by Mary Wine
She might not have survived on the road if she had made good her escape.
Knowing that did not cheer her any. The towers of Sterling came into view and the men who rode with Cullen sent up a cheer. They were returning home, and as they climbed the rise toward the sprawling castle that was the seat of the earl of Alcaon, she heard the bells on the walls begin ringing.
A true welcome.
She pulled her mare to a stop and stared at the castle. It was built in a series of towers connected by a large curtain wall. The flags on the walls were blue and gold, telling her that the earl was in residence. All of it was constructed of gray castle stone, no doubt where its name had once come from. It was a place she had heard so much about but never expected to see with her own eyes.
It was possible she might never leave its heavy walls.
“It’s too cold to linger out here, lass.”
Cullen spoke gently but he hooked her around the waist and pulled her off her mare. She landed in front of him with a bump that sent a bolt of pain up through her abused body. But he was warm. She shivered as she felt the heat bleeding out of his body like an oven. The hand holding her against him stroked her side in a soft motion.
“I dinna realize ye were so cold.” Disapproval coated his words. With a kick, he sent Argyll toward his home.
“’Tis nothing more than any other is enduring.”
He lifted one hand, displaying his leather gauntlet. “But my men are prepared for riding out in the weather.”
“I suppose ye should not make a habit of stealing women then. Since captives do not have the privilege of preparing for the journey.”
A twinkle of mischief sparkled in his eyes. “Ye think not?”
“Indeed.”
She sounded waspish but did not care. Cullen rode through the raised gate. People were crowded onto the front steps and faces peered out of the windows. All the shutters were open in spite of the winter chill as the household staff looked down to see their laird returning. She saw their white linen caps lining the window openings.
“I dinna know about that. It’s been a grand adventure, trying my hand at stealing ye. I’d be lying if I said I dinna enjoy carrying ye off to my bed.”
He pulled the horse to a stop as she hissed at him.
“Stop yer bragging.”
She slid off the back of the horse herself and sunk into the snow up to her ankles. She was suddenly thankful for the numbness in her feet because at least she couldn’t feel the ice. Her ankle boots were mere leather ones, meant for spring. They served well enough inside during the winter. Cullen and his men wore knee-high boots that were lined with thick wool and sealed with wax to keep their feet dry.
Bronwyn shivered as she looked at the steps crowded with curious McJameses. Standing in the snow wasn’t the best option either, but she remained in place as her body began to shiver.
“Come, lass, I’ll introduce ye to yer new home.”
Cullen swept her toward the door with a firm arm behind her back but her legs refused to walk. Her knees knocked against one another in a clumsy attempt. It was frustrating beyond endurance. Concentrating on her feet, she tried again, this time making it a few paces before her knees collapsed.
“And ye wanted to escape in this chill.”
Cullen swept her up against his chest. There was murmuring from those watching and more than a few grins. Clearly she was providing welcome entertainment for a winter afternoon.
“I would have kept walking, even in the snow.”
He frowned, but they had reached the top of the stairs. The earl stood there with his wife just inside the doorway and out of the weather.
Brodick McJames swept her with a critical eye. Cullen didn’t put her down even when she squirmed.
“May I present Bronwyn McQuade, my wife.”
The earl raised a dark eyebrow. “Yer wife?”
“Witnessed by Bishop Shaman and Druce. Our good cousin flew the sheet with his own hands.”
Bronwyn hit him. “Put me down.”
Brodick’s wife Anne peered at Bronwyn. “Why isn’t she dressed?”
Cullen shrugged before setting Bronwyn on her feet. Her knees wanted to buckle but she forced them straight.
“Och, well, it turns out I stole her away right after her bath.”
Bronwyn glared at the humor in his tone, but Anne’s eyes opened with alarm.
“That is barbaric.” Her delicate English accent lent gravity to her words. “And quite unkind in this winter chill, I might add. She’s half frozen.”
“I plan to warm her up.”
Bronwyn growled but Anne stomped her foot beneath her skirts. The earl’s lips were twitching as he tried to resist the urge to grin.
“The pair of you are a disgrace.” She shot a particularly pointed look at her husband before turning around to look at Bronwyn.
“I see it falls to me to offer you hospitality.” She dropped a small and practiced curtsy. “Please follow me and we shall find a warm bath for you.”
Anne turned back around to look at Cullen who was still grinning like a triumphant boy fresh from a victorious fist fight. “We shall see how many toes she still has after your handling.”
Both men frowned, their brows creasing.
Cullen looked troubled, his keen gaze sweeping her. The concern bothered her, nipping at her conscience. She was made of sterner stuff than the countess hinted at and for some reason she liked Cullen knowing it.
“I refused to wear the dress they gave me at White Tower.”
Shock registered on Cullen’s face. Anne looked incredulous. “But why?”
“Because he stole me. So I wed him in the only thing I had. Better to understand that such a wedding will not bring anything more than what he stole.”
Her teeth chattered because she couldn’t keep them clenched when she was speaking. Cullen closed the space between them, scooping her off her feet before her teeth stopped hitting themselves.
“Put me down.”
