than her own chamber at Red Stone, only increased her feelings of dismay.

It only served to increase her awareness of her fate. Bronwyn suddenly hissed. She wiped the tears off her face, grinding her teeth at her own weakness. She refused to endure without attempting to guide her own destiny.

She was a McQuade after all. Her brother Keir was a man worthy of respect, so she would endure and discover some way to return to the life she had earned. Staying meant trusting that Cullen was not the same as her own brothers, Liam and Sodac. She would be a fool to think the McJames was any less a warrior for his clan. Once she was at Sterling, it was very likely that she’d be shut away like the prisoner she was. Any wedding performed would be nothing but more chains to keep her in the stronghold of her father’s enemy. Her father raided the McJames. She had no reason to suspect that any of them would like her. Cullen had stolen her to clear his name, nothing more. Better she dwell on how to escape, for it appeared that the only person she knew was telling her the truth was herself. There was still God, but she doubted that the angels would appear to set her free. There were plenty of stolen brides in Scotland to prove that.

No, if she wanted freedom, she would have to escape. She would worry about what to do with that freedom once she held it.

She moved to the door, inspecting it. There was a heavy bar slide on the inside that she might use to lock it. But that would lock her inside the chamber. She reached for the handle only to stop halfway there. There would be no easy escape from the tower yard, especially in her chemise. If she wanted to succeed, she would have to plan carefully.

Instead she walked back to the tray of food. She was too angry to be hungry but she picked up the bread and cheese, stashing them behind the pillows on the bed. Then she went to the door and pulled it open. Finding herself a dress would prove more challenging, but she was up to it.

She would not yield. Not now, not ever.

Cullen McJames could choke on his pride.

So could her father.

He needed some rest but his body wasn’t interested in sleeping. Beneath his kilt his cock was hard. In the kitchen he found Druce bathing.

“Och now, ye look like a demon.”

“Shut up, Druce. I’m nae in the mood for teasing.”

There was a splash as his cousin poured a bowl of water over his head. He shook it out of his eyes and shot Cullen a glare. “Now there’s the thanks I get for riding all night. Even gave up me plaid.”

“I appreciate it.” He just felt like strangling Bronwyn at the moment. “That woman is stubborn.”

Druce laughed. “And ye and Brodick wonder why I’m nae married. Show me a female who’s biddable and I’ll take her to church quick.”

Cullen unlacing his boots then shook his head. He didn’t want biddable. It was a sure thing that Bronwyn’s stubbornness wasn’t what he’d planned on when taking a wife, but he couldn’t deny the way it stirred his blood. He wanted her and his cock was still hard from tasting her sweet kiss.

He moved the water trough Druce had used to fill the tub he was in to another tub and pulled the shingle free to fill it. He didn’t bother to add hot water but stripped off his clothing and sat down in the cold water. Druce made a poor attempt at smothering a chuckle.

His cousin laughed outright when Cullen turned a deadly glare at him. But he tossed a chunk of soap across the distance. Catching it, Cullen worked it over his skin, concentrating on the task in an attempt to ignore that demanding bit of flesh between his legs. He’d never been so hard, at least not when he wasn’t with the woman who had sparked that interest.

“She says she’ll nae wed me.” And that stung. The feeling took him by surprise. He wasn’t sure what he felt for Bronwyn. Having his pride within her striking range was sobering and a bit unsettling, too.

“She’s nae the first abducted bride to say that when the question is first put to her.” Druce was serious now. “The taking is not the hard part. ’Tis the convincing that takes a clever man.”

And so it would. Cullen dumped water over his head to wash his hair. He liked being clean. Half of the nobles in court didn’t value a good bath as much as he did. They stank like manure piles.

Bronwyn smelled sweet. She tasted sweet, too. He finished his bathing and stood up with his cock still firm. Kissing her might have been a mistake because sleep was going to prove elusive with her taste clinging to his lips. It was more involved than that, though. The way she returned his kiss, shyly, proving her inexperience, was what burned in his thoughts. For a single moment she’d tried to return his kiss, mimic his motions with her own mouth.

It had been sweeter than anything he’d ever experienced.

He smoothed out his plaid on the table that had been placed in the bathing room just for that purpose. The front legs were slightly shorter than the back ones. Wooden pegs had been set into the center of it to hold a belt steady while a man pleated the fabric in even folds. Most men used the foot of their bed to lay out their kilts, but Druce had seen the benefit of having a table constructed for more ease when donning the garment. This way he didn’t have to bend his back all the way over to pull the belt around his waist. The pegs held the belt steady and all ye had to do was back up to the wooden surface once the pleating was done.

Druce watched him buckle his belt with a firm hand.

“Yer nae going to get some rest?”

Cullen scowled, his cock demanding he go to bed but not for sleeping.

“No now.”

Druce chuckled while pleating his own kilt. Cullen didn’t remain in the bathing room to hear the man’s amusement.

He scoffed as he walked through the hallways toward the front entrance. Bronwyn McQuade had managed to kill his sense of humor. He stood on the front step, watching the activity in the yard as the sun began to arch back down on the horizon.

Now that was something he was going to have to fix. Right after he warmed the lass up. A grin lifted his lips as he considered the way she moved in his embrace.

Aye, warming her up was going to be a pleasure.

His pleasure.

“Och now, look at ye.”

Bronwyn grimaced as one of the older maids spied her. The woman shook her head and shot a stern look at the two women who tried to tell her to ignore Bronwyn.

