In the Warrior’s Bed

by Mary Wine

  “That’s not the way the story goes.”

  “Ah, but it’s a myth and I’m a modern man, composing my own tale of adventure.”

  “Well, I agree that ye are certainly no following anyone else’s rules.” And in all truth, there was a part of her that was enjoying it. To be wanted, even for reasons that she was suspicious of, was still being wanted.

  Clearly her mind had gone soft.

  He pulled her against him, scooping her up and pulling her into contact with his body. She wiggled, trying to regain some space, but he tucked her against his body, refusing her.

  “Be still, lass. I promised to keep ye warm.”

  She hissed softly. “I cannae sleep like this.”

  His chest rumbled softly with amusement. “And why not? Ye have never tried.”

  She was too close to really hurt him, but she slapped a hand down on his chest and it popped loudly in the silent chamber. A second later her hand was captured in a warm hand.

  “Enough for one day, Bronwyn.”

  She suddenly noticed what he smelled like. His body heat wrapped around her, combining with the satisfaction pulsing through her to drag her down into slumber. The fact that she was sleeping beneath the roof of her clan’s enemy didn’t seem to have any power against the warm arms wrapped around her. Her flesh was content and it ignored everything beyond the man holding her.

  For the moment it was perfect.

  The royal court of Scotland

  “McQuade is demanding to see ye.” Alarik McKorey didn’t bother to hide his smirk from his king. Erik McQuade had stolen enough from him to make any sufferings on his part amusing. “Again.”

  James Stuart sighed. The queen sat beside her husband with her ladies near. They worked fine silk threads into embroidery in the private royal receiving room. Anne was making her husband’s shirts, a task that showed affection when done by a wife for her husband. She looked at her husband. “I believe we have heard enough from that man to last a year.”

  The king looked at his queen. “I canna ignore him forever. The man is a laird and my treatment of him is watched carefully by the rest of the clans.”

  “The man should be so considerate when he talks about his daughter when others are watching him.” The queen kept her voice perfectly smooth and soft, a credit to her tutoring to wear a crown, but there was no mistaking the subtle disgust.

  “I believe Bronwyn McQuade will be marrying soon, if she hasn’t already.”

  The queen looked stunned. She glanced quickly around the room, frowning at the lowered heads of her maids of honor. Not one of them looked her in the eye.

  “I understand this is a particular custom among your clans, but I confess that I find it harsh. I hope you will understand why I don’t remain to hear the man’s displeasure over having his daughter stolen. I have a daughter of my own.” The queen stood. She curtsied to her husband before gliding gracefully from the private receiving room. Her maids followed her, each one modeling themselves after her. Raelin McKorey remained, silently sorting the costly silks the queen had been using to do her embroidery. She carefully tucked ends and slipped them back into the queen’s embroidery basket that was entrusted to her keeping.

  “My queen has an interesting point.”

  Alarik offered his king a grin. “I do believe no man alive would dream of stealing the Princess Elizabeth.”

  James Stuart snorted. “Och now, they’ll dream it sure enough. It’s in the nature of a man to reach for something he sees above him.”

  “Except for a king.”

  James looked shocked but then laughed. “Och now, ye have that right. There’s been a few times I’ve looked down and envied the lives of those not born to sit on a throne.” He sobered though and pegged Alarik a hard stare. “I meant what I told young McJames. There had better have been care taken with that girl.”

  Alarik stared straight back at his king, his chin level. Raelin watched them from beneath her lowered lashes. A shiver raced down her spine. Men were hard creatures. They saw women as items that were fashioned for their use.

  “Laird McQuade.” The royal messenger announced Erik McQuade with a tap of his staff against the stone floor.

  “He may enter. Alone.”

  There was argument from beyond the large doors but the king did not relent. Laird McQuade entered and the guards closed their pikes across the doorway to bar the man’s sons and retainers from the private receiving room.

  “Alone or wait until I’m in the mood to receive ye in the outer hall.”

  McQuade glared at Alarik McKorey.

