by Mary Wine
“Thank ye.”
He stomped through the doorway and Anne held her breath until she heard his steps fade near the end of the hallway.
Bonnie collapsed against the back of her chair in giggles. She wrapped her arms around herself as she shook with amusement. Anne wasn’t far behind. The image of her stern brother-in-law reading love sonnets was enough to make her wet herself.
But it was also sweet. So sweet that she sobered.
“It looks like I may have misjudged Cullen in the matter of his marriage.”
Bonnie sat up, all traces of humor washing off her face. “He stole her.”
“Yes, but I had never thought to ever see Cullen McJames asking for sonnets.” Anne sent a gentle smile toward her sister. “It proves that he is not intent on merely breaking his new bride’s spirit. He intends to woo her.”
“He still kidnapped her.” Bonnie’s voice rose in her passion to champion Bronwyn’s cause. “Stole her without any regard for her feelings.”
Anne sighed. She and her family had spoiled Bonnie. As the youngest child, they had all allowed Bonnie to remain whimsical when the world was anything but. Bonnie believed in gallant knights who protected the honor of their lady fair. Such was fine for bedtime stories and winter nights when everyone needed diversion, but it was not a way of life. Anne stiffened her spine. The look of righteous anger on her sister’s face was bound to end with young Bonnie in trouble if someone did not crack the shell sheltering her. With their mother in England, the task fell to her.
“Bonnie, you will have to begin growing up now.” Anne kept her voice low but firm. “It is a good match between Cullen and Bronwyn. Even blessed by the king. Marriage is a union best forged for reasons other than affection.”
“But you love Brodick.” Hurt edged Bonnie’s voice. “He rode into Warwickshire to rescue you and—”
“And we are truly blessed, but he courted our marriage because of the gain it would bring him and his clan.”
Bonnie frowned. She stood up, her body quivering with anger. “Well, I shall never allow a man to touch me that I do not love with all my heart. I swear it.”
“Bonnie.” Anne’s reprimand was lost on her sister because Bonnie ran out of the chamber before it passed her lips. Anne sighed. Dear sweet Bonnie. What was she going to do with her sister? At sixteen, the time for maturity was at hand. Anne might wish otherwise, but it was going to be a crushing blow for her sister. Brodick had sent his own sister to Warwickshire for the winter to begin the process of learning to manage a large house. More importantly, to grow confident in herself and learn to live outside her family’s embrace. Such was the expectation of a noble daughter.
Bonnie would have to go next season to some place where she had no family to indulge her whims. It might sound harsh, but it was what made girls into women.
Cullen didn’t arrive at the evening meal. The seat beside her remained empty. She found herself keenly aware of his absence, actually missing him. The others made light attempts to include her in their conversation, but her appetite died anyway.
She tried to finish her meal, actually ordered herself to continue eating. But her stomach refused to obey, the food looking unappetizing.
“Excuse me, please.” With a nod to her host, she left the table. There was an odd pulse of anticipation moving through her that made sitting still difficult.
Would Cullen want her tonight?
She wanted him…
Her cheeks colored, but she could not deny her own thoughts. The little quiver of excitement was moving through her blood like fine wine. She began walking without a destination and ended up at the bath house.
A shudder shook her when she realized how much her body wanted Cullen to have her tonight. Subconsciously she was thinking about it, her instincts guiding her, undermining the things she thought she wanted with the things her body craved.
“A bath is a fine idea, Mistress Bronwyn.” Sybil arrived a bit out of breath. Her hurry sent a shaft of guilt through Bronwyn for making the girl nervous.
“I’m sorry, Sybil, I wasn’t thinking when I left the hall so quickly. I dinna mean to interrupt yer supper.”
Sybil grinned as she began setting one of the tubs for bathing. There was a splash of cold water running into it, although since this was snow that had slid off the kitchen roofs and melted against the hearths that burned all day, it was already warm. The large rain barrels were frozen over and wouldn’t be used until spring. Sterling was quite modern in its bathing facilities.
