In the Warrior’s Bed (9 page)

“Then ye’ll watch our first child be baptized a bastard.”

Bronwyn gasped. She reached out before her stunned mind started working again, her hand delivering a sharp slap to his arrogant face. The sound was startling in the quiet room, but Cullen grinned at her, sending her temper into a full blaze again.

“That is a mean-hearted thing to say to a woman. It’s the mother that is called slut when a babe is born out of marriage.”

“Is that so?” His expression was guarded.

“It is.”

“And yet I am the one saying that we should marry now, afore our child is conceived.” He paused, running his eyes down her length to pause on her flat belly. “If ye refuse me, ye’ll have no one save yerself to blame when the gossips call ye a scarlet woman.”

Her eyes narrowed. The man was far too cunning, but she refused to be trapped by his scheme. “I am no planning on having yer child. Why do ye think I refused to tell ye my name? I am no interested in ye. Not a bit.” She propped her hands on her hips, making a stand that she couldn’t truly back up. If the man was of the mind to force himself on her, there was little she might do to stop him. A twinge of something that felt like disappointment pierced her heart. She didn’t want to think of Cullen as a man who would rape her.

Which was ridiculous. The man had kidnapped her. She had no reason to think highly of him. Better to expect the worst; it would hurt less that way.

“No a bit?” His lips twitched, rising into another grin that annoyed her. “Well now, it seems to me that ye were blushing back on that hillside. Just like ye are now.”

She covered her cheeks with her hands and they were hot. “It is nae more than my temper.”

“’Tis much more.”

He reached out in a motion so fast she stumbled trying to avoid his hand. She straightened up against the wall, any further retreat impossible, and his arms plenty long enough to span the distance between their bodies. His hand pushed her loose, flowing chemise flush against her body. But he did it with absolute control. There was no bite of his superior strength, only perfectly applied pressure. He cupped one breast, his thumb gliding across the hard point of her nipple.

“If ye are nae interested, why is yer nipple hard?”

His opposite hand pressed flat against the wall behind her, caging her between his arms. The knowledge that he could handle her more roughly held her in place to preserve the small distance he granted her. She stiffened as his thumb rubbed her nipple. Never once had she believed that so small a touch, so tiny a contact between two people, might spark such a torrent of sensation. It flooded her, shaking her with its intensity.

“I am cold, ye daft man. Ye stole me in my chemise.”

And she was a liar, God forgive her.

“I’ve noticed that, fair Bronwyn. ’Tis the truth that I’ve enjoyed the sight of ye.” His lips formed a sensuous expression that was sinfully carnal. “It kept me alert all night long knowing how bare ye were beneath that McJames wool.”

“Exactly the sort of thing a blackguard would say. Have ye no decency?” She sounded too desperate for her taste but she was running short on reasons to deny him. Her life at Red Stone was nothing so wonderful. A ragged breath shook her, warm delight flowing through her. It was for sure that no man wearing her father’s colors had ever made her blush.

“I’m not the one refusing to wed. I believe most would say that I’m behaving correctly by insisting that we go to church and marry. Before temptation gets the better of us both.”

He chuckled, leaning closer. She felt the brush of his breath against her lips now and her mouth went dry. His lower lip quivered in anticipation, her gaze lowering to his mouth as she wondered what his kiss would be like.

“It will be my pleasure to help ye warm up.” His voice was husky and dark with promise. His thumb moved once more across the top of her nipple. The hand on the wall moved, capturing the back of her head, his fingers threading through the strands of her unbound hair. Her hands sprang up between them, pushing against the hard wall of his chest.

He took her mouth, sealing her gasp inside. He tasted her lower lip with the tip of his tongue before invading her mouth. The hand on the back of her head held her in place while he tilted his to the side so that their lips met. She jerked in his embrace, out of sheer surprise. There were too many signals rushing through her, too many sensations to understand. When her back left the wall, his hand slid smoothly around her body. Her skin hummed with enjoyment, everywhere he held her. Beneath her hands, she felt the steady beat of his heart. Her fingertips joined her lips in discovering a bounty of pleasurable sensations that she’d never experienced before. His lips pressed hers open, demanding a deeper intimacy while he pulled her up against his body. Heat flared through her. She twisted, attempting to understand why she liked his kiss so much. Her body urged her to return it, move her mouth in unison, to taste him.

