In the Warrior’s Bed (4 page)

At least she would not have to smell of dried ale on the marrow.

Bronwyn undressed as close to the fire as possible to keep warm. Her doublet and wool skirt dropped to puddle around her ankles once she’d unhooked them. Stepping out of them, she stretched. Her chemise floated around her calves as she hurried to rinse her dress out. Once she finished, she hung it over a rough chair near the fire to dry. Working the lace free from her stays, she listened to the wind shake the shutter once more.

It was eerie. Icy fingers stroked across her heart as she crawled into bed with her bundle of kitchen scraps. She was grateful for the impulse that had seen her to the kitchens before her ride because it was a sure thing that no one would bring her supper.

It might have been enjoyable to share the meal with Cullen McJames…

Bronwyn frowned, but the image of her father’s enemy rose in her memory until it was as if the man stood in her chamber. She recalled him clearly. She’d never met a man who drew her attention so keenly. For the moment, she didn’t argue with her mind’s impulse to replay their meeting. Alone with her thoughts, she might as well enjoy them.

Who knew what tomorrow would offer?

He was a fool.

Cullen actually amused himself with his own thoughts as he returned to the crest of the hill the next day. Late in the afternoon, he kneed Argyll up to the top of it so that he might peer down into the valley that belonged to the McQuades.

It was empty.

He should have expected such. And still he had ridden out once again, when there were plenty of other tasks needing his attention.

He wanted to see her again.

Cullen scoffed at himself. He dinna even know who she was. Only that she was a McQuade and her laird had likely chastised her greatly for being anywhere near him.

The sweetness of her face had kept him company most of the night. Something that he’d no been happy about. Not when the lass was so far beyond his reach.

Kneeing Argyll and pulling the reins to guide the stallion back toward Sterling, Cullen turned his back on the valley. He lacked the patience to chase his sweet-faced lass because what he really desired was to be able to touch her. A pulse of need laced his blood as he rode toward home. It was bitter because there was no way to feed it. She was the only lass that held his interest and she was a McQuade.

Fate was a siren at times. Tempting and taunting mortal man with the things he could not have. But the one thing that fate had not counted on was the will of a McJames. He had never been a man to settle for being told that he could not have what he wanted.

He’d learn her name and that was a promise.

A
fist pounded on her door at dawn. Bronwyn rubbed her eyes but sat up when the door opened. Her brother, Sodac, strode into the room without a shred of courtesy. She held the covers tight against her body.

“Father says to tell ye to dress and get to the stables. We’re to leave as soon as the horses are ready.”

He raked her with a look that was full of loathing.

“Keir will be staying here, by Father’s command. Best ye think long and hard about what will happen to him if ye speak out against yer laird’s words. A third son needs the good will of his family in this life.”

She gasped and her brother smiled at her distress.

“I don’t expect a woman to understand the way the world works. So choose yer words carefully, or better still keep yer mouth shut, Bronwyn. The McJames owe us and we will get our due any way we can.”

Sodac left and Bronwyn shivered. She wasn’t cold; no, she was horrified at the pure malevolence she’d just witnessed. Cullen’s face surfaced from her dreams and seemed so vastly different from her brother’s. There had not been malice in his eyes, only enjoyment of the moment.

Her stomach twisted as she crawled from the bed. Aye, there was a great difference between Cullen and Sodac. But Keir did need the goodwill of his family. With his sense of honor, her brother would hold his head high as he was cast aside. That left only her to protect him. She would not lie but there was nothing wrong with remaining silent. Her father had been at court for eight months, banished to the outer receiving area, not even allowed into the royal hall because he’d angered the king with his accusations against the McJames. Maybe she’d be fortunate and James Stuart would refuse to see her father.

She would hope for the best, anyway. There was no point in dwelling on the darker things that her father might shackle onto her. Red Stone promised to be a colder place now that he’d called her a slut openly. Even if no one believed that she was a lightskirt, they could not miss the lack of affection from her sire. The fact remained that he was laird and Liam set to follow him by tradition. It was even supported by the scriptures.

Nay, she would not think about the life that was awaiting her after she went to court. Nor would she banish the memory of her meeting with Cullen McJames from her thoughts. It was for certain that she would not be riding again soon, if at all. She would enjoy what she could. Besides, she had felt more in those moments than she had in a year. Cullen had stirred something in her that she had never felt before. There had been so much excitement jumping about inside her that just thinking about it made her heart pump faster.

Perhaps that was wickedness. But it felt too good to cast aside in favor of a father that called her slut.

The road to court was long, but it passed quickly as she tumbled her thoughts over and over in her mind. The cold glances of her father’s retainers didn’t even make her shudder. She was far too absorbed with thinking of a way to satisfy her father without damning Cullen McJames.

