by Mary Wine
“He’s a fine animal.” And there was no denying it. Stallions like this were expensive and rare.
“And a good friend.”
Cullen watched her hand as it petted Argyll. He stood close to her, maintaining his grip on her hand. He pulled it down to straighten her arm and keep her close.
“I’ve a mare for ye to ride today.”
Bronwyn heard the warning in his voice. Looking behind Argyll, she spotted the smaller animal. The length of McJames plaid she’d been given was draped over the neck of the horse. Standing next to the stallion, it was clear how much smaller the mare was. But it was a welcome sight, a horse for her to ride by herself.
Her hand was suddenly free as Cullen reached for a bundle strapped to his saddle. He looked curious as he pulled a dirk from the top of his boot and began poking at the fabric.
“Who would sew something closed that ye need while traveling?” The frustration on his face amused her because it was clear that the man was not used to picking out seams.
“My sister-in-law’s younger sister gave this to me. I don’t know what it is. Truthfully, I forgot it was tied to my saddle.”
“Well, I suppose ’tis nice to know that I was distracting enough.”
He paused, a twinkle in his eyes. “Is it now?”
Bronwyn shrugged. “Dinna let it swell yer head.”
He chuckled and returned to slicing open stitches. “Wed but an hour and yer rising to the chore of telling me what to do.”
The fabric gave way. Cullen replaced his dirk and pulled a folded garment from within the bundle. He shook it out and held it up. It was a woolen surcoat, with linen lining and deep over sleeves. It would button up to the neck and was also constructed with deep slits up the sides to accommodate riding. Her chilled limbs quivered just looking at it.
“Bonnie told me that I would need it.” He looked at her, his gaze lingering on the hard points her nipples made in spite of the binding she had over them. “And so I do need it.”
“Who is Bonnie to be giving ye her clothing?” Suspicion flared up inside her. Was there a mistress waiting on his return? A McJames woman who would be snuggling up to him now that she had taken her wedding vows?
“My sister-in-law’s sister, and too young a lass for the tone of yer voice, Bronwyn.”
With a swish he flipped it around her shoulders. Her chilled skin begged her to lift her arms and slip her hands through the arm openings. Cullen watched her, waiting for her to accept the garment. Her pride argued against it because it meant another form of submission to their marriage, but her flesh demanded to be shielded from the winter chill.
“Come, lass, save yer arguments for things that do not place yer health at risk. Bonnie sent it for ye.”
“Yer brother knows what ye set out to do?”
“Aye.”
Her hands slipped through the arm openings and a tiny sigh escaped her lips when she felt the weight of the fabric settle onto her shoulders. A flicker of satisfaction filled his eyes as he fastened a few of the buttons. Satisfaction shone in his expression as he ran a hand along the surface of the wool. It was fine, thick wool, the highest quality.
“Be angry at me if ye like, lass, but I do enjoy knowing I provide for ye.” His expression went hard for a moment. “Because ye are mine.”
“As ye keep telling me.”
“I am hoping ye learn to remember it. Dinna make me chase ye down on the road, Bronwyn.” His voice was stern but tempered with something that sounded like tenderness. She held her chin steady, refusing to answer him by word or gesture. It was bad enough that she was his captive. She refused to become obedient to his will.
He grunted and waved her mare forward. “As ye like, madam. Be assured that I will keep my word to keep ye.”
A page brought the mare close and Cullen grasped her waist. He set her in the saddle with an arrogant look that made her temper flare.
“Dinna be so proud, Cullen McJames.”
But it also hit her heart because the man wanted her and was proud of having her. She should detest it. But she had never been one to lie to herself. There was a part of her that was looking forward to being Cullen McJames’s wife. He flashed her that boyish grin once more.
“Dinna be proud of having ye for my wife? Why would I no be happy about that, Bronwyn? ’Tis the truth that I am quite proud this morning.”
