by Mary Wine
“We’ll see to this agreement and set down the legal document.” Cullen and Druce both nodded agreement. “And then I shall hear yer vows.”
Bronwyn felt that grip on her throat once more. She shook her head and Cullen growled. The sound was low and full of impatience. But it was Bishop Shaman who demanded her compliance.
“Are ye refusing to wed?” He leaned forward to peer at her. “I’ve never been to McQuade land. Is yer father a Christian?”
Now true fear sent its icy touch across her. This was dangerous ground for anyone who didn’t want to end in prison for suspicion of witchcraft. The church would expect her to take the honorable union that Cullen was offering because it would cleanse her of the sin her father had said she’d committed with Cullen. To refuse marriage with him was to say she preferred immorality. The bishop could have her lashed until she repented of her sinful ways. But if she married Cullen the man might beat her simply because she displeased him by being the daughter of his enemy.
Druce and Cullen knew exactly what they were doing. It was a harsh and unrelenting war on her personal refusal to take marriage vows.
At least Cullen hadn’t raped her.
She stared at him because having a bishop ride roughshod over her wasn’t the worst thing he might do. He could use the superior strength of his body to force her thighs apart without so much as a soft kiss to make it pleasant for her. It would not be the first time a bride was claimed in such a brutal fashion.
That kindness tempered her anger. Bishop Shaman cleared his throat.
“Explain yerself, Bronwyn McQuade. Are ye a Christian?”
Lowering herself into a curtsy, she stared at the floor attempting to collect her thoughts. She didn’t have time to waste on ideas of how well Cullen was treating her at the moment. She dare not trust in that.
“Yes, yer Grace, I am a Christian.”
He laced his fingers together, staring over them at her. “Then why are ye hesitating to kneel before me and take vows that will grant ye the mercy and forgiveness of the Lord?”
“Because I have not sinned with any man. I am pure and there is no need for me to marry.”
“Yer father said it in front of a hundred witnesses.”
Bronwyn glared at Cullen. The man was saying enough to damn her without admitting that he hadn’t had her.
But Cullen was tightening his grip around her. He looked at the bishop. “And ’tis nae just a matter of her reputation, ’tis a blight on the name of McJames. I canna seek another bride without her father’s words haunting me. No family will want their daughter associated with me now that I’m called a blackguard. Marriage between us is the only thing that will set it straight.”
She shook her head. “It is a sin for a daughter to disobey her father. A breaking of a commandment.”
Cullen stared at her and the look on his face made her shiver. “I have the king’s permission to wed ye.”
“That canna be!” For that would change everything, her father was bound to obey his king.
“Enough.” Hard authority rang through the bishop’s voice. He stroked his gray beard for a long moment, considering her first and then Cullen.
“Having the king’s permission negates the need for yer father’s blessing on the match. We must consider what the gossips will continue to say if you do not marry. Better to set a good Christian example even if you have not yielded to lust. There is also the matter of the fighting between yer clans that will be stopped.” He paused and drew a slow breath. “I agree with this match and shall marry you.”
“I will not wed him.” The words slipped past her horrified lips.
The bishop’s eyes narrowed. “Yer Christian soul will be the better for it, madam.”
She stammered while trying to think of a way to placate the man without getting married tonight.
“Of course, yer Grace. I simply meant that I am nae in a proper state of mind to take such holy vows tonight.”
The two grooms frowned, the quill pausing in midair.
The bishop’s forehead creased. “Go on.”
Bronwyn took a shaky breath, needing the time to think. “It is just that this morning I awoke bound and gagged. My soul is still heavy with anger.” She lowered her chin meekly. “Not a proper frame of mind to be taking sacred vows. I need time to prepare…and…forgive.”
The last word stuck in her mouth. She had to force it out without hissing. Cullen glared at her, that flush coloring his face once more. Bronwyn looked back at the bishop, lest she lose the argument because she failed to hide the lust Cullen inspired in her. The bishop held the power to see her wed on his whim, and no one in the room would admit that she had not agreed. The wax seal would be pressed down onto the parchment and she would be bound by both church and law. Cullen could use the document to partition the king for dowry from her father. It could become a battle that would take years to resolve, or the king just might decide to side with his bishop. James Stuart wanted Scotland organized by the time he took the crown of England. Installing bishops was his way of making sure there was a church that answered to him.
Although it would serve her father justly for being greedy enough to raid his neighbors, she would not surrender her body and honor for a sire who detested her.
“Well spoken.” The bishop nodded approval. “And a testament to yer Christian soul. One must be humble and penitent when kneeling before God.”
Cullen lifted his hands toward the man. “Only a wedding will prevent her kin from attempting to claim her back, through bloodshed, yer grace. They’ll come with their swords unsheathed.”
“That is no change. My father has been raiding ye for years.”
Cullen smiled. His eyes glittering with victory. “Which is why we should marry to put an end to this fighting.”
“That is very true.” Bishop Shaman drew in a long, deep breath and blew it out again before deciding the matter.
“I will wed ye tomorrow. After morning service.”
The quill began scratching across the paper once more. It sounded like a cannon blast announcing her execution. She felt the blood drain from her face.