“Not to worry, Mistress Bronwyn. With such a handsome man awaiting ye, I believe I would be anxious to join him myself.”
“What do ye mean?”
Sybil took a piece of soap from where it was stored. She looked perplexed for a moment. “I told yer husband that yer courses were finished this morning.”
Of course she had.
That was a personal maid’s responsibility, especially considering that Cullen also used Sybil to keep an eye on her when he wasn’t with her.
Her temper surged forward but it collided with the excitement pulsing through her. If she wanted to be angry then she had to aim part of that temper at herself. Cullen was not the only one interested in resuming their marriage bed activities.
She sighed as she sat down in the tub, her new dress set carefully aside. Confusion held her in its grip. Why was it so wrong to crave her husband anyway? Because her father called him enemy? She scoffed at that idea, completely dismissing it.
He’d stolen her…
That was true enough, but she’d been foolishly naïve to think that she would never marry. She was the laird’s daughter. In spite of her father’s determination to hold on to every silver penny he had, it was not beyond the power of the king to see her wed.
Cullen was not a brute, her father had pushed him too far and that was the truth.
She sighed as Sybil rinsed her hair. Cullen would be a fool to not keep track of when her courses ended. Planting a child in her would make their marriage solid.
“Sit by the fire and I’ll brush yer hair out. Won’t ye look lovely with it all flowing down yer back.”
Bronwyn sat down. She lifted her chin and enjoyed the heat of the fire on her back. Sybil drew the brush in long, even strokes down her hair. It was soon a cloud of golden silk, the ends curling gently in the heat from the fire. Each stroke had set her heart rate going a tiny bit faster. Anticipation tightened every muscle. Her dress felt constricting, her breasts slightly swollen behind the new long stays. Remaining still for her hair to dry took more and more self-discipline. The battle was mesmerizing in a way because the more she resisted the urge to go to Cullen, the deeper the longing burrowed into her belly. Her body began to throb gently and she stood up.
“Thank ye, Sybil.”
There was too much light in the outer hall. Darkness seemed to suit her mood. Most of the supper had been cleared away, but with snow on the ground, a good number of retainers sat at the tables passing the time. Some with cards or dice. Several women were playing music at one end of the hall. Even with a few missed notes, it was delightful to hear.
Bronwyn passed through them and conversation died. She captured their attention but this time genuine smiles appeared on their lips. Hands tugged on bonnets while several of the women blew her kisses for good luck.
She suddenly felt like a bride, with all of the happy looks and enjoyment that went along with weddings.
Most importantly, she wanted to go to her bride groom. Joy filled her, urging her forward. Her cheeks flushed, but not because she was horrified by the fact that everyone knew she was going to bed with a man, but instead because she wanted to join him in that bed.
It was sinfully luring, drawing her toward the chamber where she’d known her captor’s touch. Tonight she would enjoy her husband’s.
Cullen was indeed waiting for her, the chamber lit by beeswax candles, the sweet scent of summer honey drifting lightly in the air. There was also rosemary in the air. A ve
ry small ceramic pot sat carefully on the table with the dried herb boiling over a candle flame. It was the traditional herb for bridal nights, one that midwives swore increased fertility and passion.
Sybil and the maids following her did not enter the chamber. They remained in the hallway.
“Good night, Mistress Bronwyn.”
Bronwyn didn’t really hear Sybil. She was too distracted by the man waiting for her.
And Cullen was waiting for her.
He was magnificent. Her gaze being drawn to the wide shoulders and his towering height. He wore only his kilt and shirt, the doublet he’d taken to wearing in the cold weather hung up behind him. His bonnet was missing, too, leaving his hair free to softly curl. What drew her attention the most was the way he looked at her. The door closed softly behind her. The moment it thumped against the door frame, he came toward her. His body moving like the powerful animal he was. She’d never considered that watching a man might be as awe inspiring as watching a stallion, but it was.
