Improper Seduction Bundle with In the Warrior's Bed, Bedding the Enemy, & In Bed with A Stranger

by Mary Wine

  “Yes, Bronwyn…yes.” He captured her hips and pushed her back down.

  She gasped, delight spearing into her along with his cock. She was rising off it in a swift motion before he had time to lift her, the hard length rubbing against her clit when she leaned toward him. Completely in control, she increased the pace.

  “That’s it, ride me.”

  “Aye, husband.”

  Her voice had turned husky and he chuckled, the hands on her hips tightening. He lifted his hips with each downward plunge from her, sending his cock up to meet her. Pleasure tightened more and more until it burst through her. She lost the rhythm when it flooded her belly, the muscles contracting around his cock. He took command in that instant, lifting his hips beneath her and guiding her up and down with his hands. His sharp cry echoed off the back wall and he slammed her down on to his length, holding her tightly in place while his seed filled her. Hot pulses of it hit her womb while she was held in the grip of the pleasure still shaking her body.

  A soft kiss was pressed against her neck and then another. Then hands on her hips released, smoothing over her curves before sliding up her back. It was a sweet touch that unleashed tender emotions. He didn’t have to be kind to her and still he was even after having her. Maybe she was a fool to think such things, but at the moment she was powerless to prevent her emotions from going soft.

  He cupped both sides of her head, lifting her face so that he could press a kiss against her mouth. His lips teased hers, his tongue tracing along her lower lip in a lazy motion that sent little ripples of enjoyment through her.

  A soft ringing intruded on the moment. Cullen raised his head, breaking their kiss quickly. One bell was joined by two others and then more until the sound echoed up and down the long walls.

  Cullen was on his feet in a second. He spared a moment to make sure she had her balance before striding to where he’d left his clothing. Bronwyn followed him without thinking. The bells meant trouble and a castle’s defense was her men. It didn’t matter that she was newly arrived at Sterling; if it was set upon, she would suffer the same fate as the other inhabitants.

  She made quick work of pleating Cullen’s kilt without stopping to put any clothing on herself. In a battle, his colors would keep his own men from mistaking him for the enemy.

  “That’s something I no expected to see ye doing.”

  His voice startled her because she’d been so intent on her task. The length of McJames wool was neatly folded over the wide belt that would hold it secure around his waist.

  “I know that the bells mean ye need to hurry.”

  He was in his shirt and had his boots laced up to his knees. He cupped her face and pressed a hard kiss against her mouth.

  “Aye, but no in so much of a hurry that I won’t tell ye that it warms my heart to see yer hands folding my kilt.”

  Behind the shutters they heard a commotion in the yard below. Cullen leaned over the table and grasped the ends of the belt. With a hard motion he buckled it, the McJames plaid secure.

  “Get dressed, Bronwyn. Hurry, lass, ye dinna know where to go. I should have shown ye.”

  “Go on, I’ll find my way. I’m nae a child.”

  And hiding wouldn’t be worth anything if the enemy found the walls easy to breach because they weren’t manned. Instead of reaching for her clothing, she grasped his sword from where it had been leaning against the wall behind the chair. Turning around, she held it out to him.

  Uncertainty flickered in his eyes because he was ready to go and she still completely bare. Every man would be on the wall in response to the bells, leaving her unguarded.

  “Go on, Cullen. I’ll find my way to the other women.”

  “I don’t doubt that ye can.”

  But what he truly doubted was that she would join the McJames women.

  Bronwyn saw that truth in his eyes. He hesitated but the ringing persisted, pulling on the years of training he’d had to become the warrior he was. The castle had to have priority.

  “All right, lass, we’ll see where ye go.”

  He turned and pulled the door wide. Bronwyn hurried to find her chemise and cover herself.

  She was torn.

  The desire to run home was nowhere to be found. It had somehow dried up and blown away. It shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have been so swiftly gone from her heart. But all she found instead of the need to escape was the need to remain with Cullen.

