Stephen smiled slightly, his eyes closed, more asleep than awake, and pulled her even closer, more under him than beside him. Bronwyn could hardly breathe but it didn’t matter. No, breathing was the last of her thoughts.
•••
Stephen stood in the little crofter’s cottage, warming his hands before the peat fire. A raw wind was blowing outside, and the fire was needed. Tam was visiting his sister, leaving Bronwyn’s house for a few days. The thick older man sat on the far side of the stone-walled room, a fisherman’s net spread across his bare knees. He was working the knots, his big hands pulling at the coarse ropes.
“So you want me to help ye to look less like a fool,” Tam said seriously.
Stephen turned. He still wasn’t quite used to the way the Scotsmen sat or stood, according to their own wishes, in his presence. He was perhaps too used to being “my lorded.” “I wouldn’t quite put it that way,” he said. Thinking back over the events of the cattle raid, he shook his head. “I did look like a fool, both to my own men and to the Scots. I did feel as if I were standing in a steel coffin as Douglas said.”
Tam paused for a moment as he tightened a knot. “Douglas always thought he should have been one of the men chosen by Jamie to be Bronwyn’s husband.” He chuckled at the expression on Stephen’s face. “Don’t worry, boy, Jamie knew what he was doing. Douglas is a follower, not a leader. He’s too awed of Bronwyn to ever be her master.”
Stephen laughed. “No man is strong enough to be her master.”
Tam didn’t comment on that statement, but he smiled to himself. Morag kept a close watch on the couple and reported to Tam. Tam wanted to make sure Bronwyn was in no danger of being harmed by the Englishman. From what Morag said, Stephen was the one in danger—of exhaustion.
Tam looked up. “The first thing ye must do is rid yerself of those English clothes.”
Stephen nodded; he’d expected this.
“And then ye must learn to run, both for distance and speed.”
“Run! But a soldier must stand and fight.”
Tam snorted. “Our ways are different. I thought ye knew that already. Unless ye’re willin’ to learn, I’ll be no use to ye.”
With an air of resignation Stephen agreed.
An hour later he began to wish he hadn’t agreed. He and Tam stood outside in the cold autumn wind, and Stephen had never felt so bare in his life. Instead of the heavy, padded, warm English clothes, he wore only a thin shirt, a belted plaid over it. He wore wool socks and high boots, but he still felt as if he were bare from the waist down.
Tam slapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, boy, ye’ll get used to it. A little more hair and ye’ll be nearer a Scot than ever.”
“This is a damned cold country to be running about bareassed,” Stephen muttered as he flipped up the plaid and shirt to show one bare cheek.
Tam laughed. “Now you know what a Scotsman wears under his plaid.” His face turned serious. “There’s a reason for our dress. The plaid makes a man disappear in the heather. The dress is easy to remove, easy and fast to put on. Scotland’s a wet country, and a man can’t afford to have wet, clinging garments on his skin; he’d die of lung sickness if he did. The plaid is cool in summer, and the constant chafing of yer knees’ll make ye warm in winter.” His eyes twinkled. “And it allows free air circulation to all yer most vital parts.”
“That it does,” Stephen said.
“Ah! now ye look to be a man!” Morag said from behind him. She openly stared at his legs. “Wearin’ all that armor has put some muscle on ye.”
Stephen grinned at her. “If I weren’t already married, I think I might consider asking you.”
“And I might consider acceptin’. Though I wouldn’t like to fight Bronwyn for ye.”
Stephen gave her a bleak look. “She’d give me away to anyone if she could.”
“As long as she could have ye in bed, is that it?” Morag cackled before turning away.
Stephen blinked once. The familiarity within a clan always startled him. Everyone seemed to know everyone else’s business.
“We’re wastin’ time,” Tam said. “Try runnin’ to that pole down there,” he pointed.
Stephen thought that running would be easy. After all, even children ran, and he was in good condition. But he felt his lungs were about to burst after his first short sprint. It took several minutes to calm his racing heart and regain his breath. His heart sounded as if it were about to break his eardrums.
“Here, drink some water,” Tam said as he held out a dipper. “Now that ye have yer breath, run it again.”
Stephen raised one eyebrow in disbelief.
“Come on, boy,” Tam said. “I’ll run it with ye. You wouldn’t let an old man beat ye, would ye?”
