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

by Mary Wine

  But she held her worries inside. That, too, was a wife’s duty. Brodick clasped the sword in one large hand.

  “Get dressed and join the women in the lower keep until ye’re told otherwise.”

  “Aye.” She turned to begin looking for her clothing. An arm snaked around her waist, pulling her back against the body of her lover.

  “But kiss me good-bye first.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  That was a duty she performed most happily. Reaching up, she placed her hands against his shoulders, his mouth claiming hers in a hard kiss. There was no time to linger, only a mere moment to steal one last press of lips before he set her away from him.

  “Hurry, lass.”

  He left her and she was suddenly cold. The chill cut all the way to her heart. Moving around in the dark, she pulled her chemise from the floor. The bells stopped, leaving an eerie silence. In the dark, the lace that had secured her stays was nowhere to be found. Half dressed, Anne dropped to her knees to feel across the floor for it. She discovered it hidden on the pattern of one of the newly arrived carpets. Standing back up, she moved in front of the fireplace to use the meager light from the coals to thread the lace through the eyelets. It was slow work.

  Many slept in their corsets because the garments were not quickly donned. Tonight, it felt like an eternity before she tugged the lace tight to secure her breasts. Struggling into her doublet, she worried that too much time had passed. She didn’t know her way around Sterling. Her hopes lay in following the other inhabitants to the keep that would be protected down to the last man. Scotland was more violent than England. Yet even Warwickshire feared encroaching raiders. Any castle near the coast kept its walls manned since the Spanish had launched its Grand Armada with the intention to reclaim England for the Catholic faith.

  Brodick had left the door open. There was no sound on the steps and none rising from the floor below. The darkness was thick. Anne hesitated. Wandering the dark corridors alone might be more hazardous than remaining in her room. Yet cowering behind her door was certain to drive her insane before dawn. The double doors that led to the courtyard were open, the light from the wall fires coloring it faintly.

  Any light was a beacon. Her chamber and the hallway that led to the next tower were nothing but black caverns. Walking toward the open doors, she peered out into the courtyard. It was full of men and horses. Younger boys, their arms laden with armor, wove through the mass. White clouds rose from the horses’ mouths and the men alike. Every man had a sword strapped to his back. In England, her father’s men held their weapons on their hips.

  There was the sound of leather tightening and horses being bridled. The men on the walls held their bows ready, an arrow slotted. Brodick was already in the saddle, a thick breast plate secured around his body. Anne pressed back against the wall. The shadow hid her there. Defending his home was the blunt reality of their uncertain times. Brodick needed his wits about him, not the distraction of thinking about her.

  “Mount!”

  His voice filled the courtyard. There was a flurry of motion as the men gained their saddles, the fires from the walls dancing over them. The huge doors were opened with a loud groaning of chain. Men and horses surged through the opening in a force that held her spellbound. Each man wearing the same patterned kilt with Brodick leading them.

  The pounding of hooves fairly shook the ground. Looking through the opening, she saw the signal fires burning in the valley below the castle. The stream of men heading toward the bright point of light left the castle quiet.

  It was an eerie kind of silence. Younger lads, still too slight to handle the broadswords, were left to pick up anything left in the courtyard. Only the archers remained on the walls, their attention turned outwards. A loud cracking sound made her shiver as the gate was closed with the huge wheels used to wind the chains. It slammed shut and men pushed heavy bars through wide iron locks to reinforce the door.

  There was nothing to do but wait.

  And pray.

  Half of the men returned at dawn.

  Anne ran with the rest of the inhabitants to search their faces but Brodick was not among them.

  “Give a hand with the wounded.”

  There was a flurry of action as several men were helped from their horses. The morning sun lit the blood on them. But their mood was jovial. Relief settled over most of the women. Anne didn’t breathe easy just yet. Without Brodick she felt alone. It was a selfish way to think yet she could not dislodge it from her mind. For some unknown reason she felt shunned by those around her, the looks cast her way far more cold than yesterday.

