In the Warrior’s Bed (5 page)

The king sat back down, looking pensive. Bronwyn held her tongue. James waved his hand.

“There is no point in denying it. I see the way ye stare at my daughter, as though ye’ve never considered that a father might show affection.”

It was a hard truth and one that near choked her. “My father loves his sons very much, sire.” It was no an uncommon thing. Henry the Eighth of England had gone through six wives in his quest for sons.

The king snorted. “How old are ye now?”

“Twenty-three.”

The king shook his head. “No one seemed to know yer age exactly. Yer father has done a good job of hiding ye.” James Stuart looked at the guards behind her.

“Bring her family back. Bronwyn, ye may wait in the outer hall. I’ve a few things to say to yer father.”

She lowered herself and gratefully quit the room. If she wasn’t near the king, she couldn’t say things that would upset the harmony of Red Stone for Keir. It was the honest truth that she never wanted to look at another mare, much less ride one.

But that stung because it was the only escape she had. Despair gripped her and she was out of reasons to avoid tumbling into its grasp. The guards opened the doors for her and summoned her father back into the presence of the king. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard those same doors seal behind her. But the feeling was short-lived. Staring at her was an ocean of eyes. The great hall was much quieter than it had been when they entered. Now women whispered behind their fans while they peered at her like something foul. A few smirks decorated the lips of the men, and more than one was even bold enough to wink at her.

She kept her chin level with the aid of years of practice. But she cringed when she heard one lady whisper…

“Soiled dove…”

“Ye’re a hard man, McQuade.”

James Stuart sat on his throne, making his position clear. For once McQuade didn’t shout out a denial. In fact, the man was too quiet. The laird had never been meek and it made the king suspicious.

“I need to think. Ye’ll stay at court until I give ye leave.”

“It’s winter.”

The king snorted. “Indeed. I’ve eyes that work, man. Ye are the one who decided to travel. I sent ye home only to have ye on my doorstep once more. So ye may stay, since it appears that is what ye want.”

James waved a hand. “Go. Ye have my permission to enter the great hall if ye bring yer daughter. If ye do not, ye’ll stand in the outer reception room. Mark my words, man, ye had better be there when I summon ye.”

McQuade opened his mouth but shut it when the royal guard pulled their swords partially free from their scabbards. He bowed low and quit the room. The sight of his daughter staring at the faces of James’s Court quickened his step. Setting a brisk pace, he strode down the center of the crowed hall. Many that they passed tugged on their hats, while the women curtsied in respect for his position. Aye, he was the laird of a large clan. A man to be feared and respected. Truly, he didn’t care how that respect came to him, only that it was presented in a timely manner.

He was the McQuade.

Her father’s town home was closed up for the winter like so many of the noble houses. The servants looked shocked to see their laird returning so soon. They quickly removed cloths from the furniture that had been draped over the upholstery to keep it free of dust. Lamps were brought in to light the entry hall while a few maids hastily tucked their linen caps onto their heads.

“Take yerself out of my sight, Daughter.”

Bronwyn had never been so happy to obey her father. He gestured to a younger maid. “Put her in the small room.”

“Um…yes, my laird.” The girl dropped an unbalanced curtsy. She looked confused by her instructions but didn’t waste any time picking up a candle and leading the way towards the foot of the stairs.

Bronwyn followed the maid to the second floor. There was one more above it but the maid led her into a small room at the back of the hallway. The girl snuck several looks at her from beneath lowered eyelashes, because she had never set foot in the house, but all knew that her father had a daughter. In most noble families, she would have been placed at court to be dangled in front of powerful nobles. All in the hope that she would marry into a family with connections. Instead of that, her father had labeled her a lightskirt in the middle of the royal court of Scotland and now sent her to the
small
room.

Aye, she could see how that might confuse the staff. She didn’t know what to think of it herself.

The chamber was very small and didn’t even have a fireplace. One small window had a shutter that slid open and closed. The maid used the candle in her hand to light the wick of a lamp sitting on the single table in the room. With a silent nod the girl left.

The bed was rolled into a tight bundle to keep it clean. A chest sat under the window. Lifting the lid, Bronwyn found the bedding. Making the bed gave her hands something to do while her mind was still stunned.

Soiled…

Never had she believed that a single word might actually hurt. She’d heard it whispered over and over until it felt like it was being chanted at a deafening volume.

