In the Warrior’s Bed (8 page)

Instead she felt that hard hand of her captor pressing her down onto the back of his horse. Her head began to spin in a dizzy circle as it filled with too much blood. Bronwyn resisted the pull of darkness but there was no fending it off for long. She went lax as unconsciousness claimed her.

Cullen felt the change in his captive. He stroked her back, testing her compliance. He ran one hand lightly over the soft curve of her bottom and yet she remained still. He hadn’t expected to find her in her bath. The light color of her chemise drew a frown from him. A bound woman lying across his saddle might draw attention that he didn’t need. Pulling Argyll to a stop in a shadow, he looked around.

“Cullen, cover her with this.”

Druce tossed a length of McJames plaid toward him. Pulling Bronwyn upward, he leaned her against his chest and wrapped her quickly in the wool. At least it looked as though she were simply sleeping. A common enough sight on the road at night.

Alarik McKorey watched him with a brooding expression.

“Treat her kindly, McJames, or I’ll regret aiding ye.” He turned his horse about, his men following suit. “Ride strong, man.”

“I owe ye, McKorey. I’ll nae forget that.”

Alarik nodded his head before riding into the street once more. Cullen waited until the man was a good measure away before he and Druce took to the road. He urged his horse forward, needing to cover much ground before first light. Gaining McJames land was critical and every man behind him knew it. Only the faint sound of hooves meeting dirt, and leather shifting, filled the air. The crescent moon offered them the perfect darkness to carry their prize home. The wind stirred up the dry leaves on the ground like whispers of the past and other brides that had been carried away by moonlight.

Bronwyn lay against his shoulder, her body lax throughout the night. Cullen pressed a hand against her heart to feel for its steady motion. Deep satisfaction filled him as the hours passed along with the miles.

She was his. For honor’s sake. For peace. For the rest of their lives.

H
er bed was moving.

Bronwyn frowned but opened her eyes when she felt the bite of the leather at the corners of her mouth. A hard, male arm was draped across her body, the hand cupping her hips far too familiarly. Her teeth ground against the leather, grinding it with her fury. The chest behind her rumbled, increasing her anger. Dawn was chasing the night away, the pink sky telling her that she’d slept the entire night.

The hand holding her hip slid up to cup her chin. She was sitting sideways across the horse, one thigh completely numb from the constant bouncing. Cullen raised her face to meet his stare.

“Good morning to ye, Bronwyn.” Satisfaction coated his words. Bronwyn ground her teeth against her gag in reply. He chuckled, his fingers gently smoothing over her jaw.

“I think I’ll leave that leather between yer teeth for a bit longer.” He slipped a finger beneath it, testing how tight it was. The concern baffled her. The man was abducting her. She jerked her head, pulling her chin out of his hand. All traces of tenderness evaporated from his face, leaving only determination staring at her.

“We’ll be discussing that a wee bit later, Bronwyn. But be assured that I will touch ye.”

She snorted at his attention and refused to look at him.

He was too attractive.

She hated her body right then. Finding anything to like about her captor was intolerable. She needed to find her pride and refuse to notice that he was such a handsome man.

Well, Satan had been a cherub before falling from grace, too.

The last of night was rapidly giving way to daylight. They had left the city and the side of the road was rocky. The grass had turned brown now with the colder temperatures of the nights. Her toes were like ice in her boots. It was little wonder considering she was wearing only her chemise and stockings. A length of wool was wound around her and even up over her head. In spite of that she was freezing, a hard shiver shaking her. The hand on her hip moved, stroking her waist as though it were the most natural thing. As though he had the right to touch her.

She swallowed roughly. He had
taken
the right.

A rough breath rattled past her gag and there was no stopping the flood of despair that swept into her thoughts. Each pound of a hoof sounded louder than the last as the road kept falling away behind them. She had gone from being the property of a father who detested her to being the possession of a man who held good cause to hate her blood. It was disheartening, to say the least. Keir’s face floated in her mind as she considered never seeing her brother again.

Or worse yet, hearing that he had taken up his sword to defend her. Her father would revel in another reason to rain violence on the McJames clan. Blood would be spilt and it sickened her.

The sun rose completely while she was lost in her dilemma. She felt the steady beat of her captor’s heart against her shoulder and tried to wiggle away from it. The powerful stride of the horse threw her back until she gave up and remained still. She noticed the scent of his skin and tossed her head but there was no escaping. She’d never noticed that men smelled different. It touched off a current of awareness that made her quiver. The skin on her face recalled vividly how his fingers had felt against it.

He suddenly pulled his horse to a stop.

