In the Warrior’s Bed (25 page)

He sat up, gently pulling her with him. A soft sigh left his lips before he stood up and turned to lift her onto her feet.

“Truly I did.”

He reached for the buttons on her doublet, undoing each one swiftly. “I planned to take yer clothing off, one piece at a time, and pausing to kiss each new patch of skin before I went any further.”

He pulled her doublet down her arms and tossed it aside.

“That’s my new dress yer throwing on the floor for the mice to nest in.”

Bronwyn hurried after her clothing, rescuing it from the floor. A male groan made her turn around but she wasn’t impressed with the look of frustration on Cullen’s face.

“I can’t go to any May Day festival without a dress, ye know.”

He was frowning at her, but she could tell that he was thinking now. Their teasing dropped as his mind identified something he wanted to take issue with. This was the harder side of him, the one who had taken her captive, but she didn’t find it so cold anymore. This was the man who was a warrior. He was only a boy when they played. That was a secret part of him he chose to share with her. It was a gift and one that she suddenly understood the value of.

“I always knew yer father was possessive of his land, but he treated ye poorly.”

It wasn’t a question. Bronwyn turned to hide her expression from him but he cupped her shoulder, making her face him. She raised her chin, refusing to lament who she was.

“My life molded me into who I am. Would ye truly prefer a delicate wife who needed looking after? Yer brother’s wife seems very practical. I dinna see her snapping her fingers at the servants. She works beside them.”

“Anne is that, true enough.” His gaze turned hard. “Her stepmother had her serving in her father’s home afore she was sent to my brother in the place of her noble half-sister. Anne’s life was a poor one and ye are very much like her. Competent, self-reliant, and ye never think to ask for help with anything.”

Her throat tightened just a tiny amount. “I dinna see why it matters. I am healthy and able to see to my own needs. There is no shame in that.”

She turned around in a swish of skirts, moving fast enough to avoid his hand. Placing her doublet on a hook, she took care to hang it correctly, lest the fabric become pulled. Cullen’s hands appeared in front of her, pulling gently on the laces that held her skirts closed. His hard body brushed against her back, surrounding her with security.

“It matters because I ken now that ye were not insulting Sybil when ye said ye dinna need a maid, and ye weren’t trying to escape me.”

Her waistband loosened and he reached into the opening to untie her hip roll.

“I told ye that I’d never had a maid before.” And she didn’t care for how hurt her words sounded.

“Aye, ye did. But it appears that I was nae listening to ye, only making assumptions on what I thought I knew of ye.” The hip roll dropped down her legs and her skirts were simple to push over the curve of her hips.

“We both have to learn to trust one another.”

Cullen didn’t let her step out of her skirts on her own. He began unlacing her new corset from the front, his fingers dipping in to tease the swells of her breasts.

“I won’t let ye go without, Bronwyn. Dinna fret about that. There are plenty of hands who can see to sewing clothes for ye with the snow drifting outside the walls.”

“They have sewing of their own to do. I’ll see to myself.”

He sighed. Her long stays were open and he pulled them down her arms. They landed on a hook and one second later he’d pulled her chemise up her body and over her head. She felt the wool of his plaid against the back of her bare thighs and quivered, suddenly aware of the fact that she was nude.

“I will see to ye, Bronwyn, even if the person I need to convince most is ye. But there is something to be said for learning how to make the people around ye feel needed. Wear some cloth woven by a McJames woman’s hand and there will be more smiles aimed yer way because they dinna think ye believe yerself too good for what they produce. Even if ye are a fine weaver.” He scooped her up, cradling her against his wide chest. There was a solemn look on his face that made her shiver. He placed her in his bed, standing at the foot of it, watching her pull the covers up with his keen eyes.

“That is a good idea.” She should have thought of it, too, but had never had the option to choose before. She did it herself or went without. Sewing her own dresses had become her duty since she was small, each winter spent in the work rooms of Red Stone along with the other women.

“Perhaps it’s a good thing that it’s winter. That gives us plenty of long cold nights to learn about one another.”

