In The Warrior's Bed. Mary WineЧитать онлайн книгу.
McJames clan black.”
“I rode home and found Cullen McJames on my land.”
The king stopped. He turned to face Erik McQuade. “Is that so?”
“It’s a fact, he was meeting my daughter. The thieving mongrel. Both my sons witnessed it the very moment we set foot back onto our land.”
The king looked at her, but her father pushed her behind him. “I brought her here so that ye might see the look of guilt on her face. I would never allow her to spew her filthy lies in yer presence.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” The king sat down in his ornate chair but he did not extend permission for his company to sit in the chairs behind them. He considered each of her brothers, Liam and Sodac. They puffed up their chests, hunger for vengeance brightening their eyes. They were the image of their father. James looked at her last, his eyes considering her.
“What say you, Bronwyn McQuade?”
“I told ye, she’s a lying whore…”
“And I told ye, Laird McQuade, that ye shall no tell me what to do, man.” James glared at her father. “I’m getting very tired of hearing yer dislike for yer neighbors. More importantly, I have had enough of listening to yer neighbors complain about yer thieving. I’ve three sound petitions for ye to be clamped into chains like a common thief, and it’s a fact that ye’re doing nothing to sway my opinion in yer favor.”
“Cullen McJames was with me daughter! He comes before ye like the very image of a martyred saint but he’s a blackguard who has fouled me daughter and left her disgraced.” Her father was shouting now and the guards behind the chair took one large step forward. Her sire instantly bowed his head in deference.
“Is that so, Bronwyn?”
She could not refuse to answer. Not to the king of Scotland. But Keir’s position weighed on her mind. She remained silent, torn as to what words to use. How to state the truth and not anger her sire, but it seemed impossible.
“Ye see? She’s choking on her shame.”
“I told ye that I’ve heard enough from ye.” The king gestured with his hand. “Remove him and his sons. The daughter stays.”
“She’s my child!”
“And my subject. I’ll hear what she has to say, even if I must toss ye out so that the girl can speak. The girl must have learned manners from someone other than ye because she at least knows better than to rage in my presence.”
The king’s voice cut through her father’s blustering like a knife. The guards behind him moved around the small dais with their swords drawn. The sharp tips pointed toward her father and brothers. All three glared at her, blaming her for the king’s displeasure.
“Your Majesty, I pray ye allow my family to remain.”
The guards froze, awaiting their monarch’s response.
“No.”
There was no more hesitation from the royal guard. Her family was sent back through the double doors without another word. When they closed again, the sound felt like a gunshot going through her.
“Now, answer my question. What is Cullen McJames to you?”
“A stranger.”
The king sat back down. He fixed her with a stern look. “Yer father claims he caught ye with him.”
“I was riding and he was at the top of the ridge. We did speak, that is all. I did not even know his name until my father told me.”
“But it was on McQuade land?”
“The border. We were both on the edges of our land.”
The king sighed, clearly frustrated. “How many men were with him?”
“None.”
James Stuart snorted, a chuckle rising from his chest. A gleam flickered in his eye and he raked her from head to toe. “Did Cullen know who ye were?”
Heat spread across her face. “I refused to tell him. He was wearing the McJames plaid.”
The king scoffed. “Cullen always wears his family colors. The man is pure Scot and proud of his family name. He’s a brazen one, too, riding onto yer land with no one to guard his back.”
He was…
The thought rose instantly from her memory of that meeting. The way Cullen had closed the distance between them, brash and unafraid of the possibility of being discovered. But the king was watching her intently. Bronwyn lowered her eyelashes to mask the excitement in her eyes.
“Did he touch ye?”
“Nay.” She spoke too sharply for the presence of a king, but her pride was blistered from her father’s words.
The king’s eyes narrowed. “Are ye a maiden?”
Her eyes widened. The man might be her king but she had not expected such an intimate question from him. Her temper flared up because never once had she behaved in a way to bring suspicion onto herself.
“Indeed I am.”
A slow smile covered the king’s face. But it did not soothe her. Quite the opposite. Just as Cullen’s grin had promised her something else, the king’s pleasant look made her stomach tighten with anticipation.
“Has yer father betrothed ye to anyone?”
The question startled her. It shouldn’t have, but she looked at the floor for a moment.
“Papa…I want a night blessing.” A curtain behind the dais moved and a little girl emerged. Dressed in a fine linen chemise and nightcap that were worked with masterful blackwork embroidery, the wee girl was only waist high. Her cheeks still chubby and her eyes large in her face. The cuffs and collar of the chemise were edged in bobbin lace. Bronwyn stared at the hours of work employed to decorate a garment that was only for sleeping. The fabric itself was finer than any Bronwyn had ever seen.
Fit for a princess.
“Elizabeth, my rose, where is your nurse?”
The king transformed into a loving parent before her eyes. He scooped up the wee girl and she clasped her arms around his neck.
“Please, Papa. All good children get a blessing from their father at night. They told me so in my studies.”
“Yer’re a good wee lass to listen to yer tutors.”
Bronwyn watched the way the king pressed a kiss on the top of the child’s head. Bronwyn couldn’t help staring. Never once had her own father kissed her so lovingly. The king noticed her watching and covered his emotions once again.
“This is my daughter, Elizabeth. Who should be abed.” He patted her bottom before turning to place the little girl on her feet. One of the guards held out a hand for the child and Elizabeth took it easily. Clearly the little girl was not an uncommon visitor in the king’s private receiving chamber.
“I see from yer face that yer own father has never been so kind to ye.”
The king sat back down, looking pensive. Bronwyn held her tongue. James waved his hand.
“There is no point in denying it. I see the way ye stare at my daughter, as though ye’ve never considered that a father might show affection.”
It was a hard truth and one that near choked her. “My father loves his sons very much, sire.” It was no an uncommon thing. Henry the Eighth of England had gone through six wives in his quest for sons.
The king snorted. “How old are ye now?”
“Twenty-three.”
The king shook his head. “No one seemed to know yer age exactly. Yer father has done a good job of hiding ye.” James Stuart looked at the guards behind her.
“Bring