A soft moan got past their joined lips.

She was leaning back against the wall again a moment later. Cullen’s hands pressed flat on either side of her head, imprisoning her without touching her. A dangerous look flickered in his eyes, one that reminded her of a predator that needed only one move from her to trigger the instinct to pounce.

But he was breathing as hard as she was. She placed a hand on his chest before thinking about it, acting on the impulse. Her fingertips pressing against his warm skin and feeling the hard beat of his heart.

His blue eyes captured her gaze, locking and searching her eyes for a long time. Her heart slowed down from its frantic pace, but not all the way to normal. Excitement still pulsed through her, triggered by the scent of his skin.

She liked it…the way he smelled. Shocking, mysterious, and slightly overwhelming, but there was no denying that she found it attractive. The flare of hunger in his gaze mesmerized her. Her pride enjoyed knowing that she aroused him.

“Will ye marry me, Bronwyn McQuade?”

His voice was husky and rough. It tempted her with that edginess because the part of her that had lamented never having a husband wanted to say yes.

But she refused to be another blow in a feud. It would be nothing but a way to strike at her sire, and her father would use it as an excuse to shed blood.

Possibly Cullen’s blood.

Pain nipped at her heart. The frustration of her entire life ripping and tearing at her conscience. There were no good choices, only ones that would hurt others.

“Ye have stolen me, and that is no way to begin a marriage.”

He snarled softly at her, his fingers curling. But she refused to take back her words.

“What do you suggest, Bronwyn? Should I have ridden up to your father’s gate and asked to court ye?”

His eyes narrowed, heat flickering in them. “Or would ye have met me on the border land?”

“I swore I’d never return there. ’Twas a foolish thing to do, riding so far from Red Stone. I’ve no excuse to offer. ’Tis a fact that I’m too old to be acting like such a child. Riding off without any thought for the world around me.”

She pushed her way past him, ducking under his arm and not caring if he did allow her to do it. She didn’t want him to see the lament in her eyes. “There was enough trouble from our meeting to last me a lifetime.”

“Aye, that’s true enough.” His voice rose betraying his anger. “What do ye call this tale spinning around the court that I used ye?”

Her face flamed scarlet. “I never said that.”

“But ye dinna voice an objection when yer father was saying that I used ye to all in earshot either.”

Bronwyn stared at him in shock. “I dinna get a chance. The king took him away as soon as he said it.”

“He is a liar.” Cullen pointed one thick finger at her. “Listen to me well, madam. I’ll nae wear the stain of this. We’ll marry and that’s the end of the matter. That will leave the gossips with nothing to say except that we did things out of order. That is forgivable. Neither of us will wear the mark of sin as long as we wed.”

He was far more noble than any man she knew. She stared at him in awe for a long moment, absorbing the look of integrity on his face. It looked very fine indeed.

Bronwyn shook her head. Cullen wanted her to agree to wed him. Once that was finished and the bedding completed he might begin to extract vengeance on her. She did not know his true nature, knew no one who might tell her what sort of man he was. To trust him was a huge leap of faith and she stood to lose a great deal if it proved he was playing her falsely. Once she was his wife, the law and the church would be on his side.

“My father intended to return me to Red Stone. Set me free. That will end the matter.”

“No to my satisfaction, it willnae.” Cullen transformed into the warrior she’d known he must be. He hooked his hands into his wide belt, the corded muscles showing from the rolled-up cuffs of his shirt. He still wore his great sword, the hilt rising above his left shoulder. There was no sign of the tender concern she’d witnessed earlier; all that showed from his eyes was pure determination.

“Returning ye home will nae cleanse my name and that of my clan.” He stood firm in his belief, his face hard and unrelenting. “As laird, yer father should know what weight his words carry. If he expected me to ignore the stain, he was very much mistaken.”

“Yer quarrel is with my father, not me.”

Cullen offered her a slight break in his stony expression. “And yer father’s quarrel with me is something my father did before I was even born.”

“Which is why there is nothing to be done about it. My father will nae change his ways, no matter what ye and I do. Better to not risk offending God by taking marriage vows that are insincere.”

