Suddenly Bronwyn came alive. She jumped out of the bed and pulled the sheet with her. She backed against the wall, and a startled Rab came to stand before her. She stared at Stephen as he lay in the bed. His nude body, his muscular legs covered with pale blond hair, looked strangely vulnerable. His chest was even thicker than it seemed when clothed. She pressed her body closer to the wall. “Do not touch me,” she said under her breath.
Slowly, and with great patience, Stephen threw his legs over the side of the bed. She kept her eyes on his face and could see that he considered her outburst little more than a nuisance. He walked past her to the table where a goblet and glasses sat beside a bowl of fruit. He poured her some wine. “Here, drink this and calm down.”
She knocked the glass from his hand, sending it flying across the room where it fell into pieces. “I will not allow you to touch me,” she repeated.
“Bronwyn, you’re only nervous. Every bride is scared her first time.”
“First time!” she said in a high pitch. “Do you think this is my first time? I have lain with half the men of my clan. I just don’t wany any filthy Englishman touching me, that’s all.”
Stephen did not lose his patient smile. “I know as well as you do that that’s a lie. You wouldn’t be so frightened if you’d been with a man before. Now please relax. You’re only making things worse. Besides, what can you do?”
She hated his smug self-assurance that she was helpless against him. She hated everything about him. He stood there so confident. Even nude he emanated a feeling of power. Bronwyn returned his smile, for she had something that would take that smile from his face.
“Rab!” she commanded. “Attack!”
The huge dog hesitated only a moment, then it sprang off its feet and headed directly for Stephen’s head.
Stephen moved to one side, his reactions even faster than the dog’s. As Rab flew toward him, a mass of snarls and long, pointed teeth, Stephen doubled his fist and slammed it into the side of the dog’s great square head. Rab’s flight immediately changed direction, and he hit the wall with force, then slid to a heap on the floor.
“Rab!” Bronwyn screamed and dropped her sheet as she ran to him.
The dog tried to stand but weaved about in a stunned way.
“You’ve hurt him,” Bronwyn cried as she looked up at Stephen standing over them.
Stephen had given the dog only a brief glimpse to see that it was unhurt, then his eyes were on Bronwyn alone. He stared, open-mouthed, at her rosy-tipped breasts, her round hips covered with skin like ivory satin.
“I’ll kill you for this!” Bronwyn screamed.
Stephen was too dazed with the beauty of her to see that she was reaching for the knife that lay by the fruit on the table. It was a dull knife, but the little point was sharp. He saw the flash of it only an instant before it would have sunk into his shoulder. He moved to one side, and it cut his skin.
“Damn!” he said as he put his hand over the wound. Suddenly he was very tired. Blood oozed between his fingers. He sat down on the bed, moved his hand, and looked at his shoulder. “Tear off a piece of that sheet so I can tie this.”
Bronwyn stood still, the knife still in her hand.
Stephen looked back at her, his eyes raking her body. “Do it!” he commanded, then watched as she knelt and tore a long strip of linen from the sheet. She wrapped the rest of the sheet around her.
Stephen didn’t ask for her help in bandaging his arm. When he’d tied it, using one hand and his teeth, he turned to the dog. “Rab, come here,” he said quietly. The dog obeyed instantly. Stephen carefully examined the dog’s head but saw nothing hurt. He patted the animal, and Rab rubbed his head on Stephen’s hand. “Good boy. Now go over there and sleep.” Rab went to where Stephen pointed and lay down.
“Now, Bronwyn,” he said in the same tone, “come to bed.”
“I’m not Rab to change loyalties so quickly.”
“Damn you!” Stephen said, then took one long stride toward her and grabbed her wrist. He pulled the sheet away from her and tossed it to the floor. “You’re going to obey me if I have to beat you.” He threw her over his bare thighs, bottom end up, and applied several hard, painful smacks to her firm, round buttocks.
When he finished, when each cheek bore the prints of his fingers, he threw her to the far side of the bed. He ignored the tears of pain in her eyes. He stretched out beside her, threw one arm around her waist, one heavy thigh over hers.
Stephen lay still for a moment, feeling Bronwyn’s delicious skin next to his, and he wanted very much to make love to her. But he was also very, very tired. He’d fought Roger that morning, and Bronwyn, as well as her dog, the rest of the day. A sudden feeling of contentment washed over him. He had her and she was his to enjoy for the rest of his life. His muscles began to relax.
Bronwyn lay under Stephen in a rigid position, braced for what was to come. Her backside burned from his spanking, and she sniffed once through her tears. When she felt him relax, then heard the even breathing that unmistakably said he was asleep, she felt relieved—then she was insulted. She started to move away from him, but he held her in a grip that threatened to break her ribs. When she saw there was nothing else she could do, she began to relax. And when she did, she found she rather liked his skin next to hers. His shoulder was hard and firm, and she rested her cheek against it. The candles in the room guttered, and she smiled dreamily as Stephen buried his face deeper in her hair.
Chapter Five
STEPHEN WOKE VERY EARLY THE NEXT MORNING.AT FIRSThe was only aware of the pain and stiffness of his bruised shoulder and his gashed upper arm. The room was dark and quiet, with only the faintest pink light coming through the tall window.
Stephen first became aware of the smell of Bronwyn. Her thick black hair was wrapped around his arm. Her thigh rested between his. He forgot any feelings of discomfort in an instant. He took a deep, slow breath and looked at her. Asleep and relaxed, her eyes didn’t shout hatred at him; her chin was lowered and defenseless, soft and womanly.
Cautiously he moved his hand to touch the side of her face. Her cheek was as smooth as a baby’s, softly rounded, sleep-pinked. He buried his fingers in her hair, watched the curls grab at his forearm like a rose bush climbing a trellis. It seemed as though he’d wanted her all his life. She was the woman he’d dreamed about. He had no desire to rush his pleasure of her. He’d waited so long, and now he wanted to take his time and savor her.