He turned around and undressed. He laid his plaid on the table in even pleats with the belt beneath it so that it was ready in the event of the bells being rung. He snuffed out the candles before coming to bed.

In the dark, he was everything she needed. His hands warm and his kiss potent. She returned his embrace, stroking his warm skin. In the dark there was no suspicion. The clan plaids were not visible. Cullen rolled her beneath him, her thighs parting in welcome. This time their pace was slow and even, the pleasure building in a steady rise until it poured pleasure over them.

“I hope it’s a long winter, lass.”

“As do I.”

His arm held her while the sound of his heart lured her off to sleep.

He would take care of her.

Cullen remained awake long after his bride surrendered to slumber. He didn’t want to miss the moments when she was content in his arms. He wanted to savor it, smell the sweet scent of her skin, and enjoy the way she clung to him.

Every reason he had for bending her to his will evaporated. There was only the knowledge that she had come to him with her hair flowing down her back.

Come to him as his bride…

It was a gift that humbled him. It also filled his heart with tenderness.

There was still much to do the next day. Bronwyn rose early and set to work on another dress. This time she chose a brick red that Gerty had woven. The older woman couldn’t hide the pleased expression that crept across her face.

“Ye’ve got good taste.”

“For a McQuade?”

A few gasps filled the workroom but they were followed by amused giggles when Bronwyn smiled at Gerty. The older woman grinned, and wrinkles appeared around her eyes.

“Well, I’m pleased to see ye have a sense of humor. I was a bit concerned about that. Indeed I was.” She propped a hand on her hip. “Nothing worse than a winter spent working with a sullen girl nearby.”

Many heads nodded. Everyone knew what it was like to suffer the sharp side of a tongue. When it was winter, no one wanted a shrew assigned to where they were spending the chilly days.

“Excuse me, Mistress Bronwyn.”

Bronwyn turned around in a swish of blue wool to face one of Cullen’s captains. She recognized the man now; he was often at Cullen’s side. He inclined his head toward her, tugging quickly on the corner of his bonnet.

“Would ye come with me, ma’am? The earl and his brother would see ye in the armory.”

It wasn’t really a question, in spite of the cordial tone he used. Two more burly retainers stood behind the man, their eyes on her.

“Of course.”

The captain looked beyond her at Sybil. “Ye may stay here.”

Sybil looked torn for a moment, but sat back down and took up her work once more.

“I shall show ye the way, Mistress Bronwyn.”

The captain turned and left the work room, but he waited in the hallway, watching her. Tension returned to her shoulders, knotting between them. The two retainers fell into step behind her. The captain led the way, the sword strapped to his back a blunt reminder of the harsh world outside Sterling’s walls. Peace reigned inside, but it was enforced by the men who defended the McJames stronghold with their lives. Order was necessary or there would be suffering. Sterling was built to ensure safety of the clan. The members of it had helped raise the walls. Along the hallways there were archer cuts in the windows in case the yard was breached. Brass bells were hung from the stone every few hundred feet to be used if help was needed in a hurry.

It was a fine home, to be sure.

They took her to the great hall and past it to the next tower. Armor was stored on the floor level of this keep. Helmets lined the room, set up on wooden stands. There were also arming jerkins made of leather with small rings of metal sewn into them. Even full chain mail shirts were in view. The sound of the blacksmiths working made it through the windows here, a steady clang of metal against metal.

This was where the men held their meetings. It was a place the women of Sterling didn’t venture unless invited. Hard decisions were made here, many times ruthless ones. A plain wood table sat near the far wall with benches and chairs gathered around it. Brodick McJames sat there with Cullen and their cousin Druce. Bronwyn stared at the laird of White Tower. She hadn’t seen the man since riding away toward Sterling on the day of her wedding.

All three men stopped talking when they saw her. Their attention lingered on her as the captain led her toward them. A tingle went down her neck and the final few paces felt excessively long.

“Yer brothers have proposed coming to visit ye.” Brodick McJames spoke quietly, his tone betraying his apprehension.

Surprise held her silent. Cullen aimed a hard stare at her.

