In Bed With A Stranger (19 page)

Philipa’s words slashed through the fragile happiness she’d enjoyed at Sterling. She walked past the steps that led to her chamber, their bed a place of torment now. Helen had hidden the true nature of the castle folk with her seniority. Now there was nothing to make them accept her.

She didn’t want dishonesty, anyway. Lifting her chin, she moved away from the tower her chamber was in to explore the next section of hallway. Above her was the wall where the archers were poised. Long fingers of sunlight stretched across the floor every five feet. The shutters were open, allowing the morning breeze to sweep inside.

A soft voice touched her ears. It was a woman singing softly. A doorway led to a large room where a young girl sat at a spinning wheel. Her foot worked the pedal as her fingers pulled on the raw wool in her hands. It was a fluffy ball that she skillfully fed into the twisting action produced by the wheel. A large stack of carded wool sat near her and she reached for some of it, her foot pausing until she had mixed it with the wool in her hands. A spindle was winding the new thread on top of the wheel.

“Who’s there?”

She didn’t look at her. In fact the girl didn’t really look at anything. Her eyes were strangely unfocused.

“I could use a pair of eyes if ye’ve a bit o’time to share.”

The girl was clearly blind but her hands were still clever and skilled at the art of weaving.

“How may I help you?”

The foot on the pedal paused. The smile fading from the girl’s face. Anne felt her shoulders resume carrying their heavy burden. But the girl suddenly brightened back to the cheerful state she’d been in before hearing Anne’s unmistakable English accent.

“Good morrow, Mistress. I be Enys.”

“Good day. How may I help?”

Enys paused to reach for more wool. “I didnae ken it was you, Mistress, when I asked.”

Her voice was still kind, lacking the chill that Ginny’s had adopted. It was most welcome, whatever the reason.

“I would be most happy to assist you. Shall I card for you?” Anne moved into the room. The wooden cards were sitting near another stool with a mound of washed raw wool. Each card had thin metal teeth that were used to straighten out the wool hairs. Only after raw wool had been brushed back and forth on the cards several times was it ready for spinning.

“I need the bobbin changed and I don’t know where Tully set the empty ones. The room is rather large to go searching it with my hands.”

Enys added a smile to her comment, her foot steadily working the pedal. The foot-long wooden bobbin at the front of the wheel was getting full.

“I should be happy to lend a hand. It has never been my way to be lazy.”

Enys nodded her head. “I’m most appreciative. Since losing my sight, I find my pride suffering when I’m reduced to asking for help finding things.”

Anne searched the room, finding a crate of empty bobbins. “You weren’t born blind?”

“Nay, and I think that’s more of a torment. Knowing what I miss. My memories are as clear as the daylight used to be.”

Enys sighed, a look of longing passing over her face. She tilted her head when Anne pulled one of the bobbins free and the others clicked against one another. Her foot stopped and she allowed the wheel to stop turning.

“I was in the yard and not minding the horses. One kicked out, planting his hooves in the center of my head. To hear it told, I flew like a bird across the yard. When I woke up, my sight was gone.” She snipped the new thread with a pair of small shears hanging from a lace tied to her skirts. With a confident hand she removed the full bobbin, holding it out toward Anne.

“You appear to use your hearing very effectively for one not born afflicted.”

They traded bobbins, Enys quickly attaching the new one to the end of her thread. The bobbin in her hand held fine work. The spinning was even and the thread thin, both difficult tasks for someone without sight.

“You do very good work.”

Enys beamed. “Thank you. I do enjoy knowing that I’m of use. My mother despaired when my sight didnae return.” She grimaced. “But the man I was set to marry took my cousin instead.”

“Obviously he hasn’t seen your skill with the wheel.”

Merchants paid well for even, smooth thread. To weave good cloth you first needed the thread. In London, young girls who showed such skill were coveted as brides. They needed no dowry, only their skill. It was quite the modern thing now for some women to marry with the only thing changing hands between their families the skill they had. The middle class flourished, too, some families amassing wealth that equaled that of the nobles.

Taking a seat on the stool, Anne reached for the cards. The room was a welcoming refuge from the chilly glances in the eating hall. Enys tilted her head once more when Anne drew the metal teeth past one another. She seemed unsure what to say as the mistress of the house joined her in common chores.

“Do not worry; marriage comes along to us all.”

“Ye sound as though yers took ye a wee bit by surprise.”

Anne sighed, pulling wool with smooth motions of her arms. “Yes, it did.”

But she did not lament it. That was rooted deep inside her now. It was startling to notice just how greatly one week had changed her. The girl who greeted Philipa each morning was foreign to her now. Enys began singing again, a sweet tune of springtime. Anne found her foot keeping time with the melody while her arms worked the cards.

