“Yes! Go on!”
The girl finished in a rush. “But when I said it was from you, to be worn for the wedding, she threw it back at me. She said she had a wedding dress, and she’d never wear yours. Oh, my lord, it was awful. She was very loud, and all the people laughed.”
Stephen took the gown from the girl and gave her a copper penny.
As soon as the girl was gone, Chris began to laugh. “A sharp tongue did you say? It sounds to me like it’s more like a knife blade.”
Angrily Stephen thrust his arms through his doublet. “I’ve had about enough of this. It’s time someone taught that young lady some manners.”
He tossed the dress over his shoulder and left the room, taking long strides toward the Great Hall. He’d gone to a lot of trouble to get the exquisite garment. Bronwyn had complained about her ruined dress after she’d fallen in the stream, and so Stephen had made an attempt to repay her—not that he’d done anything to cause her to fall in the water, of course. He’d ridden into town and found the silver fabric, then paid four women to sit up all night sewing it. The material was a soft, fine wool with every other weft-thread a hair-thin piece of silver wire. It was heavy and luxurious. It shimmered and glowed even in the darkness of the hallways. In all likelihood it had cost more than all the gowns Bronwyn owned.
Yet she refused to wear it.
He saw her as soon as he entered the Great Hall. She sat on a cushioned chair wearing a dress of ivory satin. A young man sat close to her strumming a psaltery.
Stephen planted himself between them.
She gave one startled glance at him, then turned away.
“I would like you to wear this dress,” he said quietly.
She didn’t look up at him. “I have a wedding dress.”
Someone near Stephen gave a low chuckle. “Having women problems again, Stephen?”
Stephen stood still a moment, then jerked Bronwyn to her feet. He didn’t say a word, but the black look on his face was more than enough to keep her quiet. He locked his fingers about her wrist and pulled her after him. Her feet tangled in her skirts, and once she nearly fell before she could lift the fabric with her free hand. She knew Stephen would drag her if she fell behind.
He fairly tossed her inside her empty chamber, then slammed the door shut. He threw the dress on the bed. “Put it on!” he ordered.
Bronwyn held her ground. “I am not now, nor will I ever be, yours to command.”
His eyes were hard and dark. “I’ve done everything humanly possible to make up for being late.”
“Late!” she snarled. “Do you think that’s why I hate you? Do you really know so little about me that you think I’m so vain as to hate you just because you have the manners of a boor? I wanted you to lose today because Roger Chatworth would have been better for my clan. They’ll hate you as I do because of your arrogance, because of the way you think you own everything. You even believe you can dictate the dress I wear to be married in.”
Stephen took one step forward, then grabbed her jaw in his hand, his thumb and fingers digging into her cheeks. “I’m sick of hearing of your clan, and I’m even more sick of hearing Chatworth’s name from your lips. I had the dress made for you as a gift, but you’re too stubborn, too hot-headed to take it as such.”
She tried to free her head but couldn’t. He tightened his grasp, causing tears to come to her eyes.
“You are my wife,” he said, “and as such you will obey me. I know nothing about your people, and I can only deal with them when I meet them. But I do know how wives should act. I went to a great deal of trouble to have this dress made for you, and you are going to wear it.”
“No! I will not obey you! I am the MacArran!”
“Damn you!” he said, grabbing her shoulders and beginning to shake her. “This is not between England and Scotland nor between a laird and a clansman. This is between us—a man and a woman! You are going to wear that dress because I am your husband and I say you will!”
He stopped shaking her and saw that his words had made no impression on her. He bent and flung her over his shoulder.
“Release me!”
He didn’t bother to answer her as he tossed her on the bed, face down.
“Stop it! You’re hurting me!”
“You’ve done more than hurt me,” he retorted as his big fingers fumbled at the tiny buttons down the back of her dress. His legs straddled her. “Tonight I’ll show you the wounds Roger made on me. Hold still or I’ll tear this damn dress to pieces.”
Instantly Bronwyn lay still.
Stephen gave the back of her a look of disgust. “It seems that I get the most response out of you when I threaten to cost you some money.”