“They claim that yer father was the one who wanted to keep our clans fighting.”

“That is true enough.” She had listened to her father curse the name McJames her entire life.

Brodick frowned. “True that only yer father wanted strife?”

She suddenly felt stretched between the two clans. Born McQuade but wed to a McJames. Cullen didn’t care for her silence.

“Are yer brothers honorable men, Bronwyn?”

The question hung over her. Cullen watched her with suspicion, once more rubbing her temper. Once again she was McQuade and he McJames. But there was still a hope burning in her heart that they didn’t have to be separated by the names they were born with. It flickered deep inside her, refusing to die under the suspicious gazes slicing into her, last night’s memory rising up to defend him in the face of her temper. Besides, they had faced her father over drawn swords. Truly, she could not blame them for being suspicious when those same men asked to enter their home.

“My brother Keir is an honorable man. That is all I can tell ye for sure. Liam and Sodac were ever my father’s sons. I dinna know them well.”

The three men relaxed slightly and looked at one another. The earl nodded toward her. “Thank ye.”

It was a dismissal. Bronwyn lowered herself before leaving. Before she rose, Cullen aimed his attention at her. His expression was a stone mask, concealing his feelings from her. But there was a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes that sent a ripple of apprehension down her back. He would use her against her clan; she saw the truth of it reflected in his eyes.

Turning her back on him, she strode out of the room. The captain and his men stayed behind, conversation resuming as she left. She found herself alone for the first time in a week.

And clothed.

Temptation needled her but she was torn.

Liam and Sodac had never been kind to her. Their ugly accusations rose from her memory on that first day she had met Cullen. Returning to their judgment seemed a rather poor choice.

Staying just might be a poor idea as well. The clang of the blacksmiths told her where the stable was. She moved toward a doorway and caught sight of a man working glowing red iron on an anvil. A young stable lad held a horse nearby. The doors here were kept wide open during the day. It gave her a perfect opportunity to step into the yard. Plenty of people were moving around; she might slip away without notice.

But tears stung her eyes as she looked at the open gates. She actually backed away because it hurt to think of leaving.

She ran into a hard body.

A soft cry bounced off the wall, her body fighting against the arms that enclosed her.

“Shh, lass. Easy now.”

A sob passed her lips. Relief surged through her thickly, so that she turned and hit him for frightening her so.

“Ye brute.”

He hugged her close, trapping her arms against his chest. Raising her chin, she glared at him, but ended up feeling the tears ease from her eyes when she looked into his gaze. Approval shone there. So bright it sent more tears onto her cheeks. Cullen brushed them away with gentle hands.

“I had to follow ye, lass.” His voice was rough with emotion. “But I dinna mean to frighten ye.”

“I told ye before, Cullen McJames, I am no afraid of ye.”

His expression softened. He stroked the side of her face with a warm hand, sending little prickles of delight through her. “Why aren’t ye, Bronwyn? I’ve done more than enough to earn yer fear.”

She pushed against his chest, but he didn’t release her. “I just don’t. My father hated ye enough, don’t ye think? Do ye enjoy knowing there are people who dislike ye?”

“I enjoy knowing that ye do not dislike me. That ye are nae afraid of me in spite of having good reason to be.”

“Ye have never hurt me…” Her words were soft and almost too quiet to hear.

A satisfied smile appeared on his lips. She stared at it because she had pleased him. Knowing it, sent a shaft of deep satisfaction through her. He reached out and stroked a hand across her cheek.

“Trust is nae something I could ever take from ye, Bronwyn. It’s a gift and one I truly value.”

He’d earned it…

Her trust. There had been plenty of times when he could have used his strength to force her into yielding. That was the truest test of honor. Cullen had prevailed, proving himself a man worthy of respect.

“Even with my father dead, I doubt this marriage will bring ye much gain.” Bronwyn heard the disappointment in her own voice. “I am sorry for that.”

“I’m not.” Firm conviction coated his voice. “I wanted ye the first time I met ye.”

“But that is no what ye should marry for.”

His lips curled up into a broader smile. “Is that sweet affection I hear in yer words?”