by Mary Wine
Even if that meant marrying a shrew.
Cullen didn’t stop at the double doors that led to the inner yard. He kept walking, his legs covering the yard in a quick pace.
A loving family sounded good but not binding himself to a demon hellcat that would likely carve his eyes out if he fell asleep in her bed. Bronwyn McQuade was her father’s daughter, born and reared to hate every drop of McJames blood flowing through his veins. Marrying for the good of the clan was one thing, but taking Bronwyn to his bed promised a life of misery. Even his brother had better hopes for his marriage and his bride had been English.
“I’ll fetch yer Argyll.” One of the younger lads that tended the horses was already running for his horse before Cullen realized he’d gained the stables.
With a grunt he shook his head. He was in a fine state, that was for sure. So deep in thought that he didn’t know where his feet were taking him. The lad returned with Argyll, quite possibly the finest horse in Scotland. Reaching for his head, Cullen offered the beast a firm rub between the eyes. The animal snorted, stamping at the ground.
“Aye, I agree with ye.”
Argyll liked to run and at the moment Cullen wanted to feel the slap of the Scottish wind against his face as well. Tugging on the saddle, he made sure it was solid before swinging up into it. Argyll shifted, snorting with his excitement. Cullen held the reins in a tight grasp, keeping the stallion still.
“Milord.” The stable lad ran forward with a leather bag.
“Aye, lad, that’s what I’m waiting for.”
Cullen held Argyll steady as the lad tied the bag onto the rear of the saddle. It was the simplest of provisions. Oats, wine, and maybe some bread left from the midday meal. Leaving Sterling without it was a choice designed to see his belly rumbling by sundown. The boy finished his task and backed away from Argyll. Cullen flashed him a grin. He was a young lad but he had courage. McJames courage. Argyll was a powerful animal, one with the strength to kill the lad but he wasna afraid of the stallion.
Shrugging, Cullen felt the weight of his sword. It was strapped to his back, highland style. With a flick of the reins, he gave Argyll his freedom. The animal headed for the main gate, his hooves picking up speed as they neared the opening in the main wall that surrounded Sterling Castle.
Argyll charged forward, leaving the walls behind. The wind was brisk, hinting at winter. But the hills were still green and giving the stallion his head allowed Cullen to release his mental burden for a time. He pulled Argyll to a stop some time later. Looking down over the next valley, Cullen frowned.
He’d been here before. Summoned in the dark of night to defend the farmers below. There were three newly thatched roofs in sight, the reeds a brighter yellow than that of the others. It was a blunt reminder of the McQuade’s lust for revenge. The man was nae content with plunder, his retainers always set the flame to the farms they attacked. The feud was near thirty-five years old now.
It seemed too simple to think that one wedding might wipe all that bitterness aside.
Kneeing Argyll forward, Cullen left the valley behind without a care for the sinking sun. He pressed onward and up the next ridge. Pulling up on the reins, he listened carefully. Only the wind whistled but he had to be sure. McQuade retainers would delight in hauling him back to their laird as a prize. Dismounting, he climbed the last few measures of the hill on foot. Staying low, he gazed down onto his enemy’s land.
Wedding Bronwyn would only end the feud when her father was dead. Peering down into the valley below, he noted there was nothing but tall grass and heather swaying in the breeze. No one dared farm the land here because it was so often in the path of raids. A river ran through it and twisted among the rocks. It was good land and a testament to just how much the bitterness between the two neighbors cost. McQuade was so busy waging war, he was passing up the opportunity to have his land worked.
No marriage would dissolve that sort of hatred.
Not that the man would ever willingly give his only daughter over to a McJames. A sheepish grin worked over his lips. It was a pure shame that the lass didn’t attend court. Wooing her might be fun. Asking the king for her dinna interest him but seducing her sounded like fun.
Of course, Jamie didn’t allow hellcats in his court. That likely accounted for the fact that Bronwyn McQuade had never stepped foot in the presence of her king.
