In Bed With A Stranger (11 page)

That was a fact.

A quick fuck wasn’t his idea of fun. He’d never placed a woman’s back against a tree because his cock was hard and time short. Well, maybe he’d been in a hurry a few times when he was a lad still trying to grow a full beard because he thought it would make him a man. He’d left that impatience behind along with his youthful whiskers. As long as his eyes were still sharp, he would be a clean-shaven man. He had no love for facial hair.

When he took a woman, he took the time to raise her passion. There was nothing more intimate than being lovers. Getting his cock inside a willing female wasn’t nearly as good as the experience of feeling his partner climaxing while he rode her. His memory offered up the way his bride had shivered in his embrace. Aye, that was what he was talking about. Reaching out to touch that passion was the thing that drew his attention to a woman. Spread thighs weren’t enough.

Wanting that from his marriage was risky. He should have expected Mary to want to be returned to her father. He was Scottish. In spite of the coming union between the two countries, the people still harbored many ill opinions of each other. On both sides. There were titled Scots who believed him daft for seeking the union.

Maybe he was.

Yet thinking that didn’t seem to be killing off his growing attraction to her. Perhaps hiding behind her veil had been a crafty ploy, but it had succeeded. Hooking his attention as completely as a well-turned ankle would have. That first day had been a long one as he hoped the wind might give him a peek at her face, or the heat might see her raising the fabric.

Beneath his kilt, his cock was hard, his thoughts having raised it. It wasn’t his last mistress’s face he saw in his mind, it was his bride’s. It was the sound of her sigh when he kissed her neck. Looking back at the cart, he saw that Agnes was well settled.

Raising a fist into the air, he commanded his men.

“Sterling.”

His wife would have her assurances and then she would learn that he kept what was his. By tonight, she would be installed in his bed so that he might begin teaching her exactly how much he wanted her. His erection kept him company as they rode back towards Sterling. He enjoyed the burn, savoring the need before he appeased it. He was a lucky man to harbor passion for his bride.

She would not be returning to her father.

Brodick McJames never surrendered. No, it would be his little English bride who cried quarter. That was going to be his personal pledge and his pleasure to see done.

Sterling

T
he saints had truly deserted her.

Brodick returned as the sun set. Helen pulled her down the stairs and into the double doorway to watch a cart being pulled into the yard by an ox team. McJames retainers flanked it, their plaids proudly pulled over the right shoulder of each man. There was an air of celebration among them. Each one tugging the corner of his knitted cap when she looked at him.

Helen pointed at the wagon. “There. The lord has brought Agnes. She’s delivered more babies than anyone could keep track of. She’s more skill in one hand than I have in both of my own. Everything shall proceed smoothly now.”

The midwife Brodick brought her was formidable. Agnes was helped from the cart by two burly Scotsmen but she walked towards Anne on steady steps. She walked right up the steps without a quiver, pausing for a moment to consider Anne.

“Good day to ye, mistress.”

There was no possibility that she might challenge the experience of the woman in front of her. Agnes radiated confidence and mastery of her skill. Her eyes were the sort that looked straight into a person’s soul. Anne found herself shifting slightly as she feared that the veteran female might just see through the entire façade.

Such a thing was impossible, of course, but the emotion welled up inside her anyway.

Brodick stepped up, catching her attention. He was in his commanding element, not a hint of weakness on his face. He captured her hand, keeping her close so that their words remained between them.

“I’ve done what ye wanted, Mary. But I want to make it plain that I am not demanding this inspection. It makes no difference to me if this custom is carried through or not. I’ll honor our proxy marriage without it.”

That was very generous. Far more so than most women, even high born ones, might expect.

He stared at her, waiting for her reaction. Part of her wanted to melt at his feet. She’d rarely ever had such kindness offered to her. It was certainly something that she’d never expected from a man.

It reminded her of the way her father was with her mother.

Tears stung her eyes as she thought of the way her parents looked at each other. Loneliness made her heart ache. But guilt weighed down on her shoulders so greatly, her knees wanted to buckle. Brodick could love, she saw it in his eyes. She didn’t want to be the cause of him being shackled to her sister.

“You should send me back to my father. At court.” There was a plea in her voice that she could not disguise. “Please.” To return to Warwickshire was to risk being turned out along with her mother. Her father was her only hope.

His features drew tight, displeasure flickering in his eyes. He tugged her forward, back into the tower. Keeping her hand prisoner in his larger one, Brodick held her near. “Do you love another?” He spoke through clenched teeth, the grip on her hand tightening.

“No.”

“Explain yerself, Mary. No more of this game. What is it about our marriage that ye find unacceptable?”

