In The Warrior’s Bed by Mary Wine
Chapter Eight
Her husband was displeased with her.
The muscle on the side of his jaw was twitching and the ones in his neck were corded. Bronwyn smiled sweetly at him as a meal was served to them. Druce was still gleeful, making her appetite flee. Cullen frowned again when she only toyed with her food.
“Enough, Bronwyn. It’s a full day’s ride to Sterling. Have done with our quarrel until we reach home.”
The word home made her throat constrict but she refused to allow him to see it. Picking up her spoon, she used it to begin eating the porridge in front of her. It was still half warm and her stomach approved.
She was amazed that something so life changing could be accomplished in so short a time. Their wedding hadn’t taken half an hour. Her cheeks warmed as she considered that deflowering her had actually taken longer.
That was only because her husband had a care for her pleasure as well as his own. Peeking at him, she studied the man she was bound to. He was ruthless in his way. But not a brute even if she’d labeled him one. There was many a reluctant bride that earned the back side of her groom’s hand when she dared to tell him nay.
Cullen had seduced her instead. More heat colored her cheeks. Well, in truth he’d used a combination of overwhelming her along with soft seduction when she was too blinded by desire to resist any longer.
“I enjoy seeing ye blush.”
Lost in her thoughts, Bronwyn dropped her spoon when Cullen spoke. He wasn’t frowning at her any longer. A playful light had entered his blue eyes and his lips curved up, the effect transforming him into a handsome devil.
“I’ve never seen a lass so fetching as ye when yer cheeks turn color for me.”
He held up a hand when she started to reply. “Have pity on me, Bronwyn, and let us nae bicker at my cousin’s table again.”
“Ye assume I was going to say something cross.” Heat crept down her neck because he was correct. She had been ready to argue with him about the cause of her blush.
Cullen grinned at her. “What I assume is that ye are nae complacent to my will.”
A soft sound of amusement left her lips. She could not help it, the way he teased her made her smile. Her new husband winked at her.
“Does that sound mean that there is something we agree upon?”
“I suppose it does.”
He stood up and reached down for her hand. With a firm grasp he pulled her to her feet.
“The weather will nae be our friend today. Best we begin our journey.”
With a sharp whistle Cullen walked out of the hall. His men pushed their benches out at the lower tables, many of them grabbing up rounds of bread that they tucked into their leather doublets for the journey.
Cullen didn’t stop until they were standing on the stone steps that led to the yard. Horses were standing in the now muddy snow. The wind blew up beneath her chemise, making her shiver. The surge of pride that had seen her wed in her shift was about to cost her on the long hours spent in the cold.
The huge stallion Cullen rode was waiting for his master. The beast tossed its head, snorting out white clouds from its nostrils.
“I’ve nae introduced ye to Argyll.” Cullen pulled her along with him toward the animal. He reached up and ran a sure hand along the horse’s muzzle, slipping his finger into the leather straps to check its grip. Such an action showed that he paid close attention to the animal’s care, not trusting it completely to those who served him due to his position.
“He’s a fine animal.” And there was no denying it. Stallions like this were expensive and rare.
“And a good friend.”
Cullen watched her hand as it petted Argyll. He stood close to her, maintaining his grip on her hand. He pulled it down to straighten her arm and keep her close.
“I’ve a mare for ye to ride today.”
Bronwyn heard the warning in his voice. Looking behind Argyll, she spotted the smaller animal. The length of McJames plaid she’d been given was draped over the neck of the horse. Standing next to the stallion, it was clear how much smaller the mare was. But it was a welcome sight, a horse for her to ride by herself.
Her hand was suddenly free as Cullen reached for a bundle strapped to his saddle. He looked curious as he pulled a dirk from the top of his boot and began poking at the fabric.
“Who would sew something closed that ye need while traveling?” The frustration on his face amused her because it was clear that the man was not used to picking out seams.
“My sister-in-law’s younger sister gave this to me. I don’t know what it is. Truthfully, I forgot it was tied to my saddle.”
“Well, I suppose ’tis nice to know that I was distracting enough.”
He paused, a twinkle in his eyes. “Is it now?”
Bronwyn shrugged. “Dinna let it swell yer head.”
He chuckled and returned to slicing open stitches. “Wed but an hour and yer rising to the chore of telling me what to do.”
The fabric gave way. Cullen replaced his dirk and pulled a folded garment from within the bundle. He shook it out and held it up. It was a woolen surcoat, with linen lining and deep over sleeves. It would button up to the neck and was also constructed with deep slits up the sides to accommodate riding. Her chilled limbs quivered just looking at it.
“Bonnie told me that I would need it.” He looked at her, his gaze lingering on the hard points her nipples made in spite of the binding she had over them. “And so I do need it.”
“Who is Bonnie to be giving ye her clothing?” Suspicion flared up inside her. Was there a mistress waiting on his return? A McJames woman who would be snuggling up to him now that she had taken her wedding vows?
“My sister-in-law’s sister, and too young a lass for the tone of yer voice, Bronwyn.”
With a swish he flipped it around her shoulders. Her chilled skin begged her to lift her arms and slip her hands through the arm openings. Cullen watched her, waiting for her to accept the garment. Her pride argued against it because it meant another form of submission to their marriage, but her flesh demanded to be shielded from the winter chill.
“Come, lass, save yer arguments for things that do not place yer health at risk. Bonnie sent it for ye.”
“Yer brother knows what ye set out to do?”
“Aye.”
