In Bed With A Stranger

by Mary Wine

  The chamberlain stamped his white staff against the floor three times. The brass plate on the bottom of it echoed through the hall. Everyone fell silent.

  “Oyee, oyee, oyee. His Majesty will receive the Earls of McQuade and McJames.”

  A sound of frustration rippled through the men who did not hear their names. Several waved scrolls under the nose of the chamberlain, trying to get the man to notice their pleas. He stood straight, staring forward.

  “At least Jamie’s nae in the mood to see us cooling our heels.”

  Brodick moved forward, eager to see his king and quit the court. He had no ambitions that included remaining for any length of time among the schemers. The only favor currying he wanted to do was back home with his sweet wife. He’d gladly spend every night seeking her favor.

  The guards uncrossed their pikes, allowing him and his men into the inner hall. It was decked out with the banners of the royal house. Here there were ladies wearing velvet and silk gowns. Their faces were painted but not the ghastly white of the English court. They still looked ridiculous to his eyes, their cheeks bright red and their lips the same shade.

  Brodick lowered himself to one knee, Cullen and Druce mimicking him. He swung one fist against his left shoulder.

  “Yer Majesty.”

  James Stewart was an interesting cross between Scots and European style. He was seated on a throne at the end of a red carpet.

  “McJames and McQuade, join me in my private chambers. Two men each.”

  McQuade slid Brodick a sinister smile. The older man knelt on one knee the same as he had. The king stood and left the throne room. Brodick stood up, eyeing his nemesis.

  “Ran crying to the king, did ye, McQuade?” Brodick smacked his lips. “Always knew ye were a whining bastard when ye lose. Like yer father before ye.”

  The older man’s face turned ruddy. “And yer the son of a thief that waits ’til a man is in his cups to challenge him to a game of wits.”

  Brodick smirked. “My father often said I look a lot like me mother. Since ye knew her, do ye agree?”

  McQuade spat on the floor. “She was mine.”

  Cullen scoffed at him while stroking a lock of his lighter hair that was the same shade as their mother’s had been. “Nay, man, we’re living proof that she was had well and good by our father.”

  McQuade smiled. “Well, now we’ll be seeing just who has the last word.”

  He moved toward the king’s private chambers, his spurs clanking against his boots. Druce patted Cullen on the shoulder once more.

  “That had a nice ring to it.”

  Cullen smirked. “Ye think so?”

  “Oh, lad, aye.” Druce tilted his head to the side. “I think ye’re going to be quite the family when ye make good on that threat to tame Bronwyn.”

  Cullen glared at Druce, his fingers tightening into a fist. There wasn’t time for more as they came into the king’s presence and hit a knee once more.

  “Rise.”

  James Stewart eyed McQuade first. The older man lifted his chin, stubbornly resisting the look from his monarch to soften his stance.

  “McJames, tell me why ye wounded several of McQuade’s men last month.”

  Brodick resisted the urge to grin. James might be dressed like a European king but beneath his pants he was pure Scot.

  “Because I caught them burning some o’ me farmers’ homes.”

  “’Tis not so.”

  Druce stepped forward. “It is. Saw it with my own eyes.”

  The king held up a hand. He looked at Druce.

  “Ye swear that?”

  “On the title of Bisbane. I was at Sterling for the celebration of my cousin’s marriage.” Druce pointed a finger at McQuade. “I rode out with Brodick and saw the torches myself.”

  McQuade didn’t look repentant. Quite the contrary, the man’s face lit with satisfaction. The king grumbled beneath his breath.

  “What am I going to do with ye, McQuade?” Jamie sat down and propped his hand on his knees. He rested his chin against one palm while considering McQuade and his men.

  “The eyes of the world are on Scotland. We’ve no time for raids and quarrels long past settling. Man, that woman is long ago wed and her sons grown to men.”

  McQuade shook his head. “I want a portion of the dowry returned. That will satisfy me.”

  “Ye married a woman with a good dowry.”

  “But no land. ’Tis the two-hundred measures of land I’m wanting. They were promised to me.” McQuade was yelling by the time he finished.