  Oh, the man was stubborn and arrogant, to be sure, but there was part of him that was tender. Only Keir came close to holding such regard for her. Confusion gripped her hard while she dressed.

  Run back to a father who called her slut, or remain with a husband who distrusted her?

  Well, that dinna take much thinking. No much at all.

  The most surprising thing was that it hurt to think of leaving Cullen. The shock of that emotion held her still in the chamber for long moments she should have been seeking shelter with the other women. The soft kiss he’d given her after sating his lust still lingered on her lips.

  She hugged the feeling tight to her heart, feeling it fill that empty place that had ached so badly when her life crumbled in the face of her father’s accusations. She was a McQuade but she was also a McJames wife.

  She would join the McJames women.

  “McKorey riders!”

  Cullen gained the upper wall and stared at the group of horses approaching. They were riding hard, pushing their animals. It wasn’t like Alarik to arrive in such a fashion even if it was past sundown. The man was no afraid of the dark.

  “Hold the gate fast!” Cullen gave the order. The men wore the plaid of the McKorey but he could not see their faces yet. He’d be a fool to trust in just the kilts. The group leader raised a hand and the last man raised a banner, flying Alarik’s shield on a flag. No honor-respecting Scot would fly the shield of another, and Jamie had tossed a few into chains for doing it to invade their neighbors.

  That wouldna stop the McQuades from attempting it, and he’d bet his sword on it. Erik McQuade would wager a few months in prison against the chance to strike at Sterling.

  “Archers ready.”

  Brodick’s deep voice bounced off the walls. He gained the wall and peered at their company.

  “Do ye think yer new father-in-law is paying us a visit under false colors?”

  Cullen lifted a spy glass and angled it toward the riders. They had slowed now, their horses at a walk.

  “I wouldna dismiss the idea, but I count only fifty retainers.”

  “Not enough for an invasion.” Brodick took the spy glass to take a look at the riders. In the dark it was hard to make out features.

  “But enough to lay plenty of men in their graves if we open the gate.”

  Brodick grunted. “Aye, that’s a truth.”

  Tension held every man on the wall in its grip until the riders closed the gap enough to be recognized. Cullen breathed a sigh of relief as he got a look at Alarik McKorey through the spy glass. Seeing the man was more relieving than he’d anticipated.

  “What’s that frown for?” Brodick held his hand up to keep the gate closed. “Is there a reason I should still be worried about our visitors?”

  Cullen shook his head. “None that I know of, but Alarik is running his horses rather fast in my opinion.”

  “I noticed that meself.” Brodick signaled the captain of his guard to raise the heavy gate. “But that doesna explain the look on yer face, brother.”

  “I just dinna want to spill McQuade blood.”

  Brodick raised a dark eyebrow. “It’s more likely they will begin raiding again than not.”

  Cullen snorted. “I know it, but can still hope for a peace now that we’re joined by marriage.”

  The gate lifted with a groan, the thick chains making a metallic sound that echoed through the castle. Brodick moved toward the stairs, eager to assure his people that all was safe.

  “We can hope, but it will most likely take Jamie laying down his fist
to get McQuade to end his raids.”

  It was a truth that Cullen didn’t enjoy. But his marriage would give them the leverage they needed to force the king to involve himself. Yet that wasn’t the reason behind his reluctance to engage the McQuades.

  Bronwyn was.

  They were her kin, and for the first time in his life he saw them as men who had lives the same as he did. Over the years they had become a faceless enemy that he felt no remorse for. Now he saw Bronwyn with tears in her eyes for her kin. It was a pain he’d like to spare her.

  McKorey rode through the gate and into the yard.

  “McJames, I’ve news!”

  Brodick stood on the steps leading to the hall. “As if I dinna already guess that, man. It had better be something good because I’ve a pretty, warm wife that I left to greet ye.”

  Alarik McKorey swung his leg over the head of his horse and dismounted. A stable boy came forward to take the stallion. Alarik took a silver piece from his doublet and tossed it to the boy.