His gaze roamed over her, lingering on her unbound hair. Reaching out, he fingered it, a soft smile decorating his lips. Without a word he’d managed to make her feel pretty. More beautiful than she ever had in her life. The expression on his face worth far more than her reflection in the mirror.
“Yer beautiful, Bronwyn, so much so, I’m afraid to touch ye for fear ye’ll disappear like a dream.”
Reaching up, she touched his forearm. He had his sleeves caught up near the shoulder. Her fingertips slid lightly along his warm skin, a tiny shiver racing up her arm from the contact.
He drew in a stiff breath.
“The chamber is very lovely.” And he had gone to some trouble on her behalf. That knowledge warmed her heart.
“Aye.” He frowned. “I planned to woo ye properly for a change but I dinna understand these sonnets.”
He picked up a small book from the tabletop, clearly vexed by the verse on the page. “One is lively and the next depressing.”
“Poets are often melancholy. Or so I have heard.” She reached for the book. Taking it from his hand, she closed it gently. “But it was very sweet of ye to fetch this here.”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Bronwyn looked down at the table and laid the book on its polished top while trying to hide her amusement.
“Yer laughing at me.”
“Nay. I am not.” She walked away from him, but he followed. It was a teasing chase. She shied backward and he closed the gap every time.
“Aye, ye are. Yer eyes are sparkling.”
Bronwyn shrugged. “I am no laughing at ye.”
“But ye are laughing.” He said it triumphantly and hooked an arm around her. With one more step he closed the remaining distance between them. She gasped when their bodies connected. Sensation rippled down her length, unleashing every urge she’d restrained.
“It’s nae very kind of ye to be amused by my attempts to seduce ye.”
She reached up to stroke his cheek. He narrowed his eyes, enjoyment showing on his face. “I dinna mean to be unkind, but ye have never struck me as the sort of man who uses poetry.”
He snorted, a wicked gleam twinkling in his eyes. “Aye, that is correct, lass.”
He hefted her up and tossed her over his shoulder.
“I’m more of a hands-on sort of man. I love to wrap my fingers around the lass I’m trying to catch.” A soft smack landed on her bottom before he turned in a circle. A dizzy wave of excitement went through her while she grabbed his waist to steady herself.
“Put me down, ye brute.”
“Ah now, I’m getting to that part. But I do enjoy knowing that yer eager for me to place ye on yer back.” He crossed to the bed and tossed her onto it. Bronwyn came up in a tangle of skirts and hair. She scowled at him, her face turning scarlet because she was indeed on her back. It was infuriating but exciting at the same time. Cullen looked too pleased by far.
“Ye’ll ruin my new dress.”
“Not so.” He pushed the blue wool right up to her waist, baring her thighs in one swift motion. “I heard the women complimenting ye on the fine cloth ye wove. Trust me when I say that Sterling wool will hold up to a bit of rolling in the hay.”
“Ye’ll be the one ending up in the stocks if ye keep talking like that.” She had never heard such talk from a man. It was wicked, to be sure, but her clitoris began throbbing again, betraying how much she enjoyed his shocking behavior.
He chuckled at her, a wicked sound of intention that sent a shiver through her.
“It might be worth a bit of time in the stocks if I get to lay down with ye.” He pressed her thighs apart until they were spread wide. “Yer flesh is tempting me to indulge my lust.”
A shiver raced down her spine as the night air brushed against the folds of her flesh. With her skirts raised, she was completely exposed. Cullen hovered over her, using gentle strength to keep her thighs apart when she would have closed them. His attention lowered to her sex, hunger replacing the playful glint in his eyes.
“But I dinna think I’m alone in my desires.”
His fingers slid all the way along the inside of her thighs until they found her tender folds. A whimper crossed her lips when he stroked one fingertip across her clitoris. Pleasure speared up into her passage, her heart increasing its rate. He fingered her again, this time stroking her from clitoris to the opening of her passage. A soft cry left her lips as pleasure erupted inside her. Her eyes closed and her hands fisted in the bedding beneath her.
“Am I, sweet, passionate wife?”
