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

by Mary Wine

  “But he is coming for you, Anne. I saw him on a black steed. He has a huge sword that he wears on his back like the Scots we saw at the faire last spring.”

  Anne shook her head. “Lady Mary is married by proxy to a Scot, not I. That is what you saw.”

  “No, I saw you. I saw him riding into the lower courtyard looking for you. He has midnight eyes.”

  There was a part of her that was tempted to listen to her sister, but Anne silenced it. Life was hard. Taking solace in girlish dreams wouldn’t help her. All that would do was make it harder to shoulder whatever burden Philipa placed upon her shoulders next. Joyce and the rest of the household staff could dream of love but not her. Bonnie would learn that soon enough. Their father’s blood was as much curse as blessing and there was no way that she might ever have a true love.

  None.

  McJames land

  “You’re in a foul temper and that’s for sure. I thought this was what ye wanted.”

  Brodick McJames snorted at his brother. Cullen snickered softly in return.

  “I cannae marry for my own desires, Cullen. Her land borders ours. The dowry will increase McJames’ land. And it’s nae just land; it’s fertile, rich farms with water. If her father has no more legitimate children, the entire estate will someday pass into our hands.”

  “Well, I still say ye sound mighty angry about it considering how good it is for everyone.” Cullen reached for an oat cake but he didn’t bite into it. “Maybe it’s the bedding that has you so worried. You know, Brother, not every man is as blessed as I am. You shouldnae be envious of my skill with the lasses. That’s a sin.”

  “So is bragging.”

  Cullen flashed his teeth at him. “Not so, I’m telling the truth. My cock is…”

  “Save it for the lasses, Brother.”

  Cullen laughed as did a few of the men sitting nearby. Brodick stood up, pacing away from their campsite. Cullen had the right of it; he was in a sullen mood for sure. Fetching his bride should have been a duty that he took to in a lighter frame of mind.

  It was a fine match, to be sure.

  Good for his people, good for his children, but that didn’t change the fact that he was dreading taking an English court lady back to his home. He’d been to the English court and would cheerfully go to his grave without ever setting foot in the place again. The women were conniving, deceitful creatures with more paint on their faces than the highlanders wore into battle. The dresses they wore were great hulking creations that hid the natural shape of a female, taking away any interest he might have had for them. Except for their breasts. His temper flared as he considered the way those court ladies had taken to painting their nipples because their dresses were cut so low that you could glimpse them. He wasn’t a jealous man by nature but neither would he wear the horns of cuckold. His English wife would display her nipples only to his eyes.

  And that only fouled his temper further. Looking down onto the border, he cursed under his breath. In spite of their land joining, he and his intended bride were as different as night and day to one another. He wouldn’t allow her to behave shamefully and that would make her hate him. Their union held little hope of being peaceful much less pleasurable. Being the eldest, it was his duty and it weighed his shoulders down.

  And Cullen didn’t know why he was foul tempered. With a snort, Brodrick kicked a rock. He was saddled by tradition to take a wife who would enhance his peoples’ lives. It was his lousy luck that that woman was going to be discontented in his home.

  But he was the Earl of Alcaon.

  Pride filled him as he drew a deep breath. Being an earl meant more than lowered heads as he passed. It was something he’d spent years earning the right to wear. His northern borders weren’t as peaceful as his southern ones. When his father had taken an ax to his leg during a skirmish, it had fallen to Brodick to lead the McJames’ retainers. In a lot of ways, he preferred battle to marriage. Stiffening his resolve, he looked down onto the English land that was shortly to become his.

  In a way marriage was exactly like battle—only the strong became victorious. He’d claim his English bride and plant a McJames son in her belly so that the dowry would remain his. He was the McJames, a McJames who didn’t know how to lose.

  Warwick Castle

  “Lady Mary is taking a bath and you’re to attend her.”

  Brenda the cook flung her words over the hissing of water as it was poured into twin copper jugs sitting on top of the stove. She poked the fire in the belly of the huge stove, adding a thick log.

