Roger laughed at her. “How very noble of you. But you have nothing to bargain with. You won’t be given a second chance to try to escape.”
“But what use can Mary be to you? She’s never hurt anyone in her life.”
“Do you call this nothing?” the woman screamed, her fingers running along her scars.
“Mary didn’t do that,” Bronwyn said with conviction. She was beginning to believe the scars showed the woman’s true nature.
“Quiet, both of you!” Roger said. He turned to Bronwyn. “This is my sister-in-law, Lady Alice Chatworth. Both of us have reason to hate the Montgomerys, and we have sworn an oath to destroy them.”
“Destroy!” Bronwyn gasped. “But Mary—”
Roger grabbed her arm. “Have you no concern for yourself?”
“I know what men like you want,” she spat. “Can’t you get a woman without lies and treachery?”
Roger drew his hand back to slap her, then stopped at Alice’s cackle. “That is what you went to Scotland for, isn’t it, Roger?” she laughed. “Why was it necessary to bring her back tied in a wagon?”
Roger looked from one woman to the other, then grabbed Bronwyn and pulled her from the room. He half dragged her up the stairs, paused in front of the bolted door, then pulled her farther down the hall. He pushed her onto the wide bed in the center of the rich room. Dark brown velvet hung from the bed canopy. Brown velvet draperies covered the window. Gold braid elegantly trimmed the brown.
“Undress!” he commanded.
Bronwyn smiled at him. “Never,” she said in a friendly way.
He returned her smile. “If you value Mary’s life, you will obey me. It will cost her one finger for every second you delay.”
Bronwyn gaped at him, then began to unfasten her brooch. Roger leaned against a high, carved chest and watched her with interest.
“Did you know I got drunk on your wedding night?” he asked. “No, of course you didn’t know. I’ll wager you never gave me a thought. I don’t like being used. You used me in some sort of game with Stephen Montgomery.”
She stopped, her hand on the buttons of her shirt. “I never used you. Had you won the fight, I would have married you. I thought you were being honest when you told me you cared for my clan.”
He snorted in derision. “You’re stalling. I want to see what has cost me so much pain and dishonor.”
Bronwyn bit her lip on her words. She wanted to tell him he had brought his own dishonor.
Her hands were shaking on her buttons. She’d never undressed before any man except Stephen. She blinked back tears. Stephen would never love her again if another man took her. He was already so jealous that he mistrusted her every action. How would he be after Roger Chatworth got through with her?
She stood, unfastened her belt and her skirt, and let them slide to the floor. And how would she react to Roger’s touch? Stephen had only to look at her and she fairly attacked him. His merest touch would set her to trembling with passion. Would Roger be able to do the same?
“Hurry up!” Roger commanded. “I’ve been waiting months for this.”
Bronwyn closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath as she let the shirt fall to the floor. She kept her chin high and her shoulders back as Roger took a candle and came toward her.
He stared at her, his eyes roaming over her satin skin, her high, proud breasts. He touched her hip gently, ran his finger along the soft pad of flesh around her navel. “Beautiful,” he whispered. “Montgomery was right to fight for you.”
A sudden knock on the door made them both jump. “Quiet!” Roger commanded as he glanced at the door.
“Roger,” came the voice through the door, a young man’s voice. “Are you awake?”
“Get in the bed!” Roger said under his breath. “Stay under the covers and don’t make a sound. Do I need to threaten you?”
Bronwyn obeyed him quickly, glad for any excuse to hide her nude body from his sight. She buried herself under the furs and coverlets while Roger hastily drew the curtains around the bed.
“Brian, what is it?” Roger asked in a completely different, gentle voice as he opened the door. “Did you have another bad dream?”
Bronwyn moved silently so she could see through the curtains. Roger lit several candles on a table by the bed. He stepped aside, and she could see the young man who entered.
Brian was probably twenty years old, but his slight build made him appear to be little more than a boy. He walked with a hesitant step, as if one leg were stiff but he’d learned to walk with only a slight limp. He was obviously Roger’s brother, a younger, weaker, more delicate version of his strong, healthy older brother.
