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

by Mary Wine

  A moment later and Liam’s hand went limp. Keir dragged her up and over the altar in a hard motion that knocked her knees against the ornately carved edge of the table. Pain smashed into her brain but there was no time to express it. When she opened her mouth to drag a desperate breath into her burning lungs, Keir shoved his fingers deep into her mouth. There was no controlling the urge to retch. Her stomach heaved with Keir’s fingers touching the back of her throat.

  Two minutes later, humiliation turned her cheeks scarlet. Poised on all fours behind the altar, she shivered, quivering from the violence of losing her stomach contents. The metallic scent of blood filled her nose, making her belly roil once more. If she hadn’t already vomited, she would have when she noticed the warm feeling along her shoulder blades.

  She was drenched in her brother’s blood.

  It made her sick. She retched again unable to contain the horror. The moment she finished, Cullen scooped her up. He cradled her tightly against his body, his arms quivering slightly. She heard a brass bell being rung. The things were set throughout the hallways to be used to alert the rest of the inhabitants to danger.

  “I’m fine.”

  “The hell ye are.” Cullen roared loud enough to shake the glass mosaic window set into the wall. “I wish I could kill that bastard again.”

  “There’s still one rat.” Keir sounded deadly.

  “Ye can’t kill Sodac.” Bronwyn wiggled, kicking against the hold on her, but Cullen refused to release her. “He’s yer brother. Everyone will think ye did it to become laird.”

  “Good, that leaves the bastard for me.” Cullen snarled and went to hand her to Keir. Bronwyn gripped his shirt, refusing to allow him to let her go.

  “Ye must send him to the king for justice, Cullen.”

  The side of his jaw twitched, the muscles running along his throat tense and corded. Keir released her and she stood up, refusing to let her husband go. Rage burned in his eyes, and may God forgive her, she enjoyed the sight of it.

  He cared. Cared enough about her to be enraged.

  “Please, Cullen. If ye hang him here at Sterling, no one will believe any of this happened. Ye will be called worse than blackguard.”

  He growled softly, his hands framing her face. “I can see that ye are going to be nothing but trouble for me, now that ye know how soft me heart is for ye.”

  “No more so than ye are to me, since ye are in possession of mine.”

  He gently rubbed her head, tucking the hair that had been pulled loose in her struggle with Liam behind her ears. “I plan to keep it, lass, and that’s a promise.”

  “I’m glad ye keep yer promises, Cullen.”

  A soft chuckle left his throat, but his eyes remained hard. There was the scuff of boot leather on the stone floor as the McJames retainers responded. They filled the chapel with their swords unsheathed. They surrounded Keir, suspicion evident on their faces. Cullen left her to protect her brother. Bronwyn stood and watched, silly happiness filling her.

  If that was the insanity of love, she was a willing victim.

  Sodac was gone.

  Bronwyn hurried to keep up with her husband and brother. The men rushed toward the hall, only to discover that Sodac had cleared the gate. He must have fled the second the bells began ringing.

  Such an action confirmed his guilt.

  Keir cursed before heading toward the yard. “I’ve got to beat that bastard to Red Stone or I’ll have to besiege me own home.”

  “I’m going with ye.”

  Cullen followed her brother, Brodick joining them, along with Druce.

  The yard became a mass of activity, boys and men all running to get the horses out of the stable. Keir didn’t bother with a saddle. He swung up onto the bare back of his stallion and headed toward the gate, the three McQuade retainers following him. Cullen was two paces behind. Bronwyn didn’t know whose horse she took and didn’t care if they swore she stole it. She was going with them.

  The main body of the men Liam had brought with him was camped over the first rise. It was in pandemonium when they crested the hill, some of the men disappearing over the next rise. Keir reined in long enough to address the remaining men.

  “Sodac is a murdering bastard who planned to poison our sister. I saw it with me own eyes. Follow me if ye be honorable men.”

  Astonishment held the men in silence for a long moment. One noticed her and pointed at her. Suddenly every set of McQuade eyes was aimed at her.

