by Mary Wine
He cupped her chin in a warm hand. “Maybe because I like the way ye laugh when I tease ye. ’Tis a sound I want to hear more of.”
She looked away, unsure of what to feel. He hooked her around her waist and pulled her against his body. He threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled gently to raise her eyes back to his.
“I plan to give ye more reasons to be happy, Bronwyn.”
She was tempted to believe in his words. So tempted.
“Ye have had what ye want of me.”
“And ye think I’m callous enough to believe that is the extent of what we should hope for from our marriage?”
“It is what most couples are content with.”
He placed a soft kiss on her lips but didn’t linger. “Ah well, it isn’t enough for me.”
He released her and turned, walking toward the door. He stopped when he reached it, looking back at her.
“Ye puzzle me, Cullen McJames.”
“No more than ye did by folding my plaid last night. My McJames plaid.” He winked at her and pulled the door wide. “But we’ll have to wait until later to discover what our hearts are trying to tell us both.”
She scoffed at him, but he left the room instead of taking issue with her.
What her heart was trying to say?
Nonsense.
Insanity.
The man had stolen her.
But from what?
Her life at Red Stone was not so nice. She saw the difference now. Her pride was still sore, making it impossible to simply let her feelings bleed away. But she was confused this morning. She didn’t feel like a captive anymore. Somewhere in the dark hours as she’d enjoyed being held against him, the struggle that kept them from relaxing had vanished. Maybe it was her father’s death. Feuds did sometimes go to the grave with the laird.
Their future was suddenly full of possibilities.
Sybil arrived with two girls in tow, saving her from her thoughts. They bustled about the chamber while Sybil insisted on braiding her hair once again.
“I’m so glad ye dinna try to run away last night, Mistress Bronwyn.”
The two maids paused in their straightening of the bed. They were taking the sheets and replacing them with fresh ones.
Sybil continued, raising her voice enough so that the maids could not mistake her words.
“Now there will be no more talk about whether or no ye are trustworthy.”
“I should think every person that was awoken from their rest will have far worse things to think of me now.”
Sybil slid a final hairpin into her hair and smiled. “Och now, where do ye think ye are, England? A bit of determination in a woman is a fine thing. If ye gave that husband of yers too much obedience, he’d walk across ye like a carpet. Just where would that place the rest of us, I ask ye? Every McJames man would be expecting the same meek behavior.”
One of the maids laughed while the other grinned. Sybil shrugged. “There are some things that women and men dinna understand about each other.”
It was a peace offering from a McJames woman who hadn’t had any more choice on what land she was born on than Bronwyn had. The tension was missing from yesterday and it was a welcome relief.
“I am learning that, Sybil. Thank ye for braiding my hair. We should go before we are late to break our fast.”
A soft expression of approval shone on Sybil’s face. It was a fragile truce but one that made it much easier to walk toward the hall. The walls didn’t seem so cold today in spite of the ice edging the windows.
Cullen sat at the table with his brother and family. Alarik McKorey looked as though his head ached, while Bonnie frowned at him from where she sat beside her sister. But what captured her attention was the way her husband watched her. His eyes were glued to her, with a playful grin on his lips, like the one he’d shown her the day they first met. She suddenly felt the warmth of that afternoon and the chill of winter couldn’t melt it.
Perhaps affection was not as horrible as Shakespeare wrote it to be.
But then again, maybe her mind was simply broken.
Bronwyn’s shoulders ached by the end of the day. But her cloth was rolled neatly into a length that would be cut and sewn into a dress on the morrow. Sybil and the other maids had worked diligently plying their needles on her behalf to produce undergarments. A pair of soft drawers restored some of her modesty. They came none too soon as her monthly courses arrived.
She would not share Cullen’s bed tonight…
The thought should have filled her with delight. Instead her heart became heavy with disappointment. The supper bells rang and she sighed.
Her mind must truly be broken. There was no other explanation for her melancholy mood. It should have delighted her to discover that she did not carry a babe that would further cement her union.
Instead she dreaded sleeping alone.
Which was absurd since she had so newly begun sampling what it was like to share a bed. She was too quiet over her meal and more than one person at the high table considered her from under lowered eyebrows. She tried to shake her mood but it stuck to her as she felt the night looming over her like an empty cavern.
With a sigh she departed, leaving Sybil to inform her laird that he would be sleeping alone. It was a common thing for the maid to convey such information, but Bronwyn still felt her cheek color slightly. Her body had always been her own and it was unnerving to have her personal details discussed with others.
It was harder still to enter the chamber she shared with Cullen. But she didn’t know where else to go. Would he sleep elsewhere? Or would he send her away until she was clean again? Her mother had never shared a chamber with her father. Erik McQuade had sent his man to inquire from her maid if she was clean any time he was of the mind to mount her. Bronwyn had always known when her father came to her mother’s bed because she was sent away with a maid to sleep in the kitchen.
The door opened and she turned to face it, her face set against exposing her lament.
“Och now, dinna frown so. I swear I’ve seen kinder faces across the battlefield.” Cullen held the door wide for Sybil, who was grasping a tray. She set it down on the table and curtsied.
