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

by Mary Wine

  “I will see you both in the chapel before you break yer fast.”

  The bishop spoke too happily for her pride to suffer. She glared at them, at all of them who were helping to form a cage around her. With brute strength and church law she was being broken to their will.

  “I will not wed.”

  Cullen was already in his shirt. He scowled at her. “Bronwyn…”

  “I told ye I wouldn’t and I won’t. Nae even now that ye have taken what my father accused ye of.” She lifted her chin high. “Ye’ve earned what the gossips are saying now.”

  “Do you accuse this man of rape, Bronwyn McQuade?” The bishop’s voice cracked like a whip. “By yer own admission and the evidence before me he has had yer innocence. Do ye cry rape?”

  The chamber was silent, the tension thick. Cullen watched her, waiting to see how she would answer. She shouldn’t care about his feelings, but saying rape would provide her with more time to avoid him. The bishop would have to hold a hearing. But she would have to lie to do so.

  She couldn’t, not after the way he’d handled her so tenderly.

  “No. There was no rape.”

  Bishop Shaman grunted. He touched all of his fingertips against each other and peered at the three women that had inspected her.

  “Is there any sign of force?”

  They all shook their heads, one of them lending her voice to the question. “Nae even a small bruise, yer grace.”

  Bishop Shaman nodded then glared at her. “Ye have passed the night with this man, Bronwyn McQuade. I believe ye have given him yer innocence and therefore ye have sinned against church law. You will marry for the good of both yer souls as well as for the example such will set for this Christian community.”

  She backed up, shaking her head while reaching for her chemise to cover her body. The bishop snorted with displeasure.

  “Persist in this rebellion and I will have ye placed in the stocks until ye repent. Perhaps on your father’s land loose morals are allowed, but among the McJames, the law of the church is enforced.”

  He turned his disapproval on Cullen. “I will be waiting in the chapel. Are ye set to obey my will, son?”

  “I will be there as soon as I dress.”

  Bishop Shaman nodded approval at Cullen’s quick answer. He sent one more stern look at her before leaving the room, his black robe floating in the morning air. Druce rubbed his palms against one another.

  “Well now, I suggest ye get dressed, lass. It will be a mighty cold day to stand in the stocks in nothing but that bit of linen. As delightfully charming as it is on ye.”

  Her temper snapped when one of the women chuckled in response to the jest. Grabbing one of her shoes, she threw it across the room at Druce. He ducked and laughed harder.

  “Enough of yer taunting me! I swear I’ve a mind to satisfy God’s will just so that he’ll hear me when I pray for ye to be stricken with love for a woman who will no have ye.”

  Cullen surprised her by laughing. His eyes twinkled as he shooed the women toward the door. “There is nae such thing as a woman my cousin canna have, Bronwyn. If she says nae, we’ll just have to steal her, like we did ye.”

  She threw her other shoe at his mocking face.

  He raised an arm to deflect it and scooped her up a second later. He spun around in a circle and she grabbed at his neck to steady her head. He stopped a moment later, one hand wrapping about her braid to hold her head in place.

  “Enough now, lass. There is two feet of snow in the yard. I’d hate to see ye shivering in the stocks on our wedding day.”

  “But ye would allow it.” She hissed at him, pushing against his chest, but the man held steady. “Ye and yer bishop that ye brought here to torment me.”

  “Aye, be very sure that I enjoy winning. Yer father will nae bend to this union easy, I know that well. But Jamie will take the word of one of his bishops.”

  He released her and bent down to retrieve her boot. “But if ye have it in yer mind to challenge the church, I suggest ye put yer boots on before being led to the stocks.”

  “Brute.”

  All traces of teasing melted from his expression. Hunger flickered in his eyes now. “I promise to warm ye up when ye have taken yer vows. Before or after the stocks, that’s yer choice, Bronwyn McQuade. But ye will be my wife.”

  He picked up his plaid and belt where it lay on the chair from the night before. Slinging it over his shoulder, he walked toward the door.