She was not soiled…

She ached to scream that truth from the rooftops, but who would believe her? Who, indeed, when her own father had stood in the great hall and called her slut?

Tears burned her eyes but she wiped them away with an angry hand. Her sire was not worthy of her heartache. She refused to grant him her tears. Finished dressing the bed, she turned to removing her clothing. The table was bare save for the lamp, all of the other things locked away when the laird left the house for the winter.

At least there was a door. Some homes did not have hallways yet. It was a newer fashion that allowed guests to get to their chambers without passing through the ones in front of it.

When she was stripped down to her chemise, she snuffed the candle. At least the room was so small that she dinna need to worry about finding the bed. With no fire it was cold. Her feet felt like ice on the wooden floor. Turning back around, she felt for her skirt and found it. Tossing the cartridge pleated wool garment over the top of the bed, she crawled beneath the blankets. Her skirt might help keep the chill away from her skin but there was no way to stop the ice that formed over her heart.

Soiled, she was not, but it was the truth that she wished she were so that her father might feel the same shame he’d heaped on her.

Erik McQuade eyed his sons.

“Ye think me too harsh.”

Liam didn’t look at him but Sodac did. Indecision flickered in his eyes.

“Land is the only thing that truly makes a man wealthy. Never allow it to slip out of yer grasp. Always marry for it. Money can be generated from yer tenants.” He paused for a moment, making sure they were not overheard by any nosy servants. “Listen, my sons, the inheritance that ye shall have is better than the one I got from my own father. I’ve worked too hard to see any land leave the McQuade name. She is one woman, made to service the needs of men. The fact that she is my daughter doesna change that.”

His sons nodded their agreement. Liam spoke quietly. “But was it necessary to blacken her name publicly?”

“Aye, it was. Now Jamie will no press me to see Bronwyn wed. The land that is her dowry was legally bound to her mother and any female offspring she had by royal power. It cannot be broken. Bronwyn must never marry or we lose that land. ’Tis no different than what I expect from each of ye. Strength and endurance. I’ve had too many offers for her this year.”

McQuade snorted. “But she’s a female and I wouldn’t expect her to have the endurance to remain in her maiden’s bed without help from me. Women are weak creatures. They will seek a lover in the dead of night when they’re ripe for breeding. That’s why I’ve made it plain that no man wearing McQuade colors is to even look at my daughter. If she births a daughter, that land will pass to the whelp, bastard or not.”

His sons remained silent, but their faces told him they were no longer feeling the pinch of guilt. He had long ago killed any kind emotions stirred up by his daughter. He’d married her mother for the land she brought with her noble name only to discover that it was bound to her female descendants after her death. He’d consulted some of the best legal minds in the country and they all agreed that the will could not be broken. Even though it was rare, females descended from royal blood sometimes came with inheritances that were bound to their female offspring.

So Bronwyn could never marry. If she remained unwed, the land would become McQuade property. Calling her slut in the open court would see to the end of most of the offers for her hand.

“When I’m gone, it will fall to the pair of ye to see that she does not run off to wed.”

Label it what ye would, McQuade land was increasing under his leadership. He’d married three times to ensure that. What was besmirching the reputation of one woman when one considered the gain to be had for the entire clan?

“Aye, father.”

McQuade nodded approval toward his sons.

’Twas a done thing. He was laird and building the clan’s holding was his duty. Someday the McQuade would be even more powerful than the stinking McJames. Bronwyn was simply one more link in the chain to achieving that goal.

Bronwyn kicked at the bedding. Cullen was riding toward her. She saw it clearly in her mind as she slept. He was so fetching, it couldn’t be real. Her eyes were drawn to his face, hypnotized by the look of hunger in his eyes.

Heat brushed across her belly. It spread up towards her breast, gently covering both soft mounds until it found her nipples. The tender points drew taut. She kicked again, her head moving from side to side while her dream held her in its grip.

Coming closer…

No man had ever looked at her in such a way. It was wicked but enticing, too. There was a longing deep inside that made her want to move toward him and discover just what he did to satisfy his hunger. Her skin was flushed and warm now, her heart beating faster. One hand lifted toward his outstretched one without any thought…

Bronwyn jerked awake. She sat up, startled by the way her heart thumped inside her chest. It felt as if she’d been running. A fine sheen of perspiration coated her skin. Her chemise, twisted up around her hips with all her thrashing, felt rough against her sensitive skin. Even her nipples had hardened into twin points, stabbing against the undergarment. It was so shocking, she touched one hard nipple, wondering if she was still dreaming. Sensation shot into her body from that single touch. It was sweet but unsettling. The night air made her shiver so she lay back down and pulled the blanket and skirt up to her chin. She had to tuck her knees up so that her skirt covered all of her.