  “No chance o’ that happening.” Brodick wasn’t much calmer. “Ye dragged me here for no reason. Yer men were raiding and I sent them back to ye whining like their master.”

  “Enough.”

  Jamie stood up. He pointed at McQuade. “Ye’ve wasted my time, man, and I’ll nae thank ye for that. That land went with the heiress. There will be no arguing with what a father settled onto his daughter thirty-five years ago. I suggest ye look to arranging a good match for yer sons if it’s a larger holding ye want.”

  “But that bastard just took an English bride who will double his land yet again.” McQuade shook a tight fist in the air. “I want that land.”

  “I said nay.” Firm authority rang out of the king. He looked at Brodick.

  “Ye claimed yer bride?”

  Brodick lifted his chin as high as McQuade’s, but with a far different emotion. “Aye, three months ago.”

  The king didn’t respond for a long moment. McQuade began to shake his fist again.

  “Ye see?” McQuade stepped closer to the king. “The man is power hungry. He’s setting himself up to challenge ye.”

  “That’s nae true.” Brodick glared at McQuade. “Watch yer insults, man. I’m nae a traitor and willnae hear any man say I am.”

  “Enough!”

  The king’s guards reinforced their monarch’s order with lowered pikes. McQuade shook with his rage, but the man stepped back in the face of cold steel leveled at his belly.

  “The pair o’ ye will remain with the court for the summer. I’ve not the time to deal with yer fighting.”

  “I’ve got a new wife that’s breeding.”

  The king lifted an eyebrow. “If her belly’s full, she dinnae need you anymore. Ye’ll stay.”

  Brodick clenched his fists. Even the guards behind his king didn’t settle his temper. Jamie waved a finger at him. “I’ve need of ye, McJames. This court is full of tale-spinning lords who want to keep raiding each other over things that can never be changed. Yer clear thinking will be welcomed.”

  “My King—”

  “I’ve spoken, man.” Jamie’s voice rang with a royal decree. “And ye will serve me for the summer. I’ll send ye home in time to see yer son born.”

  McQuade snickered.

  “And ye, McQuade, will remain in the outer hall awaiting my summons.”

  “Yer Majesty—”

  “Ye have that correct, man. I am yer king and I nae appreciate ye spinning tales in my ear like I’m some lack-wit. There’s men out there who have waited months to have their issues settled. Quarrels that can be resolved, unlike the question of a bride who was lost decades ago. Good God, man, stealing a bride is as Scottish as a kilt. Ye should have planned things more secretively if ye didnae want someone to try and lift her out of yer keeping before the consummation.”

  Jamie lifted his chin, looking every inch the king.

  “Go and ye had better be waiting in the outer hall when I summon ye.”

  “’Tis an insult, even coming from me king.”

  Jamie pegged him with a hard stare. “And ’tis also better than being locked into shackles for bearing false witness against a fellow lord.”

  McQuade snapped his mouth shut. He glared at them both before staring at the points of the pikes. He lowered his head before storming from the room.

  “That man is going to hound ye until he’s dead.” James shook his head and reached for a goblet. He took a
long drink from it, his guards resuming their positions of vigilance behind him. “No doubt his sons have been raised to detest ye as well. ’Tis a good thing ye didn’t let him get wind of yer impending nuptials. He’d have stolen the bride if he’d known.”

  “He might have tried.”

  Jamie laughed. “Aye. He’d have done that sure enough.”

  The king snapped his fingers and a servant offered goblets to them all. Brodick took it but he wasn’t interested in the French wine. He had no taste for the strong brew. It made mush out of a man’s thinking. Jamie scoffed at him.

  “McJames prefers small beer.”

  Brodick let the servant take the goblet. “Ye remember.” He was slightly impressed. The last time he and Jamie shared a drink was a full ten years past.

  “I’d have been dead years ago if my wit wasnae sharp. There’s plenty o’ men that dinnae want me succeeding the throne of England.” The king waited until the servant returned with another drinking vessel. This one was a tankard far better suited to small beer. Druce looked ready to weep until he noticed the second servant with two more tankards.