He pressed his lips tighter together. “I’ll tell ye only once, Bronwyn, never say that I don’t keep my vows. If I make a promise, ‘tis for sure that I will stand behind my words.”

His voice was solid and edged with determination so sharp it was tempting to surrender to his wishes, just listening to him. Many a wife wished for so devoted a spouse. In truth, there were far too many mothers who wished for a wedding to cleanse the illegitimacy from their children. But Cullen wasn’t simply smitten with her, the man wanted more than her affection.

“I will not be the weapon ye wield against my father. Have done with this. Enough blood has been spilt already between our clans. I dinna want to give anyone an excuse to fight in the spring.”

Cullen snorted. “Obviously ye need time to adjust to yer situation. What I’m offering is the opportunity to put an end to the fighting and the gossip.” His expression tightened. “And that is what I will have of ye, Bronwyn. One way or the other. I’ll wed ye whenever ye decide. If that is in front of a midwife, so be it.”

He turned and strode toward the door. The hinges groaned once again when he yanked it open.

“There’s a meal for ye on the tray. Any of the maids will tell ye where the bathing tubs are. Try to leave the tower and ye’ll be returned to the chamber I’m sleeping in.”

Her eyes widened. “For what?”

His lips twitched up, hunger flickering through his eyes once more. “For me to keep ye warm as a husband should. I suggest ye think about that before testing the alertness of my cousin’s men.” Cullen inspected her with his eyes once more, his gaze lingering on the small points of her nipples where they poked against the supple fabric of her chemise. “Or don’t. I’ve been thinking about ye far too much since meeting ye. I’d just as soon overwhelm ye and have done with all yer arguments.”

“Well, I would not.”

He chuckled but it wasn’t a nice sound. There was a dark promise lurking in his eyes now, one that set her heart to racing again. “We’ll rest the horses for a day and then I intend to take ye to Sterling.”

“I won’t wed with ye, Cullen McJames.”

He smirked at her before moving into the hallway. “Yes ye will, Bronwyn, because I will nae allow any man to blacken my name. No even yer father. The McQuades will learn that a McJames will nae take dishonor from their hand. Yer father thought a union between us something to talk about…well, I intend to have the last word on the matter. And that is a promise.”

The door shut with a hard thump. The sound pierced her heart with a finality that nearly stopped it. Sterling was the earl of Alcaon’s main residence. Brodick McJames was Cullen’s older brother, his only brother. The man had wed himself to an English woman who brought more land to his holding, English land. Her father had launched new raids on the McJames in his rage. She doubted Brodick would make Cullen send her home, but she had to clutch at the tiny seed of hope that the earl might decide he didn’t need more trouble from the McQuades.

It was far more likely that the earl would order her starved until she took her wedding vows.

She snarled as she turned and smothered a scream behind a hand. Her father and his endless greed! She stood a captive in naught but her chemise because of a dice game thirty-five years ago.

Men…

They used women. Pain slashed through her, her eyes burning as she struggled not to shed the tears that welled. It was a futile effort. The wet drops sliding down over her hot cheeks as she looked around the room, desperately trying to think of a solution.

There was none.

Both her father and Cullen wanted nothing but to make her dance to their tune. Perform like a string puppet to amuse them and place gold in their hands.

Now it seemed even her body was betraying her. She wrapped her arms around herself because she ached. Her skin was alive, every nerve ending tingling with awareness, craving another stroke or touch from Cullen. Each nipple remained hard, the fabric of her chemise stimulating the sensitive buds. Both mounds felt swollen and far more tender than she had ever noticed before.

The needy ache bled lower until it settled between her thighs. Never once had she burned for a man. For certain, she had heard talk of it. That thing that otherwise obedient daughters slipped off into the night to sample because they could not resist the hunger for it any longer.

Lust…

She’d listened to many a sermon on the evils of it. In sooth, she’d shaken her head when overhearing the maids talking about their sweethearts. Wondering how they might be so foolish as to follow love anywhere. Love was the path to ruin, the church preached it, even Shakespeare wrote it in his plays. This was her retribution for judging others, this chastisement from her own flesh.