How could a dream be so real?

Better still, how could a man she had met but once make her body react so? And just when had fate decided to curse her? Before riding off for one last moment of freedom things had been simple. Now even her body wanted to add another difficulty to her heavy load. She didn’t need lust for Cullen McJames, didn’t need to burn for the touch of any man.

The tears she’d tried to deny returned. They eased down the side of her face as the wind rattled the shutter.

She wished she had never met Cullen McJames.

Sterling

“I
swear to God, if I never lay eyes on another royal messenger, I’ll die a happy man.” Cullen took a seat next to his brother at the head table at Sterling. Brodick had taken to eating at the high table only after bringing his son home. It was something he agreed with. The table had been the place where he and his own father broke bread together. It was not to be used but by a family. As unwed bachelors, he and his brother had supped with the men at the lower tables.

Brodick shot him a glare. “I agree with ye, Cullen. But it seems these messengers are looking for ye.”

Cullen looked at the four men once more. They wore Jamie’s colors but they were far better behaved than the last set to sit at a Sterling table. “Is that so?”

“It is.” Brodick ripped a round of bread in half. He tore one in half again and handed a quarter of it to his wife. Anne sat with her son gurgling happily on one knee. Brendan was busy chewing on a knotted linen cloth but his eyes were bright and interested in everything going on around him.

“Well, Jamie can wait until I’ve eaten.” Cullen reached into the center of the table to stab a piece of roast lamb with his dirk. The idea of running off to do the king’s bidding wasn’t sitting on his mind very well. Now that Brodick was wed with a family, it looked as though their king was turning his demands onto him.

Marrying was looking better and better, especially when he considered the snow threatening to fly outside. Jamie’s court was a two-day ride from Sterling.

The face of his McQuade lass came to mind. He indulged his imagination for a moment as he chewed. But he chuckled as he considered what it would take to bring the girl to his bed. Since she was a McQuade, he’d have to steal her. Beneath his kilt, his cock throbbed softly, applauding that idea. The sensible part of his mind argued against it. If she were a McKorey or McAlister, tossing her across his saddle might serve since in time there might be happiness for both families.

But nay for a McQuade.

If he stole her, she’d never see her family again. That was a cruelty he’d rather not inflict on anyone, even for his own clan’s gain. But he knew well that there were many men who did not share such a soft spot for the feelings of their stolen brides. In Scotland, weddings were often quick and shrouded in threats to get the bride to kneel in front of the altar.

“I hope the king does not call ye back to court, Cullen.”

Anne’s English accent jerked him away from thoughts of stealing a bride. What he needed to do was settle on a lass who would bring the clan something. As the laird’s brother, he needed to marry a girl who came with a good dowry, or at least powerful connections.

Now, if she happened to be Bronwyn McQuade…

He shook his head to shake the idea loose. She’d been wearing a common wool dress. His own sister was clothed better and she had no affection for clothing at all. But the royal messengers suddenly drew a second glance from him. Most lasses did not venture out so far alone, not in a land where raiding was as common as kilts. Now, a laird’s daughter might be so bold. With her father away at court, there was no one to tell her nay.

And she had refused to tell him her name…

“What does Bronwyn McQuade look like?”

The table went silent for a moment. His cousin, Druce, looked at Brodick and he shrugged.

Druce titled his head. “I don’t suppose any of us really know. The rumors run from pitifully ugly to beauty worthy of a prince.”

“Why do ye want to know?” Brodick asked the question quietly. Too quietly for Cullen’s taste.

“I’m just thinking.”

Druce grinned and it made Cullen want to fight. He could not explain it but the idea of any man poking fun at his McQuade lass sparked his temper.

“Since ye both seem to think I should marry her, I thought to ask what she looks like.”

Druce chuckled. “Well, it’s a fair bet ye won’t get the chance to court her any too much.”

Cullen glared at his cousin. “McKorey has a pair of sisters, too. Either would make a fine wife, bringing the McKoreys closer to the McJames.”

