by Mary Wine
Bothan turned an incredulous look toward her. “And yer husband permitted such?”
Brenda felt the bitterness rising up inside her again. “He enjoyed it very much.”
Brenda refused to cry. She’d made an oath that night to never shed tears over the matter again. Tonight, though, she had to fight to blink away the water flooding her eyes. Success gave her a much-needed boost to her confidence. She steadied her nerves and looked at Bothan, locking gazes with him.
“Thank you for sending them out.”
* * *
Bothan wasn’t normally given to moments when he felt like his mind couldn’t process what he heard. But he was struggling with what his new bride had said. There was a pinched look on her face and a glint in her eyes that told him she’d spoken true. Never once had he witnessed her trembling, at least until that very moment.
It sickened him.
God, he hoped her first husband was in hell or at least purgatory. The man had some sins to atone for.
“Ye were young when ye wed the first time,” Bothan said. Brenda had represented something he wanted to claim, and he’d made certain to learn about her before setting out to win her. “Too young, as I recall.”
Brenda didn’t look at him. Instead she was looking past him as she pressed her lips into a hard line. She was fighting to maintain her composure. And he didn’t care to know it was his touch she was mustering her courage against.
“Sixteen is considered old enough by many,” she replied stiffly.
Brenda shuddered. Bothan watched the way memory gripped her. But she steeled her resolve and looked straight at him. “It does not matter now. I am not a child any longer.”
She lay back, making his temper flare. He moved closer to the bed. Brenda had looked away as she waited, but when he didn’t join her, she rolled her head toward him.
She had courage. But the look of resignation in her eyes chilled him to the bone.
“Ye’re right, we do nae know one another,” Bothan said, reminding her of what she’d said at the high table as their vows were being celebrated.
For all that he’d followed her to England to free her, Bothan realized he had not ever felt truly protective of her until that moment.
Now it was a powerful need washing through him, leaving him with a new, deeper understanding of the idea of winning her.
But where to start?
He sat on the edge of the bed, watching the way she eyed him.
“This is no’ the way I want to claim ye, Brenda.” As far as a beginning, Bothan wasn’t sure it was correct. She contemplated him, clearly as uncertain as he was about how to proceed.
“Ye have the rights ye followed me to get,” she informed him.
He let out a little sound of frustration. “I wanted to court ye. Ye may be very sure I’ve never written a letter to a woman before.”
She looked away, a delicate blush appearing on her cheeks.
His lips twitched in response. She was not unmoved by him.
But they were strangers. He tightened his grip on his discipline, vowing not to ruin his chance with her by acting impulsively. If he treated her like chattel, the word would be forever between them.
“As for having rights to ye,” he continued, “the English Queen provided me a way to end the royal order given by James, so I will no’ quibble too much over the details. It’s the truth I can no’ think of a better solution. She’s clever, Elizabeth Tudor.”
Brenda returned her attention to him. Bothan enjoyed the way their gazes locked. Perhaps he was seeing what he wanted, but it seemed a small step in the correct direction to have her looking at him instead of looking away and sealing herself against his advances.
Aye, it was a way to begin, at least.
“It seems we need to become less strange to one another,” he whispered.
He reached out and fingered a lock of her unbound hair. Something stirred inside him. The strength of it set him back for a moment because it was deeper than lust or longing. The same need to have more from her than he’d ever had from any other woman, leaving him uncertain as he tried to decide how to proceed. She was just like the wine glass someone had placed in front of him at the banquet, delicate and full of something he was certain would intoxicate him.
But he had to be careful to handle the glass stem with care, or it would snap and spill the contents, leaving him with naught but the scent of what he craved and no way to retrieve it.
Bothan stood before he went any further. “We’re leaving at first light. Sleep while ye can.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“I came to court ye, Brenda, no’ have ye bound by duty to surrender yer body to me.” He realized he’d never meant anything more in his life.
She sat up, hugging the bedding tightly to her chest. “And if this is the only way I will give myself to ye?”
A spark entered her eyes as she spoke. It was a damned fucking relief to see it too. Bothan felt his lips rising into a grin. He leaned over, threading his fingers into her flowing hair so he could cup her head. He captured the little gasp she let out with his lips, pressing his own down onto hers in a kiss. Bothan felt her shift in uncertainty. He held her firmly as he moved his lips over hers, coaxing her passion to life.
Brenda didn’t disappoint him. She let out a little sound that was a mixture of frustration and delight before she was reaching for him. He sat on the bed so she could flatten her palms on his chest. She was kissing him back, softly at first and then with a spark of passion that stirred his member. He indulged in the moment, savoring the feeling of passion.
He wanted more…
But he pulled away, enjoying the look of bewilderment on her face.
“I will win yer trust, or ye can have an annulment,” Bothan promised her.
Perhaps he was three times a fool for leaving her. For certain, there would be plenty of men who’d advise him to have the matter of their union settled then and there so the dowry was his without dispute.
