In the Warrior’s Bed (13 page)

He found the few tears that had made it past her resolve. He kissed each one, sending a new trickle from her eyes at the tenderness of such concern. The burning pain had dissipated into a dull ache now, her body stretching to accommodate his hard flesh. Yet it was more than that. Each thrust sent a little ripple of enjoyment up into her belly. Her body began to arch toward his thrust out of instinct. There was no thinking about doing it, her hips lifted and a sigh passed her lips when more delight filled her.

“That’s it, lass.”

His voice was husky and edged with a raggedness that hinted that she was giving him the same amount of pleasure. That idea made her bold. She lifted faster and watched his face. A tic jerked along his jaw. Her body was warm again, the heat swirling and pooling deep inside her. All the sensation was tightening around the flesh impaling her. She wanted to move faster, needed to feel him deeper inside her.

He seemed to feel the same. Cullen captured her head, holding it prisoner while his body pressed her down into the mattress. His breath was ragged and hers came in soft pants. Their bodies strained toward one another and she held onto him, wanting him closer.

Her eyes fell closed as her spine arched completely. Even the slight pain from where he held her hair so tightly didn’t bother her. She was too absorbed by the bubble of delight growing in her belly. It swelled and tightened until it broke. Pleasure suddenly ripped through her, stealing every last thought. Her mind swung around in an insane kaleidoscope of colors and sensations that held her frozen in the moment. There was so much pleasure, the intensity of it so great, she cried out, unable to keep it contained.

Her eyes popped open when she heard an answering groan from Cullen. The bed rocked almost violently as he thrust hard and fast into her. His hands tightened around her head as he groaned long and deep. With a hard thrust he buried his cock deep and she felt the warm spurt of his seed fill her. She quivered, her breath rattling while a soft sob left her lips.

’Twas a deed that could no be undone now.

Her mind wanted to wage war against the implications of feeling him inside her, but there was still too much delight rippling through her body to move. Her flesh was satisfied in a way it had never been before. Even knowing that her innocence was gone didn’t alarm her enough to keep her from slipping into slumber. Her body was more than happy to drift away while enjoying the last glow of pleasure. The stress of the last day had drained her, and Cullen was keeping her warm. It seemed to be all she needed. He rolled off her and gathered her against his body. Her head ended up on his shoulder, the sound of his heart filling her ear.

“I’ll keep ye warm, lass.”

And he would. Cullen felt her go lax against him. His own body was sated and fatigue was nipping at his mind. But he wanted to savor the moment. Wanted to indulge in this moment where she lay so complacent against him. The dawn would bring renewed struggles from her, he had no doubt.

Yet for the moment Bronwyn was sleeping against him.

Aye that was worth remaining awake for.

Dawn woke her.

Bronwyn lifted a hand to rub her eyes. It wasn’t very bright light, but the gray of winter. She stared at the windows, trying to recall where she was. Her nose was cold because the bed curtains were not drawn and the fire long gone cold. But her body was basking in the warmth of the man beside her.

“Good morning, lass.”

Cullen held her still when she would have jumped away from him. With a solid arm around her waist, he kept her tightly against him. The night rushed back at her, her memory recalling every detail. Between her thighs there was a dull ache when she moved, confirming that her mind was quite correct in what it remembered.

“I trust that there will be no more debate over the subject of taking marriage vows.”

Horror flooded her as she heard the voice of Bishop Shaman. Turning her head, she looked across the room to see the man eyeing her and Cullen critically. Druce McJames stood there as well and grinned when she looked at him. Her face turned hotter than a summer day. Lined up next to Druce were Lydia and three other women. Not young maids, but mature women who were there to see the sheets she was lying on.

The jubilant air in the room made her stomach tighten with nausea. She felt more helpless than when Cullen had tied her up and carried her out of her father’s kitchen.

Lydia moved forward. “Well now, up with ye. There’s a wedding to dress for. I hear your mother is gone from this life, so I shall see ye to the chapel in her place.”

She pulled Bronwyn’s chemise from the floor and shook it out. The maids grasped the bedding and rolled it down, baring her and Cullen to everyone.

The brute held her still as they finished the job.

Turning her head, she glared at him, but found solid determination on his face. There was no hint of relenting in his eyes. None.

“There is going to be no question on just when I took yer innocence, Bronwyn.”

He stood up, taking her along with him from the bed. Her gaze dropped to the sheets. Her gasp was lost as Lydia laughed. A dark stain marred the surface of the sheet. Cullen set her free but the women surrounded her. They inspected her from head to toe, even lifting her arms to see all of her body.

The bishop observed it all. Druce at least didn’t look at her nude body. But Cullen’s clansman walked closer to the bed to inspect the sheet. He nodded approval before tugging the fabric off the bed.

“I’ll take charge of this.” He walked to the window and the maids hurried to push the shutters open for their laird. With a sharp snap of fabric, Druce set the sheet hanging out the window. A cheer rose from the yard below. Bronwyn felt her throat tighten. The noose was tight against her throat now.

“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 pulling 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?”