  “Wait for the water.”

  Rubbing her eyes, Anne looked at the stove. The flames mesmerized her tired eyes as she resisted the urge to let them close for a few moments of needed rest.

  “Here now. No napping for you.”

  Anne laughed. “Oh ’twas a late night but a dear one.”

  Brenda grinned. The water boiled and Anne placed a wooden yoke over her shoulders to carry the two pots.

  “Off with you and don’t scald yourself.”

  Keeping her steps tiny, Anne hurried up the stairs to the top floor. The ladies of the house bathed in their chambers, which called for the hauling of water. Steam rose from the copper jugs as she knocked on the servants’ door that would allow her to enter the lady’s chamber from a small side entrance. It was even a secret from most of the castle inhabitants, only known to those the housekeeper or cook allowed to be told.

  “Enter.”

  Mary was still completely dressed. Anne stared at her in confusion as she took the hot water toward the tub waiting near the fire. Lengths of linen were warming over a rack and more jugs of water were lined up on the floor for rinsing. Costly French soap was sitting on a silver tray, awaiting the lady.

  “Bar the door, Mary.”

  Mary looked as shocked as Anne did when Philipa spoke. The lady frowned at her daughter. “Hurry up. We need secrecy here. Not whispers among the staff. Unless you have changed your mind, Daughter, in which case, you may bathe.”

  Mary shook her head and ran toward the door. She dropped the thick wooden beam across it before turning back around to stare at Anne.

  “Dump that water, Anne.”

  “Of course…” Anne clamped her jaw shut as she realized that she was speaking. Philipa’s eyes narrowed as a faint crimson colored her face. Anne reached for a jug, wrapping part of her skirt over the hot handle as she waited for the lady to blister her ears.

  Nothing but the sound of water filled the chamber. Anne reached for the second jug and poured the hot water into the tub.

  “Anne, take that dress off and get in.”

  Turning around, Anne stared at the lady, certain she had misunderstood. Philipa was staring straight at her. The mistress glared at her with firm authority.

  “You’re to bathe, Anne. Mary and I will help you.”

  “Here?”

  Anne didn’t care if her voice wasn’t properly smooth and meek. Philipa was clearly soaked with wine.

  The lady snickered. It was an eerie sound that sent a shiver down her spine. There was a smile on her lips as Philipa clapped her hands.

  “Yes, here. You will get in that bath and wash from head to toe. You are finally going to earn every silver shilling I have been forced to spend on your mother and her whelps. Disrobe. Now.”

  Anne stared at the woman. Hate was an ugly thing and it distorted Philipa’s face. She now understood why the lady looked nothing like her portrait; her soul was rotten from hatred.

  “Disrobe, Anne. You are going to take Mary’s place with this Scots earl.”

  “I’ll do no such thing.” Anne spoke simply because shock kept her from tempering her response.

  Mary gasped at the tone of her voice but Anne spared her little attention. Philipa smiled at her. A slow curving of her lips that sent a shiver down Anne’s spine.

  “You think not? You shall do my bidding or I shall turn your mother out. Tonight.”

  Anne gasped, horror flooding her. “My fat
her will not allow such a thing.”

  “My husband is not here and if I turn your mother out, she’ll be dead long before he returns.”

  Raising a hand to cover her mouth, Anne hid her disgust behind it. “That’s murder, my lady. A deadly sin.”

  “I call it justice.” Philipa shook with her rage. She recovered and raised an eyebrow. “It is a simple thing to avoid. Mary is gently bred and has no stomach for a man’s touch. You, on the other hand, are the spawn of a light skirt so enduring a few nights with a man using your flesh should not be too difficult for you.”

  “My mother is a leman. She has no other lovers.”

  Philipa waved her hand, dismissing her words. “If she’s a woman of some character, all the better. I expect that you might have been raised with some sense of responsibility if your mother is as honorable as you say.”

  Philipa reached for the strap holding Anne’s linen cap in place. She popped the button open and pulled it off her head. “You will bathe and dress as I direct you.”