“Good night, Mistress Bronwyn.”
Cullen chuckled as soon as the door was closed. “I see Sybil found a way around ye asking her to no call ye mistress.”
“She is a fine maid.” Bronwyn fingered the wool of her surcoat. “Do ye want me to sleep in the kitchens?”
“Ye sleep here with me.” There was nothing teasing about his tone now. It was edged with hard authority.
“Did Sybil tell ye…”
He tossed his bonnet onto a hook set into the wall. “Aye, she did.” His tone softened a bit. But his eyes flickered with the hard determination she’d seen in her captor. “I keep what I steal near.”
“Is that so?” Her temper rose along with her chin.
But Cullen flashed her a smile. “Well now, ye are the first thing I’ve ever stolen so I think that be the way of it.”
He was toying with her. She glared at him, frustrated and amused at the same time.
“Did yer father send yer mother to the kitchen?”
“He did not share a chamber with my mother. He only came when he was of a mind to…” Her voice trailed off as she realized how much information she was spilling to a man her sire called his enemy. A few days ago, she would have been horrified. Tonight she was simply weary of the need for walls. Where did their clans stop and each of them begin?
“Whenever he wanted to use her?”
Her cheeks colored slightly at the bluntness of the words. “Aye.”
Cullen frowned. “I’ll hold my tongue since the man has departed this world.”
“Ye sound as if it is commonplace for couples to share a chamber.”
He shrugged and pulled one of the X chairs around next to the table. “My parents did as my brother and Anne do now.” A glimmer of playfulness returned to his face. “They seem to
be very happy with the arrangement.”
“I see.” She didn’t, but the tension knotting her shoulders suddenly released its grip on her.
“Sit down, wife. Alarik brought us a wedding gift.”
Cullen reached for a pottery bottle sitting on the tray. He removed the costly cork stopper in it and poured a measure of whatever was inside it into a small drinking cup.
“Honey mead to celebrate our marriage.”
A smile lifted her lips. She couldn’t help it. Honey mead was the traditional drink given by the friends of the bride and groom. You knew if you were popular if the entire first month of yer marriage ye had enough honey mead to drink. It was a sweet drink that made ye think of spring even in the dead of winter.
“That was kind of him.” Sniffing the cup, Bronwyn took a sip and grinned. Sweet as May Day.
“More likely he’s trying to soothe yer ruffled feathers for helping to steal ye.”
“That is no a topic to jest about.” She glared at Cullen while he poured himself a measure of the honey mead.
“Now dinna be trying to tell me that McQuade men are so different from McJames men in that they don’t tease about stealing brides.” He opened his hands wide. “Admit it.”
Her eyes narrowed but she couldn’t remain vexed. He was correct. “Men jest about it, but nae women.”
“Ah, but I am a man.”
“I have noticed that.”
His face brightened with victory. It went into his eyes and they glittered with male satisfaction. “’Tis glad I am to hear it. ’Course I’ll be happy to remind ye as often as necessary.”
He reached onto the tray and produced a set of dice. Challenge flickered in his eyes as he rolled them in the palm of his hand.
“What do ye plan to do with those?”
One golden eyebrow rose arrogantly. “I was thinking to get to know ye better, Bronwyn McQuade.”
She laughed at him, but the way he rolled the dice intrigued her. “With dice?”
“Aye, ye and I thrive on challenge. So we’ll play for the right of one honest answer for each win.”
Her breath froze in her lungs as she contemplated his offer. It was a challenge and one that came with plenty of risk. The risk of laying out her most intimate secrets if the dice favored him instead of her. But the chance to discover what sort of man he was with her own questions was hard to resist.
He grinned at her, arrogant and mischievous at the same time. “Unless yer too timid to try me at a few rounds of chance.”
She pulled the other chair closer to his and slapped the table with her hand. “Hardly. Ye dinna frighten me.”
And she realized that he never had. That was truly surprising because she should have been scared of him. But something had always kept her from fearing him. It was rooted deep inside her, in that place where you didn’t decide what you felt; the emotion was simply there like a living breathing thing. There was no decision making, only feeling it when it rose up to engulf you.
“I am not afraid of ye.”
His face went serious. “Ye had every reason to be.”
“But I wasn’t.”
She was suddenly conscious of how open she was being with him. His keen stare missed nothing. Her eyelashes fluttered, veiling her feelings.
“I believe I am tired.”
His eyebrows rose in mocking judgment but he laid the dice down. “I suppose that’s true.”
She stood up and hung her coat up. Sybil had found her several chemises to wear, so at least she did not have to suffer with wearing a soiled one day in and out. The undergarment was loose enough to allow them to be worn without fitting issues making her uncomfortable.
The bed was warm and welcoming. Cullen blew out the candle that was burning in its holder on the table before he joined her. The mattress rocked as he climbed up onto it, the bed ropes creaking a tiny bit.
A startled gasp escaped her when he pulled her against his body. Her head cracked against his chin and she heard him growl. His arms tightened instantly, the hard strength in his larger body trapping her. But he controlled it expertly, never really hurting her. He adjusted her against him before easing his embrace.
“Cullen…”
“Enough talking, Bronwyn.”