  It made no rational sense but persisted as the morning wore on.

  She was relieved of her concerns as the men filled the tables to break their fast. Every pair of hands was needed to carry food to them, fill tankards and make sure that they were rewarded for placing themselves in harm’s way.

  Ginny stopped when most of the meal had passed away. The younger girl gazed at her suspiciously, clearly considering if she wanted to speak with Anne. She finally stepped closer.

  “Helen’s daughter was laboring last eve. She went down to Perth to be with her, so Helen will nae be back until the raiding McQuade have been driven back to their dens.”

  “I see.”

  Ginny didn’t remain to offer any more information. The girl turned her back abruptly without even a nod of respect. The other maids followed suit, ignoring her with cutting glances.

  Emotion thickened in her throat, choking her. After so warm a welcome, it was even harsher to be shunned. Without the lord around, his staff saw no point in treating her with kindness. It was not an uncommon fate for brides that were married off into other countries. The lord might order his people to lower their heads but no man held the power to force any servant to like a foreigner.

  For herself, she had no liking for false allegiance. Better to know the true feeling of the household staff than live in ignorance.

  Yet it hurts.

  Anne left the hall, not knowing where to take herself. Once more she was completely on her own. The despair that had imprisoned her when Philipa unveiled her scheme returned. It felt stronger now that she had escaped it for a time. Much more intense since the tender moments in Brodick’s embrace.

  He’ll plant a child in you and return to his Scottish warring ways…

  Philipa’s words slashed through the fragile happiness she’d enjoyed at Sterling. She walked past the steps that led to her chamber, their bed a place of torment now. Helen had hidden the true nature of the castle folk with her seniority. Now there was nothing to make them accept her.

  She didn’t want dishonesty, anyway. Lifting her chin, she moved away from the tower her chamber was in to explore the next section of hallway. Above her was the wall where the archers were poised. Long fingers of sunlight stretched across the floor every five feet. The shutters were open, allowing the morning breeze to sweep inside.

  A soft voice touched her ears. It was a woman singing softly. A doorway led to a large room where a young girl sat at a spinning wheel. Her foot worked the pedal as her fingers pulled on the raw wool in her hands. It was a fluffy ball that she skillfully fed into the twisting action produced by the wheel. A large stack of carded wool sat near her and she reached for some of it, her foot pausing until she had mixed it with the wool in her hands. A spindle was winding the new thread on top of the wheel.

  “Who’s there?”

  She didn’t look at her. In fact the girl didn’t really look at anything. Her eyes were strangely unfocused.

  “I could use a pair of eyes if ye’ve a bit o’time to share.”

  The girl was clearly blind but her hands were still clever and skilled at the art of weaving.

  “How may I help you?”

  The foot on the pedal paused. The smile fading from the girl’s face. Anne felt her shoulders resume carrying their heavy burden. But the girl suddenly brightened back to the cheerful state she’d been in before hearing A
nne’s unmistakable English accent.

  “Good morrow, Mistress. I be Enys.”

  “Good day. How may I help?”

  Enys paused to reach for more wool. “I didnae ken it was you, Mistress, when I asked.”

  Her voice was still kind, lacking the chill that Ginny’s had adopted. It was most welcome, whatever the reason.

  “I would be most happy to assist you. Shall I card for you?” Anne moved into the room. The wooden cards were sitting near another stool with a mound of washed raw wool. Each card had thin metal teeth that were used to straighten out the wool hairs. Only after raw wool had been brushed back and forth on the cards several times was it ready for spinning.

  “I need the bobbin changed and I don’t know where Tully set the empty ones. The room is rather large to go searching it with my hands.”

  Enys added a smile to her comment, her foot steadily working the pedal. The foot-long wooden bobbin at the front of the wheel was getting full.

  “I should be happy to lend a hand. It has never been my way to be lazy.”

  Enys nodded her head. “I’m most appreciative. Since losing my sight, I find my pride suffering when I’m reduced to asking for help finding things.”

