by Mary Wine
“Ye sleep in my bed, Bronwyn, and in my embrace. Always.”
His voice was edged in steel once more. But instead of her captor she heard a warrior tonight, one who was worthy of her respect. He was a man of honor.
“I want more from a wife than the comfort I take between yer thighs.” He sighed against her hair, a soft kiss landing on her temple. “I hope in time ye’ll desire the same.”
His voice was full of doubt and emotion that touched her heart. There was no ignoring it, no missing it. But the truth was she didn’t want to. She was warm and secure for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Not since the days that she’d had a loving mother who had soothed the harsher details of life with her love.
The male scent of his skin surrounded her. She relaxed against him, her hands smoothing over his forearm. He was strong and sturdy and it felt perfect. Sleep claimed her and she went willingly. Contentment wrapped around her, killing every need to struggle.
Sybil placed a set of long stays on the work table and stood up. “They are finished, Mistress Bronwyn.”
Fingering the corset, Bronwyn smiled. “Yer stitches are very even.”
“Sybil has always had a steady hand with a needle.” Gerty’s voice cracked but it didn’t cut the way it had before. The older woman paused to inspect the new cloth Bronwyn had woven. She inclined her head slightly, acknowledging her skill.
“Ye turn a fair length of cloth.”
Bronwyn smiled. She turned in a circle and her new skirts flared out around her ankles. A new hip roll was sitting just perfectly around her hips and the cartridge pleated skirt sat on it nicely.
Clothing. She would never take it for granted again.
Two sleeves were already finished, and a doublet was being worked on as well. Sybil had managed to keep two other girls with her the entire week to sew on her clothing. Tomorrow morning she would have a dress to wear once again. She felt like a child receiving a present. Anticipation made her happy enough to twirl across the floor. No silk damask court dress could have made her happier.
The reason was simple. This dress was hers. She had woven the cloth and helped to construct it. The women in the workroom were now women she knew things about instead of strangers. The dress represented far more than just a return to modesty. It was a beginning of life at Sterling as more than just a captive.
Sybil followed her with the corset. Bronwyn eagerly laced into them. Happiness seemed to surround her. The corset was tightened and her doublet buttoned. The other girls brought the sleeves forward to be tied into the shoulders.
“I never thought a dress could feel so good.”
“Wait until ye have to wear a surcoat for an entire year while growing a babe inside your womb.”
Bronwyn turned to look at Gerty. The older woman cast her a knowing look full of her years of wisdom.
“With the way young McJames looks at ye, I doubt that dress will fit come the spring.”
She wasn’t being unkind, but Bronwyn felt her sunny mood darken. Uncertainty sat on her shoulders every day; only leaving her once she was held against Cullen in their bed. While the bed curtains were drawn it was so simple to allow herself to be content, but once the sun rose her doubts returned.
Was he attentive only because he wanted to breed her?
Would he have done with her once she bore him a child that would make their marriage impossible to dissolve?
Such doubts crowded her mind.
Her mother had lived such a life. Existing in a place where she was housed because of her dowry and the connection she brought to her husband. The McQuade clan had never truly accepted her as one of their own, her husband only using her as he pleased but never remaining faithful. Erik McQuade had enjoyed any woman in the clan he desired. He’d used his title as laird to take what he wanted.
The world would not think harshly of Cullen for doing the same. In truth, her father had sowed the seeds for his enemy to take her. It was a depressing idea, one that punctured the joy she’d sampled so recently. Now that her courses were finished, she faced the possibility that she might conceive. Her choice to follow her heart into Cullen’s embrace might well affect more than just herself.
But doubt was a cruel thing, nipping at her joy. The passion between them might very well grow cold, leaving her a forgotten wife like her mother had been.
“Yer husband will enjoy the way that blue sets off yer hair.”
Sybil carried a costly mirror over and held it up for Bronwyn to study her reflection. Her cheeks were full of color just like in the spring, and her blond hair did look nice against the blue of the wool. She had never been a vain girl, but she suddenly smiled because she felt pretty. And the idea that Cullen might agree with her was intoxicating.