Her hands slipped through the arm openings and a tiny sigh escaped her lips when she felt the weight of the fabric settle onto her shoulders. A flicker of satisfaction filled his eyes as he fastened a few of the buttons. Satisfaction shone in his expression as he ran a hand along the surface of the wool. It was fine, thick wool, the highest quality.
“Be angry at me if ye like, lass, but I do enjoy knowing I provide for ye.” His expression went hard for a moment. “Because ye are mine.”
“As ye keep telling me.”
“I am hoping ye learn to remember it. Dinna make me chase ye down on the road, Bronwyn.” His voice was stern but tempered with something that sounded like tenderness. She held her chin steady, refusing to answer him by word or gesture. It was bad enough that she was his captive. She refused to become obedient to his will.
He grunted and waved her mare forward. “As ye like, madam. Be assured that I will keep my word to keep ye.”
A page brought the mare close and Cullen grasped her waist. He set her in the saddle with an arrogant look that made her temper flare.
“Dinna be so proud, Cullen McJames.”
But it also hit her heart because the man wanted her and was proud of having her. She should detest it. But she had never been one to lie to herself. There was a part of her that was looking forward to being Cullen McJames’s wife. He flashed her that boyish grin once more.
“Dinna be proud of having ye for my wife? Why would I no be happy about that, Bronwyn? ’Tis the truth that I am quite proud this morning.”
He swung up into the saddle, then raising his fist into the air, cried, “Sterling!”
He rode through the gates, her mare following along with his retainers. Several banners flew with his crest on it and that of his brother. She was given a place of honor among the ranks of men and truly it warmed her heart.
She only wished that she had more confidence in it lasting past her arrival at Sterling.
The day’s journey was long and hard. Bronwyn gritted her teeth before noon. She wasn’t used to hours in the saddle.
And she was not used to being sore between her thighs.
She swung her leg over and sat side saddle until her hip went numb. She shifted the other direction and endured a few more hours, but she was as close to begging as she had ever been before the towers of Sterling came into view.
It was bitterly cold. The surcoat was not enough to keep her teeth from chattering. The length of McJames wool lay across the horse and she gave in. Wrapping it around her body, she even tugged it up over her head. Snow drifted down on them in soft flakes. How often had she watched them falling from the shelter of a window and considered the white flurries magical? With no fire to warm her, the snow took on another side. A cruel one as it pulled all of the heat from her body, beginning at her fingertips and then up to her knuckles.
She might not have survived on the road if she had made good her escape.
Knowing that did not cheer her any. The towers of Sterling came into view and the men who rode with Cullen sent up a cheer. They were returning home, and as they climbed the rise toward the sprawling castle that was the seat of the earl of Alcaon, she heard the bells on the walls begin ringing.
A true welcome.
She pulled her mare to a stop and stared at the castle. It was built in a series of towers connected by a large curtain wall. The flags on the walls were blue and gold, telling her that the earl was in residence. All of it was constructed of gray castle stone, no doubt where its name had once come from. It was a place she had heard so much about but never expected to see with her own eyes.
It was possible she might never leave its heavy walls.
“It’s too cold to linger out here, lass.”
Cullen spoke gently but he hooked her around the waist and pulled her off her mare. She landed in front of him with a bump that sent a bolt of pain up through her abused body. But he was warm. She shivered as she felt the heat bleeding out of his body like an oven. The hand holding her against him stroked her side in a soft motion.
“I dinna realize ye were so cold.” Disapproval coated his words. With a kick, he sent Argyll toward his home.
“’Tis nothing more than any other is enduring.”
He lifted one hand, displaying his leather gauntlet. “But my men are prepared for riding out in the weather.”
“I suppose ye should not make a habit of stealing women then. Since captives do not have the privilege of preparing for the journey.”
A twinkle of mischief sparkled in his eyes. “Ye think not?”
“Indeed.”
She sounded waspish but did not care. Cullen rode through the raised gate. People were crowded onto the front steps and faces peered out of the windows. All the shutters were open in spite of the winter chill as the household staff looked down to see their laird returning. She saw their white linen caps lining the window openings.
“I dinna know about that. It’s been a grand adventure, trying my hand at stealing ye. I’d be lying if I said I dinna enjoy carrying ye off to my bed.”
He pulled the horse to a stop as she hissed at him.
“Stop yer bragging.”
She slid off the back of the horse herself and sunk into the snow up to her ankles. She was suddenly thankful for the numbness in her feet because at least she couldn’t feel the ice. Her ankle boots were mere leather ones, meant for spring. They served well enough inside during the winter. Cullen and his men wore knee-high boots that were lined with thick wool and sealed with wax to keep their feet dry.
Bronwyn shivered as she looked at the steps crowded with curious McJameses. Standing in the snow wasn’t the best option either, but she remained in place as her body began to shiver.
“Come, lass, I’ll introduce ye to yer new home.”
Cullen swept her toward the door with a firm arm behind her back but her legs refused to walk. Her knees knocked against one another in a clumsy attempt. It was frustrating beyond endurance. Concentrating on her feet, she tried again, this time making it a few paces before her knees collapsed.
“And ye wanted to escape in this chill.”
Cullen swept her up against his chest. There was murmuring from those watching and more than a few grins. Clearly she was providing welcome entertainment for a winter afternoon.
“I would have kept walking, even in the snow.”
He frowned, but they had reached the top of the stairs. The earl stood there with his wife just inside the doorway and out of the weather.
Brodick McJames swept her with a critical eye. Cullen didn’t put her down even when she squirmed.
“May I present Bronwyn McQuade, my wife.”
The earl raised a dark eyebrow. “Yer wife?”
“Witnessed by Bishop Shaman and Druce. Our good cousin flew the sheet with his own hands.”