  Anne searched the room, finding a crate of empty bobbins. “You weren’t born blind?”

  “Nay, and I think that’s more of a torment. Knowing what I miss. My memories are as clear as the daylight used to be.”

  Enys sighed, a look of longing passing over her face. She tilted her head when Anne pulled one of the bobbins free and the others clicked against one another. Her foot stopped and she allowed the wheel to stop turning.

  “I was in the yard and not minding the horses. One kicked out, planting his hooves in the center of my head. To hear it told, I flew like a bird across the yard. When I woke up, my sight was gone.” She snipped the new thread with a pair of small shears hanging from a lace tied to her skirts. With a confident hand she removed the full bobbin, holding it out toward Anne.

  “You appear to use your hearing very effectively for one not born afflicted.”

  They traded bobbins, Enys quickly attaching the new one to the end of her thread. The bobbin in her hand held fine work. The spinning was even and the thread thin, both difficult tasks for someone without sight.

  “You do very good work.”

  Enys beamed. “Thank you. I do enjoy knowing that I’m of use. My mother despaired when my sight didnae return.” She grimaced. “But the man I was set to marry took my cousin instead.”

  “Obviously he hasn’t seen your skill with the wheel.”

  Merchants paid well for even, smooth thread. To weave good cloth you first needed the thread. In London, young girls who showed such skill were coveted as brides. They needed no dowry, only their skill. It was quite the modern thing now for some women to marry with the only thing changing hands between their families the skill they had. The middle class flourished, too, some families amassing wealth that equaled that of the nobles.

  Taking a seat on the stool, Anne reached for the cards. The room was a welcoming refuge from the chilly glances in the eating hall. Enys tilted her head once more when Anne drew the metal teeth past one another. She seemed unsure what to say as the mistress of the house joined her in common chores.

  “Do not worry; marriage comes along to us all.”

  “Ye sound as though yers took ye a wee bit by surprise.”

  Anne sighed, pulling wool with smooth motions of her arms. “Yes, it did.”

  But she did not lament it. That was rooted deep inside her now. It was startling to notice just how greatly one week had changed her. The girl who greeted Philipa each morning was foreign to her now. Enys began singing again, a sweet tune of springtime. Anne found her foot keeping time with the melody while her arms worked the cards.

  In the wilds of Scotland

  “Damn raids. I’ve had a belly full o’ them.” Brodick cussed under his breath.

  “More like yer wife has a full belly with the way ye tumbled her in the stable.”

  Brodick rounded on his brother. Cullen dropped his jesting when he looked at his brother’s face. He kicked at the ground.

  “Och now. Why do ye have to go soft for a woman? That’s sure to ruin half my fun,” Cullen huffed, propping his hands onto his hips. “What am I going to do now? I thought ye were only getting married, no losing yer heart to a lass.”

  “I’m nae gone soft.”

  “Aye, ye be.” His brother added a Gaelic word under his breath. “Ready to lay me low for mentioning what ye didnae mind shouting out to half the garrison last eve. If that is nae soft, I dinnae know what is.”

  Brodick felt his anger deflate. Cullen had the right of it. He had raised his voice, happy to ensure that everyone knew what they’d been about. The true reason for his foul temper was frustration. Looking back over the burnt-out shells of three homes, he cussed. Druce turned to look at him, a frown marring his face.

  “They are hiding in the canyons, no doubt.”

  “No doubt.” Which meant he and his men were set on a merry chase that might not end soon. But it was a sure wager that they could not return to Sterling. There would be another few homes destroyed by tomorrow if they didn’t chase the guilty down. It was the duty of the lord to protect his people. Every man riding with him served his time in trade for the protection his family received. As the English queen grew nearer to dying, the neighboring clans became bolder. He had to defend his land with hard steel.

  He was the McJames.

  ’Twas his duty and one he shouldered with honor. In spite of his frustration, he mounted his horse to take up the task with renewed faith. The reason was simple; he had a sweet wife who needed the strength of his sword. She was a McJames now and he would not return to her bed until his lands were safe for her and every other McJames soul.