His thoughts faded as a rider entered the valley below him. Argyll snorted, shifting as the large horse lifted his nose to smell the air. Patting the thick neck of the animal, Cullen grinned. Gripping the saddle, Cullen swung back on top of Argyll. Getting caught on his feet was certainly no a good idea.
“What do ye smell, my friend? A pretty mare?”
Argyll stamped at the ground, taking a few steps before Cullen pulled him to a halt. He couldn’t blame Argyll. No a bit. On top of that mare was a female that his own body approved of. Now, he’d always appreciated a pretty lass but this one was something more. He wasn’t sure just what drew his attention so keenly. It wasna her face. She wasn’t plain but neither was she a great beauty. He’d bedded a few lasses that were true beauties.
It was the way she rode the mare. Like she was as free as the flakes of snow floating in the air. His grip slacked and Argyll took advantage, moving down the slope toward the mare. The rider hadn’t seen them yet. She was too absorbed in her moment of escape. Aye that was it, what drew his attention. She looked like she had no a care in the world and knew what a blessing it was to have nothing weighing down her shoulders.
His own burdens felt lighter just watching her.
A thick braid of hair bounced against her shoulders but her face was framed by strands that had been tugged free by her brisk ride.
It didn’t seem to trouble her any. A tinkling of laughter was swept up to his ears by the wind. Argyll nickered, gaining another smell of the mare. The rider pulled up on her reins suddenly. She sat up tall in the saddle, soothing the neck of her mare with a steady hand. But the horse tossed her head and danced in a wide circle.
“There now, girl. What’s yer worry?”
Her voice was as enticing as the sight of her. Cullen let Argyll close the distance a few more yards before he pulled up on the bridle. He was on McQuade land now. It was a sure bet that the lass would no be very happy when she noticed him. But he was curious to see what she did when she saw a McJames so close. He had no stomach for women who panicked; their screaming drove him near daft.
The mare smelled Argyll. The animal side-stepped and let out a loud snort. She slid off the saddle because she’d been perched on it side fashion but she didn’t cower in fear. She grabbed the bridle and pulled the mare around to face her. It was impressive to watch because she was a small thing. The mare could hurt her but she kept sure command of the animal, refusing to allow it to rule her.
“Easy now.” Her face rose from where she’d been looking at her horse. Cullen watched her eyes widen as she stared at him. She shook her head as though she were trying to get the sight of him to vanish.
Argyll grunted, proving that he was all too real.
She was a fool.
Bronwyn felt her heart freeze, because the man was huge. The hilt of his sword reflected the last of the daylight. His stallion was a good two hands taller than her mare. It could run her down with no trouble at all. Worse yet, the man wore the kilt of the McJames clan. With her father and brothers raiding their land, he had no reason to treat her kindly. His body was cut with hard muscles, and where his shirt sleeves were rolled up, she saw the evidence that spoke of his firsthand knowledge and skill with that sword. She scanned the ridge above him quickly, fearing that the McJames had decided to repay her father’s raids by doing a few themselves.
But there was no one in the fading light. Her teeth worried her lower lip as she returned her attention to him. She’d never considered that a McJames warrior might enjoy an afternoon ride the same as she.
“Good day to ye, lass.” His voice was deep and edged with
playfulness. He reached up and tugged on the corner of his knitted bonnet, a half smile curving his lips. His light-colored hair brushing his wide shoulders, a single thin braid ran down along the side of his face to keep it out of his eyes. He wore only a leather doublet over his shirt and the sleeves of the doublet were hanging behind him. There was a majestic quality to him. One that was mesmerizing. Her brother Keir was a very large man and she wasn’t used to meeting men who measured up to his size. This one did. He radiated strength from his booted feet to his blond hair. There was nothing small or weak about him. In his presence she felt petite, something she was unaccustomed to. Almost as though she noticed that she was a woman and that her body was fashioned to fit against his male one.
“Good day.”