Bronwyn hit him. “Put me down.”
Brodick’s wife Anne peered at Bronwyn. “Why isn’t she dressed?”
Cullen shrugged before setting Bronwyn on her feet. Her knees wanted to buckle but she forced them straight.
“Och, well, it turns out I stole her away right after her bath.”
Bronwyn glared at the humor in his tone, but Anne’s eyes opened with alarm.
“That is barbaric.” Her delicate English accent lent gravity to her words. “And quite unkind in this winter chill, I might add. She’s half frozen.”
“I plan to warm her up.”
Bronwyn growled but Anne stomped her foot beneath her skirts. The earl’s lips were twitching as he tried to resist the urge to grin.
“The pair of you are a disgrace.” She shot a particularly pointed look at her husband before turning around to look at Bronwyn.
“I see it falls to me to offer you hospitality.” She dropped a small and practiced curtsy. “Please follow me and we shall find a warm bath for you.”
Anne turned back around to look at Cullen who was still grinning like a triumphant boy fresh from a victorious fist fight. “We shall see how many toes she still has after your handling.”
Both men frowned, their brows creasing.
Cullen looked troubled, his keen gaze sweeping her. The concern bothered her, nipping at her conscience. She was made of sterner stuff than the countess hinted at and for some reason she liked Cullen knowing it.
“I refused to wear the dress they gave me at White Tower.”
Shock registered on Cullen’s face. Anne looked incredulous. “But why?”
“Because he stole me. So I wed him in the only thing I had. Better to understand that such a wedding will not bring anything more than what he stole.”
Her teeth chattered because she couldn’t keep them clenched when she was speaking. Cullen closed the space between them, scooping her off her feet before her teeth stopped hitting themselves.
“Put me down.”
“Nae.” He was striding down the hallway, uncaring of the attention pointed at them from every door frame. “Anne is right. Ye’re freezing and that’s my doing.”
“And walking would warm me up.”
He sent her another one of those determined looks. “So will placing ye in a hot bath.”
Bronwyn held her tongue, mindful of those watching them.
“Aren’t ye going to call me a brute?”
“I should.” But she wouldn’t. Not with so many watching. The man was as proud as she, but he wasn’t a laird drunk on his own power like her older brothers. Cullen earned the respect being given him. She admired that even if it rubbed her own pride.
They entered a huge hall filled with benches and long tables. One end had a raised dais with another table, but there were chairs there instead of benches. The kitchens would be behind it, so that food might be served up hot and with the least amount of walking.
Cullen carried her through a doorway and the air became wonderfully warm. Her cheeks stung as feeling returned, the tip of her nose actually feeling colder by contrast.
“But ye didn’t.”
He set her feet down but held her securely against his body. Cupping her chin, he raised her face so that their eyes met. “Why is me question.”
She squirmed because his gaze saw too much. “I just didn’t. That is all. As difficult as ye might find it to believe, I am not a shrew by nature. This is yer home. I’ll save my temper for places where it will not be overheard.”
He didn’t believe her, or maybe he was simply frozen with shock at her explanation.
“I thought ye promised me a warm bath.”
“So I did, lass.”
He released her and Anne strode into the bathhouse with another younger woman who looked very much like her.
“Away with ye, Cullen.”
“Nae.”
Anne propped her hands on her hips. “Do not say nay to me, sir. Bonnie and I shall see to the bathing on the women’s side. If I need another set of hands, I’ll send for your sister.”
Bronwyn’s gaze flew to Bonnie and the girl was young. A ripple of relief swept through her before she could bury her feelings. Cullen grinned.
“My wife was grateful for the use of yer surcoat, Bonnie.”
Anne scoffed at his humor. “There is two feet of snow on the ground. She’d have been content in a smelly saddle blanket.”
“No content, but I agree that she’d have no argued.”
“Enough from you. Be gone before she takes to beating some manners into you. I confess that I’m of the mind to help.” Anne gave Cullen a shove, and he feigned a stumbling step backward.
He turned to look at Bronwyn, offering her a good-natured grin. “Careful, Bronwyn, Anne rules Sterling with an iron fist.”
Bronwyn offered him a flutter of her eyelashes. “If that is so, why aren’t you more respectful to her?”
“Well spoken.” Anne shook her head. “I believe your brother would have a few words with you, Cullen.”
“Aye, I imagine that’s true enough.”
He gave her a long glance. “But I’m still wanting to know the answer to me question, Bronwyn. We’ll see about that later.”
He turned in a swirl of McJames kilt and left. Bronwyn wished she didn’t find his form so enticing, but her eyes were glued to his wide back until it disappeared.
“What does he want to know?” Bonnie was young enough to ask the question. Her sister, Anne, tried to warn her but the younger girl refused to be put off.
“Why I didn’t insult him.” Bronwyn sat down on a stool and began fighting with the laces on her boots. The leather was wet and stiff with ice, and her fingers still half frozen. “Who can understand why a man would need to ask such a question.”
There was a splash as water began filling one of the high-backed slipper tubs in the room. There were three of them and a trough that could be moved between all of them. It was built up at an angle and most likely connected to a water reservoir in back of the ovens. The snow and ice would fall into it and melt with the aid of the heat from cooking. It most likely ran the entire length of the kitchens to supply the bathhouse. It was a wonderful convenience, allowing bathing all year.
“Who can understand the way men think.” Anne spoke more to Bonnie but Bronwyn found herself agreeing.
Anne took over the chore of removing her boot for her. Bronwyn stared at the woman, unsure of how to act. She had feared that being a McQuade would cause her trouble at Sterling, but it was for sure that an English woman would find Scotland far less welcoming. For the moment, her worries paled compared to what Anne must have faced when she married Brodick McJames.