  “My marriage will bring peace to every McQuade.”

  The McQuade men sent up a cheer and swung into their saddles. Keir spurred his horse forward, riding as though the devil himself was on his heels after Sodac and the men following him. Cullen hesitated, reaching out to grab her reins.

  “Ye dinna belong here, Bronwyn.” Fury coated his features along with fear. She stared at that fear. Only she did that to him.

  “This is my fight, too, Cullen. Our fight. We’ll only win it side by side.”

  He cursed. He looked at Keir and the McQuade men following behind him. With a sharp command he took the McJames retainers after them. McJames men surrounded her, keeping her in their center.

  But she never felt her temper rise. Instead she looked ahead of her to where Cullen was closing the distance between Keir and himself. Argyll stretched out his longer legs, using the powerful chest to fuel his charge up the rise. McJames and McQuade plaids mingled and merged into a single body of men all focused on one goal.

  Sodac turned to face the force bearing down on him. A third of the men on his heels had stronger horses and he didn’t have enough of a head start to outrun them. The moon cast a white glow all around them. No torches had been lit but the snow reflected the moonlight. In the silver light there was no telling McQuade from McJames. There were only the two forces facing each other.

  “Hold!” Keir’s voice echoed across the distance. Her brother rode out in front of the men to face his sibling, Cullen joining him. But the retainers surrounding her refused to allow her any closer, one of them yanking the reins from her grasp.

  “Forgive me, mistress, but I canna allow ye into harm’s way.”

  She didn’t have time to quarrel with him. Keir raised his sword and pointed it toward his brother.

  “Sodac! Ye plotted murder of our sister. I heard it with my own ears.”

  “Ye’re a traitor to every McQuade, Keir.” Sodac unsheathed his own sword. “She bedded a McJames, making her a McJames. Killing her is our duty before the king demands her dowry. This marriage will take McQuade land and make it McJames land.”

  Some of the men behind Sodac looked confused. A few shook their heads, clearly disagreeing with the man they rode with. Keir moved closer.

  “Bronwyn’s marriage will end decades of strife that drains McQuade resources. She has honored her position as the laird’s daughter by embracing a union that puts everyone’s welfare first. It will end the fighting that lays our comrades in early graves.”

  There was a murmur of agreement from the men behind Keir as well as many in front of him.

  Keir pointed at Cullen. “Cullen McJames is now my brother by marriage.”

  “Bastard!”

  Sodac charged toward Keir, screaming obscenities. Few men followed him. There was the sound of metal hitting metal, and screams of men who were run through. In the space of two minutes, Sodac and his followers lay on the snow, their blood turning it dark. The retainers surrounding her released her once the night went quiet once again. Bronwyn kneed her horse forward, guiding it around the fallen bodies of her brother’s supporters. A lump lodged in her throat when she looked at the waste. It was her father’s final legacy.

  She swore that it would be. For the first time in her life, being Erik McQuade’s daughter meant something good. She rode up until she was beside her husband. Keir’s blade was darkened with blood, but so was Cullen’s. The two men blew white puffs of breath into the winter night, their breathing harsh from the battle.

  All e
yes turned to her. Bronwyn sat proudly in the saddle next to her husband. Some things were better seen than heard.

  Keir turned to face them. “I’ll ride for court in the morning. Jamie will need to hear of this from my own lips.”

  “Aye, ye’ve the right of that…brother.” Cullen reached up and tugged on the corner of his bonnet. The respectful gesture gained him a cheer from the watching McQuades. Keir returned it to the delight of the McJames.

  Cullen reached across the space between them and pulled her onto Argyll. Male amusement surrounded her, including her husband’s. He clamped her tightly against his body before turning around toward Sterling.

  He could have let her ride her own horse.

  Bronwyn laughed at her own pride. Aye, he could have, but it was so much better that he didn’t.

  Later that night she cried. Actual tears eased down her cheeks.