  “I’ll make a poor wife, that’s my promise to ye.”

  He turned back around to look at her. His gaze was filled with heat as he looked her over from the top of her head to her feet, lingering on her breasts and the nipples that showed slightly through her chemise.

  “I disagree. Ye’ve passion inside ye that will see ye becoming a fine wife to my way of thinking. ’Tis understandable that ye dinna trust me, Bronwyn. But only time will see us learning about one another. ’Tis for sure that our bed will nae be cold.”

  “Ohhh…trust a man to think lust is all a couple needs.”

  He shrugged and taunted her with that boyish grin. “It is nae so bad a place to start.” His expression sobered. “At least it is better than dwelling on the fact that yer family is full of vipers who plot to blacken my name or run me through.”

  He left and the sound of the closing door was as piercing as a gunshot. Horror held her in its grasp as she stared around the room. The cold wind whipped up through the open shutters of the window, chilling her legs. But she heard the snap of the sheet as it flew outside the window. It was the noose tied around her neck.

  It had not been rape.

  Her father would scream that it had been, but she knew better. In sooth, she wondered if she were truly the child of Erik McQuade because she could not lie as he did. It was a harsh burden to carry, knowing that your sire was not an example to follow.

  Cullen was.

  She stiffened as the idea blossomed inside her thoughts without warning. There were so many reasons for her to distrust him but she could not deny that here was a man worth admiring. If she were not a McQuade, wedding him might be a happy moment. Instead she was besieged by the ideas of what next spring would bring. There would be blood spilt on both sides. Her father would accuse Cullen of rape and no one would get close enough to her to hear her deny it. The entire sordid mess would be paraded before the court.

  That was not the part she feared. It was the hot tempers of her brothers and the night raiding that they favored for venting their spleen. The farmers would pay the price along with the retainers who followed their lairds into battle.

  Even Cullen might fall victim to burnished steel.

  And what lay before her this winter at Sterling? A McQuade inside the fortress of their enemy, what would be her plight there? Many a man acted well in front of a bishop only to throw off his sheepskin once he was no longer in sight of such a powerful man of the church. Cullen wanted a child. Would he beat her if she failed to conceive quickly? Would he raise his hand if she birthed him a daughter? Would he…

  Bronwyn shoved the disturbing thoughts away. She would be weeping in another few moments.

  She walked closer to the window. A blanket of white glittered in the dim sunlight. The stocks stood empty on one side of the yard. Every castle had them. It was more civilized than whipping. Faster than starving her until she yielded. As much as she might wish it otherwise, no one could endure endlessly. She would bend to the cold at some point.

  As ye yielded last night to the pleasure.

  A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Lydia appeared with the green dress in her arms.

  “I wish there was something finer for yer wedding.” She bustled into the room, another maid following her with a pitcher of water. She poured it into the large wooden bowl on the dressing stand and steam rose from it. No one catered to her so well at Red Stone.

  But that didn’t mean that her life at Sterling would be any better.

  Lydia began pul
ling the braid from her hair and brushing it. Numb with her doubts, Bronwyn stood still while the maids tended to her. It should have made her happy, thinking of home. But it darkened her mood, settling in her heart for some strange reason.

  But she refused to wear the green dress. Lydia looked at her as if she was insane.

  “What are ye going to wear then? Surely not only yer chemise?”

  “Aye, that is exactly what I will wear and nothing else.”

  The maid looked at Lydia and the woman rubbed her hands together for a few moments. Bronwyn turned on them.

  “The man wants a wedding made with a stolen bride? Well, he shall have me as he took me. In my shift. Best that he begins to understand that I bring nothing else to this union.”

  Her pride might be a greater sin but she put her boots on and tied the strip back around her breasts to help hide her nipples. With a deep breath she walked toward her wedding.

  May God have mercy on them all.

  Chapter Eight

  Her husband was displeased with her.