“There, lass.” Ahead of them was a large stone tower. It was constructed of lighter castle stone and the morning sunlight made it look as though it were golden.

“Welcome to White Tower.” The man beside them spoke to her. His face lit up as he looked at the tower with its large curtain wall that surrounded it. Set up on a rise, White Tower held the high ground, making it a formidable fortress.

The man beside them spurred his horse forward. Cullen stroked her hip once more. She turned her head and glared at his boldness. The look in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine because it lacked all remorse. Worse than that, there was a firm determination burning in his eyes that said the man considered it his right to touch her.

“My cousin Druce is lord of White Tower. It’s the first castle on McJames land.”

Bronwyn turned her head away to hide the fear that spiked through her. Cullen captured her chin, returning her face to where he could see it.

“Best that ye understand that there is no man who will help ye leave McJames land, Bronwyn.”

She hissed at him, unable to fling the scathing retort that formed in her mind. She didn’t need help. He was not the only one who knew how to make their way in this world.

“I suppose that sound means ye disagree with me.” A hint of amusement edged his words now and it sparkled in his blue eyes. “‘Tis nice to know that ye are nae a disappointment as far as yer spirit goes.”

He chuckled but didn’t waste any more time on talking. She felt his body move as he dug his heels into the sides of his horse. The huge beast took to the trail with amazing speed, covering the ground far faster than any mare she’d ever ridden. Before long they passed under the open gate of the outer wall. It was an iron one, held high by thick ropes on either side of the road. The inner yard was full of men and women working. Curious eyes moved over her but there wasn’t a hint of disapproval. Quite the opposite. Many of the men grinned when Cullen allowed his cousin Druce to lift her off the saddle. The blue, yellow, and orange colors of the McJames’s kilts surrounding her burned her eyes. The length of wool wrapped around her slithered down the moment she was stood on her feet.

A soft sound of distress made it past the gag when the bindings on her hands held them behind her. Her chemise was thin and the sunlight bright enough to illuminate her body.

“Here now, lass.”

Druce grabbed the fabric and tossed it awkwardly around her body. The fabric didn’t have anything to hold onto and it continued to slip toward her ankles in spite of his efforts.

Cullen ended his cousin’s struggle by scooping her off her feet. A cheer went up from his men as the brute carried her up the steps that led into the tower. An arrogant grin covered his face as hers flamed scarlet.

To be sure, she hated him.

“Bastard.” Bronwyn spat the word the moment her lips were free. She glared at her tormentor.

“Now there’s the thing yer father hates me most for. I am legitimate. He won my mother away from yer father fair as could be and married her.”

“Arrogant son of a thief.”

Cullen clicked his tongue in reprimand. He held a dirk up in front of her eyes. “Careful, lass. Wound my feelings and I’ll leave ye trussed up.”

Bronwyn bit into her lip before she ended up earning a lesson from the cad. Her arms ached and her body was nearing its limit of endurance before she wet herself like a babe.

“If ye enjoy a foul-smelling captive, by all means leave me helpless.”

The playful expression disappeared from his face instantly. He reached for her arms and she felt the steel of the blade kiss her skin. With one sharp jerk the binding loosened, allowing her to work it free. He cut the one holding her knees before she got her hands completely loose.

“I’ll leave ye for a moment.”

Bronwyn shot a stern look at his departing back. She wanted to spit a retort at him, but the needs of her body took precedence. It was indeed humbling to know that she was dependent on his goodwill to use the garderobe in private.

However, ’twas better than wetting herself.

Emerging from the closet that housed the necessities, she looked around the chamber. It was furnished with a large bed, hung with wool curtains that would keep the occupant warmer at night. The garderobe was set out a few feet from the rest of the room to allow the waste to drop into a barrel set below it. That barrel would be emptied often to keep disease and the stench from becoming a menace. It was a step up from chamber pots, to be sure, and one not found in many castles. Looking at the doorway of the closet, she noticed the newer stonework that edged it.

Besides the bed, there were two wide chairs sitting in front of the fireplace. They were built in the “X” fashion with padded seats and wide arms for resting your hands on. Both were huge, though, reminding her of how much larger Cullen was than herself.

Her chemise floated around her knees when she moved, making her keenly aware of how little clothing she had on her body. The soft linen was almost transparent; tonight when the fire was lit it would be. But she didn’t have many options to cover herself. The length of McJames plaid was lying on the floor. She reached for it out of pure instinct to keep things tidy, folding it before her eyes really saw the McJames colors. She froze with it stretched out between her hands.

Never once had she thought to touch a McJames plaid.