“Nae.” He was striding down the hallway, uncaring of the attention pointed at them from every door frame. “Anne is right. Ye’re freezing and that’s my doing.”
“And walking would warm me up.”
He sent her another one of those determined looks. “So will placing ye in a hot bath.”
Bronwyn held her tongue, mindful of those watching them.
“Aren’t ye going to call me a brute?”
“I should.” But she wouldn’t. Not with so many watching. The man was as proud as she, but he wasn’t a laird drunk on his own power like her older brothers. Cullen earned the respect being given him. She admired that even if it rubbed her own pride.
They entered a huge hall filled with benches and long tables. One end had a raised dais with another table, but there were chairs there instead of benches. The kitchens would be behind it, so that food might be served up hot and with the least amount of walking.
Cullen carried her through a doorway and the air became wonderfully warm. Her cheeks stung as feeling returned, the tip of her nose actually feeling colder by contrast.
“But ye didn’t.”
He set her feet down but held her securely against his body. Cupping her chin, he raised her face so that their eyes met. “Why is me question.”
She squirmed because his gaze saw too much. “I just didn’t. That is all. As difficult as ye might find it to believe, I am not a shrew by nature. This is yer home. I’ll save my temper for places where it will not be overheard.”
He didn’t believe her, or maybe he was simply frozen with shock at her explanation.
“I thought ye promised me a warm bath.”
“So I did, lass.”
He released her and Anne strode into the bathhouse with another younger woman who looked very much like her.
“Away with ye, Cullen.”
“Nae.”
Anne propped her hands on her hips. “Do not say nay to me, sir. Bonnie and I shall see to the bathing on the wome
n’s side. If I need another set of hands, I’ll send for your sister.”
Bronwyn’s gaze flew to Bonnie and the girl was young. A ripple of relief swept through her before she could bury her feelings. Cullen grinned.
“My wife was grateful for the use of yer surcoat, Bonnie.”
Anne scoffed at his humor. “There is two feet of snow on the ground. She’d have been content in a smelly saddle blanket.”
“No content, but I agree that she’d have no argued.”
“Enough from you. Be gone before she takes to beating some manners into you. I confess that I’m of the mind to help.” Anne gave Cullen a shove, and he feigned a stumbling step backward.
He turned to look at Bronwyn, offering her a good-natured grin. “Careful, Bronwyn, Anne rules Sterling with an iron fist.”
Bronwyn offered him a flutter of her eyelashes. “If that is so, why aren’t you more respectful to her?”
“Well spoken.” Anne shook her head. “I believe your brother would have a few words with you, Cullen.”
“Aye, I imagine that’s true enough.”
He gave her a long glance. “But I’m still wanting to know the answer to me question, Bronwyn. We’ll see about that later.”
He turned in a swirl of McJames kilt and left. Bronwyn wished she didn’t find his form so enticing, but her eyes were glued to his wide back until it disappeared.
“What does he want to know?” Bonnie was young enough to ask the question. Her sister, Anne, tried to warn her but the younger girl refused to be put off.
“Why I didn’t insult him.” Bronwyn sat down on a stool and began fighting with the laces on her boots. The leather was wet and stiff with ice, and her fingers still half frozen. “Who can understand why a man would need to ask such a question.”
There was a splash as water began filling one of the high-backed slipper tubs in the room. There were three of them and a trough that could be moved between all of them. It was built up at an angle and most likely connected to a water reservoir in back of the ovens. The snow and ice would fall into it and melt with the aid of the heat from cooking. It most likely ran the entire length of the kitchens to supply the bathhouse. It was a wonderful convenience, allowing bathing all year.
“Who can understand the way men think.” Anne spoke more to Bonnie but Bronwyn found herself agreeing.
Anne took over the chore of removing her boot for her. Bronwyn stared at the woman, unsure of how to act. She had feared that being a McQuade would cause her trouble at Sterling, but it was for sure that an English woman would find Scotland far less welcoming. For the moment, her worries paled compared to what Anne must have faced when she married Brodick McJames.
Anne pulled the boot loose at last. She looked up and offered a soft smile.
“I find myself often wondering what Brodick is thinking when he asks me some of the things he does.”
It was an attempt at kindness. Bronwyn returned the smile but busied herself with disrobing.
“I’m happy that Cullen remembered to unwrap the surcoat.” Bonnie spoke with the carefree tone of youth. She crossed the room and took the garment from Bronwyn’s hands.
“Does that mean everyone here agreed with this idea of stealing me away from my family?”
It might have been wiser to keep such a barbed question to herself, but the words spilled out. Bonnie looked stunned and Anne sighed. The countess reached for Bronwyn’s chemise and tugged it over her head.
“Your father’s charges made Cullen determined to confront the situation. Truthfully, it was not the first time stealing ye was discussed.” Anne gave her a hard look. “And by different men all intent on ending the raids.”
Bronwyn stepped into the tub and winced. Her toes smarted as the warm water broke winter’s grip on her flesh. Her entire body ached in one fashion or another, her mind hurting worst of all as she tried to fend off self-pity.
“Many marriages are made for less.” Bonnie had lost her sweet tone. Bronwyn looked up because there was too much sorrow in that voice for one so young. She stared at Bronwyn with glistening eyes. “I was married to force my sister to return to England. My husband is a terrible man.”