“So be it. Tomorrow morning.”
Cullen was furious. She heard it in his voice and turned to stare at him. A gasp left her lips when she looked at him. Here was the warrior her father must have faced in battle. There was nothing kind in his expression, no hint of the teasing boy she’d witnessed before. There was only determination. Hard, solid, and inescapable.
It stole the breath from her and every shred of composure. There was no more will to stand up to him, only to run before the heat from his eyes melted her.
With a hasty curtsy, she quit the room. Her heart was pounding so hard, it felt like it might shatter the bones holding it inside her chest. Her breath was raspy and her stride fast. She turned the corner and made it to the end of the next hallway before a hand clasped her wrist, dragging her to a sudden halt.
A scream formed on her lips, but never made it past the hard kiss Cullen pressed against her mouth. He hauled her up against his body without any softness, his arms pressing her tightly to his body while his mouth ravaged hers. He cupped the back of her head in a sure hand, tilting it so that their mouths fused. Heat poured through her, running down her spine like molten steel. Her hands were pressed to his chest and she was unable to resist the urge to stroke him. She wanted to touch what she could never have. Needed to discover what it felt like to have nothing between her skin and his.
He broke the kiss when she stroked him. His breath was ragged and she felt his heart hammering beneath her fingertips. His eyes shone with hunger as he placed his own hand on top of hers, keeping her skin against his.
“I’m going to have ye, Bronwyn, and that is a promise.”
He truly believed it, but her pride rebelled. She shoved against him but he didn’t move a bit, his strength imprisoning her easily.
Too damn easily for her pride to bear.
“Ye are only going to pro
voke my father further with this idea of yers.”
The chest beneath her fingers rumbled when he chuckled. “It is more than an idea. The bishop is affixing his seal to the document as we speak. Tonight is yer last night as a maiden.”
“Yer assuming I’m pure.”
His expression changed to one that was dark and disapproving. He lifted his hand, freeing hers. He stroked her cheek in a soft motion that sent a torrent of sensation down her spine. She shivered, unable to control her response.
“Dinna say things like that, lass. A maiden deserves to be treated gently the first time a man touches her. Dinna say things that will tempt me to forget yer deserving of that tenderness. My patience has its limits.”
“Is that why ye’ve been such a brute to me? Ye think me a virgin?” She sounded like a shrew but couldn’t seem to stop herself from firing cutting words at him. She was desperate to shield herself from him. The man seemed to see too much of who she truly was deep inside, far more than anyone ever had. Besides, his words offered her hope that he didn’t plan to use her roughly. She wanted to believe in that, wanted to think that he’d be the man she’d dreamed about.
Reality was rarely so kind.
“I only apply the force necessary to overcome yer struggles. The choice is yers on when it will stop. I willna let ye escape me.”
“Ye mean choose to yield to ye. Bringing yer bishop here to force me onto my knees at the altar. That is no choice. Dinna delude yerself by thinking I wed ye of my own free will.”
She shoved at him and her hand smarted, but he snorted before letting her go. She hadn’t realized how much she was fighting his hold because when his arms opened she stumbled backward until the wall stopped her. Her head smacked the stone with a thwack. Bright stars danced across her vision for a moment. There was a sound of disgust from Cullen.
“Ye need to have done with this struggle. ’Tis done now.” He shot her a hard look full of determination. “Ye will be my wife tomorrow.” His expression softened for just a moment but that kindness vanished almost in the same moment that it appeared. “’Tis a good match between us. Good for more people than most unions.”
Guilt hit her hard. Slamming into her conscience with the possibility that he was right. It would be a grand day indeed if one wedding stopped the hostility. But there was more than one laird’s daughter who had kneeled in submission to her father’s enemy in the same hope only to have the feuding continue. Scotsmen didn’t give up their arguments easily.
“My head aches.” And that was the truth. There was too much to consider, too much to worry about befalling her. She felt so alone that she ached with it. Every shred of confidence she normally had missing now.
“I know the feeling.”
There was a small hint of the playful boy in his words now. A glimmer of hope flaring up in that empty place inside her. Forcing her weak need for comfort down, she pushed away from the wall before she did something foolish, such as surrendering to his will. That would be all well and good for the hour it took him to seduce her, but the sun would have no mercy on her in the morning. Nor would her clansmen.
“I think it best if I retire now.”
He nodded. “Since ye told the bishop ye needed tonight to set yer thinking right, aye, ’tis time to find yer bedchamber.”
She began walking and he followed her. The hair on the back of her neck rose. Each step felt as if it took a long time. The blood was rushing past her ears so loudly she had trouble hearing anything. She felt as if he could read her like the ink on a page of parchment.
But he was watching her and that stiffened her resolve to escape.
She climbed the stairs and heard the soft step behind her. Sweat actually began to bead on her forehead and she quickly wiped it away. The door of her chamber looked like a sanctuary, but Cullen’s arm crossed it before she could open it.
“Stay in yer chamber, lass, or I’ll do what needs doing to keep ye.”