  “I really do need ye, man. We’ve delegations from every royal house on the continent. This is a summer when Scotland needs her earls at court.” James pegged him with a firm look. “I need ye here, and I’ll keep McQuade on a leash so you’ll nae have to worry about him harassing yer people.”

  “What about the man’s sons?” Druce asked.

  The king nodded. “I’ll summon them to wait with their father. A few months cooling their heels in my outer hall should teach them to carry tales. But I’ll nae promise that it will keep them from raiding ye in the fall.”

  “I need no help with running him back to his own land.” Brodick looked at Druce and Cullen. Both smiled unpleasantly. The king grunted.

  “But I need ye, man.”

  To serve his king was an honor.

  But that meant not returning to Sterling…

  Brodick hid his disgruntlement behind the tankard. He’d judged older men harshly because they wanted nothing more than to return home. Look at himself now. Young lads didn’t know what they were missing. He hadn’t until he was forced to leave it behind. Still he was blessed and needed to remember that.

  The only thing that vexed him still was the fact that his wife hadn’t told him about their child. Her letter was sweetly written, more than he’d expected salving the wound that was left when he rode away from Sterling.

  But it didn’t contain the news that she was carrying. That had come in a second letter written by Helen. He didn’t feel any remorse over commanding the maid to write him in secret. There would be no surprises when he returned home this time. He needed to know that his wife was cared for. Needed to know that she was not wasting away to a sack o’ bones.

  Something felt wrong but he couldn’t place it. Just that inkling of a feeling that tingled down a man’s neck when he knew he was being watched.

  But for the time being, he would serve his king. It was the McJames’ duty.

  England, four months later

  “Mother, I’m bored! I will go insane if I am forced to endure much more of this confinement.”

  Mary Spencer snorted while she paced in a wide circle. She wrinkled her nose and picked at her sleeve.

  “And I detest this wool. It stinks like a sheep. I want my velvet dress back. It has been forever since that Scot took Anne away.”

  “It has been only seven months.” Philipa sounded tired. She cast a strained look at her child.

  “Seven and a half months. The summer is waning.”

  “Still not enough time has passed.”

  Mary groaned long and loudly. Philipa rubbed her forehead. She was sick unto death of the demands of men, no longer caring if the church preached that it was her place to shoulder such. Mary huffed and sat in a puddle of wool skirts, her expression unhappy.

  “Don’t fret, my lamb. We’ve almost bested this marriage your father negotiated. A few weeks more is all.”

  “What if Anne isn’t with child?”

  Philipa frowned. “She had better be.”

  She had better be.

  Philipa felt her temper heat. Oh, she would enjoy letting her wrath fall on Ivy Copper and her litter of bastards. She’d wanted to drown them all the day they were birthed. Anne had better be with child. A son. She didn’t dare risk leaving the girl with the Scots household too long. Servants talked. Even when you whipped them.

  Philipa sighed. It was certainly difficult to make it through life’s hurdles. She would just have to endure like her daughter for a few weeks more. She frowned, considering how long Anne had been treated as the mistress of a house. It was possible the bastard might forget her place. Even the threat against her family might lose its sharp edge when she was safe and pampered so far from Warwickshire.

  Something would have to be done about that. Something to drive it deep into her heart. Philipa paced, considering her methods.

  Yes…something very frightening to a girl.

  Sterling, one month later

  Surcoats were evil.

  Anne snarled as she tripped on the edge of her loose gown. Grabbing two handfuls of the fabric, she lifted it out of the way of her feet. Now that her belly was swelling large, she could not wear her skirts. Without a waistband, the fabric puddled on the ground every time she bent over, even a little bit. It was frustrating because she felt wonderful and didn’t want to be slowed down by the loose garments needed for her ripening figure.

  “Get on the other side of the flock, Ginny. Hurry.”