Anne pulled the boot loose at last. She looked up and offered a soft smile.
“I find myself often wondering what Brodick is thinking when he asks me some of the things he does.”
It was an attempt at kindness. Bronwyn returned the smile but busied herself with disrobing.
“I’m happy that Cullen remembered to unwrap the surcoat.” Bonnie spoke with the carefree tone of youth. She crossed the room and took the garment from Bronwyn’s hands.
“Does that mean everyone here agreed with this idea of stealing me away from my family?”
It might have been wiser to keep such a barbed question to herself, but the words spilled out. Bonnie looked stunned and Anne sighed. The countess reached for Bronwyn’s chemise and tugged it over her head.
“Your father’s charges made Cullen determined to confront the situation. Truthfully, it was not the first time stealing ye was discussed.” Anne gave her a hard look. “And by different men all intent on ending the raids.”
Bronwyn stepped into the tub and winced. Her toes smarted as the warm water broke winter’s grip on her flesh. Her entire body ached in one fashion or another, her mind hurting worst of all as she tried to fend off self-pity.
“Many marriages are made for less.” Bonnie had lost her sweet tone. Bronwyn looked up because there was too much sorrow in that voice for one so young. She stared at Bronwyn with glistening eyes. “I was married to force my sister to return to England. My husband is a terrible man.”
“Yer very young to have a husband…” Bronwyn’s words trailed off because guilt slammed into her when she realized how much better off she was with Cullen. Bonnie had gone pale with just the thought of her husband.
“Too young, and he will never set hands on you.” Anne spoke with confidence. “Waste no time on the matter. I’d sooner ship ye to the highlands than allow that to happen.”
Bonnie did not obey her sister. Her teeth bit into her lower lip but she remained silent.
The sounds of bathing filled the room. Bronwyn didn’t know what to say, so she busied herself with washing her hair. The soap was fresh smelling and she wrinkled her nose when she realized that the only thing she had to wear was her chemise. After three days, it was unsavory at best. Her bathing didn’t take long and she stood up. A length of toweling was held up by Anne. The personal service from the mistress of the house was surprising. It was also the height of hospitality.
“Thank ye.”
The countess smiled.
Another woman entered the room. This one was older and wore a good wool dress with a McJames plaid draped down her back. It was drawn up over her right shoulder and secured with a brass broach.
“I’ve brought a few things for her, and since it is winter, we’ll put some of the girls to needle tomorrow to make the rest.”
The woman inspected her with keen eyes. A hard look glittered in them that Bronwyn understood. That was the strife that had been caused by her father’s greed. Anne and Bonnie were English and had not lived with the deaths that had happened in years gone by, but this woman had. Bronwyn shivered under the woman’s wary regard.
“Well now. I’m Helen. We’d best get that hair dried before ye take ill.”
Helen’s words were surprisingly pleasant. Bronwyn discovered that she was too tired to worry about what might happen later. For the moment she was among women and there was a camaraderie that was worth savoring. In a world run by men, every female had doubts. She was not alone in that. Knowing that helped fill in a small amount of the empty place she’d noticed yesterday.
Bronwyn sat in front of the fire, brushing her hair until it dried into a fluffy cloud. The new chemise was fresh and welcome. Anne put the surcoat back over her so that she could leave the bathhouse. But she held onto the shoes, tiny wrinkles appearing on the bridge of her nose.
“These are soaked clean through and smell like a horse.”
“I’m not surprised. I believe I’ve lived on one for the better part of three days.” Bronwyn looked at the pitiful lumps her boots had become. “But ’tis all I have.”
“Not so,” Helen declared as she placed a pair of bedchamber slippers on the floor near her feet. “Ye have a McJames husband now. He will provide well for ye.”
She slid her feet into the slippers. They were lined in soft wool to keep her toes warm. She began following Anne through the hall without question because her mind was too busy. Besides, she had no other idea of where to go.
A McJames husband…
Bronwyn wasn’t sure if she was more stunned by the word “McJames” or “husband.” A tiny quiver went through her belly as she realized that night had fallen. Most of the shutters were tightly closed now and tin lanterns had been set along the hallways to provide light. Yellow dots danced on the stone floor, the winter wind stirring the candle flames.
Her wedding night.
Even if they had celebrated it already, it was, in fact, her wedding night. Cullen would be waiting for her. Heat began to warm her skin as she thought about walking to a room where everyone knew that she would spend the night with a man and that they would not be sleeping immediately.
It was amazing to think that half an hour in front of a bishop could change something that was forbidden into a thing she was expected to do. Many labeled it a chore, but she had enjoyed it.
But what was it?
A wifely duty? A sin?
A need…
Her cheeks burned scarlet as she thought about the action.
Oh, she knew plenty of words for it. Some of them more coarse than others. But she couldn’t deny that she had enjoyed those moments in Cullen’s arms. The sheer pleasure that had taken control of her had been mind numbing. To think that it was expected of her now was pure temptation. Since he’d bent her to his will, she might lay back and indulge her body in its craving for his touch.
The church would not frown on her.
Yet her clan would.
Did she care? She wasn’t as sure as she had been two days past.
It was a dilemma that made her bite her lower lip.
Anne paused in front of a large door. She pushed it inward, holding it wide for Bronwyn. Candles burned in bright welcome on the table in the room. There was a fire in the hearth adding warmth.
“I remember how lonely it was my first night at Sterling. Believe me when I tell you that the McJames men are very good at helping to change that.” Anne went back into the doorway. “I will see you at breakfast.”