Somehow, he realized it wouldn’t be enough. Brenda had drawn him to her for more than the gain it would bring his clan, and he wasn’t going to settle for less. Even if he wasn’t completely sure what it was he craved from her.
“Good night to ye, Brenda.”
She blinked, her eyes wide with frustration. But she clutched at the bedding, her knuckles turning white as her reason returned and the passion ebbed.
“I will nae have ye blinded,” he informed her gruffly. “Ye will come to me and know full well ye choose me.”
* * *
Maddox looked up as Bothan came through the doors into the receiving chamber. The rooms themselves were all one large area with doors between the bedchamber and the receiving chamber, which was nearest to the passageway.
Maddox had pulled a trundle bed from where it was stored beneath a cupboard. His captain lifted his head and fixed him with a curious look.
“What are ye doing out here?” Maddox inquired.
Bothan grabbed his kilt from where one of the noblemen who had stripped him on his way into the chamber had left it. He shook it out before lying down and pulling some of the wool over his head. Maddox didn’t take the hint. His man kept eyeing him, as his lips curled up into a grin that begged Bothan to bury his fist in it.
“Proving my worth,” Bothan growled when he realized Maddox wasn’t going to give him any peace.
Maddox scoffed at him. “I did no’ think ye needed to be told how to go about proving yerself to yer bride, but I could give ye a few bits of advice on the matter of pleasing her—” His captain stopped talking because he was choking on his mirth. Bothan raised his head and glared at Maddox.
“What Brenda needs is to trust me,” Bothan insisted. “Something that will no’ happen if I overwhelm her. As soon as passion is satisfied, she’ll see me as naught more than another man who l
ooks to twist her into submission. Taking what I want with no regard for what she might have chosen for herself.”
Maddox abandoned his smirking amusement. A serious look took over the man’s features. “Aye, well, ye knew when ye followed her here that her past is no’ a happy one when it comes to men. The Earl of Morton treated her as a whore.”
“He’s lucky he’s dead,” Bothan responded.
“No’ to her he is nae,” Maddox replied as he lay back down. “It would be a lot simpler if the man might be killed. For now, ye are battling a ghost locked inside Brenda’s mind.”
More like a demon. Bothan had been labeled one himself, but the Earl of Morton had been far more deserving of the insult.
The man had done truly evil deeds and allowed them to be committed to those who had the misfortune to fall under his power. Young James might be a lad in need of life experience, but he was far better than the regent who had ruled Scotland in his name. Once the Earl of Morton had been removed from power, it hadn’t taken long for Morton’s enemies to catch up with him.
Bothan grunted and rolled onto his side. He’d had his fill of royalty, even if Elizabeth Tudor had given him what he wanted. Or at least part of what he wanted.
He craved more, though.
The sight of Brenda lying so submissively in bed turned his stomach. That wasn’t the woman who had snared his attention at a May Day festival with her brazenness.
Well, he had her now. It was something to set his attention on as he lay back down to sleep.
Aye, she was his. So long as he could find a way to win her.
Bothan grinned at last. Winning what he set his mind on was something he knew a fair amount about. Brenda had best get sleep while she might because he was going to give her only until daybreak before renewing his suit.
* * *
Bothan was true to his word.
It was barely first light when Brenda woke to the sound of Bothan and his captain moving beyond the curtain that separated the bedchamber from the receiving room. Even with the window shutters still closed, she could see the light changing with the rising of the sun.
She smiled.
Joy filled her to the point of bursting as she flipped the bedding back and rolled out of the bed. She looked back at the wide expanse of the bed, realizing her host had given her such a large bed because the idea had been for her to share it with Bothan.
The man was very large.
Brenda reached for her stockings and sat down to pull them on.
Ye should not think about him…
And yet, as she tied a garter in place around the top of one of her stockings, Brenda discovered herself feeling very kindly toward Bothan.
Her husband.
She pulled the second stocking into place as she contemplated that idea.
Well, he wasn’t truly her husband, for the union was unconsummated. Advice she’d once given to Jane Stanley came to mind as she reached for her boots.
“Ye may try him and see if he is to yer liking…with no one the wiser because ye are no’ a maiden…”
Her clit decided to heat in response to the idea.
She stood and began to dress faster in an effort to banish her thoughts with work. Her quick motions made more noise though.
“Come out when ye are ready, Brenda, me men will have the horses saddled,” Bothan called through the curtain. “I have had me fill of England.”
“As have I,” she answered.
Bothan made a sound of agreement in the back of his throat. Brenda finished dressing, slowing down only long enough to ensure she tied everything in place with a good knot because Bothan’s voice promised her he intended to ride hard and long toward their home.
Something that pleased her well.
He pleased ye last night too…
Her cheeks heated as the memory of Bothan’s kiss fill her thoughts. She seemed to have no control when it came to her responses to him. Which only reminded her of her suggestion to Jane. It was true that she wasn’t a maiden. Which afforded her time to decide what to do.
