In the Warrior’s Bed

by Mary Wine

  “My private chambers, McQuade. Now.”

  The king was quite clearly displeased. He quit the room on fast steps, his guards keeping pace. Conversation rose in the hall as necks angled and stretched to get a clear look at her.

  “Now ye’ll understand the penalties for turning traitor on me, Daughter.”

  Her father hooked her arm and pulled her toward the back of the hall behind the throne. Heavy, ornately carved doors were held open by the royal guard. The moment they passed over the threshold, the doors were pushed shut behind them with a hard sound that made her flinch. The king was pacing, his servants meekly standing well behind him.

  “Ye had better have a good explanation for that outburst, man. I’ve had my limit with yer schemes to paint the McJames clan black.”

  “I rode home and found Cullen McJames on my land.”

  The king stopped. He turned to face Erik McQuade. “Is that so?”

  “It’s a fact, he was meeting my daughter. The thieving mongrel. Both my sons witnessed it the very moment we set foot back onto our land.”

  The king looked at her, but her father pushed her behind him. “I brought her here so that ye might see the look of guilt on her face. I would never allow her to spew her filthy lies in yer presence.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” The king sat down in his ornate chair but he did not extend permission for his company to sit in the chairs behind them. He considered each of her brothers, Liam and Sodac. They puffed up their chests, hunger for vengeance brightening their eyes. They were the image of their father. James looked at her last, his eyes considering her.

  “What say you, Bronwyn McQuade?”

  “I told ye, she’s a lying whore…”

  “And I told ye, Laird McQuade, that ye shall no tell me what to do, man.” James glared at her father. “I’m getting very tired of hearing yer dislike for yer neighbors. More importantly, I have had enough of listening to yer neighbors complain about yer thieving. I’ve three sound petitions for ye to be clamped into chains like a common thief, and it’s a fact that ye’re doing nothing to sway my opinion in yer favor.”

  “Cullen McJames was with me daughter! He comes before ye like the very image of a martyred saint but he’s a blackguard who has fouled me daughter and left her disgraced.” Her father was shouting now and the guards behind the chair took one large step forward. Her sire instantly bowed his head in deference.

  “Is that so, Bronwyn?”

  She could not refuse to answer. Not to the king of Scotland. But Keir’s position weighed on her mind. She remained silent, torn as to what words to use. How to state the truth and not anger her sire, but it seemed impossible.

  “Ye see? She’s choking on her shame.”

  “I told ye that I’ve heard enough from ye.” The king gestured with his hand. “Remove him and his sons. The daughter stays.”

  “She’s my child!”

  “And my subject. I’ll hear what she has to say, even if I must toss ye out so that the girl can speak. The girl must have learned manners from someone other than ye because she at least knows better than to rage in my presence.”

  The king’s voice cut through her father’s blustering like a knife. The guards behind him moved around the small dais with their swords drawn. The sharp tips pointed toward her father and brothers. All three glared at her, blaming her for the king’s displeasure.

  “Your Majesty, I pray ye allow my family to remain.”

  The guards froze, awaiting their monarch’s response.

  “No.”

  There was no more hesitation from the royal guard. Her family was sent back through the double doors without another word. When they closed again, the sound felt like a gunshot going through her.

  “Now, answer my question. What is Cullen McJames to you?”

  “A stranger.”

  The king sat back down. He fixed her with a stern look. “Yer father claims he caught ye with him.”

  “I was riding and he was at the top of the ridge. We did speak, that is all. I did not even know his name until my father told me.”

  “But it was on McQuade land?”

  “The border. We were both on the edges of our land.”

  The king sighed, clearly frustrated. “How many men were with him?”

  “None.”

  James Stuart snorted, a chuckle rising from his chest. A gleam flickered in his eye and he raked her from head to toe. “Did Cullen know who ye were?”

  Heat spread across her face. “I refused to tell him. He was wearing the McJames plaid.”

  The king scoffed. “Cullen always wears his family colors. The man is pure Scot and proud of his family name. He’s a brazen one, too, riding onto yer land with no one to guard his back.”

  He was…

  The thought rose instantly from her memory of that meeting. The way Cullen had closed the distance between them, brash and unafraid of the possibility of being discovered. But the king was watching her intently. Bronwyn lowered her eyelashes to mask the excitement in her eyes.

  “Did he touch ye?”

  “Nay.” She spoke too sharply for the presence of a king, but her pride was blistered from her father’s words.

  The king’s eyes narrowed. “Are ye a maiden?”

  Her eyes widened. The man might be her king but she had not expected such an intimate question from him. Her temper flared up because never once had she behaved in a way to bring suspicion onto herself.

  “Indeed I am.”

  A slow smile covered the king’s face. But it did not soothe her. Quite the opposite. Just as Cullen’s grin had promised her something else, the king’s pleasant look made her stomach tighten with anticipation.

  “Has yer father betrothed ye to anyone?”

  The question startled her. It shouldn’t have, but she looked at the floor for a moment.

  “Papa…I want a night blessing.” A curtain behind the dais moved and a little girl emerged. Dressed in a fine linen chemise and nightcap that were worked with masterful blackwork embroidery, the wee girl was only waist high. Her cheeks still chubby and her eyes large in her face. The cuffs and collar of the chemise were edged in bobbin lace. Bronwyn stared at the hours of work employed to decorate a garment that was only for sleeping. The fabric itself was finer than any Bronwyn had ever seen.

  Fit for a princess.

  “Elizabeth, my rose, where is your nurse?”

  The king transformed into a loving parent before her eyes. He scooped up the wee girl and she clasped her arms around his neck.

  “Please, Papa. All good children get a blessing from their father at night. They told me so in my studies.”

  “Yer’re a good wee lass to listen to yer tutors.”

  Bronwyn watched the way the king pressed a kiss on the top of the child’s head. Bronwyn couldn’t help staring. Never once had her own father kissed her so lovingly. The king noticed her watching and covered his emotions once again.

  “This is my daughter, Elizabeth. Who should be abed.” He patted her bottom before turning to place the little girl on her feet. One of the guards held out a hand for the child and Elizabeth took it easily. Clearly the little girl was not an uncommon visitor in the king’s private receiving chamber.

  “I see from yer face that yer own father has never been so kind to ye.”

  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 a
t 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?