“Well, Stephen, shouldn’t you greet your bride?”
Stephen blinked several times before he could recover himself. Slowly he walked to her.
Bronwyn was a tall woman, but she had to look up to meet his eyes. He looked worse in the dim light. The candlelight seemed to make eerie shadows of the mud and dried blood on his face.
Lifting a curl from her breast, he felt it between his fingers. “You’ve made no mistake, Sir Thomas?” he asked quietly, his eyes never leaving hers. “This is the laird of Clan MacArran?”
Bronwyn stepped back. “I have a tongue and a brain of my own. You need not speak as if I weren’t here. I am the MacArran of MacArran, and I am sworn to hate all Englishmen, especially ones who insult my clan and me by appearing late and unwashed before me.” She turned to Sir Thomas. “I find I am greatly fatigued. I would like to be excused, if you can grant this poor prisoner so great a request.”
Sir Thomas frowned. “Stephen is your master now.”
She whirled to face him, gave him one scathing look, then left the room without his permission.
Sir Thomas turned to Stephen. “I’m afraid she lacks some in manners. These Scotsmen should take a firm hand to their womenfolk more often. But in spite of her sharp tongue, do you still think she is hideous?”
Stephen could only stare at the doorway where Bronwyn had just left. Visions of her danced before him—a body he thought existed only in dreams, black hair and sapphire eyes. Her chin had jutted out at him so that he ached to kiss it. Her breasts were full, hard against the wet, clinging fabric; her waist small and firm; her hips and thighs round, impudent, tantalizing.
“Stephen?”
Stephen nearly fell into the chair. “Had I known,” he whispered, “had I any idea, I would have come weeks ago when King Henry promised her to me.”
“Then she meets with your approval?”
He ran his hand across his eyes. “I think I’m dreaming. Surely no woman could look like that and be alive. You must be playing a trick on me. You don’t plan to substitute the real Bronwyn MacArran on my wedding day, do you?”
“I assure you she is real. Why do you think I keep her guarded so heavily? My men are like dogs ready to fight over her at any moment. They stand around and repeat stories of the treacherous Scots to each other, but the truth is, individually each of them has generously offered to take your place in the girl’s bed.”
Stephen curled his lip at this. “But you have kept them from her.”
“It hasn’t been easy.”
“And what of Chatworth? Has he taken my place with my wife?”
Sir Thomas chuckled. “You sound as if you’re jealous, and a moment ago you were willing to give her to Roger. No, Roger has never spent an unchaperoned moment with her. She is an excellent horsewoman, and he would not ride out alone with her for fear she’d run to her Scots.”
Stephen snorted in derision. “It’s more like the Chatworth name has too many enemies to ride out alone.” He stood up. “You should have locked her in her room and not let her ride with any man.”
“I’m not so old that I can resist a face like Lady Bronwyn’s. She has merely to ask me for something, and I’ll give it to her.”
“She is my responsibility now. Do I have the southeast room again? Could you send a bath and some food? Tomorrow she won’t be insulted by my appearance.”
Sir Thomas smiled at Stephen’s calm self-assurance. Tomorrow should prove to be an exciting day.
•••
As the early-morning sunlight fell across the room, Bronwyn stood by the table, a note in her hand, a frown creasing her brow. She wore a velvet gown of peacock blue. The puffed sleeves were slashed, and tiffany silk of pale green was drawn through the openings. The front of the skirt was cut to show more of the green tiffany.
She turned to Morag. “He asks me to meet with him in the garden.”
“Ye look presentable enough.”
Bronwyn crumbled the note in her hand. She was still angry over the way he’d commanded her presence last night. This morning he offered no apology nor explanation for his behavior or his lateness. He merely requested that she do exactly what he wanted when he wanted.
She looked at the serving girl who waited for the answer. “Tell Lord Stephen I will not meet with him.”
“Will not, my lady? You are unwell?”
“I am quite well. Give my message as I said, then go to Roger Chatworth and tell him I will meet him in the garden in ten minutes.”