Fear gripped her, squeezing her throat until she felt as though even a breath of air wouldn’t pass. She did not know him and could not place the safety of her family in his hands. If he discovered Philipa’s deception, he might simply leave her back at Warwickshire and wash his hands of the entire affair.

“It is not so simple a thing for a woman, my lord. With my queen so aged, many women find themselves returned to their fathers as unfit. Men rule this world, so I must be careful. You shall increase your land holdings while I have no hope for happiness.”

Pushing his hand off hers, she remained still so that he wouldn’t reach for her again. “You have not sought me out for any tender feelings; only a matter of making a good match. We know nothing of one another.”

“Tis normal enough, madam, for our station,” he said, his eyes full of suspicion. “Which is why I dinnae ken yer asking me to return ye to yer father. That smacks of cowardice, and yet ye stand up to me with steel in yer spine.”

The compliment stunned her. She couldn’t help but enjoy it. The man in front of her was not one who handed out praise lightly. It was something you had to earn from him.

He cupped her chin, his grip solid but unpainful. “Make yer choice, madam. Ye may join me in our bed with or without yer inspection, but be very sure that ye will be passing the night in my bed.”

He stepped away from her, his body tense. But he controlled his frustration, never hinting at physical chastisement. That only made her respect him, even like him. Many a man raised his hand to a female who challenged his will.

“Knowing each other takes time, madam. We’ve made a fine start on it but I didnae fetch ye here to court ye like some youth. I’ll nae be content with a few kisses. Ye’re past that age as well.”

“But we could spend a few months before celebrating our wedding. Your people would enjoy witnessing their lord taking marriage vows in the church. It would serve as good Christian example.”

“This is Scotland, madam. I’ll have to fend off the thieving attempts of half my neighbors if they hear ye are here and still a maiden.”

Shock held her silent for a moment. “That is barbaric.”

“It’s as Scottish as I am.”

And the man was proud too. Anne saw it shimmering in his eyes along with a lurking glimmer of amusement. The sight intrigued her because he was so large and strong that she would have thought there was no hint of boyish mischief left in him. That glimmer said there was a part of him that still enjoyed playing.

“I see.”

He pressed his lips into a hard line. “No ye don’t.”

Anne felt her patience grow thin. That was the problem with noble peers…they always believed that they knew everything. Well, she was her own person, her thoughts hers and none others.

“You can not know what is in my mind, sir.”

One of his eyebrows rose. “I’ve a fair idea of what is churning inside, behind that pretty face. Ye’ve a mind to run back to court where some whelp has turned yer head with his poetry.”

“I am not in love with anyone.”

His expression hardened. “Then ye are discontent because I am Scots.”

Anne shook her head before thinking. Rejection shot through her so quickly, she could not hold back her denial of his charge. It would have served her better to let him believe she detested his heritage, such attitudes were common.

Yet she could not do it. There was too much of him that she found admirable, too much that she found worthy of praise. It was the truth that she was beginning to like him.

Brodick made a low sound of frustration. He propped his hands on his hips, looking even larger. The sword hilt rising over his right shoulder added to the formidable picture he presented.

“Ye are making me daft,” he announced.

“I’m trying your patience because I don’t dislike you for being Scots?”

Brodick stepped closer, instantly drawing a response from her flesh. She backed away from him without consideration and he kept coming until her back hit the wall. He pressed his hands against the cool stone. There was a mere finger length between them now. Her heart began to race as she caught the faint scent of his skin. Never had she noticed that men smelled enticing. Behind her stays her nipples drew tight. His gaze centered on her lips and the tender skin tingled with longing. Time froze. She felt suspended in that moment, aware of nothing but Brodick and his body. Needs rose from every inch of her skin to be in contact with him, stroked by him.

It was insanity.

“I’ll be waiting for Agnes to let me know what ye decide.” His voice was thick with hunger. He leaned down and pressed a kiss against her lips. It was over almost before it began but the sensation burned all the way to her toes.

“Make no mistake about what I have decided, madam. I will have ye tonight.”

He pushed away from her and strode across the main floor of the tower. The castle folk were watching from the yard, their necks stretching out to see into the tower. The confused looks on their faces told her that no one could tell what was happening inside the wall. Brodick stopped to have words with Agnes. The midwife nodded her head, casting her attention toward Anne.

The earl left on long strides, clearing the front entrance as their audience looked between his wide back and her set face. The curious crowd watched the midwife as she made her way to stand in front of Anne, her face pensive. She said nothing for a long time, inspecting Anne from head to toe with her keen stare. She fingered the silver brooch that held her tartan securely on one shoulder.

“Do you have need of me, my lady?” She spoke softly, each word carefully delivered. “Or may I return home?”