“But…”
He rolled over, pushing her onto her side. His arms held her in place as his warm body pressed up against her from the top of her head to her toes.
“Ye sleep in my bed, Bronwyn, and in my embrace. Always.”
His voice was edged in steel once more. But instead of her captor she heard a warrior tonight, one who was worthy of her respect. He was a man of honor.
“I want more from a wife than the comfort I take between yer thighs.” He sighed against her hair, a soft kiss landing on her temple. “I hope in time ye’ll desire the same.”
His voice was full of doubt and emotion that touched her heart. There was no ignoring it, no missing it. But the truth was she didn’t want to. She was warm and secure for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Not since the days that she’d had a loving mother who had soothed the harsher details of life with her love.
The male scent of his skin surrounded her. She relaxed against him, her hands smoothing over his forearm. He was strong and sturdy and it felt perfect. Sleep claimed her and she went willingly. Contentment wrapped around her, killing every need to struggle.
Sybil placed a set of long stays on the work table and stood up. “They are finished, Mistress Bronwyn.”
Fingering the corset, Bronwyn smiled. “Yer stitches are very even.”
“Sybil has always had a steady hand with a needle.” Gerty’s voice cracked but it didn’t cut the way it had before. The older woman paused to inspect the new cloth Bronwyn had woven. She inclined her head slightly, acknowledging her skill.
“Ye turn a fair length of cloth.”
Bronwyn smiled. She turned in a circle and her new skirts flared out around her ankles. A new hip roll was sitting just perfectly around her hips and the cartridge pleated skirt sat on it nicely.
Clothing. She would never take it for granted again.
Two sleeves were already finished, and a doublet was being worked on as well. Sybil had managed to keep two other girls with her the entire week to sew on her clothing. Tomorrow morning she would have a dress to wear once again. She felt like a child receiving a present. Anticipation made her happy enough to twirl across the floor. No silk damask court dress could have made her happier.
The reason was simple. This dress was hers. She had woven the cloth and helped to construct it. The women in the workroom were now women she knew things about instead of strangers. The dress represented far more than just a return to modesty. It was a beginning of life at Sterling as more than just a captive.
Sybil followed her with the corset. Bronwyn eagerly laced into them. Happiness seemed to surround her. The corset was tightened and her doublet buttoned. The other girls brought the sleeves forward to be tied into the shoulders.
“I never thought a dress could feel so good.”
“Wait until ye have to wear a surcoat for an entire year while growing a babe inside your womb.”
Bronwyn turned to look at Gerty. The older woman cast her a knowing look full of her years of wisdom.
“With the way young McJames looks at ye, I doubt that dress will fit come the spring.”
She wasn’t being unkind, but Bronwyn felt her sunny mood darken. Uncertainty sat on her shoulders every day; only leaving her once she was held against Cullen in their bed. While the bed curtains were drawn it was so simple to allow herself to be content, but once the sun rose her doubts returned.
Was he attentive only because he wanted to breed her?
Would he have done with her once she bore him a child that would make their marriage impossible to dissolve?
Such doubts crowded her mind.
Her mother had lived such a life. Existing in a place where she was housed because of her dowry and the connection
she brought to her husband. The McQuade clan had never truly accepted her as one of their own, her husband only using her as he pleased but never remaining faithful. Erik McQuade had enjoyed any woman in the clan he desired. He’d used his title as laird to take what he wanted.
The world would not think harshly of Cullen for doing the same. In truth, her father had sowed the seeds for his enemy to take her. It was a depressing idea, one that punctured the joy she’d sampled so recently. Now that her courses were finished, she faced the possibility that she might conceive. Her choice to follow her heart into Cullen’s embrace might well affect more than just herself.
But doubt was a cruel thing, nipping at her joy. The passion between them might very well grow cold, leaving her a forgotten wife like her mother had been.
“Yer husband will enjoy the way that blue sets off yer hair.”
Sybil carried a costly mirror over and held it up for Bronwyn to study her reflection. Her cheeks were full of color just like in the spring, and her blond hair did look nice against the blue of the wool. She had never been a vain girl, but she suddenly smiled because she felt pretty. And the idea that Cullen might agree with her was intoxicating.
Bronwyn allowed it to take her melancholy mood away. After all, there was no point in worrying about what could not be changed. If she was destined to become a forgotten wife, she should enjoy today all that much more.
The memory would become one of her dearest possessions.
Anne looked at her sister, Bonnie, and cautioned the younger girl to remain poised with her features pleasant and unjudging.
It was quite the effort, but Anne remained sweetly helpful while searching for the single book of sonnets she owned.
“Ah yes. Here it is. I do hope ye enjoy it.”
Cullen glared at her. The sternness of the look cracked through her composure. Her brother-in-law scowled.
“Dinna ye laugh at me.”
“Of course, Cullen, whatever do ye mean?”
Bonnie covered a giggle with a fake sneeze that allowed her to cup a hand over her face and hide her smile.
Cullen huffed but took the book of sonnets. He stared at it for a long moment, confusion on his face. He suddenly shook it off, noticing that both Anne and Bonnie where watching him.
