In the Warrior’s Bed

by Mary Wine

  “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.

  More tears spilled down her cheeks. She abhorred crying but seemed unable to stem the emotional tide washing over her. The fact that she was in a strange home, however finer it was than her own chamber at Red Stone, only increased her feelings of dismay.

  It only served to increase her awareness of her fate. Bronwyn suddenly hissed. She wiped the tears off her face, grinding her teeth at her own weakness. She refused to endure without attempting to guide her own destiny.

  She was a McQuade after all. Her brother Keir was a man worthy of respect, so she would endure and discover some way to return to the life she had earned. Staying meant trusting that Cullen was not the same as her own brothers, Liam and Sodac. She would be a fool to think the McJames was any less a warrior for his clan. Once she was at Sterling, it was very likely that she’d be shut away like the prisoner she was. Any wedding performed would be nothing but more chains to keep her in the stronghold of her father’s enemy. Her father raided the McJames. She had no reason to suspect that any of them would like her. Cullen had stolen her to clear his name, nothing more. Better she dwell on how to escape, for it appeared that the only person she knew was telling her the truth was herself. There was still God, but she doubted that the angels would appear to set her free. There were plenty of stolen brides in Scotland to prove that.

  No, if she wanted freedom, she would have to escape. She would worry about what to do with that freedom once she held it.

  She moved to the door, inspecting it. There was a heavy bar slide on the inside that she might use to lock it. But that would lock her inside the chamber. She reached for the handle only to stop halfway there. There would be no easy escape from the tower yard, especially in her chemise. If she wanted to succeed, she would have to plan carefully.

  Instead she walked back to the tray of food. She was too angry to be hungry but she picked up the bread and cheese, stashing them behind the pillows on the bed. Then she went to the door and pulled it open. Finding herself a dress would prove more challenging, but she was up to it.

  She would not yield. Not now, not ever.

  Cullen McJames could choke on his pride.

  So could her father.

  He needed some rest but his body wasn’t interested in sleeping. Beneath his kilt his cock was hard. In the kitchen he found Druce bathing.

  “Och now, ye look like a demon.”

  “Shut up, Druce. I’m nae in the mood for teasing.”

  There was a splash as his cousin poured a bowl of water over his head. He shook it out of his eyes and shot Cullen a glare. “Now there’s the thanks I get for riding all night. Even gave up me plaid.”

  “I appreciate it.” He just felt like strangling Bronwyn at the moment. “That woman is stubborn.”

  Druce laughed. “And ye and Brodick wonder why I’m nae married. Show me a female who’s biddable and I’ll take her to church quick.”

  Cullen unlacing his boots then shook his head. He didn’t want biddable. It was a sure thing that Bronwyn’s stubbornness wasn’t what he’d planned on when taking a wife, but he couldn’t deny the way it stirred his blood. He wanted her and his cock was still hard from tasting her sweet kiss.

  He moved the water trough Druce had used to fill the tub he was in to another tub and pulled the shingle free to fill it. He didn’t bother to add hot water but stripped off his clothing and sat down in the cold water. Druce made a poor attempt at smothering a chuckle.

  His cousin laughed outright when Cullen turned a deadly glare at him. But he tossed a chunk of soap across the distance. Catching it, Cullen worked it over his skin, concentrating on the task in an attempt to ignore that demanding bit of flesh between his legs. He’d never been so hard, at least not when he wasn’t with the woman who had sparked that interest.

  “She says she’ll nae wed me.” And that stung. The feeling took him by surprise. He wasn’t sure what he felt for Bronwyn. Having his pride within her striking range was sobering and a bit unsettling, too.

  “She’s nae the first abducted bride to say that when the question is first put to her.” Druce was serious now. “The taking is not the hard part. ’Tis the convincing that takes a clever man.”

  And so it would. Cullen dumped water over his head to wash his hair. He liked being clean. Half of the nobles in court didn’t value a good bath as much as he did. They stank like manure piles.

  Bronwyn smelled sweet. She tasted sweet, too. He finished his bathing and stood up with his cock still firm. Kissing her might have been a mistake because sleep was going to prove elusive with her taste clinging to his lips. It was more involved than that, though. The way she returned his kiss, shyly, proving her inexperience, was what burned in his thoughts. For a single moment she’d tried to return his kiss, mimic his motions with her own mouth.

  It had been sweeter than anything he’d ever experienced.

  He smoothed out his plaid on
the table that had been placed in the bathing room just for that purpose. The front legs were slightly shorter than the back ones. Wooden pegs had been set into the center of it to hold a belt steady while a man pleated the fabric in even folds. Most men used the foot of their bed to lay out their kilts, but Druce had seen the benefit of having a table constructed for more ease when donning the garment. This way he didn’t have to bend his back all the way over to pull the belt around his waist. The pegs held the belt steady and all ye had to do was back up to the wooden surface once the pleating was done.

  Druce watched him buckle his belt with a firm hand.

  “Yer nae going to get some rest?”

  Cullen scowled, his cock demanding he go to bed but not for sleeping.

  “No now.”

  Druce chuckled while pleating his own kilt. Cullen didn’t remain in the bathing room to hear the man’s amusement.

  He scoffed as he walked through the hallways toward the front entrance. Bronwyn McQuade had managed to kill his sense of humor. He stood on the front step, watching the activity in the yard as the sun began to arch back down on the horizon.

  Now that was something he was going to have to fix. Right after he warmed the lass up. A grin lifted his lips as he considered the way she moved in his embrace.

  Aye, warming her up was going to be a pleasure.

  His pleasure.

  “Och now, look at ye.”

  Bronwyn grimaced as one of the older maids spied her. The woman shook her head and shot a stern look at the two women who tried to tell her to ignore Bronwyn.

  “Yer a sad lot, letting a girl walk around in her chemise and it being November.” She clicked her tongue. “Come on with ye, child, there is no point in sneaking about like a specter. Everyone knows who ye be.”

  Of course they did.

  Her sarcastic thoughts didn’t change the way the woman stared at her.