  The muscle on the side of his jaw was twitching and the ones in his neck were corded. Bronwyn smiled sweetly at him as a meal was served to them. Druce was still gleeful, making her appetite flee. Cullen frowned again when she only toyed with her food.

  “Enough, Bronwyn. It’s a full day’s ride to Sterling. Have done with our quarrel until we reach home.”

  The word home made her throat constrict but she refused to allow him to see it. Picking up her spoon, she used it to begin eating the porridge in front of her. It was still half warm and her stomach approved.

  She was amazed that something so life changing could be accomplished in so short a time. Their wedding hadn’t taken half an hour. Her cheeks warmed as she considered that deflowering her had actually taken longer.

  That was only because her husband had a care for her pleasure as well as his own. Peeking at him, she studied the man she was bound to. He was ruthless in his way. But not a brute even if she’d labeled him one. There was many a reluctant bride that earned the back side of her groom’s hand when she dared to tell him nay.

  Cullen had seduced her instead. More heat colored her cheeks. Well, in truth he’d used a combination of overwhelming her along with soft seduction when she was too blinded by desire to resist any longer.

  “I enjoy seeing ye blush.”

  Lost in her thoughts, Bronwyn dropped her spoon when Cullen spoke. He wasn’t frowning at her any longer. A playful light had entered his blue eyes and his lips curved up, the effect transforming him into a handsome devil.

  “I’ve never seen a lass so fetching as ye when yer cheeks turn color for me.”

  He held up a hand when she started to reply. “Have pity on me, Bronwyn, and let us nae bicker at my cousin’s table again.”

  “Ye assume I was going to say something cross.” Heat crept down her neck because he was correct. She had been ready to argue with him about the cause of her blush.

  Cullen grinned at her. “What I assume is that ye are nae complacent to my will.”

  A soft sound of amusement left her lips. She could not help it, the way he teased her made her smile. Her new husband winked at her.

  “Does that sound mean that there is something we agree upon?”

  “I suppose it does.”

  He stood up and reached down for her hand. With a firm grasp he pulled her to her feet.

  “The weather will nae be our friend today. Best we begin our journey.”

  With a sharp whistle Cullen walked out of the hall. His men pushed their benches out at the lower tables, many of them grabbing up rounds of bread that they tucked into their leather doublets for the journey.

  Cullen didn’t stop until they were standing on the stone steps that led to the yard. Horses were standing in the now muddy snow. The wind blew up beneath her chemise, making her shiver. The surge of pride that had seen her wed in her shift was about to cost her on the long hours spent in the cold.

  The huge stallion Cullen rode was waiting for his master. The beast tossed its head, snorting out white clouds from its nostrils.

  “I’ve nae introduced ye to Argyll.” Cullen pulled her along with him toward the animal. He reached up and ran a sure hand along the horse’s muzzle, slipping his finger into the leather straps to check its grip. Such an action showed that he paid close attention to the animal’s care, not trusting it completely to those who served him due to his position.

  “He’s a fine animal.” And there was no denying it. Stallions like this were expensive and rare.

  “And a good friend.”

  Cullen watched her hand as it petted Argyll. He stood close to her, maintaining his grip on her hand. He pulled it down to straighten her arm and keep her close.

  “I’ve a mare for ye to ride today.”

  Bronwyn heard the warning in his voice. Looking behind Argyll, she spotted the smaller animal. The length of McJames plaid she’d been given was draped over the neck of the horse. Standing next to the stallion, it was clear how much smaller the mare was. But it was a welcome sight, a horse for her to ride by herself.

  Her hand was suddenly free as Cullen reached for a bundle strapped to his saddle. He looked curious as he pulled a dirk from the top of his boot and began poking at the fabric.

  “Who would sew something closed that ye need while traveling?” The frustration on his face amused her because it was clear that the man was not used to picking out seams.

  “My sister-in-law’s younger sister gave this to me. I don’t know what it is. Truthfully, I forgot it was tied to my saddle.”

  “Well, I suppose ’tis nice to know that I was distracting enough.”

