by Mary Wine
The midwife nodded firmly, clearly settled in her decision. “Daughters do gain things from their fathers as well. Do not dwell so much on what yer mother didn’t do.”
Agnes lowered herself in a stately manner before she turned and left. Anne sighed, feeling her strength bleeding away.
Philipa’s plan was proceeding and she had no idea how to stop it.
None.
Brodick was tense.
Far more worried than he’d been in a long time. He hadnae wanted to let Agnes near Mary. The surge of emotion worried him because it was so strong. It was the sort of thing he’d heard tales about but always considered it nothing that could really happen to him.
“I’ve never seen ye pace.”
“Go away, Cullen. I’m nae in the mood for jesting.”
His brother didn’t leave but his mocking grin melted as he moved closer. “Nor am I. This marriage business is more complicated than I figured.”
“There is a great deal riding on what Agnes says.” And Brodick wasn’t just thinking about the dowry. He wanted Mary in his bed. Knowing that she was bare up in that chamber right now was slowly burning a hole in his discipline.
“Ye don’t have to send her away even if Agnes says she’s nae strong.”
Brodick nodded but returned to pacing. “By tradition I should.”
“Ye’re the McJames, no one will take her anywhere without yer word.”
“True enough,” Brodick said. “But it would be unkind. I’ve no wish to see the lass suffer.”
Cullen snorted. “It’s clear to one and all where ye wish the lass to be. In yer bed and right quickly, too.”
Brodick froze. “Is it that obvious?”
“To one that knows ye, aye.” He returned to smirking. “Ye’re so pathetic I can’t even find the heart to tease ye anymore. I never thought the day would come when I’d watch ye beg for a taste of honey.”
“What I crave is a family, Brother. It’s something that comes with manhood. Chasing a wildcat for a few rounds of blistering passion is no longer what I need. I want to lay awake on the trail and know that there is a woman waiting for me in my bed. Maybe even praying that I’ll arrive home safely. I want to see her cradling our babe, suckling it with her own breast, because she’s happy being my wife, and mothering my children.”
Brodick smiled at his brother. They had always enjoyed taunting each other. The only one who needled him better was his sister. Fiona hid behind her feminine grace, trouncing both of them when it came to verbal attacks.
“I hope ye gain that, Brodick.” Cullen was serious, his face pensive. “Yet I’m suspicious of yer bride. Something is nae clear about her.”
Brodick agreed. “It disnae matter. Once Agnes is finished with this inspection, I’ll get on with welcoming my bride to the family. It won’t make any difference what she was thinking. All that will be important is our future. She’s in a foreign place surrounded by strangers. It’s expected that she’ll need time to settle in.”
“Spoken like a true McJames.”
Brodick felt his anxiety fade. He was the McJames and Mary would adjust. Agnes appeared at the top of the stairs and he felt his shoulders tighten in spite of his resolutions. Mary was correct about one thing. Men didn’t know a great deal about a woman’s body being sound for marriage. What a man sought were things that nature designed to attract his interest. That was the main reason that marriage was more of a business transaction. It was the wiser course of action. Letting lust lead the way was bound to land a man in a poor match both in dowry and children. He was a large man; taking a petite female to his bed would be like a death sentence for her. Inspections had begun to prevent uneven pairs. It made sense, but his lust was trying to argue with logic. He should be disciplined enough to ignore his rising attraction.
But he wasn’t.
His cock was straight and swollen again. The thing demanded he cut through all the formalities and get down to what he craved. The idea of tradition was beginning to sound foul as customs blocked his path. Desire was ripping through years of practiced discipline and it was the honest truth that he was enjoying the burn.
He moved toward Agnes with determination. The midwife approached him but stopped, waving her sons away when they stood to go to her side.
“My lord.” She lowered her head, waiting for him to ask her for her findings. That was the time-honored way of lord and vassal.
“Is my bride fit to assume her duties?”
“I believe she is.”
Satisfaction surged through him but Agnes held up a wrinkled hand.
“She is most concerned that her mother didnae produce any sons and that she may follow in those footsteps. Disappointing ye. She considers the production of children a serious responsibility.”
“Life is full of uncertainty. You cannae spend yer days never trying. Any bride I take would have that worry to contend with.”
Agnes pursed her lips, disliking his tone. The reprimand hit that spot inside him that was still a boy when it came to her. The midwife aimed a hard stare at him.
“A bride who plans to avoid disappointing her husband is as valuable as one who’s eager to please the desires of youth. I found yer new wife to be a woman of forethought.”
“Ye have my gratitude.”
Agnes lowered herself, just a tiny amount, before gesturing to her sons.
“May yer union be blessed with healthy children. I will look forward to being summoned to the lady in the fall.”
Brodick offered Agnes a small pouch. She looked at it but only stroked the silver brooch at her shoulder.
“Ye’re a stubborn woman, Agnes.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
With a cheeky grin, the midwife turned to join her family. She’d never accepted payment from the lord’s family. His mother had ordered the brooch made and gifted it to her in order to get around the stubborn streak. Agnes might refuse payment, considering her service owed to the noble family who owned the land her family farmed, but she could not refuse a gift from the lady of the house. That would be rude. It would be interesting to see how Mary dealt with the woman.
