In the Warrior’s Bed (11 page)

“Well now, my children.”

Bishop Shaman clearly enjoyed his position and the duties that went along with his church robes. The man settled himself in a large X chair that had ornately carved hand rests in the shape of lion claws. There was a carpet beneath the legs of the chair, spread out over the stone floor, adding another touch of luxury to the room.

Two grooms had followed them and they silently set up a traveling desk on a side table. An inkwell and quill were pulled from within the desk along with a sheet of paper. Her throat constricted as she watched one last item come out of that desk. It was a finger of sealing wax and a candle. Held in a short holder, the groom lit it and placed the wax near it. Her gaze flew to the bishop and the signet ring sitting on his right hand.

Aye, Cullen McJames was a warrior, all right. The man didn’t plan to allow her any chance to escape him. But she understood. His honor was at stake.

Yet so was hers. It was a poor child who shamed her parents. Even though her sire hated her, there was a lifetime of church teaching that forbade her to judge her father. Indecision gripped her so tightly, she forgot to breathe. She stared at Cullen, trying to understand why she had to reject him. She was truly torn, but one truth stuck in her thoughts. She knew her life at Red Stone. There was respect there. Even friends…well, maybe not friends but people who were kind toward her. She went where she wanted, had the things that she needed. Her attention settled on the blue, yellow, and orange of the McJames plaid. At Sterling there would be no kindness for a McQuade. Cullen would use her to strike back at his enemy, but she would be the one who would have to live her life among a clan who detested her blood.

It was a bleak prospect that even the hot attraction brewing inside her belly could not warm.

“Bronwyn McQuade.”

Her mind snapped back to the man sitting in front of her. The bishop eyed her with a stern look.

“Cullen has made a petition to me for license to wed with ye.” The bishop’s voice dropped a few notes as he applied his considerable authority over her.

“That is a matter best taken to my father.”

Cullen snorted. “That is nae possible and ye know it.” Exasperation laced his voice.

“As an obedient daughter I must refer ye to my father. It is tradition.” She lifted her chin, refusing to negotiate.

“So is marrying to end a feud.”

“Exactly.” Bishop Shaman slapped his hand down on top of one armrest. The sound startled her with how loud and final it was. The bishop raised one hand. “Sometimes it is necessary to dispense with some traditions in favor of the greater good.”

Bronwyn felt the trap closing around her. “I cannae wed without my father’s permission.”

“Ye mean ye willna.” Cullen stepped closer, his eyes dancing with impending victory. “Which is why I stole ye.”

She gasped, her eyes widening. The determination in Cullen’s eyes scraped across her composure, making her angry at his manipulation of her life. It might not be much, but it was hers. She would not be his prize, used to soothe his pride.

“I do not want to marry any man who seeks me for retaliation against my kin.”

Cullen’s face changed; it wasn’t a softening but a shifting in his expression from solid determination to hunger.

“I want ye for more.” His voice was softer now, deeper. Heat flowed into her cheeks and her lower lip went dry. Before she thought better of it, she licked her lip. His eyes instantly dropped to her mouth, sending a quiver through her belly.

Bishop Shaman cleared his throat. Cullen flushed for a change and turned to look toward the man. His humility was short-lived though. He tilted his head and shrugged.

“Now ye see why I’m set to get married.”

“I see quite clearly.” The bishop didn’t sound as somber as she would have expected. Instead there was a twinkle in his eye and a grin curving his lips. He gestured toward his men with the desk. One picked up the quill and dipped it into the ink. There was a dull scratch as he set it to the parchment.

“We’ll see to this agreement and set down the legal document.” Cullen and Druce both nodded agreement. “And then I shall hear yer vows.”

Bronwyn felt that grip on her throat once more. She shook her head and Cullen growled. The sound was low and full of impatience. But it was Bishop Shaman who demanded her compliance.

“Are ye refusing to wed?” He leaned forward to peer at her. “I’ve never been to McQuade land. Is yer father a Christian?”