Are ye really thinking to try him?
Brenda didn’t care for the surge of heat the idea sent through her. It would be like embracing madness if she gave in to her impulses. And foolish, for if any of his men took note of it, she’d be stuck wed to him, her days of being her own woman finished.
So she would simply not allow him to kiss her again.
With her choice firmly in mind, she turned her back on the fine bedchamber. She went happily, eagerly toward the road where there would be few comforts. Yet the sun was rising with the promise of a fine warm day. Winter was well behind them now, and the snow would be melting in the Highlands.
No, there would be no further kissing. No one had everything. Her cousin Symon had pledged to never make her a match. Now that Symon was wed, Brenda didn’t need to shoulder the responsibility of ensuring the clan had a clear line of succession.
No. She might be her own woman at long last.
Bothan would simply have to accept her choice in the matter.
* * *
“Your Majesty.” Robert Dudley lowered himself before the Queen of England.
Elizabeth was up early, as was her practice. She was sitting at a table set up in the garden of the estate, the morning sun shining in her hair and making it look like rubies.
“Join me, Robin.” Elizabeth indicated the chair across from her. “It seems too long since we have broken our fast together.”
Robert slid into the chair, feeling like a weight was being lifted off his shoulders. Beyond them, the nobles of her court were beginning to stir. The servants were up, attending to the task of getting their masters ready to see their monarch.
Somewhere, musicians began to play from where Lord Berkley had set them up behind some greenery. The meal was simple, fresh summer fruit and cheese along with the first bread of the day. Elizabeth reached for her small beer as horses cried out from farther down on the estate.
“I do believe our Scottish guests are intent on departing immediately,” Robert informed her.
Elizabeth smiled over the rim of her goblet, not a fancy glass one but a sturdy silver one. “Chief Gunn struck me as a wise man.”
Robert contemplated her for a moment. Elizabeth abandoned her tight control and smiled at him as freely as she had done when they were much, much younger.
“I know there were no witnesses to the consummation, Robin,” Elizabeth said softly. “Allow me to see Brenda Grant indulged in her desire to be her own woman without the shackles of duty attached to her.”
Elizabeth’s smile faded. For a moment, she looked every single one of her years, fatigue wrinkling her brow and darkening her eyes. Robert enjoyed the moment, reaching out to place his hand over hers since they were in private. Or at least as private as the Queen of England might ever be. Cat Ashley was busy working a needle through a piece of fine linen off to his right, her eyes on her needlework. Two yeomen of the guard were stationed six feet away with pole axes, their gazes straight ahead of them.
“Young James will have to be content,” Elizabeth muttered as she lifted her gaze and looked into Robert’s eyes.
Her eyes brightened as he felt his heart fill with happiness. Aye, Robert understood her well enough. There were many things they had both done because they had to. And then there was the love between them which had to be guarded carefully lest it be strangled by their positions. Elizabeth had seen her opportunity to allow Brenda Grant to return to a life where she had more choices than a queen was afforded.
Elizabeth Tudor, Queen of England, would never be his wife, but Elizabeth was now and forever his truest love.
* * *
Bothan pushed hard for the border. Sleeping on English soil was something he wanted to avoid. His horses had been bred for strength and took to the journey without hes
itation. His men were eager for their homeland as well.
It wasn’t that he forgot Brenda.
No, it was more a matter of thinking she had more reason than any of them to wish to be gone from England that made him press on. His bride didn’t disappoint him, either. She kept pace with them, even as they rode into the fading light and continued when a full moon rose to illuminate the road.
In the end, they slept only because the horses required the rest, rolling up in their kilts and lying on the ground.
By first light, Bothan discovered himself wondering if he’d pushed Brenda too far. But his bride was heading toward the river they’d camped near to wash without any indication she had been abused by the demands he’d placed on her.
Not that he had addressed the demands he truly wanted her to satisfy.
“How is that leg?” Maddox suddenly asked.
Bothan tilted his head to one side, giving his captain a hard look. Maddox surprised him with a wide smile. One that showed off the two missing teeth in his mouth. “Just seems, well, seeing the way Mistress Grant is intent on ignoring ye, perhaps ye might need a wee bit of tending for that wound ye suffered in getting her released from her contract with Galwell Scrope.”
Bothan narrowed his eyes. “Ye want me to whimper…like a pup?”
Maddox shrugged. “Lassies like puppies. Put them in their laps and cuddle them, they do.” His captain winked at him. “Rub them from head to tail and straight across the belly.”
Maddox was grinning at him, tempting Bothan to bury his fist in the man’s face.
“I’d no’ be able to live with meself if I—did something—so befitting a lad—” Bothan lost concentration as Brenda stopped by one of the horses. She reached up and stroked the mare’s neck.
A long, sure motion of her hand against the animal’s skin.
Christ.
Maddox was choking on his amusement, rocking on his heels as he looked up to the sky in an effort to ignore the sharp glare Bothan tried to cut him with.