In the wilds of Scotland

“Damn raids. I’ve had a belly full o’ them.” Brodick cussed under his breath.

“More like yer wife has a full belly with the way ye tumbled her in the stable.”

Brodick rounded on his brother. Cullen dropped his jesting when he looked at his brother’s face. He kicked at the ground.

“Och now. Why do ye have to go soft for a woman? That’s sure to ruin half my fun,” Cullen huffed, propping his hands onto his hips. “What am I going to do now? I thought ye were only getting married, no losing yer heart to a lass.”

“I’m nae gone soft.”

“Aye, ye be.” His brother added a Gaelic word under his breath. “Ready to lay me low for mentioning what ye didnae mind shouting out to half the garrison last eve. If that is nae soft, I dinnae know what is.”

Brodick felt his anger deflate. Cullen had the right of it. He had raised his voice, happy to ensure that everyone knew what they’d been about. The true reason for his foul temper was frustration. Looking back over the burnt-out shells of three homes, he cussed. Druce turned to look at him, a frown marring his face.

“They are hiding in the canyons, no doubt.”

“No doubt.” Which meant he and his men were set on a merry chase that might not end soon. But it was a sure wager that they could not return to Sterling. There would be another few homes destroyed by tomorrow if they didn’t chase the guilty down. It was the duty of the lord to protect his people. Every man riding with him served his time in trade for the protection his family received. As the English queen grew nearer to dying, the neighboring clans became bolder. He had to defend his land with hard steel.

He was the McJames.

’Twas his duty and one he shouldered with honor. In spite of his frustration, he mounted his horse to take up the task with renewed faith. The reason was simple; he had a sweet wife who needed the strength of his sword. She was a McJames now and he would not return to her bed until his lands were safe for her and every other McJames soul.

“Let’s run these villains to ground, men!”

A cheer broke the evening chill. His men mounted, determination shining in their eyes. Gaining his own saddle, he led them forward.

Sterling

S
pring arrived in full glory. Winter lost its grip on the land and with it the people of Sterling became busy. Planting season began. Every set of available hands was pressed into service. The spinning room was empty save for Enys now that there was good weather.

Days turned into weeks without the return of the earl. Anne spent the time working alongside Enys, grateful to escape the rest of the castle. Helen remained in Perth while her daughter was in childbed.

Anne missed her sorely.

Be truthful…you miss Brodick.

There was a wicked streak in her nature, to be sure. It was boldly filling her dreams with heated memories of the nights she’d shared with her lover. She saw his face, heard his voice and even sometimes felt his hands on her body, her slumber shattering as she sat up in bed, burning for fulfillment only to notice that she was alone.

That had to be sinful.

The shadows lengthened as another day ended with no return. Anne drew a deep breath into her lungs to steady her nerves. She had grown to loathe the night. Eating in the hall had become so stressful, she avoided it, scavenging what she could once most of the men had finished their meals. The maids had only grown more cutting in their looks since no one checked their behavior. As mistress she should have.

Yet she lacked the heart to impose her will on them. She was a sham. Maybe they even sensed her guilt. Nobles were set above others by divine will. There was great disagreement just where blue-blooded bastards belonged in that heavenly ordered precedence. Was she beneath even the lowest beggar or above the maids giving her those frozen glares?

She did not know, so she did nothing, slipping away to work in the spinning room on some days. On the others she applied a needle to the clothing Mary had sent along with her. All of it had arrived back in her chamber without the alterations.

The quiet work suited her mood.

But the hours alone only encouraged her mind to think of Brodick. Telling herself to banish such ideas didn’t stop his face from rising as she plied a needle. Loneliness settled around like a dark cloak. After a fortnight, it became comfortable. She spent long hours thinking about her family. Bonnie would be fifteen this summer; plenty old enough for that horrible marriage Philipa had threatened. Anne shuddered, nausea twisting her stomach. Bonnie was a ray of summer sunshine. Thinking about such an ill fate made her want to retch.

The fire had long since gone cold and no one came to rebuild it. Anne left the coals, putting her surcoat on to stay warm. She had never had a fire laid simply for her own pleasure at Warwickshire. Since she was destined to return there, she should not become accustomed to the comforts she would have to leave behind.

She was much more worried about what Brodick would do when he discovered she was not the heiress bride he’d come south to fetch. A lump formed in her throat. Tears stung her eyes and she had to turn her back on the bed.

He would be furious.

Every moment of tenderness they’d shared would be dust once he knew the truth. She dreaded the moment. Yet found no way to avoid it. Unlike Philipa, Anne did not agree that Brodick would not notice the difference between her and Mary. The only thing that was in question was just which of them would be in the room when he unearthed the conspiracy.