  “For yer loss of sleep, lad.”

  “Thank ye, sir!” The boy grinned, showing off a missing tooth. Several of his comrades from the stables eagerly approached the other horses in spite of the hour, hoping for a similar reward. Sterling offered hospitality to all its guests, but sometimes, when you arrived with fifty men in the middle of a freezing winter night, it was wise to add a little something to sweeten the servants’ mood.

  McKorey pegged Cullen with a hard stare. “I’ve news for yer wife.”

  “Depends on the news.” Cullen shot a harder look back at the man. Friend or not, he’d be the one who decided what manner of news was delivered to his bride. “There’s no need to tell her something her father said in court that is only going to upset her. I’m the one who stole her.”

  Alarik joined them on the steps. “Aye, given the last thing her father said about her at court, I canna blame ye for thinking like that.”

  They entered the lower floor of the main tower. It was connected to the other towers by long hallways that ran behind the curtain wall of the castle. Above them were the chambers used by Brodick and his family. There was meager light, only a few tin lanterns set onto large iron hooks set into the wall.

  “I pushed me men hard to get here.”

  Cullen paused along with Brodick. There was a note in McKorey’s voice that promised trouble.

  “Erik McQuade is dead by the hand of the king’s guard.”

  “How, man?” Cullen demanded.

  Alarik clenched his hands into fists. “It’s the truth that I was trying to break his neck with my own hands. The bastard wanted my sister for his bride.” He paused and snarled softly. “McQuade drew a dirk…” He pulled the collar of his shirt down exposing the fresh cut on his throat.

  “When I turned aside, he fell toward Jamie.”

  “Christ, man, that’s enough to get ye hung.” Cullen swore softly in Gaelic.

  “I’m a lucky man to be standing here. His guards ran McQuade through with their pikes, and it crossed me mind that I would follow him.”

  “But ye dinna, so I’m guessing that Jamie sorted the mess out.”

  “Aye, but the McQuade are no hearing any of it. They blame my sister, Raelin, and have labeled her a witch. I rode hard enough to kill my horse because that clan rode home with vengeance burning in their bellies.” Alarik pointed at Brodick. “If ye are planning on getting any dowry for Bronwyn, ye’d best take yer case to Jamie before McQuade’s son takes over the title.”

  The men walked off toward the great hall to find food for Alarik McKorey. Bronwyn stood in the opposite hallway, hidden in the shadows. The stone wall held her up as she sagged against it.

  Dead.

  It was such a final word. She didn’t know what to feel or even how to feel about the man who had detested her. In spite of his frustration with her gender he was still the only father she would ever have. To loathe him was to hate a portion of herself.

  She turned and began walking. The dark corridors suited her mood. Too many things had happened in so short a period of time. Two months past, her life was neatly predictable, now it was nothing like it had been.

  She passed the stairs that led to Cullen’s chamber. Another length of hallway and she found herself in the work room that held the loom she’d spent the day at. No one slept here and it must have been to conserve firewood. At Red Stone, several maids laid their pallets on the floor between the looms because no indoor space was wasted.

  The empty room felt like a haven once again. She moved through it slowly with only the light shining in through the glass windows to guide her. Sitting down on the stool, she ran her hands over the cloth she’d woven.

  Here was a part of her that had come from her father, born of the demand that she earn her keep like the other female servants. Her fingers glided over the soft wool, finding it smooth and even.

  No tears wet her cheeks.

  She sat waiting for them, but her heart did not ache for her sire. Guilt needled at her but it never grew into shame or anything that hurt her enough to weep.

  The only thing that truly saddened her was that she did not grieve for him because he had never been a kind father to her. That was lamentable. She still missed her mother, still ached at times for the woman who had been her sweet parent. That was the wealth of a family—their love for each other.

  All her father left her was the talent for making the cloth beneath her fingertips. She leaned down and placed her cheek against it. Her soul was weary. She was tired of the constant struggle her life had become recently. So tired of the uncertainty.

