In The Warrior's Bed. Mary WineЧитать онлайн книгу.
not meeting him.”
Her father pointed at her from his seat on the raised dais at one end of the room. She stood in front of him like a criminal facing her judge.
“Ye mean to try and tell me that Cullen McJames just happened to be riding down onto my land and it had never happened before?” There were a few snorts from Liam and Sodac. “That ye dinna have an arrangement, thinking that I was away at court.”
“I do not lie. There is no arrangement between us.”
Her father laughed. But it was not a kind sound. It was harsh and full of bitterness. “Then explain why his hand was on yer arse?” Liam grunted, helping to paint her guilty. Erik McQuade looked at her as though she were vermin. “How long have ye been letting him use ye, slut?”
“Never! I did not lay with him.”
Bronwyn bristled under the harsh scrutiny being aimed at her. Even knowing her sire’s lack of fondness for her, she would not have expected him to cast such filth upon her name. To soil herself was to bring shame on the entire clan. Besides, she knew full well how lowly he treated his own consorts. She had no desire to fall to such a state.
“Bronwyn does not lie, Father. I have never heard her speak falsely.”
Erik McQuade glared at his youngest son. “How dare ye raise yer voice against mine.”
Keir didn’t flinch. He strode forward, uncaring of the hard looks aimed at him from the assembled retainers. He stopped in front of his father, giving the laird the briefest of nods in respect.
“I state a fact, Father. I have never heard Bronwyn lie. If she says she did not have a meeting with the younger McJames, I believe her. It is also a fact that I have never seen Bronwyn conducting herself like a lightskirt.”
Her father erupted. He surged to his feet, roaring with outrage. He flung the empty goblet at her brother. It hit him square in the chest but Keir brushed it aside like a bothersome insect. He did not cower in the face of his sire’s rage but stood straight and tall while their father turned purple.
“Why is fate set to curse me so?” McQuade shook his fist towards the heavens. “It saddles me with a useless daughter and a son who has the courage of Achilles but the temperament of a wife.”
The laird stood up and swept the room. “We’re returning to court.” He pointed at Bronwyn. “Yer going with me. Until sunrise, someone get this slut out of my sight.”
There was a scuff of boots against the stone floor as several retainers moved toward her. Keir turned in a tightly controlled motion, his kilt flaring out.
“No man touches her, save me.” He turned back toward his father. “I disagree with ye.”
Her father looked as though Keir had struck him. He sat back against the padded chair, shock whitening his face. His jaw worked but no words made it past his lips. Keir turned and hooked her upper arm in one hand. It was a kind grip that she willingly allowed to sweep her out of the hall.
“This will become worse before it is over, sister.”
“I know.”
And there was nothing to do about it. She felt like a leaf that had landed in a spring. The current was sweeping her along without any care for the rocks. There was only the single comfort of Keir willing to champion her. But their father would never forgive such a slight.
“Ye should not have done that, Keir.”
Her brother grunted. “Honor is nae a thing that may be ignored when it is difficult to do what is right.” Keir stopped and stared at her. His eyes were dark as night, inherited from his mother. She felt them looking straight into her soul, if such a thing were possible, but she did not look away.
Keir nodded. “Our father is blinded by hate.”
Heavy distaste coated his words. Keir began walking and Bronwyn followed. She suddenly felt like a stranger in spite of knowing that she had grown up at Red Stone.
“Which is why ye should have remained silent.”
“No.” Keir didn’t raise his voice but that dinna lessen the impact. His tone was solid steel.
“There’s no need for ye to join me in father’s disdain.”
Keir shook his head. “I won’t be his hound like Liam and Sodac. If he wants to dislike me for refusing to lick his boots, so be it. He’ll never be able to say that I am not my own man.”
Bronwyn felt a smile lifting the corners of her lips. She could not prevent it even with such dark things happening around them. But she winced when pain stabbed through her lips. Keir noticed and frowned as he looked at the mark their father had left on her face.
“I believe court is a good place for ye.” Keir sounded pensive. His face was grave but he nodded. “Aye, I believe it is far past time that ye escaped this castle.”
“But at what cost? I’ll no help father accuse the McJames of wrongdoing.”
Keir chuckled. “Ye know our sire too well, Bronwyn. I believe that is exactly what he plans to do by dragging ye to court.”
Keir stopped talking. Bronwyn cast a suspicious look at her brother but he refused to comment further. A chill rippled over her skin. She couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding even when she stood in front of the small fire burning in her chamber. A sense of dread clung to her thoughts as she removed her surcoat. The wind whistled between the boards that made up the shutter for the windows. Once her boots were unlaced, she felt the chill of it on her toes. Her chamber had no floor coverings to help keep her feet warm. But one of the kitchen lasses had brought two buckets of water up. They sat near the fire, making her smile.
At least she would not have to smell of dried ale on the marrow.
Bronwyn undressed as close to the fire as possible to keep warm. Her doublet and wool skirt dropped to puddle around her ankles once she’d unhooked them. Stepping out of them, she stretched. Her chemise floated around her calves as she hurried to rinse her dress out. Once she finished, she hung it over a rough chair near the fire to dry. Working the lace free from her stays, she listened to the wind shake the shutter once more.
It was eerie. Icy fingers stroked across her heart as she crawled into bed with her bundle of kitchen scraps. She was grateful for the impulse that had seen her to the kitchens before her ride because it was a sure thing that no one would bring her supper.
It might have been enjoyable to share the meal with Cullen McJames…
Bronwyn frowned, but the image of her father’s enemy rose in her memory until it was as if the man stood in her chamber. She recalled him clearly. She’d never met a man who drew her attention so keenly. For the moment, she didn’t argue with her mind’s impulse to replay their meeting. Alone with her thoughts, she might as well enjoy them.
Who knew what tomorrow would offer?
He was a fool.
Cullen actually amused himself with his own thoughts as he returned to the crest of the hill the next day. Late in the afternoon, he kneed Argyll up to the top of it so that he might peer down into the valley that belonged to the McQuades.
It was empty.
He should have expected such. And still he had ridden out once again, when there were plenty of other tasks needing his attention.
He wanted to see her again.
Cullen scoffed at himself. He dinna even know who she was. Only that she was a McQuade and her laird had likely chastised her greatly for being anywhere near him.
The sweetness of her face had kept him company most of the night. Something that he’d no been happy about. Not when the lass was so far beyond his reach.
Kneeing Argyll and pulling the reins to guide the stallion back toward Sterling, Cullen turned his back on the valley. He lacked the patience to chase his sweet-faced lass because