To be sure, she would never ride in that valley again.

A twinge of pain startled her, stunning her as it ripped at her heart. Surely it was impossible to lament never seeing the man again. She had to prevent another meeting because her father would use any contact to damn the younger brother of the McJames family. Besides, Cullen might set to strike at her father through her once he knew whom he’d met. He was a warrior as devoted to his clan as her brothers were to her father.

And still she felt it. A small rent in the fabric of her heart. It softly throbbed as she pictured his face once again.

Well, her memories would have to be enough. His family had even more reason to dislike her than her father had to hate him. Her father raided the McJames. Oh yes, she knew it. Cullen McJames would never believe that her father detested her almost as much as he hated the McJames.

A soft chuckle made it past her frozen lips. It truly was a comedy of errors that she found the man so fetching. Once Cullen McJames knew her name, he would curse her unto hell.

She should have let him steal that kiss.

The court of Scotland was filled with men who waited. Bronwyn looked at their pensive faces as she was led through the mass of richly attired men toward the main entrance to the great hall where the king sat. Armed guards kept the velvet-clad hordes from entering the hall without a summons from their monarch. Every set of eyes seemed to be judging her, calculating what she might do to further their cause. To be king suddenly looked like a burden too heavy for any mere man. The guards with their weapons and the press of people all seeking an audience felt thick enough to smother.

Her wool dress was plain. More than one set of female eyes looked surprised as they raked over her common dress. The women waiting to be admitted into the hall wore lavish gowns made of velvet and silk. There was the twinkle of gold and silver sewn right onto the expensive garments. Each gown was supported with undergarments that made the skirts wider and grander than her own dress. The women held their arms carefully arched, without resting their hands on the dresses. There were pearls and jewels. Large wigs and powder and paint on their faces.

Their stays were so long, they looked as though they didn’t have any hips. The abundance of fabric reminded her of her father’s bed with its rich tapestry curtains. Her father held up a parchment, and to her surprise, the guards allowed them to pass into the receiving hall. A ripple of whispers went through those waiting, but Bronwyn lost interest in them as a new sea of faces cast inquiring glances toward them.

At the end of the hall the king sat. Musicians played in the eves surrounding the hall. Some of his courtiers were dancing but she did not recognize the steps. Still, music was a delight to hear. At Red Stone it was rare because her father refused to offer coin for entertainment. In the spring there would be market fairs, and with the merchants came music. Even if her father’s reasons for bringing her to court were distasteful, Bronwyn couldn’t keep herself from enjoying the music.

The king suddenly stiffened.

“McQuade.” His voice rose in a tone that silenced everyone who heard it. Her father seemed to be the only one who didn’t hear the warning. He marched forward and bowed to his king.

James Stuart didn’t look impressed.

“I gave ye leave to return home.”

Her father yanked her forward. Bronwyn stumbled because she wasn’t expecting her sire to touch her; he went for years without placing a finger on her.

“Aye, I returned home to discover that Cullen McJames has been using my daughter as his whore.”

There was an instant uproar in the hall. The air felt stuck in her lungs. Bronwyn watched the sea of faces peering at her, their eyes narrowing, dark condemning sneers aimed at her over lace fans. Several of the men smiled at her, invitation clearly written on their faces. Sweat popped out on her forehead while her heart began to race. The king scowled at her.

“My private chambers, McQuade. Now.”

The king was quite clearly displeased. He quit the room on fast steps, his guards keeping pace. Conversation rose in the hall as necks angled and stretched to get a clear look at her.

“Now ye’ll understand the penalties for turning traitor on me, Daughter.”

Her father hooked her arm and pulled her toward the back of the hall behind the throne. Heavy, ornately carved doors were held open by the royal guard. The moment they passed over the threshold, the doors were pushed shut behind them with a hard sound that made her flinch. The king was pacing, his servants meekly standing well behind him.

“Ye had better have a good explanation for that outburst, man. I’ve had my limit with yer schemes to paint the McJames clan black.”

“I rode home and found Cullen McJames on my land.”

The king stopped. He turned to face Erik McQuade. “Is that so?”

“It’s a fact, he was meeting my daughter. The thieving mongrel. Both my sons witnessed it the very moment we set foot back onto our land.”

The king looked at her, but her father pushed her behind him. “I brought her here so that ye might see the look of guilt on her face. I would never allow her to spew her filthy lies in yer presence.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” The king sat down in his ornate chair but he did not extend permission for his company to sit in the chairs behind them. He considered each of her brothers, Liam and Sodac. They puffed up their chests, hunger for vengeance brightening their eyes. They were the image of their father. James looked at her last, his eyes considering her.

“What say you, Bronwyn McQuade?”