  Tears eased from her closed eyes. Not for her father, but for the affection they had never shared. She slipped off into slumber, with the fabric beneath her cheek. For the moment it was the only thing that she might call her own.

  The McJames retainers returned to their pallets on the great hall floor. Cullen sat with Alarik and Brodick while their guest ate a hastily gathered meal of bread and cheese along with cold meats left from supper. Alarik didn’t mind, nor did any of his men. They ate with the hunger that all day in the saddle gave to a man. A few of the maids had risen to the chore of serving, many of them still wearing their sleeping caps. But the inhabitants began to settle back down to sleep while they might.

  Sybil appeared. She wore only her long stays over her chemise with a length of wool held tightly around her body to keep her warm. She approached the table softly, but with a determined look on her face. Cullen lifted his face and stared at her, his stomach knotting with dread.

  He’d trusted Bronwyn.

  “I beg yer pardon, but I canna find my mistress.”

  Cullen felt his temper ignite but he held it in check. “She dinna join the women?”

  Brodick looked at him because his brother knew that the tone of his voice promised retribution to whoever had enraged him.

  Sybil shook her head. “And I checked yer chamber. She is no there, either.”

  He’d trusted her.

  Brodick gripped his arm. “She has to be here, brother. The gate was lowered behind our guests.”

  “That is no the issue.” He stood up. “I trusted her.” His anger bled into his words so clearly Sybil flinched. Her eyes widened before she backed away.

  “Perhaps the mistress is lost.”

  “And perhaps I should have had the foresight to suspect her of lying to me.”

  Brodick stood up. “Easy, Cullen. Dinna condemn the lass afore we discover why she’s nowhere to be found.”

  “I’ll help ye search for her.” Alarik wiped his mouth on linen and stood up. “Since it appears that I helped ye lose her with my arrival.”

  “Oh, I shall find her and that’s a promise.” One that he was going to enjoy teaching his wife that he would keep for the rest of their lives. Hurt slashed through him but he shoved it aside. He refused to feel anything but anger over her deception. He would not go soft for Bronwyn McQuade.

  He would not.

  The retainers
who had just lain down were roused. They grumbled quietly when told who they were searching for. It was not the first time a McQuade had kept them up all night, and that was precisely why they detested anyone born with that name.

  Candles and lanterns were lit. Every hallway burned bright. The maids were awakened when light was shone on their faces to identify them. Every pallet was searched, no door left closed. Cullen gritted his teeth because every person at Sterling knew that his young bride had deserted him. His pride became bruised as the search continued.

  It took another two hours to search the outer buildings. By the time the retainers discovered Bronwyn bent over her loom, their tempers were hot enough to melt iron.

  She awoke to rough hands on her as she was dragged through the hallways, her feet trying to keep up as her mind attempted to understand what was happening now. They took her toward the great hall, refusing to unhand her.

  “Let me go.”

  The burly retainers didn’t pay her any mind. They stood with their hands locked around her forearms until Cullen arrived. His face was drawn tight with fury, his eyes already cold with judgment against her.

  The men holding her released her abruptly, pushing her forward with their greater strength so that she stumbled.

  “Enough. There’s to be no rough handling of my wife.” Cullen’s voice didn’t sound very friendly; in fact, the man was enraged if she didn’t miss her guess. He studied her with hard eyes.

  “Ye broke yer word to me.” His voice dropped to a deadly tone. Cullen pointed a finger at her. “Ye said ye would join the women.”

  “There was no reason to join them. I watched ye welcoming Alarik McKorey in the keep.”

  Her words stopped Cullen in mid-thought. He pressed his lips together, his change of expression showing her a glimpse of the side of him that she hadn’t wanted to run away from. But not enough to soothe her anger away. But the hall was full of pallets and McJames people who were all listening to their quarrel. The two retainers still stood behind her, guarding her. She turned her back on Cullen and challenged them. But they didn’t look at her. Their attention was on Cullen. His men waited for his permission before parting to allow her to leave.