Now true fear sent its icy touch across her. This was dangerous ground for anyone who didn’t want to end in prison for suspicion of witchcraft. The church would expect her to take the honorable union that Cullen was offering because it would cleanse her of the sin her father had said she’d committed with Cullen. To refuse marriage with him was to say she preferred immorality. The bishop could have her lashed until she repented of her sinful ways. But if she married Cullen the man might beat her simply because she displeased him by being the daughter of his enemy.

Druce and Cullen knew exactly what they were doing. It was a harsh and unrelenting war on her personal refusal to take marriage vows.

At least Cullen hadn’t raped her.

She stared at him because having a bishop ride roughshod over her wasn’t the worst thing he might do. He could use the superior strength of his body to force her thighs apart without so much as a soft kiss to make it pleasant for her. It would not be the first time a bride was claimed in such a brutal fashion.

That kindness tempered her anger. Bishop Shaman cleared his throat.

“Explain yerself, Bronwyn McQuade. Are ye a Christian?”

Lowering herself into a curtsy, she stared at the floor attempting to collect her thoughts. She didn’t have time to waste on ideas of how well Cullen was treating her at the moment. She dare not trust in that.

“Yes, yer Grace, I am a Christian.”

He laced his fingers together, staring over them at her. “Then why are ye hesitating to kneel before me and take vows that will grant ye the mercy and forgiveness of the Lord?”

“Because I have not sinned with any man. I am pure and there is no need for me to marry.”

“Yer father said it in front of a hundred witnesses.”

Bronwyn glared at Cullen. The man was saying enough to damn her without admitting that he hadn’t had her.

But Cullen was tightening his grip around her. He looked at the bishop. “And ’tis nae just a matter of her reputation, ’tis a blight on the name of McJames. I canna seek another bride without her father’s words haunting me. No family will want their daughter associated with me now that I’m called a blackguard. Marriage between us is the only thing that will set it straight.”

She shook her head. “It is a sin for a daughter to disobey her father. A breaking of a commandment.”

Cullen stared at her and the look on his face made her shiver. “I have the king’s permission to wed ye.”

“That canna be!” For that would change everything, her father was bound to obey his king.

“Enough.” Hard authority rang through the bishop’s voice. He stroked his gray beard for a long moment, considering her first and then Cullen.

“Having the king’s permission negates the need for yer father’s blessing on the match. We must consider what the gossips will continue to say if you do not marry. Better to set a good Christian example even if you have not yielded to lust. There is also the matter of the fighting between yer clans that will be stopped.” He paused and drew a slow breath. “I agree with this match and shall marry you.”

“I will not wed him.” The words slipped past her horrified lips.

The bishop’s eyes narrowed. “Yer Christian soul will be the better for it, madam.”

She stammered while trying to think of a way to placate the man without getting married tonight.

“Of course, yer Grace. I simply meant that I am nae in a proper state of mind to take such holy vows tonight.”

The two grooms frowned, the quill pausing in midair.

The bishop’s forehead creased. “Go on.”

Bronwyn took a shaky breath, needing the time to think. “It is just that this morning I awoke bound and gagged. My soul is still heavy with anger.” She lowered her chin meekly. “Not a proper frame of mind to be taking sacred vows. I need time to prepare…and…forgive.”

The last word stuck in her mouth. She had to force it out without hissing. Cullen glared at her, that flush coloring his face once more. Bronwyn looked back at the bishop, lest she lose the argument because she failed to hide the lust Cullen inspired in her. The bishop held the power to see her wed on his whim, and no one in the room would admit that she had not agreed. The wax seal would be pressed down onto the parchment and she would be bound by both church and law. Cullen could use the document to partition the king for dowry from her father. It could become a battle that would take years to resolve, or the king just might decide to side with his bishop. James Stuart wanted Scotland organized by the time he took the crown of England. Installing bishops was his way of making sure there was a church that answered to him.

Although it would serve her father justly for being greedy enough to raid his neighbors, she would not surrender her body and honor for a sire who detested her.

“Well spoken.” The bishop nodded approval. “And a testament to yer Christian soul. One must be humble and penitent when kneeling before God.”

