In the Warrior’s Bed (18 page)

But she had tried to escape and could not blame the man for thinking that way. It was her own rash words that had him suspecting her of running off into the snow.

“I will not allow ye any opportunity to attempt an escape that will only endanger yerself. Ye willna last long out in the snow.”

Both temper and shame choked her. Stepping closer, she hissed at him with every bit of uncertainty he unleashed in her.

“I dinna think of escaping but I should have.”

He clasped her arm, keeping her close. “Why, Bronwyn? Tell me what displeases ye so?”

She turned and crossed the room.

“Bronwyn…”

“Have done, husband.” She turned and glared at him. Fury drew his face tight but that suited her mood as well. “Ye want me on display in yer hall and that is what I am planning to do.”

Like a prize.

With another swish of her surcoat, she faced the door and headed into the hall. Two burly retainers watched her, disapproval etched into their faces. Their presence made her grind her teeth. Her pace increased and the bulky coat became a nuisance. Grabbing a handful of it she lifted it so that it wouldn’t get stepped on. Tripping herself would certainly put a crowning touch on the moment.

She was in a temper, no doubt about it and not even one with a just cause. It was frustration, pure and simple.

She heard the conversation drifting out of the hall before she came to the arched door frames that opened into Sterling’s great hall. The scent of warm food filled the air, but the sound died away when she swept through the doorway. If she’d felt the weight of being stared at in the sewing room, it was nothing compared to the crushing sensation trying to buckle her knees now.

Sybil might call her mistress, but she was anything except respected by the inhabitants viewing her. Not a single man tugged on his bonnet. More than a few sneers were sent her way. She kept walking until she reached the far side of the hall. The shutters were open to air out the smoke that didn’t rise up the chimneys. She stopped, looking out over the river that ran behind the castle. Its banks had a solid foot of ice on either side and chunks of it floated along with the current. She stood there with her back to the hall. Tears burned her eyes but she refused to allow such a weakness. It was foolish to expect anything else from her situation. Instead she drew in a deep breath of fresh air to clear her foolish emotions.

“Sit, Cullen.” Brodick McJames sounded tired. Cullen glared at his brother. “Dragging her to this table will nae settle anything. One step at a time.”

Cullen stared at the still form of his bride. Her back was straight and her chin level, her body rigid with defiance. His temper smoldered. She was in the hall but not eating by his side. Her literal obedience to his command rubbed his pride.

He cast a stern look at Sybil. “She’s nae to eat except when by my side.”

He was being ruthless, but he did not care. Her silent form cast a challenge that he was going to take and conquer.

Sybil dropped him a curtsy before escaping to a lower table to join the other maids. They cast nervous glances between his wife and him, all the while frantically eating.

“Excuse me.” Anne shot him a disapproving stare as she left the table. Her husband reached for her hand but she avoided his grasp. “I will not watch that girl being broken like a hunting hound.”

Brodick frowned as his wife swept from the hall, but there was a gleam of understanding in his dark eyes when he looked back at Cullen.

“I wish ye luck, Cullen, it looks like ye are going to need it.”

“I have nae been unkind to her, brother.” His voice was low but still carried the unmistakable edge of determination.

Brodick nodded. “I believe there is a difference of opinion between men and women on that subject. My wife finds it very unkind that ye stole Bronwyn away from her home.”

“As if that is any different than ye arranging a proxy marriage with Anne’s father without her knowing about it until it was signed and sealed.” Cullen hit the tabletop with his frustration.

“Men are different from women.” Brodick cast a pensive look at Bronwyn. “I bargained with Anne’s father because of the good it would bring the McJames.”

“Which is exactly what I’m doing.”

Brodick lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve nae disputed that, brother. If I disapproved I’d have sent her back to Jamie with an apology for yer wild ways. And the promise that I’d bring ye to heel.”

Cullen glared at his brother but his temper didn’t alter the fact that Brodick held the authority to do exactly what he’d said. As the earl of Alcaon he was the only man on McJames land who could force him to relinquish Bronwyn.

