by Mary Wine
A soft sound of distress made it past the gag when the bindings on her hands held them behind her. Her chemise was thin and the sunlight bright enough to illuminate her body.
“Here now, lass.”
Druce grabbed the fabric and tossed it awkwardly around her body. The fabric didn’t have anything to hold onto and it continued to slip toward her ankles in spite of his efforts.
Cullen ended his cousin’s struggle by scooping her off her feet. A cheer went up from his men as the brute carried her up the steps that led into the tower. An arrogant grin covered his face as hers flamed scarlet.
To be sure, she hated him.
“Bastard.” Bronwyn spat the word the moment her lips were free. She glared at her tormentor.
“Now there’s the thing yer father hates me most for. I am legitimate. He won my mother away from yer father fair as could be and married her.”
“Arrogant son of a thief.”
Cullen clicked his tongue in reprimand. He held a dirk up in front of her eyes. “Careful, lass. Wound my feelings and I’ll leave ye trussed up.”
Bronwyn bit into her lip before she ended up earning a lesson from the cad. Her arms ached and her body was nearing its limit of endurance before she wet herself like a babe.
“If ye enjoy a foul-smelling captive, by all means leave me helpless.”
The playful expression disappeared from his face instantly. He reached for her arms and she felt the steel of the blade kiss her skin. With one sharp jerk the binding loosened, allowing her to work it free. He cut the one holding her knees before she got her hands completely loose.
“I’ll leave ye for a moment.”
Bronwyn shot a stern look at his departing back. She wanted to spit a retort at him, but the needs of her body took precedence. It was indeed humbling to know that she was dependent on his goodwill to use the garderobe in private.
However, ’twas better than wetting herself.
Emerging from the closet that housed the necessities, she looked around the chamber. It was furnished with a large bed, hung with wool curtains that would keep the occupant warmer at night. The garderobe was set out a few feet from the rest of the room to allow the waste to drop into a barrel set below it. That barrel would be emptied often to keep disease and the stench from becoming a menace. It was a step up from chamber pots, to be sure, and one not found in many castles. Looking at the doorway of the closet, she noticed the newer stonework that edged it.
Besides the bed, there were two wide chairs sitting in front of the fireplace. They were built in the “X” fashion with padded seats and wide arms for resting your hands on. Both were huge, though, reminding her of how much larger Cullen was than herself.
Her chemise floated around her knees when she moved, making her keenly aware of how little clothing she had on her body. The soft linen was almost transparent; tonight when the fire was lit it would be. But she didn’t have many options to cover herself. The length of McJames plaid was lying on the floor. She reached for it out of pure instinct to keep things tidy, folding it before her eyes really saw the McJames colors. She froze with it stretched out between her hands.
Never once had she thought to touch a McJames plaid.
It felt oddly intimate. Coupled with her new captivity, she felt possessed already and the man hadn’t even stolen that kiss yet.
Be silent, Bronwyn…Longing for kisses is sure to land you in trouble…
The thoughts inside her head were wicked.
The hinges groaned as the door pressed inward. Part of her wanted to drop the plaid to show her defiance but the practical side of her brain reminded her that she’d be left standing in her shift if she did. Pride or modesty, she could not have both.
She dropped the McJames plaid.
Cullen’s face was unreadable. He held the door wide for a young maid who stared at the dropped plaid as if it were a Bible flung carelessly to the floor. Her hands were full with a tray; she walked to the table and placed it down. She turned quickly, displaying the length of McJames plaid that was draped down her back, held by a belt at her waist and secured to her shoulder with a brass broach. It was the mark of a woman of the clan and she wore it proudly. She dipped down to pick up the wool lying on the floor. But Cullen pulled it from her hands when she went to pass him. She offered him a quick curtsy before disappearing into the hallway.
Cullen released the door and it fell closed with a heavy thud. He wound the plaid around his fist before slowly running his eyes down her length. It was a bold reprimand for her insolence. But Bronwyn raised her head, refusing to duck her chin. He was not her father, nor her brother or kin. Cullen McJames was her captor and she owed him nothing save contempt.
“Ye have lost yer mind, McJames. Stealing brides is a barbaric custom best left in years gone by.”
Cullen raised one eyebrow. “Yer the one that is losing yer grip on what is what if ye think I am going to stand by while yer father calls me a blackguard who soils his neighbors’ daughters.”
“Do ye mean to say that ye dragged me here because of yer pride?”
He lifted his hand with the plaid. “Isn’t that why ye dropped this when ye have nothing on but a chemise?” He tossed the plaid onto one of the chairs. “Or maybe ye’re in the habit of displaying yer body to men.”
“I am not.” She said it too quickly. The heat edging her words betrayed just how much her father’s words had hurt her. Cullen didn’t need to know that she was as wounded by her father’s words as he was. Discovering they had something in common felt wrong considering the man had abducted her. She could not look to him as a compatriot.
“But ye would rather let me see yer nipples instead of wearing a McJames plaid.”
She crossed her arms over her chest but realized that the hair on her mons must also be showing through the thin fabric. Moving toward the bed, she tore the top coverlet back and yanked a sheet free.