Cullen lifted his hands toward the man. “Only a wedding will prevent her kin from attempting to claim her back, through bloodshed, yer grace. They’ll come with their swords unsheathed.”

“That is no change. My father has been raiding ye for years.”

Cullen smiled. His eyes glittering with victory. “Which is why we should marry to put an end to this fighting.”

“That is very true.” Bishop Shaman drew in a long, deep breath and blew it out again before deciding the matter.

“I will wed ye tomorrow. After morning service.”

The quill began scratching across the paper once more. It sounded like a cannon blast announcing her execution. She felt the blood drain from her face.

“So be it. Tomorrow morning.”

Cullen was furious. She heard it in his voice and turned to stare at him. A gasp left her lips when she looked at him. Here was the warrior her father must have faced in battle. There was nothing kind in his expression, no hint of the teasing boy she’d witnessed before. There was only determination. Hard, solid, and inescapable.

It stole the breath from her and every shred of composure. There was no more will to stand up to him, only to run before the heat from his eyes melted her.

With a hasty curtsy, she quit the room. Her heart was pounding so hard, it felt like it might shatter the bones holding it inside her chest. Her breath was raspy and her stride fast. She turned the corner and made it to the end of the next hallway before a hand clasped her wrist, dragging her to a sudden halt.

A scream formed on her lips, but never made it past the hard kiss Cullen pressed against her mouth. He hauled her up against his body without any softness, his arms pressing her tightly to his body while his mouth ravaged hers. He cupped the back of her head in a sure hand, tilting it so that their mouths fused. Heat poured through her, running down her spine like molten steel. Her hands were pressed to his chest and she was unable to resist the urge to stroke him. She wanted to touch what she could never have. Needed to discover what it felt like to have nothing between her skin and his.

He broke the kiss when she stroked him. His breath was ragged and she felt his heart hammering beneath her fingertips. His eyes shone with hunger as he placed his own hand on top of hers, keeping her skin against his.

“I’m going to have ye, Bronwyn, and that is a promise.”

He truly believed it, but her pride rebelled. She shoved against him but he didn’t move a bit, his strength imprisoning her easily.

Too damn easily for her pride to bear.

“Ye are only going to provoke my father further with this idea of yers.”

The chest beneath her fingers rumbled when he chuckled. “It is more than an idea. The bishop is affixing his seal to the document as we speak. Tonight is yer last night as a maiden.”

“Yer assuming I’m pure.”

His expression changed to one that was dark and disapproving. He lifted his hand, freeing hers. He stroked her cheek in a soft motion that sent a torrent of sensation down her spine. She shivered, unable to control her response.

“Dinna say things like that, lass. A maiden deserves to be treated gently the first time a man touches her. Dinna say things that will tempt me to forget yer deserving of that tenderness. My patience has its limits.”

“Is that why ye’ve been such a brute to me? Ye think me a virgin?” She sounded like a shrew but couldn’t seem to stop herself from firing cutting words at him. She was desperate to shield herself from him. The man seemed to see too much of who she truly was deep inside, far more than anyone ever had. Besides, his words offered her hope that he didn’t plan to use her roughly. She wanted to believe in that, wanted to think that he’d be the man she’d dreamed about.

Reality was rarely so kind.

“I only apply the force necessary to overcome yer struggles. The choice is yers on when it will stop. I willna let ye escape me.”

“Ye mean choose to yield to ye. Bringing yer bishop here to force me onto my knees at the altar. That is no choice. Dinna delude yerself by thinking I wed ye of my own free will.”

She shoved at him and her hand smarted, but he snorted before letting her go. She hadn’t realized how much she was fighting his hold because when his arms opened she stumbled backward until the wall stopped her. Her head smacked the stone with a thwack. Bright stars danced across her vision for a moment. There was a sound of disgust from Cullen.

“Ye need to have done with this struggle. ’Tis done now.” He shot her a hard look full of determination. “Ye will be my wife tomorrow.” His expression softened for just a moment but that kindness vanished almost in the same moment that it appeared. “’Tis a good match between us. Good for more people than most unions.”