by Mary Wine
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 knew.
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 fl
icker 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.
“Young McJames, I did no expect to see ye back this year.” Alarik McKorey offered his hand in greeting. Neighbors on the southern side of McJames property, the man was a long-time ally against the McQuades. He also wore good Scottish wool without the elaborate trim and jewels. It was a welcome sight among the sea of presumptuous status seekers.
“I decided that both yer lovely sisters were too far away from me.”
McKorey’s sister Raelin peered over her lace fan at him. Her face wasn’t painted, only a touch of color on her lips. It made for a refreshing sight that earned her a smile from his lips. Aye, here was a woman who would bring a good connection if he married her.
“Good day to ye, Raelin.”
Her eyes narrowed in distaste before she gripped her sister’s arm and tugged her away from him. Alarik shot them a hard look.
“What goes on here, Alarik? I dinna know I’d offended yer sisters.” And it appeared that whatever his sin was, everyone around him knew it because there were whispers aplenty.
“I told them to reserve their judgment until yer side of the tale was voiced.” Alarik offered him a hard look. “I know the McQuades have been a thorn in yer side too long.”
“What are ye talking about, man? I’ve no done anything that I need my friends to make excuses for.”
Alarik didn’t answer. He looked past Cullen as another wave of whispers rippled across the courtiers. Turning around he gazed at the face he’d seen one too many times in his memory. A flare of satisfaction burned through him as he confirmed his suspicions. She stood next to McQuade, confirming that she was his daughter.
But her face was pale.
Cullen stared at the ashen shade and her bloodless lips. She held them tightly clamped together. Her chin trembled but only a tiny amount, so small he’d have missed it if he wasn’t staring at her so intently. It was a stark contrast to the memory he held of her. His temper stirred as he watched the way her brothers looked at her; it was far from kind.
She wore no powder or paint. Only a good wool dress that buttoned up to her neck. There were creases where it had been folded back when it warmed up in the afternoons. At court such ware was misplaced almost as much as her somber expression. Even his own doublet had been pressed so that it didn’t look like he’d appeared in front of his king fresh from the road.
The whispers in the room became louder as people noticed his attention on her. Bronwyn turned and found him. Her eyes widened when she saw him. Heat erupted throughout his body. It was instant and undeniable. The only thing that made it endurable was the small flicker he watched emerge in Bronwyn’s eyes. The whispers in the hall increased, cutting through his fascination with her.
“Maybe the king will force them to wed…”
“She’s soiled…”
“Why marry what he’s already had…”
Cullen shot a look at Alarik. “What nonsense goes on here?”
McKorey leaned in closer. “McQuade accused ye of using his daughter.”
Cullen’s gaze shot back toward Bronwyn. His temper erupted but it was laced with desire so thick he wasn’t sure what he felt. It took every shred of self-discipline he owned to remain standing still. Every fiber of his being wanted to close the distance so that he could hear Bronwyn tell him with her own lips what he’d done.
Like father…like child…
Did she really hate him enough to blacken her own reputation with such a lie? Her brothers would, he believed that without a doubt.
“Make way for the king!”
The whispers ceased abruptly. Cullen turned to find Jamie striding toward him. The courtiers all lowered themselves. When his king halted in front of him, he inclined his head in deference as well.
“Cullen McJames, my friend. I am pleased to see ye.”
The tongues didn’t start wagging until the king and Cullen McJames made it far enough down the carpet not to hear what was being said clearly.
Bronwyn did.
She set her mind to not caring but her pride refused to obey her wishes. Pain slashed through her. Her father offered her no mercy. He stood steady as she was forced to endure the public display. He finally turned to look at her.
“Ye may return to the town house. I’ll see ye sent home to Red Stone on the morrow.”
May God forgive her, but even if the scriptures said she should ask for his blessing, every inch of her refused. She did not see a father before her, only the man who legally owned her. And he did. There was no one who would intervene, no one who would challenge his charge against her. The very clothing on her back was his by law.
“Yer greed knows no boundaries.” Bronwyn lowered her voice so that only her sire and siblings heard her. There was a flare of outrage in her father’s eyes, but she shot a look full of loathing back at him. “Deny it and label yourself a liar, sir. Ye blacken me falsely to avoid dowering me. I’m no so simpleminded as to not understand that.”
A rare look of uncertainty entered Erik McQuade’s eyes. “I’m laird and I’ll do what’s best for the clan. Yer place is to mind me. Dinna be laying any curse on my head, Daughter.”
“Yer greed is yer curse and I dinna have anything to do with casting it on ye. ‘Tis something ye have shackled to yerself.”
With another scathing look, Bronwyn turned her back on her father. Heads turned as she walked proudly from the royal hall. She held her chin level and steady.
She was not soiled. All the gossip in the world would not change that.
Erik McQuade shivered. A chill swept over him like an icy winter wind. He looked at Sodac. “Go with her.”
A prickle of fear shot through him, making his voice shake. Erik shook his head, attempting to dislodge the feeling. He pointed at Liam. “Follow her and make sure she stays in her room. Use a few men to ensure it.”