Bronwyn allowed it to take her melancholy mood away. After all, there was no point in worrying about what could not be changed. If she was destined to become a forgotten wife, she should enjoy today all that much more.
The memory would become one of her dearest possessions.
Anne looked at her sister, Bonnie, and cautioned the younger girl to remain poised with her features pleasant and unjudging.
It was quite the effort, but Anne remained sweetly helpful while searching for the single book of sonnets she owned.
“Ah yes. Here it is. I do hope ye enjoy it.”
Cullen glared at her. The sternness of the look cracked through her composure. Her brother-in-law scowled.
“Dinna ye laugh at me.”
“Of course, Cullen, whatever do ye mean?”
Bonnie covered a giggle with a fake sneeze that allowed her to cup a hand over her face and hide her smile.
Cullen huffed but took the book of sonnets. He stared at it for a long moment, confusion on his face. He suddenly shook it off, noticing that both Anne and Bonnie where watching him.
“Thank ye.”
He stomped through the doorway and Anne held her breath until she heard his steps fade near the end of the hallway.
Bonnie collapsed against the back of her chair in giggles. She wrapped her arms around herself as she shook with amusement. Anne wasn’t far behind. The image of her stern brother-in-law reading love sonnets was enough to make her wet herself.
But it was also sweet. So sweet that she sobered.
“It looks like I may have misjudged Cullen in the matter of his marriage.”
Bonnie sat up, all traces of humor washing off her face. “He stole her.”
“Yes, but I had never thought to ever see Cullen McJames asking for sonnets.” Anne sent a gentle smile toward her sister. “It proves that he is not intent on merely breaking his new bride’s spirit. He intends to woo her.”
“He still kidnapped her.” Bonnie’s voice rose in her passion to champion Bronwyn’s cause. “Stole her without any regard for her feelings.”
Anne sighed. She and her family had spoiled Bonnie. As the youngest child, they had all allowed Bonnie to remain whimsical when the world was anything but. Bonnie believed in gallant knights who protected the honor of their lady fair. Such was fine for bedtime stories and winter nights when everyone needed diversion, but it was not a way of life. Anne stiffened her spine. The look of righteous anger on her sister’s face was bound to end with young Bonnie in trouble if someone did not crack the shell sheltering her. With their mother in England, the task fell to her.
“Bonnie, you will have to begin growing up now.” Anne kept her voice low but firm. “It is a good match between Cullen and Bronwyn. Even blessed by the king. Marriage is a union best forged for reasons other than affection.”
“But you love Brodick.” Hurt edged Bonnie’s voice. “He rode into Warwickshire to rescue you and—”
“And we are truly blessed, but he courted our marriage because of the gain it would bring him and his clan.”
Bonnie frowned. She stood up, her body quivering with anger. “Well, I shall never allow a man to touch me that I do not love with all my heart. I swear it.”
�
�Bonnie.” Anne’s reprimand was lost on her sister because Bonnie ran out of the chamber before it passed her lips. Anne sighed. Dear sweet Bonnie. What was she going to do with her sister? At sixteen, the time for maturity was at hand. Anne might wish otherwise, but it was going to be a crushing blow for her sister. Brodick had sent his own sister to Warwickshire for the winter to begin the process of learning to manage a large house. More importantly, to grow confident in herself and learn to live outside her family’s embrace. Such was the expectation of a noble daughter.
Bonnie would have to go next season to some place where she had no family to indulge her whims. It might sound harsh, but it was what made girls into women.
Cullen didn’t arrive at the evening meal. The seat beside her remained empty. She found herself keenly aware of his absence, actually missing him. The others made light attempts to include her in their conversation, but her appetite died anyway.
She tried to finish her meal, actually ordered herself to continue eating. But her stomach refused to obey, the food looking unappetizing.
“Excuse me, please.” With a nod to her host, she left the table. There was an odd pulse of anticipation moving through her that made sitting still difficult.