He swung up into the saddle, then raising his fist into the air, cried, “Sterling!”
He rode through the gates, her mare following along with his retainers. Several banners flew with his crest on it and that of his brother. She was given a place of honor among the ranks of men and truly it warmed her heart.
She only wished that she had more confidence in it lasting past her arrival at Sterling.
The day’s journey was long and hard. Bronwyn gritted her teeth before noon. She wasn’t used to hours in the saddle.
And she was not used to being sore between her thighs.
She swung her leg over and sat side saddle until her hip went numb. She shifted the other direction and endured a few more hours, but she was as close to begging as she had ever been before the towers of Sterling came into view.
It was bitterly cold. The surcoat was not enough to keep her teeth from chattering. The length of McJames wool lay across the horse and she gave in. Wrapping it around her body, she even tugged it up over her head. Snow drifted down on them in soft flakes. How often had she watched them falling from the shelter of a window and considered the white flurries magical? With no fire to warm her, the snow took on another side. A cruel one as it pulled all of the heat from her body, beginning at her fingertips and then up to her knuckles.
She might not have survived on the road if she had made good her escape.
Knowing that did not cheer her any. The towers of Sterling came into view and the men who rode with Cullen sent up a cheer. They were returning home, and as they climbed the rise toward the sprawling castle that was the seat of the earl of Alcaon, she heard the bells on the walls begin ringing.
A true welcome.
She pulled her mare to a stop and stared at the castle. It was built in a series of towers connected by a large curtain wall. The flags on the walls were blue and gold, telling her that the earl was in residence. All of it was constructed of gray castle stone, no doubt where its name had once come from. It was a place she had heard so much about but never expected to see with her own eyes.
It was possible she might never leave its heavy walls.
“It’s too cold to linger out here, lass.”
Cullen spoke gently but he hooked her around the waist and pulled her off her mare. She landed in front of him with a bump that sent a bolt of pain up through her abused body. But he was warm. She shivered as she felt the heat bleeding out of his body like an oven. The hand holding her against him stroked her side in a soft motion.
“I dinna realize ye were so cold.” Disapproval coated his words. With a kick, he sent Argyll toward his home.
“’Tis nothing more than any other is enduring.”
He lifted one hand, displaying his leather gauntlet. “But my men are prepared for riding out in the weather.”
“I suppose ye should not make a habit of stealing women then. Since captives do not have the privilege of preparing for the journey.”
A twinkle of mischief sparkled in his eyes. “Ye think not?”
“Indeed.”
She sounded waspish but did not care. Cullen rode through the raised gate. People were crowded onto the front steps and faces peered out of the windows. All the shutters were open in spite of the winter chill as the household staff looked down to see their laird returning. She saw their white linen caps lining the window openings.
“I dinna know about that. It’s been a grand adventure, trying my hand at stealing ye. I’d be lying if I said I dinna enjoy carrying ye off to my bed.”
He pulled the horse to a stop as she hissed at him.
“Stop yer bragging.”
She slid off the back of the horse herself and sunk into the snow up to her ankles. She was suddenly thankful for the numbness in her feet because at least she couldn’t feel the ice. Her ankle boots were mere leather ones, meant for spring. They served well enough inside during the winter. Cullen and his men wore knee-high boots that were lined with thick wool and sealed with wax to keep their feet dry.
Bronwyn shivered as she looked at the steps crowded with curious McJameses. Standing in the snow wasn’t the best option either, but she remained in place as her body began to shiver.
“Come, lass, I’ll introduce ye to yer new home.”
Cullen swept her toward the door with a firm arm behind her back but her legs refused to walk. Her knees knocked against one another in a clumsy attempt. It was frustrating beyond endurance. Concentrating on her feet, she tried again, this time making it a few paces before her knees collapsed.
“And ye wanted to escape in this chill.”
Cullen swept her up against his chest. There was murmuring from those watching and more than a few grins. Clearly she was providing welcome entertainment for a winter afternoon.