  “I cannot.” Anne’s voice did not shake only because of a lifetime of not arguing with the lady of the house.

  Philipa snorted at her. “You shall. And mind me well, miss, you will play the part to perfection if you do not wish for your siblings to suffer unkind fates.”

  Anne felt her eyes widen. Philipa snickered as she noticed the horror on Anne’s face.

  “Now I have your attention. You will take Mary’s place, or I shall see your two sisters wed before dark to the meanest men I can find! As for your brothers, I know a few prostitutes who need husbands. We need to think of their Christian souls. Marriage might be just what they need to make them repent their whoring ways.”

  “You are despicable.” Anne refused to hold her tongue. Even God wouldn’t condemn her for stating something so true.

  “I am the lady of this house and my word is law.”

  Philipa waited, her eyes glittering with triumph. She pointed at the bathtub, her face set like stone.

  “I am not a liar. I wouldn’t know how to deceive a man.”

  Philipa waved her hand again. “There will be no need for lies. You are the earl’s daughter. You are being sent to the Scot’s bed. Simply keep your mouth shut and all will be well. When you find yourself with child, you will beg to come home to have your mother at your side when the birthing time comes. You see? Simple.”

  “Surely you do not believe this earl to be so slow witted as to not notice you have changed his wife for another.”

  Philipa waved her hand again. “The man is a Scot. I wouldn’t expect a servant to understand but they are war-loving people. He’ll likely plow you a few times, make sure you’re breeding, and take off for more war among their clans. No man has any interest in a pregnant wife and Scots prefer their women uncivilized. He’s got a mistress for sure, and your bed won’t hold any interest to him once he knows his child is planted in your womb. By the time the babe is born and he comes to see his son, it will be more than a year. Changing places will be easy. The man will not even remember what color eyes you have. Besides, you and Mary look very similar. Mark my words, girl, you’d better set your mind to producing a son.”

  “I can’t be a part of such a foul scheme. My father has bound Mary to this man.”

  “And I am giving him a daughter, a different daughter, yet still his child. As lady of this house, I can do that.”

  “You aren’t given the power to lie about it. Dishonesty is a mortal sin.”

  Philipa frowned. “Make your choice, madam. Shuck your dress and bathe or prepare to watch your mother walking out of the gate while your siblings are bound to remain in the castle. The charge of theft should be enough to convince the guards to throw her into the road. With your father at court, whom do you think the captain will believe? The lady of the house, or you?”

  Chapter Three

  Evil

  Anne stared at Philipa and knew that what was shining in the lady’s eyes was pure evil. Not once in her life had she ever believed that any person might be so horrible. A glance over at Mary showed her another woman who placed her own comforts above the very life of the servants who brought them those comforts. There was no hint of mercy on the younger lady’s face, either; only a slight fear that Anne wouldn’t bend to the whim of her mother.

  But to take her place in the wedding bed…Anne shivered, unable to grasp such an idea. To agree to such a bargain made her no better than a whore. A woman reduced to using her body to buy what she needed.

  But there really was no choice to make. She would choose her love for her family above herself. Reaching for the button on the top of her doublet, she pushed it open.

  “There. I am glad to see you behaving so reasonably.” Philipa looked pleased. “Help her, Mary. We have to see this finished before any of the maids become wise.”

  Anne’s doublet dropped away and Mary attacked the tie that closed the waist of her skirts. They dropped to her ankles, leaving her in her chemise and stays. Anne felt Mary’s fingers on the ties that closed the corset, loosening them until her breasts hung free. Any other time, she would have savored the freedom from her stays, but Philipa’s eyes dropped to her chest, inspecting her body. Philipa’s lip curled in distaste as Mary grasped the hem of Anne’s chemise and pulled it over her head. Philipa stared at her bared chest and grunted.

  “With plump tits like those, you should breed quickly. I made a wise choice when I had you watched. You’d have a string of bastards like your mother if I hadn’t.”

  “I am not promiscuous.”