  James Stuart held up a hand. “When you disturb me in my private chambers, you take my company along with me.”

  McQuade shook with his anger but he gave his king the quickest of bows before stepping farther into the room. The guards secured the doors behind him. There was an uproar from his sons that the heavy doors muffled but did not completely seal out.

  “That stinking McJames has stolen me daughter!” His face was red and contorted with anger. He sucked in another breath. “I demand he be tossed into chains.”

  The king lifted his hand but Laird McQuade didn’t heed the warning. He cussed.

  “He’s stolen my child! I demand his blood!”

  The guards behind the king lowered their pikes. It was clear they didn’t care for the way the man was bellowing at his monarch. McQuade scowled but held his tongue.

  “Rather interesting that Cullen would see fit to steal her away when you told all that he’d already had her. What do you suppose is the man’s motivation? Why steal a woman who lifted her skirts willingly?”

  McQuade sputtered, outrage making his eyes bulge. “I’ll deal with the thieving bastard myself!”

  “Ye will not.” James Stuart raised his voice and there was no missing the crack of authority in it. “Yer raiding is at the root of this problem, man. Did ye think ye could smear the names of yer neighbors and nae have them retaliate?”

  “If they were any sort of real Scots they’d take the matter up with me, no me daughter.”

  The king gripped the arms of his chair. “Yer the one who brought her into the fight between you and the McJames.”

  “Because Cullen McJames soiled her and tossed her aside like a whore.” McQuade opened his hands. “I came to ye for justice.”

  “It would seem that Cullen has not discarded her at all but intends to keep her. A wedding will satisfy the need for justice.”

  “I have no given her permission to wed! I am her father and laird!” McQuade returned to yelling. The guards at the back doors of the receiving room entered because he was bellowing so loudly.

  The king, however, was calm. “And why not, man? It won’t be the first couple that knelt on the altar after sampling each other.”

  “It will no wipe the stain off me honor.”

  James snorted in frustration. “What do you want? Cullen McJames rotting in chains?”

  “Aye! And me daughter back on my land where she belongs.”

  “To what end, McQuade? Ye want to keep her unmarried and shamed for the rest of her days?”

  McQuade quieted down. He considered his next words before replying. “I do not know as yet. Bronwyn has shamed me and her entire clan. I’ll take her home as an example to the other daughters who think to disobey their fathers and clan.”

  The king raised an eyebrow. “Just how are ye planning to do that, man? I thought ye said she was stolen away?”

  McQuade shook with his anger. “I want ye to order that thieving McJames to bring her back. He’ll obey ye.”

  “How do ye know it was McJames who took her? There’s more than one clan that would like to force ye into an alliance by marrying yer daughter.” Alarik McKorey glared at Erik McQuade, making it plain that he was one of them.

  Erik McQuade spat on the floor. “I’ve witnesses. The way they tell it, there was more than one set of colors that helped with the stealing, but they only got a good look at the McJames that tied up me
daughter and threw her over his shoulder.”

  Alarik shrugged. “The McJames are good friends. I’ve no doubt that if Cullen were the one who took yer daughter, there would be a few men that might help him. Considering the fact that ye labeled him a blackguard.”

  McQuade smiled. It was a slow, sickening twist of his lips. “Is that a fact? Well, since ye seem to think that stealing brides is acceptable, maybe it’s time I married again meself.” He glanced down at Raelin and the embroidery basket went tumbling right out of her lap when she stood up.

  “Yer sister’s ripe for breeding.” He licked his lower lip. “I always liked plump tits best.”

  “I’ll carve yer cock off, ye letch.” Alarik had his hands around McQuade’s throat before the guards made it across the room.

  They trampled the contents of the queen’s baskets beneath their boots as they tried to tear Alarik off McQuade. Raelin was pushed out of the way and ended up against a wall while the fight went on. She watched it intently, feeling that shiver cross her spine again. Her brother was in a full rage, but McQuade didn’t seem to notice the younger man’s advantage. He pulled a knife and plunged it toward Alarik.