  “Let’s run these villains to ground, men!”

  A cheer broke the evening chill. His men mounted, determination shining in their eyes. Gaining his own saddle, he led them forward.

  Chapter Nine

  Sterling

  Spring arrived in full glory. Winter lost its grip on the land and with it the people of Sterling became busy. Planting season began. Every set of available hands was pressed into service. The spinning room was empty save for Enys now that there was good weather.

  Days turned into weeks without the return of the earl. Anne spent the time working alongside Enys, grateful to escape the rest of the castle. Helen remained in Perth while her daughter was in childbed.

  Anne missed her sorely.

  Be truthful…you miss Brodick.

  There was a wicked streak in her nature, to be sure. It was boldly filling her dreams with heated memories of the nights she’d shared with her lover. She saw his face, heard his voice and even sometimes felt his hands on her body, her slumber shattering as she sat up in bed, burning for fulfillment only to notice that she was alone.

  That had to be sinful.

  The shadows lengthened as another day ended with no return. Anne drew a deep breath into her lungs to steady her nerves. She had grown to loathe the night. Eating in the hall had become so stressful, she avoided it, scavenging what she could once most of the men had finished their meals. The maids had only grown more cutting in their looks since no one checked their behavior. As mistress she should have.

  Yet she lacked the heart to impose her will on them. She was a sham. Maybe they even sensed her guilt. Nobles were set above others by divine will. There was great disagreement just where blue-blooded bastards belonged in that heavenly ordered precedence. Was she beneath even the lowest beggar or above the maids giving her those frozen glares?

  She did not know, so she did nothing, slipping away to work in the spinning room on some days. On the others she applied a needle to the clothing Mary had sent along with her. All of it had arrived back in her chamber without the alterations.

  The quiet work suited her mood.

  But the hours alone on
ly encouraged her mind to think of Brodick. Telling herself to banish such ideas didn’t stop his face from rising as she plied a needle. Loneliness settled around like a dark cloak. After a fortnight, it became comfortable. She spent long hours thinking about her family. Bonnie would be fifteen this summer; plenty old enough for that horrible marriage Philipa had threatened. Anne shuddered, nausea twisting her stomach. Bonnie was a ray of summer sunshine. Thinking about such an ill fate made her want to retch.

  The fire had long since gone cold and no one came to rebuild it. Anne left the coals, putting her surcoat on to stay warm. She had never had a fire laid simply for her own pleasure at Warwickshire. Since she was destined to return there, she should not become accustomed to the comforts she would have to leave behind.

  She was much more worried about what Brodick would do when he discovered she was not the heiress bride he’d come south to fetch. A lump formed in her throat. Tears stung her eyes and she had to turn her back on the bed.

  He would be furious.

  Every moment of tenderness they’d shared would be dust once he knew the truth. She dreaded the moment. Yet found no way to avoid it. Unlike Philipa, Anne did not agree that Brodick would not notice the difference between her and Mary. The only thing that was in question was just which of them would be in the room when he unearthed the conspiracy.

  The nausea persisted, making the idea of food repulsive. More weeks passed. Many days went by without her speaking to a single soul. It was as if she were a ghost, moving through the castle, yet unseen by the rest of the inhabitants.

  Philipa’s insistence that she work as a servant came to be a blessing as the staff of Sterling ignored her. Anne knew her way about everyday work. In sooth, remaining busy was a kindness. At least while she was washing her bed linens and clothing, her mind had something to mull over that was not the possible fate of her family.

  Was her mother still alive?

  That question haunted her. Philipa hated Ivy. After years of hate poisoning Philipa’s soul, she was now black with rot. Having found the courage to force Anne to leave with Brodick, it was very possible the mistress of Warwickshire had turned Ivy Copper out. It might have been done the moment Anne disappeared from sight. She had no way of discovering the truth. At Sterling she was even more cut off from her father.