She had no idea why she spoke to him. It was an impulse. A shiver raced down her back. Her eyes widened, heat stinging her cheeks, her mouth suddenly dry. A shudder shook her gently, surprising her. Beneath her doublet, her nipples tingled, the sensation unnerving.
His gaze touched on her face, witnessing the scarlet stain creeping across it. A flicker of heat entered his eyes. It was bold but something inside her enjoyed knowing that she sparked such a look in him.
“It’s a fine day for riding.”
His words were innocent of double meaning, but Bronwyn drew in a sharp breath because her mind imagined a far different sort of riding. Her own thoughts shocked her deeply. She’d never been so aware of just what a man might do with a woman when they were alone, and now was the poorest time for her body to be reacting to such things. It felt as though he could read her mind. At least the roguish smile he flashed her hinted that he could. His lips settled back into a firm line. She had to jerk her eyes away from them but that left her staring into his blue eyes. Hunger flickered there and her body approved. Her nipples drew tight, hitting her boned stays.
“Ye shouldna look at me like that, lass.” He sounded like he was warning himself more than her, but her blush burned hotter because he was very correct.
“Nor should ye look at me as ye are.”
A grin split his lips, flashing a hint of his teeth. “Ye have that right. But what am I to do when ye stand there so tempting? I’m merely a man.”
And for some reason she felt more like a woman than she ever had. Something hot and thick flowed through her veins. There was no thinking about anything. Her body was alive with sensations, touching off longings she’d thought deeply buried beneath the harsh reality of her father’s loathing to see her wed.
“A man who is far from his home.” Her gaze touched on his kilt for a moment, the blue, yellow, and orange of the McJames clan holding her attention. “I’m a McQuade.”
“I figured that already, but its nae my clan that keeps us quarreling.”
He let his horse close the distance again. The mare didn’t move now, she stood quivering as the large stallion made a circle around her. The same flood of excitement swept through Bronwyn, keeping her mesmerized by the man moving around her. Bronwyn shook her head, trying to regain her wits.
“But I’m thinking that we just might be able to get along quite nicely.” His eyes flickered with promise. “Ye and I.”
“Ye should go. Ye’re correct that it is my clansmen that seek trouble with the McJames. Ye shouldna give them a reason to begin a fight.”
“And ye would nae see that happen? I’m pleasantly surprised.”
His stallion was still moving in a circle around her. Bronwyn had to twist her neck to keep him in sight. Every time he went behind her, her body tightened, every muscle drawing taut with anticipation. Such a response defied everything that she knew.
“Surprised that I’ve no desire to see blood spilt? Being a McJames does not mean I am cruel at heart. What is yer name?” he asked.
Fear shot through her, ending her fascination with him. Being the laird’s daughter meant she was a prize worth taking. Riding out alone so far had been a mistake she just might pay for with her body. Few would believe her if she told them her father wouldn’t pay any ransom for her. Beyond money, there were men who would consider taking her virtue a fine way to strike back at her clan.
“I’ll no tell ye that. McQuade is enough for ye to know.”
“I disagree with ye. ’Tis much too formal only knowing your clan name. I want to know what ye were baptized.”
“Yet ye’ll have to be content for I shall nae tell ye my Christian name.” He frowned but Bronwyn forced herself to be firm. This flirtation was dangerous. Her heart was racing but with more than fear. “If ye get caught on McQuade land, I’ll no be able to help ye.”
“Would that make ye sad, lass?”
“No.” He was toying with her. “But it would ruin supper, what with all the gloating from the men that drove ye back onto McJames land. There would be talk of nothing else.”
One golden eyebrow rose as the horse moved closer to her. He swung a leg over the saddle and jumped to the ground. Her belly quivered in the oddest fashion. But she had been correct about one thing—this man was huge.
“Are ye sure, lass? I might be willing to press me luck if I thought ye’d feel something for me.”
“That’s foolishness. Get on with ye. I willna tell ye my name. Ye’re a stranger; I dinna feel anything beyond Christian good will toward ye.”
“Is that so?”
“It is.”