  “Now dinna look like that. I canna bear it. ’Tis only a dress.” Cullen sounded tired. He leaned against the back of a chair, a faint paleness to his face. Brodick McJames hadn’t been willing to take any chances on there being more poison. He’d sent to the kitchen for purgatives for everyone at the high table. In spite of already losing the contents of her stomach, she’d been fed the noxious concoction the cook had produced.

  There wasn’t a shred of strength left in her now. The tears flowed from her eyes because her new dress was destroyed, blood staining the doublet and skirt. Even soaking would not save it—there was too much, and blood stained like nothing else.

  “It was my only dress.”

  Cullen sighed, clearly frustrated.

  Two more fat tears eased from the corners of her eyes. “I shall have to go to court in that surcoat. There is no time to make another dress.”

  “Dinna cry, lass. It breaks my heart.”

  He stood up and walked into the small antechamber attached to the main one they slept in. He reappeared with a chest. It was a large wooden one that had a lock on it. Cullen fit a key into it. He raised the lid and pulled the green dress that she’d been loaned at White Tower from it.

  “Ye brought it with ye?”

  Bronwyn hugged the skirt and bodice to her chest for a long moment, slightly amazed that she could love something that she had once despised.

  “It wounded my pride the way ye married me in yer chemise. It’s the truth that I wanted to see ye dependent on me for everything after that.” Cullen smiled at her. “I was even jealous of me own cousin for getting ye a dress.”

  He grinned at her. “I’ll be happy to shower ye with dresses once we reach Edinburgh.”

  He gently pulled the skirts away from her and hung them over the back of the chair. Turning back, he offered his hand to her. It was a beautiful thing, that offer. The power of choice made her bold and she laid her hand into his with a flirtatious smile. Cullen winked at her before leaning over and tossing her right over his shoulder.

  She bounced in a jumble of arms and legs when he dumped her into the center of their bed. He followed her, his large body warm and hard against her own. His lips seeking hers in a kiss that drove away everything but the delight their skin made when it connected.

  Chapter Thirteen

  1603

  The court of James of Scotland was pensive. As winter held the country in its grip, rumors of the impending death of the English queen circulated. Elizabeth Tudor was ill and every rider who approached the court was cause for attention. She had ruled longer than any other monarch—both English and Scot—but her time was near. She would do one last thing with her death, and that was to unite two countries that had warred with one another for centuries. James Stuart would wear the crown of both countries, making it one.

  Bronwyn set up house in the McJames city house while her husband awaited permission to attend court.

  “Mistress Bronwyn, the tailor is come to see ye.” Sybil lowered herself before shepherding in a party of men all intent on staring at her. Assistants followed them, their arms heavy with bolts of fabric. There were French silks and damasks, rare velvet, and costly brocades. Bobbin lace and trims that must have taken months of work to make were laid out for her inspection.

  “I dinna need such things.” But her voice lacked conviction. She reached out to touch one silk, too tempted by its luxury to resist feeling it at least once.

  “I need them.” Cullen spoke from the doorway, drawing a sigh from the tailor and his entourage. His blue eyes met hers across the space of the dining room. “I’ve a great need to escort ye into court dressed as finely as a lady of Sterling should be.” He closed the distance and grasped her hand. Rising it to his lips, he placed a soft kiss on the back of it that sent heat into her cheeks. His keen stare focused on the crimson stain for a moment. “We’ve a history to repeat.”

  “And what do ye mean by that?”

  Her husband winked before turning to toss a small bag onto the table. It landed in the middle of the fabric with a clink that was unmistakable. The tailor’s eyes lit up at the sound of gold.

  “Why, to promote gossip, dear wife. We must give the wagging tongues something new to report about us. Think of the commotion we shall cause if ye stroll by my side with a smile on yer lips.”

  “Ye are being naughty.”

  He reached out and tugged some of her hair. A frown appeared on his face when Sybil’s braiding kept his hand from gaining anything but a few wisps. His gaze returned to hers. “Hmm, I’ll have to finish this tonight.” There was a twinkle in his eye that sent a shiver down her spine.