Would Cullen want her tonight?
She wanted him…
Her cheeks colored, but she could not deny her own thoughts. The little quiver of excitement was moving through her blood like fine wine. She began walking without a destination and ended up at the bath house.
A shudder shook her when she realized how much her body wanted Cullen to have her tonight. Subconsciously she was thinking about it, her instincts guiding her, undermining the things she thought she wanted with the things her body craved.
“A bath is a fine idea, Mistress Bronwyn.” Sybil arrived a bit out of breath. Her hurry sent a shaft of guilt through Bronwyn for making the girl nervous.
“I’m sorry, Sybil, I wasn’t thinking when I left the hall so quickly. I dinna mean to interrupt yer supper.”
Sybil grinned as she began setting one of the tubs for bathing. There was a splash of cold water running into it, although since this was snow that had slid off the kitchen roofs and melted against the hearths that burned all day, it was already warm. The large rain barrels were frozen over and wouldn’t be used until spring. Sterling was quite modern in its bathing facilities.
“Not to worry, Mistress Bronwyn. With such a handsome man awaiting ye, I believe I would be anxious to join him myself.”
“What do ye mean?”
Sybil took a piece of soap from where it was stored. She looked perplexed for a moment. “I told yer husband that yer courses were finished this morning.”
Of course she had.
That was a personal maid’s responsibility, especially considering that Cullen also used Sybil to keep an eye on her when he wasn’t with her.
Her temper surged forward but it collided with the excitement pulsing through her. If she wanted to be angry then she had to aim part of that temper at herself. Cullen was not the only one interested in resuming their marriage bed activities.
She sighed as she sat down in the tub, her new dress set carefully aside. Confusion held her in its grip. Why was it so wrong to crave her husband anyway? Because her father called him enemy? She scoffed at that idea, completely dismissing it.
He’d stolen her…
That was true enough, but she’d been foolishly naïve to think that she would never marry. She was the laird’s daughter. In spite of her father’s determination to hold on to every silver penny he had, it was not beyond the power of the king to see her wed.
Cullen was not a brute, her father had pushed him too far and that was the truth.
She sighed as Sybil rinsed her hair. Cullen would be a fool to not keep track of when her courses ended. Planting a child in her would make their marriage solid.
“Sit by the fire and I’ll brush yer hair out. Won’t ye look lovely with it all flowing down yer back.”
Bronwyn sat down. She lifted her chin and enjoyed the heat of the fire on her back. Sybil drew the brush in long, even strokes down her hair. It was soon a cloud of golden silk, the ends curling gently in the heat from the fire. Each stroke had set her heart rate going a tiny bit faster. Anticipation tightened every muscle. Her dress felt constricting, her breasts slightly swollen behind the new long stays. Remaining still for her hair to dry took more and more self-discipline. The battle was mesmerizing in a way because the more she resisted the urge to go to Cullen, the deeper the longing burrowed into her belly. Her body began to throb gently and she stood up.
“Thank ye, Sybil.”
There was too much light in the outer hall. Darkness seemed to suit her mood. Most of the supper had been cleared away, but with snow on the ground, a good number of retainers sat at the tables passing the time. Some with cards or dice. Several women were playing music at one end of the hall. Even with a few missed notes, it was delightful to hear.
Bronwyn passed through them and conversation died. She captured their attention but this time genuine smiles appeared on their lips. Hands tugged on bonnets while several of the women blew her kisses for good luck.
She suddenly felt like a bride, with all of the happy looks and enjoyment that went along with weddings.
Most importantly, she wanted to go to her bride groom. Joy filled her, urging her forward. Her cheeks flushed, but not because she was horrified by the fact that everyone knew she was going to bed with a man, but instead because she wanted to join him in that bed.
It was sinfully luring, drawing her toward the chamber where she’d known her captor’s touch. Tonight she would enjoy her husband’s.