“I would not even tell ye my name when we met.”
He grunted. “I wondered about that.”
“Good.” She wrapped her body in the sheet while glaring at her captor. He granted her no mercy but stared at her the entire time, his eyes keenly observing her struggle to gather up the shreds of her modesty.
That eyebrow rose again but this time so did the corners of his lips. Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Ye enjoy knowing that I wonder about what sort of a woman ye are?”
Bronwyn hesitated. He was cleverly setting her words against her. She had never considered that he thought of her, too, but had believed that her dreams were something she alone experienced.
“This is nonsense.” She crossed her arms on her chest. “Ye need to come to yer senses and end this game ye’re playing with me.” She didn’t like how needy her words sounded.
“I assure ye, Bronwyn, ’tis no a game.” He lost his teasing air, his face taking on a determined expression that sent a chill down her back. “I plan to wed ye.”
She gasped, startled by his announcement. The man was boldness incarnate. “It is a game. Always with men there is the struggle to win. I am nae the first woman that has been taken to be held up as a prize between two arguing men. Or clans.” Bronwyn shook her head, offering him a kind look in the hope that it might appeal to his sense of fairness. “Have done, Cullen, and send me home. My father will never change his ways, nae even for me.”
Especially not for her…but it was her home and she had nowhere else to go. Better the devil she knew than the unknown one facing her. A husband had the right to beat his wife. At Red Stone, she had Keir and work she enjoyed doing. Cullen might lock her in a tower room with only enough necessities to keep her alive.
He moved toward her, closing the space with slow strides, his nearness making the breath freeze in her chest. The differences in their heights became obvious when she was forced to tip her head back to look up at him. She was too aware of him, too conscious of how little she wore and how much her skin longed to be stroked by his hands. Her feet scooted backward
in retreat.
He stopped when she moved, a frown marking his mouth. “I’m sorry for that, Bronwyn.”
He was, too. It stunned her, such caring from a man her father called enemy. There was honest sincerity in his eyes and it made him far more attractive than she’d already decided he was. It was so tempting to sink into that feeling and allow it to wrap around her. But how did she trust this man who had hauled her away from her family? She was his prize, nothing more.
“I won’t marry ye.” It was the only threat she held. His eyes narrowed when her words hit him.
“Then ye’ll watch our first child be baptized a bastard.”
Bronwyn gasped. She reached out before her stunned mind started working again, her hand delivering a sharp slap to his arrogant face. The sound was startling in the quiet room, but Cullen grinned at her, sending her temper into a full blaze again.
“That is a mean-hearted thing to say to a woman. It’s the mother that is called slut when a babe is born out of marriage.”
“Is that so?” His expression was guarded.
“It is.”
“And yet I am the one saying that we should marry now, afore our child is conceived.” He paused, running his eyes down her length to pause on her flat belly. “If ye refuse me, ye’ll have no one save yerself to blame when the gossips call ye a scarlet woman.”
Her eyes narrowed. The man was far too cunning, but she refused to be trapped by his scheme. “I am no planning on having yer child. Why do ye think I refused to tell ye my name? I am no interested in ye. Not a bit.” She propped her hands on her hips, making a stand that she couldn’t truly back up. If the man was of the mind to force himself on her, there was little she might do to stop him. A twinge of something that felt like disappointment pierced her heart. She didn’t want to think of Cullen as a man who would rape her.
Which was ridiculous. The man had kidnapped her. She had no reason to think highly of him. Better to expect the worst; it would hurt less that way.
“No a bit?” His lips twitched, rising into another grin that annoyed her. “Well now, it seems to me that ye were blushing back on that hillside. Just like ye are now.”
She covered her cheeks with her hands and they were hot. “It is nae more than my temper.”
“’Tis much more.”
He reached out in a motion so fast she stumbled trying to avoid his hand. She straightened up against the wall, any further retreat impossible, and his arms plenty long enough to span the distance between their bodies. His hand pushed her loose, flowing chemise flush against her body. But he did it with absolute control. There was no bite of his superior strength, only perfectly applied pressure. He cupped one breast, his thumb gliding across the hard point of her nipple.
“If ye are nae interested, why is yer nipple hard?”
His opposite hand pressed flat against the wall behind her, caging her between his arms. The knowledge that he could handle her more roughly held her in place to preserve the small distance he granted her. She stiffened as his thumb rubbed her nipple. Never once had she believed that so small a touch, so tiny a contact between two people, might spark such a torrent of sensation. It flooded her, shaking her with its intensity.
“I am cold, ye daft man. Ye stole me in my chemise.”
And she was a liar, God forgive her.
“I’ve noticed that, fair Bronwyn. ’Tis the truth that I’ve enjoyed the sight of ye.” His lips formed a sensuous expression that was sinfully carnal. “It kept me alert all night long knowing how bare ye were beneath that McJames wool.”
“Exactly the sort of thing a blackguard would say. Have ye no decency?” She sounded too desperate for her taste but she was running short on reasons to deny him. Her life at Red Stone was nothing so wonderful. A ragged breath shook her, warm delight flowing through her. It was for sure that no man wearing her father’s colors had ever made her blush.
“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.