  She did enjoy the way the man kept his word…

  He paused in the doorway and shot the tailor a stern look. “Something befitting a new bride. We are summoned in two days.”

  Brute…

  Her lips curved into a smile as she thought the word. Aye, Cullen McJames was indeed an arrogant brute. But he was much more than that, too. He was a caring husband who provided well for her and his people. There was honor in him and she found that more attractive than anything else. Honor would never age, it would shine forever.

  She followed her husband into the great receiving hall of the Scottish court two days later. Her gown shimmered in the candlelight, the silk rustling with every step. Lace fans snapped open as they passed, the whispers rising in volume.

  James Stuart awaited them with his queen. Princess Elizabeth stood near her mother, smiling with the contentment of childhood. But Bronwyn hesitated in the aisle before they made it to the end where her king was receiving. A familiar face caught her attention. Bishop Shaman nodded his head toward her from across the way.

  “So yer bishop is here as well, I see.”

  Cullen’s face flushed a tiny bit. “Jamie made me promise that ye’d wed me willingly. He’ll want a witness for that.”

  “Is that so?” She narrowed her eyes.

  Cullen grinned like a boy once more. “Are ye no even impressed with my cunning?”

  “Yer a brute.”

  “Aye, but I keep my promises.” He pulled her closer, uncaring for the rise in conversation as he placed a soft kiss on her lips right in public. “And I promise to love ye, Bronwyn McQuade. Until the day I die.”

  “Now that is something I plan to hold ye to.”

  “I hope so, lass. I truly do.”

  Love…insanity or not, it was perfection.

  Here’s a sneak peek at Donna Kauffman’s

  HERE COMES TROUBLE, out now from Brava!

  The hot, steamy shower felt like heaven on earth as it pounded his back and neck. He should have done this earlier. It was almost better than sleep. Almost. He’d realized after Kirby had left that he’d probably only grabbed a few hours after arriving, and he’d fully expected to be out the instant his head hit the pillow again. But that hadn’t been the case. This time it hadn’t been because he was worried about Dan, or Vanetta, or anyone else back home, or even wondering what in the hell he thought he was doing this far from the desert. In New England, for God’s sake. During the winter. Although it didn�
��t appear to be much of one out here.

  No, that blame lay right on the lovely, slender shoulders of Kirby Farrell, innkeeper, and rescuer of trapped kittens. Granted, after the adrenaline rush of finding her hanging more than twenty feet off the ground by her fingertips, it shouldn’t be surprising that sleep eluded him, but that wasn’t entirely the cause. Maybe he’d simply spent too long around women who were generally over-processed, over-enhanced, and overly made up, so that meeting a regular, everyday ordinary woman seemed to stand out more.

  It was a safe theory, anyway.

  And yet, after only a few hours under her roof, he’d already become a foster dad to a wild kitten and had spent far more time thinking about said kitten’s savior than he had his own host of problems.

  Maybe it was simply easier to think about someone else’s situation. Which would explain why he was wondering about things like whether or not Kirby could make a go of things with her new enterprise here, what with the complete lack of winter weather they were having. And what her story was before opening the inn. Was this place a lifelong dream? For all he knew, she was some New England trust fund baby just playing at running her own place. Except that didn’t jibe with what he’d seen of her so far.

  He’d been so lost in his thoughts while enjoying the rejuvenation of the hot shower, that he clearly hadn’t heard his foster child’s entrance into the bathroom. Which was why he almost had a heart attack when he turned around to find the little demon hanging from the outside of the clear shower curtain by its tiny, sharp nails, eyes wide in panic.

  After his heart resumed a steady pace, he bent down to look at her, eye-to-wild-eye. “You keep climbing things you shouldn’t and one day there will be no one to rescue you.”

  He was sure the responding hiss was meant to be ferocious and intimidating, but given the pink-nosed, tiny, whiskered face it came out of, not so much. She hissed again when he just grinned, and started grappling with the curtain when he outright laughed, mangling it in the process.