“Thank ye.” Her voice lacked true sincerity, so she kept it low. She meant no disrespect, but she was not an accomplished liar, either.
Anne didn’t linger. The door shut, leaving Bronwyn in the chamber. It was large and round because it was in one of the keeps that made up Sterling. On the second floor, there were windows that were covered in curtains. Curious, she moved toward them, fingering the expensive velvet fabric. Brushing one aside, she gasped at the glass behind it. Small panes of expensive glass were held together with lead to form windows that would allow light into the room even in foul weather. There were hinges that would allow the sections to be opened so that fresh air might enter the room. She touched the glass lightly, marveling at the smooth texture. Her fingertips could feel the chill of winter through it. They were large windows and that was a luxury because it allowed heat to escape even with the heavy curtains. But it would allow the air to be fresh in the chamber.
There was also a chimney for the hearth for the smoke to rise up and out of the chamber. The bed itself was clearly made for a man. It was large with thick curtains hanging on the sides of it. The fluffy coverlet that was turned down looked inviting. She was suddenly so tired of struggling. Lying down in a warm bed tempted her almost beyond her endurance.
“Yer hair is beautiful, lass.”
She stiffened, each muscle straining. Turning around, she looked at the man she’d wed. His hair glistening in the candlelight told her that he’d bathed as well. He wore only his kilt now, his sword slung over his shoulder. He let the weapon down to rest against a wall near the side of the bed that was closest to the door.
“I should have stolen ye the first time I set eyes on ye.”
“That’s insane.” She meant to sound firm but her voice was breathless.
Cullen shrugged, the thick muscles on his chest moving with the motion.
“Maybe, I’ll no deny that ye have that effect on me.”
He had closed the distance between them. With each step he took, her body responded. Sensation flowed down over her skin, awakening it. Her breasts became more aware of the fabric of her chemise, the nipples tingling as they recalled what his mouth felt like on them.
“Ye shouldn’t say such things.”
He reached out to finger her hair. Enjoyment flickered in his eyes as he reached up higher and slid his fingers through it. “There is no one here to judge what we say, Bronwyn. I often wonder why the church is so concerned about the matters between a man and a woman, anyway.”
“That’s close to blasphemy, Cullen. Ye’ll be the one in the stocks if ye are overheard.”
“Maybe, but I suppose ye might just consider that fair because you almost landed in their rough grasp this morning.”
She suddenly laughed, the sound bubbling up past her lips before she realized it was coming. “Ye are such a boy sometimes.”
His hand closed in her hair and gave it a gentle tug. He was grinning as he repeated the motion. “Since I’ve pulled yer hair, does that makes me a naughty boy?”
“It does indeed. But give me a moment and I shall find a tree to cut a switch from.”
His expression changed. The teasing light vanished as desire replaced it.
“’Tis too cold for that, besides, it would nae stop me. I’m nae in the mood to behave properly.”
Neither was she…
Bronwyn quivered as she recognized how much she agreed with him. Her body was pulsing with needs that it wanted satisfied. She wanted more than she’d had last night. Needed to touch him more. The surcoat was suddenly too warm and the chemise rough against her sensitive skin.
But the need to touch him was stronger than her desire to rid herself of the discomforts. Reaching forward, she stroked his chest with her fingertips, tracing one sculpted ridge of hard muscle. His skin was hot and smooth and his nipple drew into a hard point as she moved her hand toward it. Would he like it as much as she had if she leaned toward him and sucked it? Her hands slid over it and his skin rippled with a shudder. That little reaction made her bold. Closing the last step between them, she tilted her head and gently placed a kiss on his nipple.
“Sweet mercy.”
He growled through his teeth and grasped her head in his hands. But he didn’t pull her away. Flattening both her hands on his chest she stroked him as she parted her lips to gently suckle his nipple. His chest rumbled with some sound that was half growl and half moan.
It filled her with confidence.
Parting her lips, she allowed the tip of her tongue to tease the little tip. The grip in her hair tightened and she trailed soft kisses across his chest to the opposite nipple. Closing her lips around it, she offered it the same teasing affection.
“Ye learn too fast, Bronwyn.”
Cullen pulled her head away from his chest, raising her face so that his mouth hovered above her lips. “But I’m no complaining.”
He pressed a kiss onto her mouth. It was demanding but slow. He tasted her lips, sliding his across hers in a soft motion that stole her breath. She shivered as delight filled her. Slipping her hands up his chest, she held onto his shoulders, urging him closer.
He sent his tongue into her mouth, invading and demanding, but she opened wide for it. His tongue found hers and stroked it. He teased it again and again until she followed his lead. They thrust and tangled for a long moment before he lifted his head. Desire made his face fierce but it didn’t alarm her.
What it did was excite her. Her passage heated up, her clitoris throbbing gently between the folds of her sex.
“I need to see ye.” His hands slid out of her hair. “All of ye.”
He didn’t reach for her surcoat, but watched her with need etched into his face.
“Show yerself to me, Bronwyn.”
It was a command but one edged with desire. She had never thought a woman might have control over such a strong man, but she did in some odd fashion. He’d stripped her last night but wanted the gift of her surrender tonight.
She wanted to know what that power felt like.
She reached for the buttons on her surcoat, watching his face while he waited for her to comply with his demand. There was no logic to the idea, only the rush of confidence that filled her. For the first time in her life she felt beautiful.
The buttons slid quietly from the buttonholes. Only the first few were closed. She shrugged out of the heavy wool in a few moments. Cullen stood still, giving her his absolute attention.
“More.” He croaked the single word when she stopped.