  The blade sliced through the air with a wicked flicker of light off its polished surface. Time slowed down and she heard her own heartbeats while the slashing blade was moving closer and closer to her brother’s throat. The metal sliced into his skin, spilling crimson blood. Alarik let out a roar as he turned away, releasing his hold on McQuade.

  McQuade stumbled forward now that Alarik wasn’t there to absorb his attack, the knife dripping blood as it plunged toward the king still in his chair.

  In one more heartbeat a guard thrust his lowered pike through the impending threat to his king. A sickening sound filled the chamber. The iron top of the pike embedded itself in Laird McQuade’s chest, his own charge helping to push it deep.

  The king’s guards pulled him over the back of the chair and out of the range of McQuade’s dagger. Bright red blood flowed over the pike and onto the rich carpets that lay beneath the king’s chair. McQuade looked down at his lifeblood, a frozen expression of rage still on his face. He looked up, meeting Raelin’s horrified stare.

  “Ye stupid bitch. All…women are nothing…save…trouble…for…men.” He wheezed, bloody bubbles appearing at the sides of his mouth. With a last effort he threw the bloodstained dagger toward her.

  Alarik made a lunge for the dirk but was too far behind her to make any difference. Still frozen in slow motion, it seemed impossible to avoid the spinning blade. But she moved away from it, every second feeling like an hour. Her cheek burned as the tip of it slit her skin open. The soft gold silk of her dress turned crimson, ruined beyond saving.

  “Holy Christ!”

  Time resumed its normal tempo. More guards rushed into the room. Lairds who had been waiting in the outer hall pushed their way in. Liam and Sodac McQuade howled loud enough to shake the rafters when they found their father dead, his eyes still open and staring at her.

  “Ye witch!” Liam screamed in an insane rage. He reached for her, his fingers stained with his father’s blood. Alarik shoved him back, but it took more guards to subdue the enraged Scot.

  “If ye want blood McQuade, try and take it!” Alarik snarled his eyes alight with the will to fight.

  Liam spat on the floor, uncaring of the fine carpets beneath his feet. “What did yer bitch of a sister do to my father, McKorey?”

  “Yer father was the one who insulted her by treating her like a common whore.”

  Liam’s face turned purple with rage. He aimed that fury at Raelin. “Ye bewitched him! Ye devil’s handmaiden!” He pointed at her. “Witch! I’ll see ye burned for it!”

  “Enough!” The king fought with his own guards, struggling to be heard over the rising voices of the men in the room. Accusations were flung out, one clan against another. McKorey retainers facing off with McQuade. Mixed into it was the royal guard trying to maintain order and protect their monarch.

  Raelin watched in horror as McQuade men cursed her and strained to reach her so that they might murder her. Through it all, Liam McQuade watched silently, his face contorted with rage. It became his legacy as every man wearing his colors joined the fight to stamp out her life and that of her brother’s clansmen.

  Hours later the McQuade retainers rode away from court, their laird’s body wrapped in his plaid. Hate blazed from their eyes in spite of the explanation given by their king. Raelin watched them from a balcony on the second floor of the palace.

  Queen Anne laid kind hands on her shoulders. “It was not your fault, child.”

  It hadn’t been, but there was no telling any McQuade that. She looked at the snow and shivered. Not because she was cold but because spring would bring more blood.

  McKorey blood.

  Chapter Nine

  Sterling

  “Well now, it seems yer husband’s bed agreed with ye.” Helen swept into the room with a cheery smile.

  Bronwyn jumped, startled awake by the sound of the woman’s voice. She had been sleeping so soundly it took several minutes to recall where she was.

  “Ye slept past services and breakfast but no one thinks poorly of ye for that since yer so newly wed.”

  There was a soft laugh from the girl with Helen. She wore a neat wool dress and linen cap. But she did not have on a long apron like the other maids. Two of them were pulling the draperies open to allow more of the winter light into the room. One pushed on the slide lock to swing the pane of glass open.