“I told ye, she’s a lying whore…”

“And I told ye, Laird McQuade, that ye shall no tell me what to do, man.” James glared at her father. “I’m getting very tired of hearing yer dislike for yer neighbors. More importantly, I have had enough of listening to yer neighbors complain about yer thieving. I’ve three sound petitions for ye to be clamped into chains like a common thief, and it’s a fact that ye’re doing nothing to sway my opinion in yer favor.”

“Cullen McJames was with me daughter! He comes before ye like the very image of a martyred saint but he’s a blackguard who has fouled me daughter and left her disgraced.” Her father was shouting now and the guards behind the chair took one large step forward. Her sire instantly bowed his head in deference.

“Is that so, Bronwyn?”

She could not refuse to answer. Not to the king of Scotland. But Keir’s position weighed on her mind. She remained silent, torn as to what words to use. How to state the truth and not anger her sire, but it seemed impossible.

“Ye see? She’s choking on her shame.”

“I told ye that I’ve heard enough from ye.” The king gestured with his hand. “Remove him and his sons. The daughter stays.”

“She’s my child!”

“And my subject. I’ll hear what she has to say, even if I must toss ye out so that the girl can speak. The girl must have learned manners from someone other than ye because she at least knows better than to rage in my presence.”

The king’s voice cut through her father’s blustering like a knife. The guards behind him moved around the small dais with their swords drawn. The sharp tips pointed toward her father and brothers. All three glared at her, blaming her for the king’s displeasure.

“Your Majesty, I pray ye allow my family to remain.”

The guards froze, awaiting their monarch’s response.

“No.”

There was no more hesitation from the royal guard. Her family was sent back through the double doors without another word. When they closed again, the sound felt like a gunshot going through her.

“Now, answer my question. What is Cullen McJames to you?”

“A stranger.”

The king sat back down. He fixed her with a stern look. “Yer father claims he caught ye with him.”

“I was riding and he was at the top of the ridge. We did speak, that is all. I did not even know his name until my father told me.”

“But it was on McQuade land?”

“The border. We were both on the edges of our land.”

The king sighed, clearly frustrated. “How many men were with him?”

“None.”

James Stuart snorted, a chuckle rising from his chest. A gleam flickered in his eye and he raked her from head to toe. “Did Cullen know who ye were?”

Heat spread across her face. “I refused to tell him. He was wearing the McJames plaid.”

The king scoffed. “Cullen always wears his family colors. The man is pure Scot and proud of his family name. He’s a brazen one, too, riding onto yer land with no one to guard his back.”

He was…

The thought rose instantly from her memory of that meeting. The way Cullen had closed the distance between them, brash and unafraid of the possibility of being discovered. But the king was watching her intently. Bronwyn lowered her eyelashes to mask the excitement in her eyes.

“Did he touch ye?”

“Nay.” She spoke too sharply for the presence of a king, but her pride was blistered from her father’s words.

The king’s eyes narrowed. “Are ye a maiden?”

Her eyes widened. The man might be her king but she had not expected such an intimate question from him. Her temper flared up because never once had she behaved in a way to bring suspicion onto herself.

“Indeed I am.”

A slow smile covered the king’s face. But it did not soothe her. Quite the opposite. Just as Cullen’s grin had promised her something else, the king’s pleasant look made her stomach tighten with anticipation.

“Has yer father betrothed ye to anyone?”

The question startled her. It shouldn’t have, but she looked at the floor for a moment.

“Papa…I want a night blessing.” A curtain behind the dais moved and a little girl emerged. Dressed in a fine linen chemise and nightcap that were worked with masterful blackwork embroidery, the wee girl was only waist high. Her cheeks still chubby and her eyes large in her face. The cuffs and collar of the chemise were edged in bobbin lace. Bronwyn stared at the hours of work employed to decorate a garment that was only for sleeping. The fabric itself was finer than any Bronwyn had ever seen.

Fit for a princess.

“Elizabeth, my rose, where is your nurse?”

The king transformed into a loving parent before her eyes. He scooped up the wee girl and she clasped her arms around his neck.

“Please, Papa. All good children get a blessing from their father at night. They told me so in my studies.”

“Yer’re a good wee lass to listen to yer tutors.”

Bronwyn watched the way the king pressed a kiss on the top of the child’s head. Bronwyn couldn’t help staring. Never once had her own father kissed her so lovingly. The king noticed her watching and covered his emotions once again.

“This is my daughter, Elizabeth. Who should be abed.” He patted her bottom before turning to place the little girl on her feet. One of the guards held out a hand for the child and Elizabeth took it easily. Clearly the little girl was not an uncommon visitor in the king’s private receiving chamber.

“I see from yer face that yer own father has never been so kind to ye.”