She drew her finger along the edge of her chemise instead. He frowned, his jaw twitching.
“Sweet tease. Be careful, lass. That’s a game two can play.”
She brushed past him, walking toward the hearth. The fire would make her garment transparent and she knew it. The heat caused the hem to billow softly around her calves.
He chuckled softly, following her in a lazy pace that reminded her of stalking. A mocking grin decorated his lips. With a hard tug he released his belt and his kilt slid down his hips. He caught it up and tossed it aside.
Bronwyn couldn’t help herself, she looked at his cock once again. It was standing straight up from his lower belly, the head crowned with a thick ridge of flesh. Knowing that she’d already taken it didn’t keep her from wondering if he was too large. The flesh looked impossibly thick and long.
He suddenly captured her, closing the distance with one long step. She gasped, but he laughed at her and clicked his tongue in reprimand.
“Distractions often prove fatal.”
He pressed another kiss onto her mouth. This one was hard and unrelenting. His tongue speared into her mouth, boldly demanding what his body wanted. He grasped the sides of her chemise and pulled it over her head.
“Much better.”
He didn’t take time to look at her nude body. Scooping her up, he turned and settled her in his bed without hesitation. The bed rocked and he kicked the bedding down to the foot.
“Now to return the favor.”
He grasped both her breasts in a light grip, and leaning down, licked one nipple, sending a shaft of pleasure straight down her spine. She twisted with the intensity, reaching for something to hold on to. Her hands closed on his shoulders as he sucked her nipple into his mouth.
A soft cry hit the canopy above her but she didn’t recognize it as her own. It was too wanton, too passionate. Cullen was unleashing something she had never known lived inside her. She twisted as need clawed through her passage. It seemed to build much faster now that she understood what satisfaction felt like. Her clitoris was begging for attention, her thighs already open in invitation.
Cullen appeared to agree. He slid a hand down her body quickly tonight, stroking her skin but not hesitating at the top of her mons. He parted the flesh protecting her clitoris in a smooth motion.
The first touch made her moan. Pleasure spiked up into her belly. He lifted his head from her nipple to watch her face. That single fingertip pressed slow circles onto her clitoris. The pleasure overwhelmed her and her eyes fluttered shut as the intensity hit her all at once.
All she wanted to do was feel.
“Do ye like that, lass?”
Her eyes popped open because she couldn’t believe he was asking about…about something so intimate.
That teasing grin was back on his face. He slid his finger down the lips of her sex to the opening of her passage. A new sensation hit her as he circled that opening, teasing it. Her hips lifted toward his touch, craving to be filled.
“Ye dinna answer my question.”
“I can’t.”
He chuckled and slid his finger tip back up to her clitoris. “Yer voice sounds like it is working fair well.”
He paused, not moving but only resting on the sensitive bit of flesh. The teasing look in his eyes hardened into a demanding one that she knew well now. The man wanted his way.
“Aye.” She growled the word at him.
He chuckled in response, but his finger moved, sending sweet delight through her. It was tightening again, her belly becoming a pool of hot need. She craved the satisfaction that had ripped through her last night.
“Do ye want me?”
“Why do ye torment me?”
His expression softened. “Can ye nae believe that I want to hear ye tell me that ye crave my possession? And nae just because I know where to rub ye?”
There was something in his tone that touched her deeply. His hand had gone still again, but this time it was because he craved something from her that only she might grant him. Sliding her hands up to his face, she cupped his cheeks and spread her thighs wide in invitation.
“I want ye.”
He needed no more urging. His body covered hers, pressing her down into the mattress again. He didn’t smother her but held his weight above her, giving her enough but not too much. She felt the hard tip of his cock slipping between the folds of her sex.
“I don’t just want ye, Bronwyn. I crave ye.”
He thrust slowly into her. The pace frustrated her until pain nipped at her.
“Easy, lass. It gets easier with repetition, I promise ye.”
His words proved true when he slid deep without much more discomfort. She didn’t ache as she had last night, only a few twinges as her passage accepted his entry once more.
“As ye told me, ye keep yer promises.”
He withdrew and plunged back into her. “I do indeed.”
She didn’t want to talk. There was far too much sensation for her to think about words. Every inch of her body was one huge receptor. Every place their skin touched added to the wealth of delight filling her. She lifted her hips for each thrust from his, learning the rhythm. Each stroke of his cock slid along her clitoris, pushing her closer to the edge. His breathing became rough as hers turned shallow. She strained toward him, seeking release.
It hit her hard. Jerking and ripping at every thought, every idea. The wave of satisfaction was so strong it washed everything away leaving her gasping in limp surrender.
But Cullen joined her in that state, his body driving a few final times into hers before his seed erupted deep inside her. He pressed her hard to the bed as his seed filled her, a growl leaving his lips. But his arms quivered beneath her fingertips exactly as hers did. It was an unspoken thing, but she felt it, that moment when they were simply both slaves to the passion their bodies had for each other. For the moment it was enough to satisfy her pride. The need to struggle against him and their marriage died.
It would sprout anew in the morning, but she allowed it to lie dormant. The bed felt like a perfect sanctuary from the world where she was McQuade and he McJames.
He rolled over, shaking the bed when he landed on his back.
“I swear ye are a siren sent to lure me to my death.” He sat up to grasp the bedding, pulling it up over them both. “But I’m going to die a happy man.”
“If I’m a siren then ye are the sailor set to die on the rocks at my feet. We make the most tragic couple.” She stared up at the canopy above her, suddenly fighting off tears. They burned her eyes as she resisted the weakness.