“I would have kept walking, even in the snow.”
He frowned, but they had reached the top of the stairs. The earl stood there with his wife just inside the doorway and out of the weather.
Brodick McJames swept her with a critical eye. Cullen didn’t put her down even when she squirmed.
“May I present Bronwyn McQuade, my wife.”
The earl raised a dark eyebrow. “Yer wife?”
“Witnessed by Bishop Shaman and Druce. Our good cousin flew the sheet with his own hands.”
Bronwyn hit him. “Put me down.”
Brodick’s wife Anne peered at Bronwyn. “Why isn’t she dressed?”
Cullen shrugged before setting Bronwyn on her feet. Her knees wanted to buckle but she forced them straight.
“Och, well, it turns out I stole her away right after her bath.”
Bronwyn glared at the humor in his tone, but Anne’s eyes opened with alarm.
“That is barbaric.” Her delicate English accent lent gravity to her words. “And quite unkind in this winter chill, I might add. She’s half frozen.”
“I plan to warm her up.”
Bronwyn growled but Anne stomped her foot beneath her skirts. The earl’s lips were twitching as he tried to resist the urge to grin.
“The pair of you are a disgrace.” She shot a particularly pointed look at her husband before turning around to look at Bronwyn.
“I see it falls to me to offer you hospitality.” She dropped a small and practiced curtsy. “Please follow me and we shall find a warm bath for you.”
Anne turned back around to look at Cullen who was still grinning like a triumphant boy fresh from a victorious fist fight. “We shall see how many toes she still has after your handling.”
Both men frowned, their brows creasing.
Cullen looked troubled, his keen gaze sweeping her. The concern bothered her, nipping at her conscience. She was made of sterner stuff than the countess hinted at and for some reason she liked Cullen knowing it.
“I refused to wear the dress they gave me at White Tower.”
Shock registered on Cullen’s face. Anne looked incredulous. “But why?”
“Because he stole me. So I wed him in the only thing I had. Better to understand that such a wedding will not bring anything more than what he stole.”
Her teeth chattered because she couldn’t keep them clenched when she was speaking. Cullen closed the space between them, scooping her off her feet before her teeth stopped hitting themselves.
“Put me down.”
“Nae.” He was striding down the hallway, uncaring of the attention pointed at them from every door frame. “Anne is right. Ye’re freezing and that’s my doing.”
“And walking would warm me up.”
He sent her another one of those determined looks. “So will placing ye in a hot bath.”
Bronwyn held her tongue, mindful of those watching them.
“Aren’t ye going to call me a brute?”
“I should.” But she wouldn’t. Not with so many watching. The man was as proud as she, but he wasn’t a laird drunk on his own power like her older brothers. Cullen earned the respect being given him. She admired that even if it rubbed her own pride.
They entered a huge hall filled with benches and long tables. One end had a raised dais with another table, but there were chairs there instead of benches. The kitchens would be behind it, so that food might be served up hot and with the least amount of walking.
Cullen carried her through a doorway and the air became wonderfully warm. Her cheeks stung as feeling returned, the tip of her nose actually feeling colder by contrast.
“But ye didn’t.”
He set her feet down but held her securely against his body. Cupping her chin, he raised her face so that their eyes met. “Why is me question.”
She squirmed because his gaze saw too much. “I just didn’t. That is all. As difficult as ye might find it to believe, I am not a shrew by nature. This is yer home. I’ll save my temper for places where it will not be overheard.”
He didn’t believe her, or maybe he was simply frozen with shock at her explanation.
“I thought ye promised me a warm bath.”
“So I did, lass.”
He released her and Anne strode into the bathhouse with another younger woman who looked very much like her.
“Away with ye, Cullen.”
“Nae.”
Anne propped her hands on her hips. “Do not say nay to me, sir. Bonnie and I shall see to the bathing on the women’s side. If I need another set of hands, I’ll send for your sister.”