  Anne ran the opposite way, flapping her surcoat in the wind to get the geese into the pens. It was time to wash them and remove the thick down that had grown over the winter. Now that it was full summer, the feathers could be thinned. There would be enough time for it to grow back before winter returned.

  Anne ran and headed off a large gander. The animal honked at her, flapping his wings.

  “Get on with you. I want a down comforter to keep me warm. You will never miss the feathers, I promise.” Raising her hands, she sent the bird back toward the pens on the riverbank. Water made it much easier to remove part of the down.

  Her baby kicked. Anne lowered her arms to softly stroke her rounded tummy. She was as ripe as a fall pumpkin, her child pushing her womb out. The bells began to ring. Her heart accelerated as she looked toward Sterling. A cloud of dust was rising on the road and she peered at it, willing her husband to ride out of it.

  “Mistress, ye need to get within the castle walls.”

  One of the captains was always with her when she left Sterling. Anne looked up to see the man frowning at the approaching riders.

  “Forgive me, ma’am, but we needs to go now.”

  There was a solid ring of duty in his voice that didn’t hint at any argument from her. He reached for her hand and helped her into the cart the man insisted she ride in. Her mare having been denied her the second Helen told all at Sterling that she was with child. Ginny and the others were left to deal with the geese. But for her, she was returned to Sterling in haste. Brodick had kept his promise to have her accompanied anytime she left the imposing walls. They rode through the gate well before the riders reached them. Helen stood on the steps waiting for her.

  “There ye be, ma’am.”

  “Is it the earl returning?” Her voice was full of anticipation.

  Helen shook her head. “The lord doesnae have the bells rung on his return. He claims ’tis an honor he has yet to earn.”

  A shiver went down her spine. Her babe kicked hard as she lifted her chin and watched the gate. The riders drew in close enough to see and the banner of Warwickshire flapped boldly in the afternoon sun. Horror flooded her, stealing her breath as they filled the inner yard. But the worst was yet to come. The man leading them yanked his helmet free and shook out his long hair.

  It was a face that she wished she might forget.

  Cameron Yeoman was an evil man. One of a handful o
f men Philipa employed to keep the staff in hand at Warwickshire, the man often gained compliance with his brute strength. He flashed a sneer at her, his gaze settling on her distended belly. The tip of his tongue appeared on his lower lip, swiping back and forth across it a few times.

  “Good day to you, ma’am. Your Mother, Philipa, sends her greetings.”

  Anne paled. She felt the blood draining from her face. Cameron waved a horse forward and she heard a faint tinkling of laughter. Her sister Bonnie rode confidently up beside Philipa’s strong man. Her cheeks were red, a haunted look in her eyes.

  “I brought you a letter. The mistress commanded me to bring it to you.”

  Anne moved down the steps as fast as possible with her belly so large, unable to see her sweet sister so close to such a monster. More than one maid at Warwickshire had suffered his rape. The man was a monster, often beating a girl even after she bent to his will. Bonnie reached into a leather pouch and pulled a folded parchment out. She shuddered but hid it almost in the same moment that it shook her slight frame.

  Anne took the letter, but was more intent on getting her sister away from her escort. Cameron stared at her belly, a twisted smile on his lips.

  “Dismount, Bonnie.”

  “Hold.” Cameron held up a hand. Bonnie flinched but froze with her hands tight around the saddle horn.

  Captain Murry, charged with her protection outside the gates, had shifted away, leaving her at the mercy of her visitors. Work was resuming around them. Even Helen had joined several women working on washing wool. Everyone seemed to be granting her privacy to talk to her guests, thinking it a kindness.

  Cameron swung a leg over the head of his horse. He moved close enough to keep his words between them.

  “Your sister stays on that mare.” He reached into his leather doublet to pull another letter from it. His smile grew. “This is a proxy marriage, giving me full rights to your sweet sister. You can say anything you wish but no man in this castle will deny me the rights to my wife.”

  “No…She’s but fifteen.”

  “Aye, you heard correctly. I confess that I like the young ones best.” Depravity danced in his eyes. He licked his lower lip, enjoying the horror the gesture bred in her.