“Aye, if ye’ve a taste for fashionable ladies. Those two are serving Queen Anne as maids of honor. Better brush up on yer dancing and posy reading if ye plan to wed one of them.”

“Isn’t it time ye took a bride, Druce? Ye aren’t getting any younger.” Cullen pointed at Druce. “I’m nae the only one who should think of securing a new connection for the McJames.”

His cousin bristled and Brodick laughed. “Now that’s a truth.”

Druce grumbled but it was no more than the normal fun they all poked at one another. The only person at the table that didn’t join in the banter was Anne’s younger sister Bonnie. The girl was always quiet, her eyes watching as keen as a falcon’s. At sixteen, she sat in her brother-in-law’s house instead of her father’s because she was wed by proxy to a violent man. The marriage had been arranged by Anne’s father’s noble wife in an attempt to force Anne to return to England before her son was born, so that Brodick might never know that Anne was not the noblewoman’s daughter whom he had wed. Anne and Bonnie were the children of the Earl of Warwickshire’s mistress, that the man loved full well. Even though the noblewoman was now dead, the proxy marriage stood firm in the eyes of the law. So Bonnie stayed on McJames land, well out of the reach of her husband.

Her attention was on him, and Cullen stared back at her. A tingle shot down his spine, but he was used to it now. Bonnie had the sight. Anne went to great lengths to conceal it, but there was no denying the way the girl looked straight into his soul. There were also only so many times that anyone might be right about the future. Bonnie had surpassed that the first two months she’d been at Sterling. But he understood why his sister-in-law tried to keep it hidden. There were men in the church who saw such sight as mark of the devil.

Bonnie spoke to him in a low tone. “You need to go to court.”

The table went quiet. Bonnie bit into her lower lip when she noticed how much attention her words gained. But her blue eyes were still focused on him.

“Then I’ll go.”

He felt another ripple of sensation travel along his spine. Bonnie looked at the tabletop, severing their connection. Her meal sat half eaten but she rose to her feet and offered them all a curtsy before turning and leaving. His own appetite fled as the feeling wrapped tightly around him. His McQuade lass rose once more to capture his full attention. Her face so vivid in his mind, he was sure he could reach out and touch her cheek. There had to be over a thousand women wearing McQuade colors, but he was certain that she was Bronwyn. Not many could ride simply for pleasure. Her father had money or she would never have been out on such a fine horse. He felt it in his gut, and the tingle that had gone down his back turned into a burning desire to find her. Standing up, he looked at his brother and cousin.

“I’m going to court.” He shot a look at Druce. “Maybe I’ll come back with permission to wed Bronwyn McQuade.”

His cousin snorted. “That wouldna do ye any good. I hear tell she’s never been off her father’s land.”

Cullen tilted his head, considering his brother. “Well then, I suppose that’s all the more reason for me to ask Jamie what he thinks of the idea. It’s a fair bet I won’t be gaining her father’s blessing on the match.”

Her father be damned. He was tired of the raids, and marrying his enemy’s daughter was a tradition that went back longer than any other they knew.

Of course, he’d have to steal her, but turning the tables on McQuade sounded right fine to him.

Brodick lifted a hand and pointed at him. “We’ll talk after ye have that permission from the king. I dinna need Jamie breathing fire on me because ye’ve decided to give McQuade a taste of raiding.”

Druce looked disappointed but Cullen felt twice as much so. His brother aimed a harsh look at him. But it was nothing personal. Brodick was doing his best to make sure the McJames people prospered. He shared that ideal.

Which was why he was going to court.

And he was coming home with permission to wed Bronwyn McQuade.

Her father be damned.

Cullen wasn’t planning on waiting. His mind was racing too fast to consider sleeping and starting for Jamie’s court at dawn. It wasn’t the first time he’d ridden out at night. His blood was hot, singing with the need to move.

He forced himself to take the time to inspect his sword. Pulling it from its leather scabbard, he eyed it critically. ’Twas a job that he never rushed. The weapon had served him well in many a battle. Making sure it was fit was a priority.

He did feel as though he was heading toward a conflict. His muscles were tight and his mind intently focused. He could practically hear his own heart beat.

After sheathing the sword, he shrugged into a leather doublet before hooking the sword to his back. The thick leather was dyed dark brown and quilted with small iron pieces between the leather and the wool lining. The doublet was designed to keep a blade from slicing into his body. Tonight it would also keep the winter chill off his skin. His kilt was belted firmly around his waist and his boots rose to just below his knees. Good leather lined with sheep’s skin with the wool still attached. Tugging a knitted bonnet onto his head, he turned around and took his gauntlets up off the table.