The nausea persisted, making the idea of food repulsive. More weeks passed. Many days went by without her speaking to a single soul. It was as if she were a ghost, moving through the castle, yet unseen by the rest of the inhabitants.

Philipa’s insistence that she work as a servant came to be a blessing as the staff of Sterling ignored her. Anne knew her way about everyday work. In sooth, remaining busy was a kindness. At least while she was washing her bed linens and clothing, her mind had something to mull over that was not the possible fate of her family.

Was her mother still alive?

That question haunted her. Philipa hated Ivy. After years of hate poisoning Philipa’s soul, she was now black with rot. Having found the courage to force Anne to leave with Brodick, it was very possible the mistress of Warwickshire had turned Ivy Copper out. It might have been done the moment Anne disappeared from sight. She had no way of discovering the truth. At Sterling she was even more cut off from her father.

It was a muddle that even the clear spring weather could not melt away. The sun warmed her face as she hauled water from the river to wash her laundry and still she felt chilled and shaky. Her belly remained queasy, a tight knot that despised all but a few bits of nibbled bread. Even that bland fare often turned her green.

She fell into a routine. Rising with the sun and sleeping as soon as it set. The candles in her chamber had long since burned low. She couldn’t think of a good reason to burn another one since she only had her own needs to see to. It would be a waste of a good resource. A habit she didn’t need to foster in herself. Who knew where she might find herself come next spring and under what circumstances.

Brodick would turn her out when he discovered the ruse. Tears stung her eyes and she wiped them away. Crying was foolish.

Still she could not stop the flood of regret that hit her. He was a fine man who treated his wife kindly, far more tenderly than many. Even with his staff being so cold to her, there was much about her life at Sterling to covet. If it were her home, she would take the staff in hand. But she remained an outcast because she knew that she was not the true mistress of the house.

She was the lord’s leman at best, and even that would end when Brodick became wise to Philipa’s game.

With no fire, she often slept in the surcoat, its sturdy fabric a welcome comfort in the chamber. Once huddled beneath the coverlet, she was quite warm. If only her heart could be thawed by the fabric.

That would surely be too much to hope for.

Home

Brodick didn’t care if Cullen teased him. He was happy to be headed home. It wasn’t the first month he’d spent on the trail. A harsh truth that it wouldn’t be his last either. But tonight, he was following the moon back to Sterling. It set his heart to pounding and his mind to thinking about his sweet wife.

He caught Cullen staring at him.

“No teasing remark, Brother? Are ye sure yer nae feeling fevered?”

His brother didn’t grin. Instead he looked serious and older than his years.

“I’m contemplating the fact that I’m envious of ye.”

Druce reined in beside them. “Did I hear ye right? Was that actually wee Cullen admitting he can see the worth in marrying?”

Cullen glared at their cousin. “I always knew the value of the dowry but I didnae grasp the worth o’ having someone waiting on my return. That’s what I envy. Laugh if ye want, but ye’ve no one praying for yer skin, either.”

Druce frowned. “Maybe, I admit I’m beginning to see the benefits o’ such a thing. Possibly.”

Had she really prayed for him?

Only his mother had ever done that. His face heated just a wee bit as another part of him was far more interested in knowing if she’d dreamed about him. Late at night, when the fire was low and her bed empty. He’d thought about her every night on the trail, his back feeling the rocks more than he had in years.

“Well, I’d be most appreciative if one of ye would catch that daughter of McQuade’s and marry her. That way I’d nae have to chase his raiding clansmen across my land.”

“Bronwyn McQuade?”

Druce and Cullen both scowled as they spoke the name. Cullen shook his head in denial. “Yer harsh, Brother. Bronwyn is a shrew, more sour than Medusa.”

Druce chuckled. “I hear her pretty face is the lure she wiggles in front o’ men before unleashing her hellcat temper.”

“None o’ us have ever even been in the same room with the lass. Could be ’tis nothing more than a fable.”

“And I’ve no plans to change that, man.” Druce looked set in his opinion. “I want a sweet lass waiting for me, nae a battle of epic proportions every night.”

Brodick shrugged. “There were many who warned me against my bride. Told me the English bred weak women with tempers like the insane.” The top of the first tower of Sterling came into sight. “I’m humbly thankful that I’ve been shown otherwise.”

Brodick spurred his horse forward. Cullen and Druce watched him gallop towards his home.

“’Tis more enthusiasm than any man so newly wed should have.” Cullen didn’t sound as confident as he’d like. Envy was still riding him hard.

“Well now, I suppose maybe we’re the unlucky sods for nae having someone to make us that impatient.”

Cullen slid his cousin a raised eyebrow. “Does that mean yer taking another bit of thinking over Bronwyn McQuade?”

“Nae.” Druce said it too loudly.

Cullen smirked. “Nae? It sounds like ye might be thinking o’ it.”