She couldn’t keep her temper in check. She shot him a look full of loathing but bit back the scathing comment that formed on her tongue. His eyes narrowed but he pulled his hand back when she remained silent.
“All right, then. I see ye understand me.”
“Ye’re clear, there is no doubt of that.”
Once inside, she shoved the door shut. It made a loud thunk when it closed, satisfying her need to escape from the scrutiny that surrounded her.
But there was no escape from her desire to flee White Tower. Her cheeks burned as she admitted that she was now running from herself. Cullen unleashed something inside her that was uncontrollable. It was thick and needy, urging her to provoke the man just so that he’d touch her.
But that was a coward’s game. Oh, she knew it well. Had seen many a girl in Red Stone toy with and tease the men until they reached for what the lasses dangled in front of their noses. It rarely ended well. Even those who gained marriage from their lovers when their bellies swelled often lived with discontented husbands in unhappy homes.
She craved his touch.
It was a harsh truth, one that lent her the strength to remain awake until the castle settled in for the night. She watched the moon rise and climb higher into the sky.
Unlacing her bodice, she quickly shed the green dress. She hoped that her chemise might look enough like a shirt at night to serve her needs. Reaching beneath the pillow, she took the bundle of food and set it near the door. The bed gained a longing glance from her, but she lifted the McJames plaid and began pleating it along the mattress.
Tearing a wide strip from the bottom of her chemise, she folded it in half and worked it beneath the evenly pleated wool. She yanked another strip off her chemise and tied it firmly around her breasts to flatten them. It was uncomfortable and would likely begin to hurt before too long, but two plump mounds swaying on her chest would end her ruse quickly.
Bending over backward, she grasped the ends of the first strip and used it to tie the kilt to her waist. Men used sturdy belts, but the strip of fabric would serve for tonight.
Her hair was a glaring reminder that she was not a young lad. There was no hat in the room. She settled for stuffing the tail of her braid into the high collar of her chemise.
She peeked into the hallway and all was silent. Being careful to close the door without a sound, she started down the hallway toward the stairs. Every step sounded too loud. Cool night air blew up the stone steps from the yard, making her shiver.
How did men ride with bare legs?
A tin lantern was left on the ground floor of the keep. A fat candle flickered inside the round tin shell that had cuts scattered over it to allow light to spill out. An iron peg was driven into the stone of the wall for the lantern to hang from. The tin protected against fire in case the wind blew the lantern to the floor. There was always light in the keeps in case of emergency.
Outside it was dark. Clouds kept the moon from illuminating the yard. A perfect setting for escape. Men were stationed up on the top of the towers, and fires burned in iron-cage torch holders, but it was still dark on the ground.
Winter was truly here because the yard was blanketed in a white layer of fresh snow. Bronwyn stared at it in horror. Each step would be visible. More frightening was the fact that she had little protection from the chill. Many died on the roads when they were foolish enough to venture out.
Swallowing hard, she gathered her courage and took the first step into the snow. It was still soft and she sank to her ankle. The ice was bitterly cold, chilling her foot, but she took the next step. Her breath was a wispy cloud in front of her face, the thin fabric of her chemise poor comfort against winter’s touch. Shivers began running up and down her legs as she moved toward the stable. The leather of her boots was wet now, the heat from her body melting the snow. Her fingers were stiff when she reached for the latch holding the door shut.
A hard male hand captured her fingers, closing around it completely.
“I warned ye, Bronwyn.”
Chapter S
even
Cullen pulled her back against his body. A hard shudder shook her as her skin eagerly soaked up the warmth from him. His breath teased her ear while he folded his arm around her body, keeping her hand prisoner within his grasp.
“But I’ll confess that I’m happy to see ye dinna mind me.”
“Release me.” She sounded too breathless, too relieved. Shame choked her.
“Never.”
His arms opened for a fraction of a moment. A hard push on her shoulder turned her around to face him. In the dark he was a huge shadow that loomed over her. Beneath the linen strip, her nipples drew into hard points. Her belly quivered, the muscles tightening with anticipation. His face was only angles in the darkness but she had never seen so handsome a man before. He was the embodiment of strength and she found it mesmerizing.
“I will never let ye go, Bronwyn, and I will be happy to prove it to ye.”
He grasped her waist and tossed her upward. Her weight didn’t seem to tax him. Those solid arms clasped her against his body, her waist above his shoulder. She tried to remain stiff, refusing to bend over his back, but he turned and the momentum sent her head downward. One arm clamped across the back of her thighs. She pushed on his wide back to rise up but he bounced her and her breath left her lungs in a whoosh when she landed on his broad shoulder.
“Enough, Bronwyn. Ye are caught. I dinna want to fight with ye.”
“I know what ye want from me!”
She snarled at him but the sound lost much of its venom against the expanse of his back. He reached the steps and bore her up them quickly. The lantern in the keep twinkled as she was carried back up to the second floor. Cullen pushed a door wide and shoved it shut behind him.
A squeal left her lips when Cullen flipped her off his shoulder. He caught her in his arms like a child, cradling her with an arm beneath her knees and one behind her back. He held her for a brief moment before tossing her onto the bed.