Temptation needled Anne. She was caught so completely in Philipa’s scheme that even the smallest possibility that she might be found lacking was something she could not cast aside. Preserving her modesty could not take precedence.

“I would be grateful for your opinion.”

Agnes frowned but Anne held her head level. “A marriage such as this should never proceed forward if there is any doubt. An earl cannot be so lax in his choice of bride. He needs an heir. If I cannot provide that, it would be best to dissolve our union now before there is disappointment.”

The midwife lost her disgruntled expression. She nodded in agreement.

“Ye’re a fair woman, to be sure.”

Fair…hah!

Agnes began walking toward the stairs that led to the upper floor, clearly knowing the castle.

“Come along, mistress. Let us attend to this matter. I see yer thinking. More noblewomen should be as astute.” Agnes swept her from head to toe again. “Indeed it would make for a happier world. The lord’s mother was inspected before her wedding night as well. Yer mother was wise to teach ye to respect the tradition. It has its place.”

Anne forced her feet to move. Each step was an effort and she was suddenly very aware of how little clothing she had on. Her surcoat was closed up over a chemise. The only other thing she wore was a pair of slippers. The tapestry footwear was meant for her dressing chamber and felt very thin. Walking allowed the air to brush all the way up her exposed skin.

She was convinced that the flight of stairs took longer to climb than any other she had ever mounted. Helen had built a fire in the chamber and fed it far more wood than normal. It blazed high, filling the chamber with heat. Helen came forward, intent on removing the surcoat.

Anne stood still and straight, refusing to allow her modesty to buckle her resolve. It took mere seconds to bare her body, once the surcoat was removed, yet it felt like hours. There was only her chemise and shoes. Each second swelled into time that felt as though it were standing still.

Agnes was still for a long time, her eyes moving over her body in slow motion. She circled around Anne, lingering behind her. When Agnes returned to stand in front of her, the midwife reached out to cup a breast. She handled it with a knowing hand as Anne bit into her lip to still her protest. Her grip was firm, judging the weight and texture. She finished by pinching the nipple and leaning closer to look at it.

Agnes didn’t make a sound as she left off and moved her hand to the opposite breast. After pinching the nipple, she withdrew her hand.

“Lie down on the bed. I need to see if yer womb is sitting correctly in yer belly.”

“Of…course.” Anne snapped her mouth closed as her voice cracked. What Brodick wanted from her was far more intrusive. She had better adjust to allowing the midwife to make a detailed inspection. That would provide her with all the more opportunity to gain the woman’s disapproval. Getting to her father was the key. He would deal with Philipa.

Agnes pressed her hands against Anne’s belly, moving in an arch from one hip to the other. Anne watched the woman’s practiced manner, the knowledgeable touch something only experience taught. There was something she might admire at least. Agnes continued until she’d felt every inch of Anne’s abdomen with careful hands.

“Ye may dress yer mistress,” Agnes instructed Helen.

The midwife stood back and Helen brought Anne’s chemise forward. Anne held her tongue because Agnes was still contemplating her. Standing up, she helped pull her surcoat on, shivering as it warmed her. The midwife stepped close again.

“Let me see yer teeth.”

Agnes didn’t miss any part of her. She even made Anne cover her eyes so that she might test her hearing by snapping her finger near one ear and having Anne raise the hand on the same side of her body.

“Ye are more than fit, mistress.”

She gasped, but Helen clapped her hands together with glee.

“I’m going to fetch ye some supper. Ye’ll need all your strength tonight.” The maid hurried from the room, excitement making her steps lively.

“Oh, but—” Helen was gone before Anne decided what she might say to stop her.

“Marriage is always a time of uncertainty for a woman. Ye’ll settle in, mistress, as we all do.”

There was a firm parental expectation in Agnes’s tone. One that made Anne close her lips. For a small moment she felt like a child caught snatching a piece of sweet bread from the kitchen between meals.

“I do not want to disappoint the earl.”

The midwife slowly shook her head. “Ye willnae. I’ve seen many a girl less built for bearing babes than ye, push children into this world. Save yer worrying for things that have already gone bad.”

The trap was closing tighter around her again, crushing the breath from her. Agnes was watching her, observing the play of emotions that crossed her face. Anne turned, pacing toward the far side of the chamber.

“Did yer mother tell ye some tale of painful duty associated with consummating your marriage?”

Agnes was trying hard to understand her dilemma. More guilt piled on top of her for putting the woman to the trouble of trying to help her. She dare not trust anyone but she wanted to. The desire to blurt out everything was growing stronger with each kind person she met. But just because a person wanted to help you didn’t mean that they could. Brodick might shelter her at Sterling but Philipa was still mistress of Warwickshire. Even an earl did not have the right to remove servants from another holding.