“Yer a sad lot, letting a girl walk around in her chemise and it being November.” She clicked her tongue. “Come on with ye, child, there is no point in sneaking about like a specter. Everyone knows who ye be.”

Of course they did.

Her sarcastic thoughts didn’t change the way the woman stared at her.

“I’m called Lydia. Come on with ye and let’s see if we can’t find something for ye to wear.”

“I’d be appreciative.”

Lydia smiled at her. The woman considered her with a critical eye when Bronwyn stepped all the way into the kitchen. She suddenly smiled.

“Yer about the same size as Murain be. She’s due to birth her first child next month so she has nae need of her long stays.” Lydia nodded, obviously pleased with herself. “Go on back to yer chamber and I’ll send someone to fetch some of Murain’s clothing up to ye. Let’s nae be letting the men see ye walking around like that.”

Bronwyn nodded, keeping her mouth shut. She needed the clothing, and offending Lydia by insulting her clan was not going to endear the woman to her. Turning around, she paused in front of one of the large windows that allowed light into the kitchens. There was costly glass covering the window in six inch squares held together by lead. Such windows in a work area were the mark of a rich household with a laird that didn’t begrudge his servants comforts. Red Stone had wooden shutters that were slid open in fair weather. When it rained, the kitchen was shut up tight and the servants had to endure the dark.

The kitchens faced the stables. Cullen stood next to his horse. He was rubbing the animal with steady motions. There was tender concern in his touch. That same thing she had glimpsed in his eyes for a few moments.

Her father and older brothers never took care of their own mounts. They considered it their right to have others do the labor.

There was a grin on Cullen’s lips, reminding her of how he’d looked the first time she’d met him. Part of him was still a mischievous boy who enjoyed playing. But there was also a side of him that was a hardened man.

“Och now, stop undressing the man with yer eyes,” Lydia scolded her in an amused tone. That set a few of the maids to giggling. The woman moved up behind her, cupping her shoulders with her hands. “Although, I’ll admit to understanding yer fascination with that one. He’s a fair bonnie sight.”

“Not to me, he isna.”

Lydia chuckled at her. Bronwyn frowned, moving her attention away from Cullen. She needed to learn about the grounds if she intended to escape. The stables were large with many men and horses in front of it. Even through the window she could hear a blacksmith working somewhere nearby. What drew her notice was the doublets that were tossed over the rails of the stalls inside the stables. Obviously the retainers stored the outer garments there in case of nighttime raids that called them from their beds quickly. Many of the retainers most likely slept in bedrolls laid out on the floor of the main hall after it had been cleared for the night.

And she had a length of McJames plaid in her chamber, enough for a kilt on her smaller frame. The idea took root in her mind—maybe the inhabitants would notice a woman, but would they stop a young lad from leaving?

“Yer eyes tell a different story, lass.” Lydia gave her a gentle push. “Go on now, that chemise is too thin by far. Yer shivering.”

She was, but hadn’t noticed. Bronwyn worried her lower lip as she cast a last look at Cullen. No, she had not noticed the chill while looking at him. She was tempted to ask Lydia what sort of man Cullen was. But the woman was a McJames, so she’d likely defend a fellow member of her clan.

She quickly climbed the narrow stairs back to the floor with her chamber in it. Relief swept through her when she was once again behind the door. Her belly rumbled but she didn’t want to eat the bread or cheese she’d hidden. But there was a small bowl of porridge on the tray. It had gone cold while Cullen was in the room with her.

While he was kissing her…

Bronwyn snorted at her thoughts but she still recalled in vivid detail the way his mouth had felt against her own. The way he’d slipped his tongue across her lower lip, tasting her like aged whiskey. She shivered, caught in the memory. Her skin flushed and her heart accelerated. That tremor of anticipation returned, only this time it was stronger and more exciting.

Picking up the McJames plaid, she pushed it beneath the pillow on the bed where her food was hidden. She refused to listen to the warning voice inside her head. The church preached against women dressing as men but the scriptures would not be helping her out of this mess. There were many who believed any female who dressed as a male was possessed of the devil. Bronwyn shook such ideas out of her mind. She would try it.

Before Cullen got around to warming her up again.

Reaching for the cold porridge, she ate it in spite of its lack of taste. There were small bits of fruit stewed into it that at least were sweet. She’d have forced herself to consume it if it tasted like dirt. Strength was the key to her liberation. An empty belly would see her failing.

She mustn’t allow her body to weaken. Cullen would seize the opportunity to bend her. She might be fascinated by the boy in him, but it was the man who posed the threat. Her own body turned traitor under his touch. Her father might detest her, but he could not wipe her thoughts from her mind such as Cullen did with his kiss.

She would not be prey to him. The only thing she truly had was her own sense of being. As humble a possession as that might be, she refused to relinquish it to the lust Cullen unleashed in her.

Maybe she would not go back to Red Stone at all. The idea lingered in her thoughts while her logic told her what a bad concept it was. The world was a harsh place without a clan. If she returned to Edinburgh alone, she might end up in a whorehouse, or worse, on a ship bound for the Muslim countries because their law forbade enslavement of fellow followers of Islam. Christians were sold for gold in those places.

She could not go to court. Her father would find her there and the king might give Cullen permission to wed her. Such was the way of men, using women to settle their accounts.

Lying down, she tugged the bed curtains closed to block out the light. Her mind wanted to turn her circumstances over and over but she forced herself to sleep. She would need the strength when she made a run for it.