Stephen put his fingers to her lips. “Something is bothering you,” he said quietly. He watched her face, but she lowered her eyes so he couldn’t see the pain registering there. He took both her arms then ran his hands downward until they touched hers. Her left hand was clutched tightly over something. “What’s this?” he asked softly.
She tried to pull away from him, but he forced her hand open. He stared at the buckle, read the inscription. “Did someone give this to you today?”
She nodded silently.
“Did it belong to your father?”
She kept her eyes lowered, and again she could only nod.
“Bronwyn,” he said, his voice rich and deep. “Look at me.” He put his hand gently under her chin and lifted her face. “I’m sorry, truly sorry.”
“How can you know?” she snapped, jerking away from him. She silently cursed herself for almost believing in him, for letting his voice and his nearness affect her.
“I know what it’s like to lose a father as well as a mother,” he said patiently. “I’m sure it hurt me as badly as you’ve been hurt.”
“But I did not kill your father!”
“Nor did I, personally, kill yours!” he said fiercely. “Listen to me, just once, listen to me as a man, not as a political pawn. We’re married. It’s done. There’s no more stopping it. We could be happy, I know we could, if only you’d be willing to give us a chance.”
Her face hardened, her eyes turning cold. “And will you brag to your men that you have a Scotswoman eating from your hand? Will you try to win my men, as well as my women, to your side as you did today?”
“Win!” Stephen began. “Damn you! I’ve spent all day running, literally, in this cold climate bare-legged and bare-assed too, if the truth be known, all to please you and those men you care about so much.” He pushed her away from him. “Go and wallow in your hatred. It will keep you cold company at night.” He turned away and left her.
Bronwyn stood very still for a moment before slowly going down the stairs. She wanted to trust him. She needed a husband to trust. But how could she? What would happen if her lands were attacked by raiding Englishmen? Could Stephen be expected to fight against his own people?
She knew how she reacted to him. It would be easy to forget their differences and succumb to his sweet touches, his rich voice. But when she needed to be wary and alert, her senses would be dulled. She couldn’t afford that. She wouldn’t risk her people’s lives merely because she enjoyed a lusty time in bed with a man who could be a spy.
She sat in the little garden behind the tall stone house. She couldn’t trust him. For all she knew, his entreaties for her to believe in him were a means to use her. She knew he had brothers. Perhaps he’d call them to his side once he made an opening in Bronwyn’s defenses. Would he boast to his brothers that she would do what he wanted, that to make her pliable, he had only to kiss the back of her knees?
She stood and began to walk quickly to the edge of the peninsula. The sea beat against the rocks, and she could see for miles. It was a great resp
onsibility to be laird of a clan. Many, many people looked to her for protection and, if need be, even for food. She worked hard at knowing her people and understanding them. She could not let her defenses down for even a moment. So when Stephen caressed her, held her, she had to protect herself against him, against allowing her emotions to rule her head. If ever she knew she could trust him, then she could ask what was in her heart.
“Bronwyn.”
She turned. “What is it, Douglas?” She looked into the young man’s brown eyes. She could see the unasked question in his eyes, as it was in all her men’s eyes. They didn’t know whether or not to trust Stephen and were waiting for her judgment. And she was to be judged also. If she was in error about him, they would no longer trust her.
“I have received word that the MacGregors plan another cattle raid tonight.”
Bronwyn nodded. She knew Douglas had access to an informer. “Have you told anyone else of this?”
Douglas paused, reading her thoughts correctly, knowing she meant Stephen. “No one.”
She looked back at the sea. “I will lead my men tonight, and we will show the MacGregors who is the MacArran. I’ll not be laughed at again.”
Douglas smiled. “It will be good to ride with you again.”
She looked back at him. “Tell no one of our plans. No one! Do you understand?”
“Aye, I understand.” He turned and left her.
The long dinner table was spread heavily with food. Stephen was at first suspicious of the abundance because Bronwyn’s Scots sense of thrift made her set a more modest table. At dinner she’d smiled at him. This had surprised him, since he’d assumed she’d be angry after what had happened that afternoon. But perhaps she’d listened to his words, perhaps she was willing to give him a chance.
He sat back in his chair and ran his hand along her thigh. He smiled when he felt her jump.
She turned to him, her eyes soft and warm, her lips parted, and Stephen felt his body grow hot. He leaned toward her.
“This is not the time or place,” she said, a note of sadness in her voice.