Snuffing the candle, he walked into the hallway. A set of stairs allowed him to descend to the ground floor of the keep. Sterling had six towers in all with thick walls connecting each one together. Tin lanterns were always kept burning on the first floor of the keeps and every thirty feet along the walls. The tin shell had cuts in it to let the light out but the metal kept the fire hazard minimal. A lone figure stood near the door that let out onto the yard. A skirt telling him it was a female. A few more steps and he recognized young Bonnie.

That flare of sensation twisted in his gut again. She watched him, holding a square parcel that looked like a small pillow.

“You should take this with you.” With only the lantern light, her voice took on a mystical quality. But the night often seemed alive with things the church told him not to listen to. He’d learned long ago to respect the night because a wise man kept all his senses open or he ended up dead.

“What is it?”

Bonnie shook her head and offered it to him. “You will need it after you leave court. Leave it wrapped until then.”

The bundle was soft. Bonnie had wrapped it in soft wool and even sewn the edges tightly closed. She watched him grip it firmly. “Do not forget to place it in your riding bag, else you will forget it.”

His brow furled as he tried to understand what the girl was hinting at. She shook her head but a small grin decorated her face.

“Och now, look at ye, teasing me when I’ve got a cold night of riding ahead.”

Bonnie laughed, soft and delicately. “You are not cold because you feel the pull, too.”

Cullen sobered. ’Tis a truth that I do, lass.”

Bonnie lifted a hand, waving to him. “Safe journey, Cullen.”

His horse was already waiting in the yard. Cullen stared at it, and his cousin. Druce tossed the reins toward him, keeping his own in a tight grip.

“When did I invite ye to join me?”

Druce mounted and flashed him a cocksure grin. “Ye dinna. ’Course I always said ye were a slow wit.”

“And I always said ye talk too much.”

Druce kneed his horse to follow when Cullen took to the road. Retainers followed them in a steady flow of horses and men. Druce’s men following his cousin, and Cullen’s men following him. His brother might be the earl, but Cullen was not without titles of his own. He remained at Sterling because they were stronger together. He really wasn’t surprised to find Druce waiting for him. His father and Druce were brothers so his cousin had been raised with the same sense of family that he and Brodick shared. They were all McJames and that was what made them powerful. Druce had his own lands and title but he didn’t hide on his estate wallowing in his station. The McJames were stronger because Druce refused to take his holding, and separate from the rest of the family. Cullen followed the same example. His land would always be McJames land.

And he was off to claim a bride who would benefit the clan. Of course, he was looking forward to it.

And that was a fact.

McQuade town house, Edinburgh

“Yer to attend court with us today.”

Liam announced his father’s wishes with a voice that lacked the normal tone of superiority she was accustomed to hearing from her sibling. It oddly sounded like her brother valued her this morning. Or pitied her. Having been ignored for a fortnight, she discovered that she enjoyed the lack of interest in her. Going back to court held no appeal, not with the slicing tongue sure to greet her there. As the days had dragged on, she’d hoped her father was satisfied with his vengeance.

Clearly he wasn’t.

“That makes no sense to me.” Bronwyn didn’t care if Liam took exception to her words. Returning to the royal hall held no appeal for her. Better to let her father do as he would without her witnessing it. She could not change what blood flowed in her veins after all, and she didn’t need to dislike herself.

“Be ready to leave within the hour.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse. But Liam remained, silently waiting for her to speak. The flicker of expectation in his eyes made her still the words before they got past her lips. At least she might keep him guessing at her true thoughts. A small thing but it was the only one in her control. Liam finally broke as the silence stretched out.

“Within the hour.”

“So ye said already.”

He grunted and stomped out of her doorway. A little wave of satisfaction washed through her. Her sibling was so easy to manipulate. Somehow she doubted that Liam would enjoy knowing that she felt that way. Which was why she enjoyed it so much.

But the feeling did not last.

Returning to court sent a wave of nausea through her. The half-eaten porridge in front of her lost its appeal instantly. Rising from her chair, she left the table in the small kitchen. Climbing back up the stairs to her room, she found a brush sitting on the table. A pitcher and washbasin had arrived as well. Linen and soap were placed neatly beside the basin.