It felt oddly intimate. Coupled with her new captivity, she felt possessed already and the man hadn’t even stolen that kiss yet.

Be silent, Bronwyn…Longing for kisses is sure to land you in trouble…

The thoughts inside her head were wicked.

The hinges groaned as the door pressed inward. Part of her wanted to drop the plaid to show her defiance but the practical side of her brain reminded her that she’d be left standing in her shift if she did. Pride or modesty, she could not have both.

She dropped the McJames plaid.

Cullen’s face was unreadable. He held the door wide for a young maid who stared at the dropped plaid as if it were a Bible flung carelessly to the floor. Her hands were full with a tray; she walked to the table and placed it down. She turned quickly, displaying the length of McJames plaid that was draped down her back, held by a belt at her waist and secured to her shoulder with a brass broach. It was the mark of a woman of the clan and she wore it proudly. She dipped down to pick up the wool lying on the floor. But Cullen pulled it from her hands when she went to pass him. She offered him a quick curtsy before disappearing into the hallway.

Cullen released the door and it fell closed with a heavy thud. He wound the plaid around his fist before slowly running his eyes down her length. It was a bold reprimand for her insolence. But Bronwyn raised her head, refusing to duck her chin. He was not her father, nor her brother or kin. Cullen McJames was her captor and she owed him nothing save contempt.

“Ye have lost yer mind, McJames. Stealing brides is a barbaric custom best left in years gone by.”

Cullen raised one eyebrow. “Yer the one that is losing yer grip on what is what if ye think I am going to stand by while yer father calls me a blackguard who soils his neighbors’ daughters.”

“Do ye mean to say that ye dragged me here because of yer pride?”

He lifted his hand with the plaid. “Isn’t that why ye dropped this when ye have nothing on but a chemise?” He tossed the plaid onto one of the chairs. “Or maybe ye’re in the habit of displaying yer body to men.”

“I am not.” She said it too quickly. The heat edging her words betrayed just how much her father’s words had hurt her. Cullen didn’t need to know that she was as wounded by her father’s words as he was. Discovering they had something in common felt wrong considering the man had abducted her. She could not look to him as a compatriot.

“But ye would rather let me see yer nipples instead of wearing a McJames plaid.”

She crossed her arms over her chest but realized that the hair on her mons must also be showing through the thin fabric. Moving toward the bed, she tore the top coverlet back and yanked a sheet free.

“I would not even tell ye my name when we met.”

He grunted. “I wondered about that.”

“Good.” She wrapped her body in the sheet while glaring at her captor. He granted her no mercy but stared at her the entire time, his eyes keenly observing her struggle to gather up the shreds of her modesty.

That eyebrow rose again but this time so did the corners of his lips. Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Ye enjoy knowing that I wonder about what sort of a woman ye are?”

Bronwyn hesitated. He was cleverly setting her words against her. She had never considered that he thought of her, too, but had believed that her dreams were something she alone experienced.

“This is nonsense.” She crossed her arms on her chest. “Ye need to come to yer senses and end this game ye’re playing with me.” She didn’t like how needy her words sounded.

“I assure ye, Bronwyn, ’tis no a game.” He lost his teasing air, his face taking on a determined expression that sent a chill down her back. “I plan to wed ye.”

She gasped, startled by his announcement. The man was boldness incarnate. “It is a game. Always with men there is the struggle to win. I am nae the first woman that has been taken to be held up as a prize between two arguing men. Or clans.” Bronwyn shook her head, offering him a kind look in the hope that it might appeal to his sense of fairness. “Have done, Cullen, and send me home. My father will never change his ways, nae even for me.”

Especially not for her
…but it was her home and she had nowhere else to go. Better the devil she knew than the unknown one facing her. A husband had the right to beat his wife. At Red Stone, she had Keir and work she enjoyed doing. Cullen might lock her in a tower room with only enough necessities to keep her alive.

He moved toward her, closing the space with slow strides, his nearness making the breath freeze in her chest. The differences in their heights became obvious when she was forced to tip her head back to look up at him. She was too aware of him, too conscious of how little she wore and how much her skin longed to be stroked by his hands. Her feet scooted backward in retreat.

He stopped when she moved, a frown marking his mouth. “I’m sorry for that, Bronwyn.”

He was, too. It stunned her, such caring from a man her father called enemy. There was honest sincerity in his eyes and it made him far more attractive than she’d already decided he was. It was so tempting to sink into that feeling and allow it to wrap around her. But how did she trust this man who had hauled her away from her family? She was his prize, nothing more.

“I won’t marry ye.” It was the only threat she held. His eyes narrowed when her words hit him.