  “Here now, the mistress has not yet dressed.”

  Helen nodded approval at the girl.

  “This is Sybil. She has served in this house for a decade and her mother before her. I brought her up to see if she suits ye.”

  Sybil had dark eyes that studied her with calm confidence. She lowered herself before snapping her fingers at the two under maids and pointing at the bed curtains.

  “I don’t need a maid.”

  Helen frowned and the two under maids cast quick looks at each other. “Ye are a baron’s wife.”

  Sybil didn’t appear put off by her words. The girl stepped up to the bed and offered her chemise to her. Helen watched with a critical eye.

  “We’ve plenty to do, what with ye having not a stitch of clothing to yer name.”

  Sybil held the chemise perfectly so that all she had to do was raise her arms to get into the sleeves. The two under maids pulled the bedding down as the fabric of the undergarment slid over her nude body. It was flawless the way they worked together to help her rise.

  Sybil even gathered up her hair and laid it down her back once the chemise was in place. “I understand that it will take time for ye to become accustomed to my service. But yer a McJames now and we take pride in serving our mistress.”

  “I’ve never had a maid, that’s all I meant.” The words crossed her lips before Bronwyn realized how they must sound. Four sets of eyes looked at her and then the two maids laughed. Oh, they tried to smother their amusement but it made it past their lips.

  Sybil and Helen didn’t find it funny at all. Both their expressions tightened as they took her words as an insult, an expected one but still a slight to their blood. As the laird’s daughter, no one was going to believe that she was accustomed to fending for herself.

  “Truly, I have always been treated as the other women at Red Stone. My father is not one for comforts. Everyone works.” Sybil brought forward the surcoat. She looked pensive for a moment.

  “Well, if ye are handy with a needle that shall be a blessing today. I sent one of the girls along to the sewing room to pull down some of the lengths of new fabric for ye to consider for a dress.”

  It was a test. A subtle challenge laid down to see if she was lying. It was one test she would have no trouble passing. Helen had laid out a comb and hair pins on the table. Reaching for the comb, Bronwyn pulled it through her hair herself but Sybil stopped her when she would have braided it in one long tail.

>   “Perhaps ye might allow me to braid it up, to keep it away from our work.”

  Helen pulled a small stool out from beneath the table. Sinking down onto it, Bronwyn surrendered the comb. Unless she wanted to be rude, she would have to allow Sybil to tend her.

  But there was a part of her that was touched by it, too. It would not have surprised her to be left on her own at Sterling. With the years of raids from her father, there were plenty who had reason to detest her for her blood alone. But the four women moved around her without any outward sign of animosity. Sybil was gentle, her hands coiling her hair in a French braid that encircled her head. Breakfast was served to her on a polished silver tray while the two under maids righted the bed. They both paused at the door and curtsied to her before standing quietly near the door awaiting her needs.

  Helen watched Sybil with a critical eye, making sure the girl performed to her satisfaction. As the personal maid to the countess, Helen made the choice of who would get important positions such as the maid to the wife of the laird’s brother. Sybil most likely had been apprenticing for years, waiting for her opportunity to rise above the other maids.

  But in spite of knowing that Sybil had most likely been looking forward to the day that she would have a mistress to maid for, Bronwyn could not sit still for very long. The food stuck in her throat because she had never once in her life eaten while others waited upon her. She did not know how to act or even how to continue eating. She felt like each bite was awkward or clumsy.

  “I am eager to set to work.”

  Helen and Sybil both looked at the meager amount of food that she’d consumed, but Bronwyn was already on her feet.

  “Let us go to the sewing room.” She reached for the tray her breakfast was on, intending to carry it from the room lest the mice discover an easy meal and make a nest in her bed because they thought food plentiful in the chamber. Helen took it from her with a stern look that only age gave a woman. It did not matter that she was a servant and Bronwyn considered mistress. But there was a hint of curiosity in her eyes as she watched how naturally Bronwyn cleaned up after herself. She handed the tray to one of the maids before moving toward the door.