Cullen sighed. “Ye seem to forget that along with all the other things in this world there is still hope. I prefer to think about that more than the tragic fates that have befallen others. I plan to be the sailor who enchants ye so completely, ye cannot bear to watch me die.”
“That’s not the way the story goes.”
“Ah, but it’s a myth and I’m a modern man, composing my own tale of adventure.”
“Well, I agree that ye are certainly no following anyone else’s rules.” And in all truth, there was a part of her that was enjoying it. To be wanted, even for reasons that she was suspicious of, was still being wanted.
Clearly her mind had gone soft.
He pulled her against him, scooping her up and pulling her into contact with his body. She wiggled, trying to regain some space, but he tucked her against his body, refusing her.
“Be still, lass. I promised to keep ye warm.”
She hissed softly. “I cannae sleep like this.”
His chest rumbled softly with amusement. “And why not? Ye have never tried.”
She was too close to really hurt him, but she slapped a hand down on his chest and it popped loudly in the silent chamber. A second later her hand was captured in a warm hand.
“Enough for one day, Bronwyn.”
She suddenly noticed what he smelled like. His body heat wrapped around her, combining with the satisfaction pulsing through her to drag her down into slumber. The fact that she was sleeping beneath the roof of her clan’s enemy didn’t seem to have any power against the warm arms wrapped around her. Her flesh was content and it ignored everything beyond the man holding her.
For the moment it was perfect.
The royal court of Scotland
“McQuade is demanding to see ye.” Alarik McKorey didn’t bother to hide his smirk from his king. Erik McQuade had stolen enough from him to make any sufferings on his part amusing. “Again.”
James Stuart sighed. The queen sat beside her husband with her ladies near. They worked fine silk threads into embroidery in the private royal receiving room. Anne was making her husband’s shirts, a task that showed affection when done by a wife for her husband. She looked at her husband. “I believe we have heard enough from that man to last a year.”
The king looked at his queen. “I canna ignore him forever. The man is a laird and my treatment of him is watched carefully by the rest of the clans.”
“The man should be so considerate when he talks about his daughter when others are watching him.” The queen kept her voice perfectly smooth and soft, a credit to her tutoring to wear a crown, but there was no mistaking the subtle disgust.
“I believe Bronwyn McQuade will be marrying soon, if she hasn’t already.”
The queen looked stunned. She glanced quickly around the room, frowning at the lowered heads of her maids of honor. Not one of them looked her in the eye.
“I understand this is a particular custom among your clans, but I confess that I find it harsh. I hope you will understand why I don’t remain to hear the man’s displeasure over having his daughter stolen. I have a daughter of my own.” The queen stood. She curtsied to her husband before gliding gracefully from the private receiving room. Her maids followed her, each one modeling themselves after her. Raelin McKorey remained, silently sorting the costly silks the queen had been using to do her embroidery. She carefully tucked ends and slipped them back into the queen’s embroidery basket that was entrusted to her keeping.
“My queen has an interesting point.”
Alarik offered his king a grin. “I do believe no man alive would dream of stealing the Princess Elizabeth.”
James Stuart snorted. “Och now, they’ll dream it sure enough. It’s in the nature of a man to reach for something he sees above him.”
“Except for a king.”
James looked shocked but then laughed. “Och now, ye have that right. There’s been a few times I’ve looked down and envied the lives of those not born to sit on a throne.” He sobered though and pegged Alarik a hard stare. “I meant what I told young McJames. There had better have been care taken with that girl.”
Alarik stared straight back at his king, his chin level. Raelin watched them from beneath her lowered lashes. A shiver raced down her spine. Men were hard creatures. They saw women as items that were fashioned for their use.
“Laird McQuade.” The royal messenger announced Erik McQuade with a tap of his staff against the stone floor.
“He may enter. Alone.”
There was argument from beyond the large doors but the king did not relent. Laird McQuade entered and the guards closed their pikes across the doorway to bar the man’s sons and retainers from the private receiving room.
“Alone or wait until I’m in the mood to receive ye in the outer hall.”
McQuade glared at Alarik McKorey.
James Stuart held up a hand. “When you disturb me in my private chambers, you take my company along with me.”
McQuade shook with his anger but he gave his king the quickest of bows before stepping farther into the room. The guards secured the doors behind him. There was an uproar from his sons that the heavy doors muffled but did not completely seal out.
“That stinking McJames has stolen me daughter!” His face was red and contorted with anger. He sucked in another breath. “I demand he be tossed into chains.”
The king lifted his hand but Laird McQuade didn’t heed the warning. He cussed.
“He’s stolen my child! I demand his blood!”
The guards behind the king lowered their pikes. It was clear they didn’t care for the way the man was bellowing at his monarch. McQuade scowled but held his tongue.
“Rather interesting that Cullen would see fit to steal her away when you told all that he’d already had her. What do you suppose is the man’s motivation? Why steal a woman who lifted her skirts willingly?”
McQuade sputtered, outrage making his eyes bulge. “I’ll deal with the thieving bastard myself!”
“Ye will not.” James Stuart raised his voice and there was no missing the crack of authority in it. “Yer raiding is at the root of this problem, man. Did ye think ye could smear the names of yer neighbors and nae have them retaliate?”
“If they were any sort of real Scots they’d take the matter up with me, no me daughter.”
The king gripped the arms of his chair. “Yer the one who brought her into the fight between you and the McJames.”
“Because Cullen McJames soiled her and tossed her aside like a whore.” McQuade opened his hands. “I came to ye for justice.”
“It would seem that Cullen has not discarded her at all but intends to keep her. A wedding will satisfy the need for justice.”