Druce snickered, his voice low and mocking. “You first, laddie. I want to make sure she’s fed before I go too close to her claws.”

“Och well, nae every man has the amount o’ courage I’m blessed with.”

A couple of retainers laughed at Druce’s expense. He pointed a finger at Cullen. “I cannae wait to see ye tame her. Ye won’t be the first man she’s sent howling from her with his tail between his legs.”

Cullen frowned as more heads turned to listen in on their conversation. Druce smiled, enjoying his discomfort.

“Unless ye’ve lost some o’ that great courage, cousin.”

Chuckles surrounded him, raising his temper. “We’ll see.”

“Will we? I cannae wait.” Druce smirked. “Truly I cannae.”

“Ye will.” Cullen kneed his horse forward. The snickering behind him sent his temper to boiling. He didn’t care if he’d started it, the idea that any lass might be so hard to handle didn’t sit well with him. His brother was right. Marrying up with Bronwyn would settle a great many scores. His aching back found it a fine idea. Besides, beneath his teasing exterior was a son who had been raised with the same sense of duty that Brodick had. Marrying for the benefit of the McJames people was his future. ’Twas not just any bride he needed. Bronwyn McQuade was, in fact, a fine choice to be contemplating.

Now if he could only manage a way to getting close enough to the lass without getting his neck stretched on a rope by her father and brothers. That was the real trick. Not taming her.

There wasn’t a lass alive that was too strong to resist his charm. It might be a wee bit of fun to pursue the stubborn lass just to see how fast she succumbed to his touch.

The bells didn’t ring upon his return.

Brodick had ordered that custom stopped when his father died. He didn’t feel worthy of the bells announcing his return until he proved his worth as the new Lord of Sterling. ’Twas not something that could be done in the three short years he’d held his title. He rode through the open gate with pride tonight. All the discomforts of the last five weeks dissipated as he looked over the peace of the courtyard. Men walked the walls, the fires were burning evenly and all of its inhabitants slept in ease.

That was the duty of the McJames.

The sword on his back was never too heavy. But he was glad to be home again. Swinging his leg off the back of his horse, he gave the animal a firm pat before letting a stable lad take the reins. The youth looked stunned for a moment, hesitating because Brodick normally cared for his own steed.

“Do a good job of rubbing him down, lad, and I’ll see a reward to ye.”

A smile parted the boy’s face. “I’ll be like his mother.”

Men began spilling through the open gate, their voices cheerful. Lights began to flicker in the tower as wives and families roused. He looked up toward the chamber his wife slept in but saw no hint of light in the window.

That didn’t discourage him.

All it did was unleash a wicked desire to wake her up.

He stopped halfway up the steps. Inside he caught a whiff of sweet lavender from the candles. A deeper breath gave him a hint of what his body smelled like. Turning around he moved toward the bathing room. The erection standing at attention behind his kilt would just have to wait until he removed the stench of horse and sweat.

His wife had a pretty nose that he had no desire to see wrinkled.

The kitchen was already lit up, Bythe and her helpers smiling with welcome. Several retainers had made their way to their families, joy spilling into the darker corridors.

“Bythe, I’ve need o’ a bath and I dinnae care if it’s cold as a spinster.”

“Aye, my lord. It will be chilly, the fires are low.” She wrung her hands, looking about nervously.

“No matter, ’tis no reason to fret. Send the water.”

One of the maids scurried into the bath room with a candle. She touched the flame to the wicks of the candles mounted on the walls, bringing them to life. With a hasty lowering of her head, she departed. Water began splashing down the trough and into the tub. It gurgled, making a happy sound, and Brodick shed his clothing, grateful to be back in civilized surroundings. He was thirty-four years old and happy to relinquish the desire to ride through the night to the younger men who still considered it gallant.

He preferred his home.

Sitting down in the tub, he reached for the soap. It was a common bar, milled on his own land without any feminine perfume scents added. There was only a scent of beeswax. He applied it to his skin with brisk strokes, his thoughts centered on completing his task so he might get on with what he was truly craving.

His bed with his wife in it.

He was slightly disappointed that she had not come down to greet him, but shrugged it off. Her chamber was above floors and she was most likely still slumbering away, unaware that he’d returned. He suddenly understood why his father had the bells rung when he entered the courtyard.

It suddenly seemed like a fine tradition.

“Toweling, my lord.”

Ginny spoke from the doorway, her head looking at the floor. She kept her sight on the hem of her skirt as she entered and left the neat linen on a stool.

“If my wife awakes, send her to me.”

The maid swallowed roughly. Brodick froze, turning his attention to the girl, but she was scurrying out of the room as if he were Satan. He frowned, but dismissed the maid. The only woman he had to struggle to understand was his wife.