In the Warrior’s Bed

by Mary Wine

  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.

  Chapter Three

  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 kne
w.

  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.

  She could thank the maid for such niceties. It was for certain that her father knew nothing of it, else she’d be fetching her own.

  With a sigh she poured water into the basin. There was no point in being bitter. Life was not fair, and men were greedy. Her mother had taught her that. The Laird McQuade did not part with his gold, not even for a daughter. Done with washing her face, she enjoyed the feel of clean skin. The soap was plain with only a hint of rosemary for good luck, but it cleansed the dirt away, leaving her refreshed. Picking up the brush, she tended to her hair. When it was neat and braided once more, she reached for the door. She would not linger in the room. Her father might say many things about her, but Bronwyn McQuade was not a coward. She knew the truth of her own virtue, so she would hold her chin steady.

  Cullen didn’t waste time. He stopped at the McJames city house just long enough to wash the road dust from his body. The servants scurried to heat water and pull a clean doublet out of a chest for him. Neither he nor Brodick had any true liking for court so the staff dinna expect him, but they were always ready. A good wool doublet, made to his measurements, was kept on hand along with a shirt and clean kilt. It was constructed of smooth,
russet wool and set with silver buttons. There were boots that didn’t have the dirt from the road clinging to them A new bonnet, and pinned to the side was a broach with the McJames arms. He shaved his three days of beard off with the aid of a mirror.

  When he entered the royal hall he remembered why he didn’t care for court. Nobles watched him, their lips moving as they muttered some cutting remark to the man standing beside them. He didn’t even bother to give them the benefit of the doubt, they were no saying anything kind. That was court, full of intrigue and suspicion. Gossip fueled the ambitions of most of the velvet-clad men. They looked like actors on the stage in their slashed silk hose and puffy pants that no real Scot needed. Most of the men had more jewels sewn to their court costumes than the woman wore in their jewelry.

  He was quite content in his kilt and wool doublet. Pretty trimmings and shinny baubles were for women, not a man who often had to use a sword to defend his land. Some of the pants worn by the court men were so overstuffed, they had to stand in carefully posed positions. A few even had lace-edged handkerchiefs dangling from their gloved fingertips.

  Fops. Half of them had boy lovers.

  The ladies were just as repulsive to him. White powder covered their faces until one couldn’t see what color their skin was. Thick red rouge colored their cheeks and lips. Some wore black “patches” on their skin in the shape of tiny stars or crescent moons. Their dresses were huge piles of lavish fabrics strapped to them over steel and wire so everything that he found pleasing about the female body was pushed into another shape. The only thing he did see was their breasts. The necklines of their court dresses were low and square cut. Their stiff corsets pushed their soft breasts up until the flesh looked hard and ready to burst from their bodices.

  He far preferred Bronwyn as she’d looked riding…

  The thought made him clench his teeth. No woman should be able to take command of his thoughts when he had not even tasted her kiss.

  Yet…

  He snorted in frustration. ’Twas becoming irritating, it was. There were other lasses who would make fine brides for him, too. Since he was at court, maybe he should take a look at some of them.