She jerked back up when his mouth touched her sex. Her thighs closed around his head and she tried to push him away.
“Cullen!”
He raised his head to stare into her shocked eyes. Hard determination glittered in his. He pushed her legs wide once more.
He grinned at her. “Ah…have I discovered the way to tame ye, lass?” He pressed his thumb on her clitoris, rubbing it gently. Her breathing became hard, bolts of white-hot delight spearing through her.
“Ye like that, don’t ye?”
There was no way to hide that she did. A moan surfaced from her chest when he lowered his gaze to her spread body. Her eyes went wide but she couldn’t stop herself from watching. She felt his breath on her before the first touch of his lips.
She collapsed back onto the bed, incapable of controlling anything. Her body twitched, jerking in small motions while Cullen sucked her. Never had she even considered that her body could feel such intense pleasure. It burned through her, the flames eagerly licking every inch of her body. Need clawed at her and her passage ached to be filled. Cullen toyed with her clitoris, flicking his tongue across it over and over until sweat dotted her skin. Tension knotted tighter and tighter beneath his lips. She lifted her hips toward him, eager for more.
Abruptly, he raised his head. Bronwyn moaned. The sound wasn’t anything she recognized. It was deep and husky and completely wanton. She wanted him, and lying so submissively made her angry. Pushing up off the bed, she reached for him. He caught her, pulling her into a hard embrace.
She kissed him.
Holding onto the sides of his head, she angled hers so that their lips might meet. He didn’t claim her mouth but followed her, mimicking her motions, allowing her to lead the kiss. She licked his lower lip, urging him to open his mouth. He took command of the kiss the moment her tongue slipped inside his mouth. One hand cupping the back of her head, his fingers gently pulling her hair. Little twinges of pain moved over her scalp but somehow it only added to the heat of the moment. Part of her enjoyed feeling his strength.
But the fabric of his kilt and her skirts prevented her from gaining what she really craved. She groaned, trying to pull at the layers of clothing between them. Cullen chuckled at her frustration.
“Well now, rolling in the hay does take a wee bit of skill. It’s a bit awkward the first time. But I’m rather happy knowing that ye never learned the art of lifting yer skirt for a bit of afternoon pleasure.” He
laid her back down on her back and raised his kilt. His cock stood at attention, stiff and swollen.
“Are ye now?” Wasn’t that just like a man to say. “Ye know the art rather well, telling me that ye have done some rolling, but wanted a pure bride.”
He shot her a hard look. “I wanted ye and it dinna stay my course to hear that ye were considered impure. Besides, I dinna know what is wrong with a few spring trysts. It’s a way to know if they will be able to enjoy the winter as man and wife.”
“I dinna want to know how ye know anything about rolling in the hay.” She sounded jealous and realized that she was. “And ye can just tell any woman that ye trysted with last spring that ye are wed now.”
He laughed at her, but reached for her hips and pulled her back onto his lap. This time his cock nudged the slippery folds of her sex, the round head pushing into her passage with ease. He gripped her hips, pulling her toward him until his length was buried inside her.
“Now, why is that, Bronwyn? Are ye jealous?”
“Maybe. I am yer wife.” She clasped her hands around his neck for balance. He lifted her until only the head of his cock was still stretching her passage. It was a sweet torment, waiting for him to lower her again.
He thrust upward at the same time that he lowered her. His cock penetrating in a smooth thrust that made her gasp. Pleasure filled her, the walls of her passage full and satisfied.
“Ah, well then, I suppose I shall have to do my rolling in the hay with ye from now on.”
He tried to sound playful, but need made his voice raspy. His hips thrust harder and faster as his face became drawn.
“I may hope.”
His eyes opened all the way and he stared at her. His hands held her in place, all motion stopping.
“Ye may depend upon it. I’m going to make sure ye yell loud enough with yer pleasure for half of Sterling to hear.”
He lifted her free and sat her away from him. “Now, if yer going to be the lass I’m rolling in the hay, we need to practice a wee bit to make sure we have it right.”