“I have no given her permission to wed! I am her father and laird!” McQuade returned to yelling. The guards at the back doors of the receiving room entered because he was bellowing so loudly.
The king, however, was calm. “And why not, man? It won’t be the first couple that knelt on the altar after sampling each other.”
“It will no wipe the stain off me honor.”
James snorted in frustration. “What do you want? Cullen McJames rotting in chains?”
“Aye! And me daughter back on my land where she belongs.”
“To what end, McQuade? Ye want to keep her unmarried and shamed for the rest of her days?”
McQuade quieted down. He considered his next words before replying. “I do not know as yet. Bronwyn has shamed me and her entire clan. I’ll take her home as an example to the other daughters who think to disobey their fathers and clan.”
The king raised an eyebrow. “Just how are ye planning to do that, man? I thought ye said she was stolen away?”
McQuade shook with his anger. “I want ye to order that thieving McJames to bring her back. He’ll obey ye.”
“How do ye know it was McJames who took her? There’s more than one clan that would like to force ye into an alliance by marrying yer daughter.” Alarik McKorey glared at Erik McQuade, making it plain that he was one of them.
Erik McQuade spat on the floor. “I’ve witnesses. The way they tell it, there was more than one set of colors that helped with the stealing, but they only got a good look at the McJames that tied up me daughter and threw her over his shoulder.”
Alarik shrugged. “The McJames are good friends. I’ve no doubt that if Cullen were the one who took yer daughter, there would be a few men that might help him. Considering the fact that ye labeled him a blackguard.”
McQuade smiled. It was a slow, sickening twist of his lips. “Is that a fact? Well, since ye seem to think that stealing brides is acceptable, maybe it’s time I married again meself.” He glanced down at Raelin and the embroidery basket went tumbling right out of her lap when she stood up.
“Yer sister’s ripe for breeding.” He licked his lower lip. “I always liked plump tits best.”
“I’ll carve yer cock off, ye letch.” Alarik had his hands around McQuade’s throat before the guards made it across the room.
They trampled the contents of the queen’s baskets beneath their boots as they tried to tear Alarik off McQuade. Raelin was pushed out of the way and ended up against a wall while the fight went on. She watched it intently, feeling that shiver cross her spine again. Her brother was in a full rage, but McQuade didn’t seem to notice the younger man’s advantage. He pulled a knife and plunged it toward Alarik.
The blade sliced through the air with a wicked flicker of light off its polished surface. Time slowed down and she heard her own heartbeats while the slashing blade was moving closer and closer to her brother’s throat. The metal sliced into his skin, spilling crimson blood. Alarik let out a roar as he turned away, releasing his hold on McQuade.
McQuade stumbled forward now that Alarik wasn’t there to absorb his attack, the knife dripping blood as it plunged toward the king still in his chair.
In one more heartbeat a guard thrust his lowered pike through the impending threat to his king. A sickening sound filled the chamber. The iron top of the pike embedded itself in Laird McQuade’s chest, his own charge helping to push it deep.
The king’s guards pulled him over the back of the chair and out of the range of McQuade’s dagger. Bright red blood flowed over the pike and onto the rich carpets that lay beneath the king’s chair. McQuade looked down at his lifeblood, a frozen expression of rage still on his face. He looked up, meeting Raelin’s horrified stare.
“Ye stupid bitch. All…women are nothing…save…trouble…for…men.” He wheezed, bloody bubbles appearing at the sides of his mouth. With a last effort he threw the bloodstained dagger toward her.
Alarik made a lunge for the dirk but was too far behind her to make any difference. Still frozen in slow motion, it seemed impossible to avoid the spinning blade. But she moved away from it, every second feeling like an hour. Her cheek burned as the tip of it slit her skin open. The soft gold silk of her dress turned crimson, ruined beyond saving.
“Holy Christ!”
Time resumed its normal tempo. More guards rushed into the room. Lairds who had been waiting in the outer hall pushed their way in. Liam and Sodac McQuade howled loud enough to shake the rafters when they found their father dead, his eyes still open and staring at her.
“Ye witch!” Liam screamed in an insane rage. He reached for her, his fingers stained with his father’s blood. Alarik shoved him back, but it took more guards to subdue the enraged Scot.
“If ye want blood McQuade, try and take it!” Alarik snarled his eyes alight with the will to fight.
Liam spat on the floor, uncaring of the fine carpets beneath his feet. “What did yer bitch of a sister do to my father, McKorey?”
“Yer father was the one who insulted her by treating her like a common whore.”
Liam’s face turned purple with rage. He aimed that fury at Raelin. “Ye bewitched him! Ye devil’s handmaiden!” He pointed at her. “Witch! I’ll see ye burned for it!”
“Enough!” The king fought with his own guards, struggling to be heard over the rising voices of the men in the room. Accusations were flung out, one clan against another. McKorey retainers facing off with McQuade. Mixed into it was the royal guard trying to maintain order and protect their monarch.
Raelin watched in horror as McQuade men cursed her and strained to reach her so that they might murder her. Through it all, Liam McQuade watched silently, his face contorted with rage. It became his legacy as every man wearing his colors joined the fight to stamp out her life and that of her brother’s clansmen.
Hours later the McQuade retainers rode away from court, their laird’s body wrapped in his plaid. Hate blazed from their eyes in spite of the explanation given by their king. Raelin watched them from a balcony on the second floor of the palace.
Queen Anne laid kind hands on her shoulders. “It was not your fault, child.”
It hadn’t been, but there was no telling any McQuade that. She looked at the snow and shivered. Not because she was cold but because spring would bring more blood.
McKorey blood.