He flashed another grin at her, but this one was far more calculating and full of intent. “Afraid I might sneak into yer home and steal ye if I know whose daughter ye are?”
He came closer but kept a firm hand on the reins of his mount. Authority shone from his face now, clear, determined, and undeniable. This man was accustomed to leading. It was part of the fibers that made up his being. He would have the nerve to steal her if that was what he decided upon. There was plenty enough arrogance in him, for certain. She felt it in the pit of her belly. What made her eyelashes flutter to conceal her emotions was the excitement such knowledge unleashed in her.
“Enough teasing,” she said. “Neither of us are children.”
“Aye, I noticed that already.”
Her face brightened once more. His eyes swept her and his expression tightened. Maybe she had never seen a man looking at her like that afore but her body seemed to understand exactly what the flicker of hunger meant. She stared at it, mesmerized.
“Tell me yer name, lass.”
His voice was deep and quiet now. But there was no missing the determination edging it. She shook her head, not trusting her voice. It might betray the way her body shivered. She couldn’t allow him to hear how much he affected her. This man was a hunter.
“I will not. Jesting about stealing a woman may be all well and good when ye’re sipping yer whiskey, but it doesna make for good unions. We know nothing about each other.”
“Ah…but if I tossed ye across my saddle, that would change. Once I took ye back to my home, we’d have plenty of time to learn about one another.”
Shock raced through her but what alarmed her was the ripple of excitement that went hand in hand with that shock. He reached out, the back of his hand stroking down the surface of one cheek.
“Ye are blushing for me.”
She jerked away from his touch, ashamed by how much she enjoyed it. Shamed by how much she wanted more than a mere stroke from his fingers. Shamed by how much of a woman he made her feel.
“’Tis nothing.”
He moved toward her again, closing the distance that she’d placed between them. “I disagree, lass. ’Tis something that I’ve a mind to understand better.”
His persistence irritated her. “Are ye telling me that ye would ruin me for the sake of a moment’s impulse? Stolen women are considered soiled when they return home. Is yer need to boast that important to ye?”
“What makes ye think I would return ye?” There was a hint of injured pride in his tone. “Maybe it’s marriage I have on my mind.”
She laughed at him. His lips twitched up and she knew tha
t she’d caught him like a naughty boy pulling her braids.
“As if any man should marry for attraction alone. Ye’d be a fool and yer family would be sure to tell ye that the moment ye took a bride that came with nothing but lust.”
“Ah, maybe, but still the idea is teasing me with possibilities…”
The stallion he held the reins to suddenly reared up, pawing at the air. Her mare jumped, dancing in a wide circle once more. As her horse turned, she stared at the line of her father’s retainers cresting the ridge. Shouts drifted on the wind as they sighted her and her company. She lifted a foot to the stirrup and pushed hard but her body flew upward with the help of a solid hand on her bottom. He gripped one cheek, squeezing it boldly.
“Ye’ve got the nerve!”
He flashed her a grin that wasn’t repentant one bit.
“Something for ye to remember me by since I dinna get the chance to steal a kiss from ye.”
“I wouldna have let ye.”
One golden eyebrow rose mockingly. “That’s why I was planning on stealing it, lass.”
Her mare was still agitated and dancing in a circle. Gripping the reins, she guided her horse back around to find all hints of playfulness gone from the McJames retainer’s face. He frowned, his face taking on a fierce expression while he watched the McQuade clansmen begin racing down toward her. He gained his saddle in a motion that was fluid and strong. His thighs gripped the huge beast with confidence and the hilt of his sword rose above his right shoulder. The man was a warrior, no doubt about it.
A McJames one and that was a pity.
“It seems I’ll have to wait to learn who ye are.” But his expression changed when he looked at her once again. “Now that’s something I’m going to regret.”
Her own thoughts bothered her too much. “Go on with ye, else I’ll think ye a fool.”
“Ah, but ye will think of me and that is something I’ll be treasuring, lass.”
He reached for the corner of his bonnet once more. “Until we met again, sweet McQuade.”