Because his bride would be staying. God willing, Agnes would be back.
“Why are ye dressing?”
Helen looked disappointed when she returned to discover Anne halfway into her dress. It was only the stays that she needed help with lacing.
“There’s no need for anyone to bring trays to my chamber. I shall eat below.”
“Och, ye’re such a considerate one.”
Helen moved behind her to begin tying her corset in place. “It will please the folks greatly, too, I’ll no deny that. They are a might curious about the new mistress. There were a few rumors of how English ladies like their pampering that had us wondering.”
“I don’t wish to be a burden to anyone.”
“’Tis a delight to have one of those men marry up. This house needs life, mistress.”
The title of mistress made her smile. She simply could not help it. It was a word that she’d never expected to hear applied to herself. It wasn’t pampering that she coveted in the position, only the respect. The chance to be judged solely on what she did.
“Into yer doublet. Cook has the supper out.”
Her belly was empty, but that wasn’t what motivated her. Anne gratefully quit the chamber with its large bed. Besides, she would have no one’s wrists aching from bringing a tray to her.
Helen led her down the stairs and into a long hallway. The evening light streamed through small openings in the stone walls. Helen kept walking until they reached another of the large round towers. There was a buzz of conversation floating into the hallway. When they reached the arched opening, she stared at a wide expanse of tables. Fires were blazing in the hearths that circled the room. It was exactly like the great hall at Warwickshire, only round. Long tables filled it and there was a raised dais at one end with thick chairs set on more carpets. Beneath the tables there was only stone, but it ha
d been swept clean. Anne nodded approval, seeing the sense in it. Spills and crumbs might be swept up easily.
Many of the tables were already full of the earl’s retainers. They talked freely as the food was passed between them. A hush fell over the room as she entered. The servants paused in their duties to cast inquisitive looks her direction.
“May I present Mary Spencer, daughter of the Earl of Warwickshire. My wife.”
Brodick’s voice bounced off the walls, surprising her with its volume. He stood at the dais, one foot propped on the top step. He looked completely confident there, a vision of strength. The room erupted in a cheer that startled her. Brodick smiled, holding out a hand in welcome.
Guilt showed up again to crush her with its weight. Every step across the hall was pure torment because she felt like an actor. Men tugged on the corners of their bonnets in respect, while others raised their tankards with good wishes.
She was worse than a charlatan.
The good cheer filled the room, conversation resuming. Brodick didn’t climb the remaining step to the dais. Instead, he met her on the main floor. Satisfaction was shimmering in his midnight eyes. Her throat went dry. He closed his hand around hers firmly, clearly confident that all obstacles had been removed from his path. Excitement ripped through her, sending a surge of emotion along her limbs. His eyes narrowed as he felt the shiver in her hand. His thumb reached to rub across the tender skin of her inner wrist. She gasped softly as sensation rippled up her arm. It was such a simple touch, but so intense, her knees weakened.
“Would the pair of ye mind waiting until supper is over?”
Anne jumped, shocked at her own inattention. Fiona was eyeing them from the nearest table. She fluttered her eyelashes while smiling so sweetly a nun couldn’t have taken exception to her.
“Those simpering looks might make me lose my appetite.”
Brodick grunted. “Ye remember my sister. She’s the talk of half of Scotland, even if our father spent a fortune on tutors to train her better.”
“Gossip should never be believed.” Fiona offered a mischievous smile along with her comment. She reached for a round of bread and pulled a piece off. “No one truly cares what I do.”
“Not so, Sister. I am very interested in what ye’ve been about.” Brodick stepped over the bench and sat down across from his sister. Cullen was seated a few feet away, joking with other young men. Unlike Warwickshire, there appeared to be no finery laid out for the nobles. They broke bread with their people, ate off the same platters.
Brodick left the fine chairs on the dais empty choosing to sit with his men instead.
“That was my father’s table.”
Anne turned her attention back to Brodick. His expression was solemn. “I will nae sit there until I’ve earned the right, as my father did. Until I sit there with my family, showing the McJames name to be one that will continue.” He gazed at her. “I hope you dinnae mind.”
He lifted one foot and straddled a bench.
Brodick watched her, waiting to see what she made of his table. She sat on the bench, choosing the end nearest him and brought her legs about to be beneath the table.
“This is a fine table, I am honored to sit at it.” The scent of warm food drew a rumble from her belly. Brodick groaned.
“I’ve been remiss in feeding you. Now that we’re home, Bythe will take delight in stuffing ye.”
He began piling food on her plate, much larger portions than she could eat.
“Enough, Brodick, do I look that large to you?”
He stopped, turning his gaze toward her. “’Tis the first time ye have used my name.”
Anne bit into a piece of bread to avoid answering him. He was pushing close to her, overwhelming her personal space. The intimacy was bold and there was a part of her that enjoyed it. Somehow, it made him seem more powerful, that determination. Her pride was ruffled, too, but that did not stop the tingle of anticipation that flowed down to her breasts. Laced up once more, the tender globes protested their imprisonment. Behind the steel stays, her nipples drew taut.