“Yer very young to have a husband…” Bronwyn’s words trailed off because guilt slammed into her when she realized how much better off she was with Cullen. Bonnie had gone pale with just the thought of her husband.
“Too young, and he will never set hands on you.” Anne spoke with confidence. “Waste no time on the matter. I’d sooner ship ye to the highlands than allow that to happen.”
Bonnie did not obey her sister. Her teeth bit into her lower lip but she remained silent.
The sounds of bathing filled the room. Bronwyn didn’t know what to say, so she busied herself with washing her hair. The soap was fresh smelling and she wrinkled her nose when she realized that the only thing she had to wear was her chemise. After three days, it was unsavory at best. Her bathing didn’t take long and she stood up. A length of toweling was held up by Anne. The personal service from the mistress of the house was surprising. It was also the height of hospitality.
“Thank ye.”
The countess smiled.
Another woman entered the room. This one was older and wore a good wool dress with a McJames plaid draped down her back. It was drawn up over her right shoulder and secured with a brass broach.
“I’ve brought a few things for her, and since it is winter, we’ll put some of the girls to needle tomorrow to make the rest.”
The woman inspected her with keen eyes. A hard look glittered in them that Bronwyn understood. That was the strife that had been caused by her father’s greed. Anne and Bonnie were English and had not lived with the deaths that had happened in years gone by, but this woman had. Bronwyn shivered under the woman’s wary regard.
“Well now. I’m Helen. We’d best get that hair dried before ye take ill.”
Helen’s words were surprisingly pleasant. Bronwyn discovered that she was too tired to worry about what might happen later. For the moment she was among women and there was a camaraderie that was worth savoring. In a world run by men, every female had doubts. She was not alone in that. Knowing that helped fill in a small amount of the empty place she’d noticed yesterday.
Bronwyn sat in front of the fire, brushing her hair until it dried into a fluffy cloud. The new chemise was fresh and welcome. Anne put the surcoat back over her so that she could leave the bathhouse. But she held onto the shoes, tiny wrinkles appearing on the bridge of her nose.
“These are soaked clean through and smell like a horse.”
“I’m not surprised. I believe I’ve lived on one for the better part of three days.” Bronwyn looked at the pitiful lumps her boots had become. “But ’tis all I have.”
“Not so,” Helen declared as she placed a pair of bedchamber slippers on the floor near her feet. “Ye have a McJames husband now. He will provide well for ye.”
She slid her feet into the slippers. They were lined in soft wool to keep her toes warm. She began following Anne through the hall without question because her mind was too busy. Besides, she had no other idea of where to go.
A McJames husband…
Bronwyn wasn’t sure if she was more stunned by the word “McJames” or “husband.” A tiny quiver went through her belly as she realized that night had fallen. Most of the shutters were tightly closed now and tin lanterns had been set along the hallways to provide light. Yellow dots danced on the stone floor, the winter wind stirring the candle flames.
Her wedding night.
Even if they had celebrated it already, it was, in fact, her wedding night. Cullen would be waiting for her. Heat began to warm her skin as she thought about walking to a room where everyone knew that she would spend the night with a man and that they would not be sleeping immediately.
It was amazing to think that half an hour in front of a bishop could change something that was forbidden into a thing she was expected to do. Many labeled it a chore, but
she had enjoyed it.
But what was it?
A wifely duty? A sin?
A need…
Her cheeks burned scarlet as she thought about the action.
Oh, she knew plenty of words for it. Some of them more coarse than others. But she couldn’t deny that she had enjoyed those moments in Cullen’s arms. The sheer pleasure that had taken control of her had been mind numbing. To think that it was expected of her now was pure temptation. Since he’d bent her to his will, she might lay back and indulge her body in its craving for his touch.
The church would not frown on her.
Yet her clan would.
Did she care? She wasn’t as sure as she had been two days past.
It was a dilemma that made her bite her lower lip.
Anne paused in front of a large door. She pushed it inward, holding it wide for Bronwyn. Candles burned in bright welcome on the table in the room. There was a fire in the hearth adding warmth.
“I remember how lonely it was my first night at Sterling. Believe me when I tell you that the McJames men are very good at helping to change that.” Anne went back into the doorway. “I will see you at breakfast.”
“Thank ye.” Her voice lacked true sincerity, so she kept it low. She meant no disrespect, but she was not an accomplished liar, either.
Anne didn’t linger. The door shut, leaving Bronwyn in the chamber. It was large and round because it was in one of the keeps that made up Sterling. On the second floor, there were windows that were covered in curtains. Curious, she moved toward them, fingering the expensive velvet fabric. Brushing one aside, she gasped at the glass behind it. Small panes of expensive glass were held together with lead to form windows that would allow light into the room even in foul weather. There were hinges that would allow the sections to be opened so that fresh air might enter the room. She touched the glass lightly, marveling at the smooth texture. Her fingertips could feel the chill of winter through it. They were large windows and that was a luxury because it allowed heat to escape even with the heavy curtains. But it would allow the air to be fresh in the chamber.