  He paused, a twinkle in his eyes. “Is it now?”

  Bronwyn shrugged. “Dinna let it swell yer head.”

  He chuckled and returned to slicing open stitches. “Wed but an hour and yer rising to the chore of telling me what to do.”

  The fabric gave way. Cullen replaced his dirk and pulled a folded garment from within the bundle. He shook it out and held it up. It was a woolen surcoat, with linen lining and deep over sleeves. It would button up to the neck and was also constructed with deep slits up the sides to accommodate riding. Her chilled limbs quivered just looking at it.

  “Bonnie told me that I would need it.” He looked at her, his gaze lingering on the hard points her nipples made in spite of the binding she had over them. “And so I do need it.”

  “Who is Bonnie to be giving ye her clothing?” Suspicion flared up inside her. Was there a mistress waiting on his return? A McJames woman who would be snuggling up to him now that she had taken her wedding vows?

  “My sister-in-law’s sister, and too young a lass for the tone of yer voice, Bronwyn.”

  With a swish he flipped it around her shoulders. Her chilled skin begged her to lift her arms and slip her hands through the arm openings. Cullen watched her, waiting for her to accept the garment. Her pride argued against it because it meant another form of submission to their marriage, but her flesh demanded to be shielded from the winter chill.

  “Come, lass, save yer arguments for things that do not place yer health at risk. Bonnie sent it for ye.”

  “Yer brother knows what ye set out to do?”

  “Aye.”

  Her hands slipped through the arm openings and a tiny sigh escaped her lips when she felt the weight of the fabric settle onto her shoulders. A flicker of satisfaction filled his eyes as he fastened a few of the buttons. Satisfaction shone in his expression as he ran a hand along the surface of the wool. It was fine, thick wool, the highest quality.

  “Be angry at me if ye like, lass, but I do enjoy knowing I provide for ye.” His expression went hard for a moment. “Because ye are mine.”

  “As ye keep telling me.”

  “I am hoping ye learn to remember it. Dinna make me chase ye down on the road, Bronwyn.” His voice was stern but tempered with something that sounded like tenderness. She held her chin steady, refusing t
o answer him by word or gesture. It was bad enough that she was his captive. She refused to become obedient to his will.

  He grunted and waved her mare forward. “As ye like, madam. Be assured that I will keep my word to keep ye.”

  A page brought the mare close and Cullen grasped her waist. He set her in the saddle with an arrogant look that made her temper flare.

  “Dinna be so proud, Cullen McJames.”

  But it also hit her heart because the man wanted her and was proud of having her. She should detest it. But she had never been one to lie to herself. There was a part of her that was looking forward to being Cullen McJames’s wife. He flashed her that boyish grin once more.

  “Dinna be proud of having ye for my wife? Why would I no be happy about that, Bronwyn? ’Tis the truth that I am quite proud this morning.”

  He swung up into the saddle, then raising his fist into the air, cried, “Sterling!”

  He rode through the gates, her mare following along with his retainers. Several banners flew with his crest on it and that of his brother. She was given a place of honor among the ranks of men and truly it warmed her heart.

  She only wished that she had more confidence in it lasting past her arrival at Sterling.

  The day’s journey was long and hard. Bronwyn gritted her teeth before noon. She wasn’t used to hours in the saddle.

  And she was not used to being sore between her thighs.

  She swung her leg over and sat side saddle until her hip went numb. She shifted the other direction and endured a few more hours, but she was as close to begging as she had ever been before the towers of Sterling came into view.

  It was bitterly cold. The surcoat was not enough to keep her teeth from chattering. The length of McJames wool lay across the horse and she gave in. Wrapping it around her body, she even tugged it up over her head. Snow drifted down on them in soft flakes. How often had she watched them falling from the shelter of a window and considered the white flurries magical? With no fire to warm her, the snow took on another side. A cruel one as it pulled all of the heat from her body, beginning at her fingertips and then up to her knuckles.