  Philipa glared at her. “What you are is forgetful of your station.”

  Anne sat down on a small stood to begin removing her boots. She hid her fury as she looked at the boot lacings. It would be most unwise to continue to speak her mind. Her family would be left behind to suffer Philipa’s temper.

  But she wanted to voice every word she’d ever bitten back. The woman was horrible, an evil consort of demons. No one else could contrive such a plan or force it onto the shoulders of another.

  “Hurry up.” Mary dropped to her knees and began pulling on the other boot. “We haven’t much time.” Her eyes shimmered with glee as she removed the boot and yanked Anne’s stocking down.

  Anne was suddenly shy. She’d never stood nude in front of anyone. Mary got to her feet and went around back of her to pull her braid loose. For such a spoilt child she was better at the task than Anne might have guessed. Her half-sister picked up a brush and began working it through Anne’s hair. It looked as though Mary had learned something at court while waiting on the Queen.

  “Stand up. I want a look at you.”

  Anne rose, her hands covering as much of her body as possible. Philipa snapped her fingers at her.

  “Stop cowering.”

  Anne bristled but let her hands fall to her sides. The lady swept her from head to toe, her lips pressing into a hard line.

  “In with you, this Scot will never believe that his noble bride wasn’t bathed before his arrival.”

  The water was still warm. It only made her angrier to sink into it and not be able to enjoy the moment. She always had to bathe in a chemise because the bathing tub used by the servants of Warwickshire was not in a private room. Besides, everyone needed help washing their hair or they tracked water across the floor when they went to fetch a bucket of rinse water. The sight of her own nipples was slightly distracting because she rarely looked at them.

  The bar of soap landed in front of her, splashing water into her eyes. Her hand shot out, grabbing it out of reflex. Normally, no one simply threw such a costly item.

  No one but Philipa, it would seem.

  The soft scent of lavender teased her nose as Mary dumped a cup of water over her head. It was cold and tickled her nose. More followed until her hair was completely wet. But the fire was blazing, warming her bare skin. She had never had so fine a bath, never been allowed to wash with scented soap. The French soap glided over her skin. She suddenly understood
why Philipa enjoyed her bath so much. If she were allowed such fine soap, she would linger in her bathing as well.

  Mary rushed her through the bath, using hard motions of her hands to scrub Anne’s hair. Within a quarter hour, Anne stood in front of the fire with the linen wrapped around her body. Despair tried to claim her but she resisted. It was not an easy task but panic would only aid Philipa.

  “Surely this cannot work.”

  Philipa scoffed at her.

  “What if the earl wishes to spend a few nights at Warwickshire before returning to his lands?”

  “He’s Scots. The man will want to return home with all haste. I hear their clans raid one another when they hear the lord is away. Yet another reason why I will not send my only child to that barbaric land.” Philipa shook out a chemise. “No matter if he does decide to stay. I shall tell him Mary is ill. You will remain hidden until he is ready to depart.”

  “Wear these.” Mary handed her stockings. Anne stared at them. The tiny rows of knitted finery were something she had dressed Philipa in but never dreamed to don herself. “You must be ready at all times.”

  A fine chemise followed, as did an entire dress that was Mary’s. It was good wool for traveling but edged in trim that was only for vanity. A quilted petticoat and stays were fit to her body as well. Mary drew a brush through her hair until it was dry and then she braided it.

  “There. Now, you will wear a veil when you meet this Scot so that none of the household staff become wise. You will remain in the upper alcove until I come for you. Make no mistake, my girl. Cross me and I will turn your mother out without a loaf of bread or a cloak.”

  Philipa waved her toward the back stairs. Anne went but didn’t lower her head before she moved. Instead she stared straight at Philipa, refusing to give her deference. The lady’s face turned purple with temper.

  “Get you up those stairs, and best you ponder what further defiance will bring on your family. Go.”

  “Mary, pick up that uniform. You’ll have to wear that to leave Warwickshire. We can’t have you seen or all our efforts will be for nothing.”