Cullen was indeed waiting for her, the chamber lit by beeswax candles, the sweet scent of summer honey drifting lightly in the air. There was also rosemary in the air. A very small ceramic pot sat carefully on the table with the dried herb boiling over a candle flame. It was the traditional herb for bridal nights, one that midwives swore increased fertility and passion.
Sybil and the maids following her did not enter the chamber. They remained in the hallway.
“Good night, Mistress Bronwyn.”
Bronwyn didn’t really hear Sybil. She was too distracted by the man waiting for her.
And Cullen was waiting for her.
He was magnificent. Her gaze being drawn to the wide shoulders and his towering height. He wore only his kilt and shirt, the doublet he’d taken to wearing in the cold weather hung up behind him. His bonnet was missing, too, leaving his hair free to softly curl. What drew her attention the most was the way he looked at her. The door closed softly behind her. The moment it thumped against the door frame, he came toward her. His body moving like the powerful animal he was. She’d never considered that watching a man might be as awe inspiring as watching a stallion, but it was.
His gaze roamed over her, lingering on her unbound hair. Reaching out, he fingered it, a soft smile decorating his lips. Without a word he’d managed to make her feel pretty. More beautiful than she ever had in her life. The expression on his face worth far more than her reflection in the mirror.
“Yer beautiful, Bronwyn, so much so, I’m afraid to touch ye for fear ye’ll disappear like a dream.”
Reaching up, she touched his forearm. He had his sleeves caught up near the shoulder. Her fingertips slid lightly along his warm skin, a tiny shiver racing up her arm from the contact.
He drew in a stiff breath.
“The chamber is very lovely.” And he had gone to some trouble on her behalf. That knowledge warmed her heart.
“Aye.” He frowned. “I planned to woo ye properly for a change but I dinna understand these sonnets.”
He picked up a small book from the tabletop, clearly vexed by the verse on the page. “One is lively and the next depressing.”
“Poets are often melancholy. Or so I have heard.” She reached for the book. Taking it from his hand, she closed it gently. “But it was very sweet of ye to fetch this here
.”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Bronwyn looked down at the table and laid the book on its polished top while trying to hide her amusement.
“Yer laughing at me.”
“Nay. I am not.” She walked away from him, but he followed. It was a teasing chase. She shied backward and he closed the gap every time.
“Aye, ye are. Yer eyes are sparkling.”
Bronwyn shrugged. “I am no laughing at ye.”
“But ye are laughing.” He said it triumphantly and hooked an arm around her. With one more step he closed the remaining distance between them. She gasped when their bodies connected. Sensation rippled down her length, unleashing every urge she’d restrained.
“It’s nae very kind of ye to be amused by my attempts to seduce ye.”
She reached up to stroke his cheek. He narrowed his eyes, enjoyment showing on his face. “I dinna mean to be unkind, but ye have never struck me as the sort of man who uses poetry.”
He snorted, a wicked gleam twinkling in his eyes. “Aye, that is correct, lass.”
He hefted her up and tossed her over his shoulder.
“I’m more of a hands-on sort of man. I love to wrap my fingers around the lass I’m trying to catch.” A soft smack landed on her bottom before he turned in a circle. A dizzy wave of excitement went through her while she grabbed his waist to steady herself.
“Put me down, ye brute.”
“Ah now, I’m getting to that part. But I do enjoy knowing that yer eager for me to place ye on yer back.” He crossed to the bed and tossed her onto it. Bronwyn came up in a tangle of skirts and hair. She scowled at him, her face turning scarlet because she was indeed on her back. It was infuriating but exciting at the same time. Cullen looked too pleased by far.
“Ye’ll ruin my new dress.”
“Not so.” He pushed the blue wool right up to her waist, baring her thighs in one swift motion. “I heard the women complimenting ye on the fine cloth ye wove. Trust me when I say that Sterling wool will hold up to a bit of rolling in the hay.”
“Ye’ll be the one ending up in the stocks if ye keep talking like that.” She had never heard such talk from a man. It was wicked, to be sure, but her clitoris began throbbing again, betraying how much she enjoyed his shocking behavior.