“She’s my wife now.” He sighed, letting his temper go. Anger was no way to deal with Bronwyn. Her father had dealt her his fury for too many years. A grin slowly lifted his lip. Nay, the way to her was through her heart.

Brodick stared at him. “What are ye thinking, brother?”

“That my bride needs to be courted.”

His brother chuckled at him. “Oh aye, I can see how warm and receptive she is toward ye.”

Cullen looked at his bride. She was his and not just because he’d managed to drag her to Sterling. His claim on her was rooted somewhere deep in the center of his chest, born in those dark hours when she’d clung to him. Some part of him refused to accept the defiance her back presented. Oh, he could order her to sit beside him but what he really wanted was her to join him because she considered it her place.

“Now that is where you and I differ.” Cullen smirked at his older brother. “Yer English bride doesna have the same temperament as my Scottish lass.”

“Ye have the temper part correct.” Brodick stood up, taking a moment to fill a large wooden platter with a healthy portion of the meal. He covered it with a linen cloth. “But I’ll agree that a little tender attention toward one’s wife has definite merit. Best of luck to ye, brother.”

Brodick carried his offering off toward his chamber and Anne. Cullen turned his attention back to Bronwyn, only to find her moving back down the aisle with Sybil, and her maids still clutching rounds of bread in their hands.

His grin turned into a roguish smile.

His bride was still running, but this time he was going to sweep her off her feet with something she wasn’t even aware that he might use on her.

His charm.

Her belly was rumbling long before the night meal was due to be put down. Bronwyn kept the loom working, determined to ignore her hunger. It was a pity she could not so easily dismiss the root of her problem from her mind.

Cullen was foremost in her thoughts in spite of her efforts to banish him. She seemed fixated on him. Tension knotted her shoulders and she took to worrying her lower lip. She felt trapped by the women he’d set to serve her and choked by the retainers that remained in the hallway. They were there to guard her, but what they really did was announce to every McJames that Cullen did not trust his wife.

Wife…

So now the word rose to her mind. It was a form of acceptance that she wanted to deny, but found herself lacking any true passion for such a task. It felt so useless. But that left her with naught but surrender and the word stuck in her throat.

A sweet smell drifted into the room and for a long moment she thought it was her imagination. But it grew strong, her nose telling her that it was some newly baked sweet. Her hands froze on the shuttle, her feet becoming motionless on the pedals. She felt her husband behind her before she caught sight of him by turning her head.

Her belly grumbled low and deep as the scent of fresh baked food grew stronger. Cullen lifted one leg and straddled the bench, one leg on either side of her hips. His back was pressed along the length of her own but she was fixated by the wooden bowl he lowered onto the new cloth she’d woven. Inside it was a ceramic baking dish with a tart still gently steaming. Two silver spoons were stuck into the golden brown crust and hot fruit was swelling up out of the broken pastry.

It smelled divine…and looked it as well.

“I learned something today.” His teasing tone turned her lips up without her thinking about it.

“Is that so?”

The scent of the tart drew another rumble from her empty belly.

“It is. I now understand why spring is the best time for weddings. It makes it much easier to sneak off with yer new bride in the middle of the afternoon.” He lifted one of the spoons and carried a mouthful of the confection toward her lips. “It is also a wee bit easier to talk the cook into baking a tart. That woman dinna want to part with her fruit stores. She claimed she was saving them for a feast day.”

Bronwyn felt her cheeks color because she suddenly recalled that they were not alone. But the spoonful of warm berries was too tempting to resist. She opened her mouth, humming when the sweet connected with her tongue. Nothing had ever tasted so good. Not ever.

“I’m glad ye talked her out of them.”

The chest behind her rumbled, a soft chuckle brushing past her ear. Another spoonful of warm fruit made it to her lips. He fed her like a small child, taking only a few bites himself. When the last bits were scraped off the bottom of the baking dish, he sighed.

“I can see that ye are going to be distracting, dear wife. My brother may take to chastising me for my lack of attention on my duties.”