Fiona sighed dramatically. Brodick turned to look at his sister. She only wiggled her eyebrows at his temper. Fiona shrugged before smiling at Anne.
“Men are thick-headed. They canae disengage their minds from their lust.”
“Mind yer mouth, Fiona.” Brodick reached for a tankard. “At least give the lass a few days to become accustomed to yer brashness.”
“More like ye’re thinking to get her settled into yer bed and stuck as yer wife before she learns too much about Celts.”
“We’re soon to be one nation, sister. I, for one, do not long to hold onto the wars that have taken so much blood.” There was a solid reprimand in his voice, but not anger.
Anne held her breath. Warwickshire had always been such a formal house, she wasn’t sure what Brodick would make of his sister’s words. He shook his head, his expression turning jovial again.
“And aye, I’d like to show the pleasant part of living at Sterling afore she hears what a bold female I have for a sister.”
They both laughed, enjoying the jest. She was drawn to the family camaraderie. Hidden from Philipa’s eyes, her own family enjoyed the same ease. Teasing was the one thing that truly said she was among family, because every other aspect of her life was governed by rules and her station.
Sterling was a welcoming house, indeed. The maids were not standing with their platters, attempting to be unnoticed. There was no lowering of heads before the food was presented. Conversation flowed freely instead of each word being measured before it was uttered for fear of those higher than yourself becoming offended. Her appetite returned with full vigor as she watched the supper tables, enthralled by the contentment displayed. It radiated from everyone around her, warming up that spot in her chest that had turned so cold when she was separated from her family. She still longed for them but happily enjoyed her meal with such company.
It would be simple to slip into the role she’d been thrust into. She was tempted, sorely so. Her eyes strayed to Brodick. His jaw was newly scraped clean of whiskers. His face was firm and hard, like the rest of his body. The doublet he’d worn on the trail was missing. He wore only his shirt and kilt. The tartan was flipped up along his thigh, displaying the thick muscle of his leg. She should have ignored it, but her eyes were drawn to it.
So intent was she on him she missed the fact that one of his hands was beneath the table. He gently squeezed her knee through her skirts and she jumped, knocking the table.
“Thick, cloddish, with only one thing on their minds.” Fiona waggled a finger from side to side with each insult she tossed at her brother.
Heat crept into Anne’s cheeks as Brodick turned his gaze onto her. Suspicion was clouding his expression again. He gripped her knee once more, keeping his hand there. “Maybe ye are as innocent as ye say. Ye certainly are not used to being touched.”
He had lowered his voice but it still lit her temper. Pushing her foot off the floor, she drove her knee and his hand into the top of the table. The thump covered the swift intake of his breath.
“And you wonder,” she gritted out, keeping her voice low, “why I am intent on following traditions that protect my good name.”
Several men had stopped talking and were silently chewing as they tried to listen. Rising, she bobbed a quick reverence before striding across the hall. She didn’t care if it was unwise to be angry, she was out of patience with performing to everyone’s expectations. She had no more tolerance for charges against her chastity.
A hard hand caught her elbow once she entered the hallway. Brodick spun her around to face his displeasure.
“Ye’re right, Mary, I dinnae ken why ye’re avoiding my bed.”
“Your bed…all I hear is your bed.” She raised her chin and let him see the flames in her eyes. “Yet it is my virtue you question. I am not the one who speaks of lust so often. Attending court does not make any lady a strumpet.”
“I’ve
been to your English court, madam, and it was full of titled ladies who held no reservations about anything.” He pointed a finger at her. “They fucked in the hallways outside the Queen’s own chamber. I won’t have it in my wife.”
The word fuck was blunt but it also sent a shaft of need through her. Her heart was racing, driving her blood at a fast pace through her. It seemed to accentuate each of her senses.
“Then why did you enter negotiations with my father, if you have such a low opinion of English ladies?”
Her rapid breathing pulled his scent into her head. She was instantly distracted from her purpose by rising lust again. She wanted to find out what all that muscle felt like, smooth her hands over it. She could not stop the impulses and tried to thrust away from him. His arm shot around her waist the second her palms slammed against his hard chest, and with a hard jerk, she ran into his body, her fingers clenching at his shirt.
“We are ill matched—” She gasped behind Brodick’s hand as it slapped over her mouth.
“Dinnae say it! I’ll be taking ye to my bed and no other place.” He lowered his voice as his arms tightened, holding her prisoner when she squirmed. “Tell me true, Mary,” he said, removing his hand, “have ye been with another? Let us begin our marriage with honesty.”
“You’ve already made up your mind about me. Nothing I say will make any difference.”
“It will. I can trust. But it disnae come for free. Ye have to be honest with me first.”
His hand moved up her back until he threaded it through her hair. His grasp tightened and she was forced to stare into his eyes. Suspicion stared back at her and hunger so fierce it stunned her. Her words melted away as she forgot what she was fighting with him about. His attention dropped to her mouth and her lips tingled, anticipating his kiss.
It never came. With a growl, he released her. His shoulders shook as he stepped back.