Bronwyn’s gaze flew to Bonnie and the girl was young. A ripple of relief swept through her before she could bury her feelings. Cullen grinned.
“My wife was grateful for the use of yer surcoat, Bonnie.”
Anne scoffed at his humor. “There is two feet of snow on the ground. She’d have been content in a smelly saddle blanket.”
“No content, but I agree that she’d have no argued.”
“Enough from you. Be gone before she takes to beating some manners into you. I confess that I’m of the mind to help.” Anne gave Cullen a shove, and he feigned a stumbling step backward.
He turned to look at Bronwyn, offering her a good-natured grin. “Careful, Bronwyn, Anne rules Sterling with an iron fist.”
Bronwyn offered him a flutter of her eyelashes. “If that is so, why aren’t you more respectful to her?”
“Well spoken.” Anne shook her head. “I believe your brother would have a few words with you, Cullen.”
“Aye, I imagine that’s true enough.”
He gave her a long glance. “But I’m still wanting to know the answer to me question, Bronwyn. We’ll see about that later.”
He turned in a swirl of McJames kilt and left. Bronwyn wished she didn’t find his form so enticing, but her eyes were glued to his wide back until it disappeared.
“What does he want to know?” Bonnie was young enough to ask the question. Her sister, Anne, tried to warn her but the younger girl refused to be put off.
“Why I didn’t insult him.” Bronwyn sat down on a stool and began fighting with the laces on her boots. The leather was wet and stiff with ice, and her fingers still half frozen. “Who can understand why a man would need to ask such a question.”
There was a splash as water began filling one of the high-backed slipper tubs in the room. There were three of them and a trough that could be moved between all of them. It was built up at an angle and most likely connected to a water reservoir in back of the ovens. The snow and ice would fall into it and melt with the aid of the heat from cooking. It most likely ran the entire length of the kitchens to supply the bathhouse. It was a wonderful convenience, allowing bathing all year.
“Who can understand the way men think.” Anne spoke more to Bonnie but
Bronwyn found herself agreeing.
Anne took over the chore of removing her boot for her. Bronwyn stared at the woman, unsure of how to act. She had feared that being a McQuade would cause her trouble at Sterling, but it was for sure that an English woman would find Scotland far less welcoming. For the moment, her worries paled compared to what Anne must have faced when she married Brodick McJames.
Anne pulled the boot loose at last. She looked up and offered a soft smile.
“I find myself often wondering what Brodick is thinking when he asks me some of the things he does.”
It was an attempt at kindness. Bronwyn returned the smile but busied herself with disrobing.
“I’m happy that Cullen remembered to unwrap the surcoat.” Bonnie spoke with the carefree tone of youth. She crossed the room and took the garment from Bronwyn’s hands.
“Does that mean everyone here agreed with this idea of stealing me away from my family?”
It might have been wiser to keep such a barbed question to herself, but the words spilled out. Bonnie looked stunned and Anne sighed. The countess reached for Bronwyn’s chemise and tugged it over her head.
“Your father’s charges made Cullen determined to confront the situation. Truthfully, it was not the first time stealing ye was discussed.” Anne gave her a hard look. “And by different men all intent on ending the raids.”
Bronwyn stepped into the tub and winced. Her toes smarted as the warm water broke winter’s grip on her flesh. Her entire body ached in one fashion or another, her mind hurting worst of all as she tried to fend off self-pity.
“Many marriages are made for less.” Bonnie had lost her sweet tone. Bronwyn looked up because there was too much sorrow in that voice for one so young. She stared at Bronwyn with glistening eyes. “I was married to force my sister to return to England. My husband is a terrible man.”
“Yer very young to have a husband…” Bronwyn’s words trailed off because guilt slammed into her when she realized how much better off she was with Cullen. Bonnie had gone pale with just the thought of her husband.