He rose, taking the bowl with him. Bronwyn turned to stare at him. A grin decorated his face and it was too handsome on him. No man should look so fine. He reached up and tugged on the corner of his bonnet.

“But it’s worth it to see yer eyes shimmering, lass. I dinna care how much my brother blusters at me.”

“He will not. ’Tis the dead of winter.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Ah, but I’d rather ye think he would. What is the point of stealing an afternoon hour with a lass if ye don’t have to sneak away to do it?”

He winked at her, clearly enjoying the moment.

But she was, too.

He turned and his kilt flared out behind him. He was every inch a man but lurking inside him was a playful boy who touched her heart with his games.

The man touched her, too. Sending heat through her veins. Her hands shook when she resumed her work but she did not lament it.

Instead, she savored it.

Bronwyn stood up when the kitchen bells rang that evening. She paused to admire the length of cloth she’d produced. Gerty cast a critical eye at her but made no comment. The light was fading and the work would not resume until dawn. It was already growing cold in the long work room because firewood was not wasted here. Sybil waited for her near the door, her face a mask of concern.

Bronwyn felt her temper rise again. Forcing her to shoulder the guilt of Sybil and the other women was ruthless. She resented it but walked toward the great hall anyway. The scent of food made her belly cramp painfully. She gasped softly at the acute pain.

“Ye’ll feel much better with a full belly, mistress.” Sybil tried to sound cheerful but there was a guarded note in her voice that hadn’t been there that morning.

“Perhaps.” But it was even more possible she might choke on anything she tried to eat. Her afternoon treat was a pleasant memory when she considered the harsh looks she’d met in the hall at noon. She paused in the doorway but forced her feet forward in spite of her concern. Tonight there were smirks as well. Expressions rich with delight over her being bent to Cullen’s will.

The maids were carrying platters of steaming food out of the kitchens. Her mouth watered just looking at it. Cullen sat with his brother at the table on the raised dais at the end of the room. Both watched her as she made her way up the aisle. Bronwyn stared at Cullen, seeing no other but the man who had talked a tart out of the cook for her between meals. He held a high position at Sterling but inside him was a playful boy she was growing to like more and more.

Cullen suddenly frowned, his gaze shifting to the men at the tables. He slapped his palms down on the table in front of him, making a loud sound that silenced a good amount of the conversations in the room. The attention focused on her shifted immediately to him. He stood up, moving his gaze over the room before speaking.

“It seems a few of ye have no heard that I have married.” The last of the conversations died instantly along with the smirks that had been aimed at her. “Bronwyn McQuade and myself have entered into a union that is designed to bring better futures to both our clans. She is my wife.”

Cullen held out a hand toward her. She was frozen on the first step leading to the laird’s table, his words sending tears into her eyes. She blinked them away as a ripple of approval passed along the tables. Feeling so many eyes on her held her still for a long moment, staring at Cullen’s hand.

It was a welcome sight, one she was hungry for in soul and heart. He remained standing. It was a mark of respect. The only person at Sterling he was bound to rise for was his older brother.

Actions often spoke louder than words.

Bronwyn paused in front of the dais. Lowering herself, she remained in the position for a long moment.

“Come and sit by me, Bronwyn.”

She rose and climbed the stairs to join him at the high table. Confusion held her in its grip as she stared at Cullen. The man was her captor, deserving of her scorn, but he was also offering her respect. Even rival lairds gave each other respect in public. A large chair was pulled out for her. When she looked out over the hall once more, several hands tugged on the corners of bonnets. It was such a startling change that she blinked her eyes, wondering if it was her imagination. Conversation resumed and the maids began serving again.

“Ye are a puzzle, Bronwyn.”

“No more than I find you.”

He maintained his grip on her hand, their eyes meeting. He studied her for a long moment. Mischief glittered in his eyes before his lips rose into a playful grin. Her stomach tightened with anticipation exactly the way it had the first time she’d laid eyes on the man.

Cullen’s fingers lightly brushed over the tender skin of her inner wrist. Sensation raced along her arm. It was so intense she wiggled in her seat. He leaned close, his eyes locked with hers.