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  Standing up slowly, Stephen walked toward the fireplace. Bits of mud fell from his clothes as he moved. Sir Thomas could not know what the name Chatworth meant to Stephen. Alice Valence had been his brother’s mistress for years. Repeatedly, Gavin had asked her to marry him. She refused, preferring to marry the rich Edmund Chatworth. Soon after her marriage, Edmund was murdered and Alice reappeared in Gavin’s life. She was a treacherous woman, and she had climbed into bed with a drunken, sleepy Gavin, then arranged for Judith to see them together. In her agony Judith fell down the stairs and lost her child and nearly lost her own life.

  Roger Chatworth was Alice’s brother-in-law, and even the mention of the name made Stephen grit his teeth.

  “There must be more to this,” Stephen said finally.

  “Bronwyn hinted last evening that perhaps she’d be more pleased with Roger for a husband than one who is so…discourteous.”

  Stephen smiled and went back to the chair. “And how does Roger take all this?”

  “He seems amenable. He rides with her each morning, escorts her to supper in the evening, spends time in the garden with her.”

  Stephen drank the last of the wine and began to relax. “It’s well known that the Chatworths are a greedy bunch, but I didn’t know to what degree. He must be very hungry to endure the woman’s company.”

  “Endure?” Sir Thomas asked, surprised.

  “There’s no need to be dishonest with me. I heard how she fought like a man when she was surrounded, and worse how even her own father considered her enough of a man to name her his successor. I almost feel sorry for Roger. It would serve him right if I let him have the hideous woman.”

  Sir Thomas stood with his mouth agape, then slowly his eyes began to twinkle. “Hideous, is she?” he chuckled.

  “What else could she be? Don’t forget I’ve spent some time in Scotland. A wilder, more savage group of people I’ve never run across. But what could I say to King Henry? He thought he was rewarding me. If I stepped aside and let Roger have her he’d forever be in my debt. Then I could marry some sweet, pretty little woman who wouldn’t try to borrow my armor. Yes,” he smiled, “that’s just what I think I’ll do.”

  “I agree with you,” Sir Thomas said firmly. “Bronwyn is truly a hideous woman. I’m sure Roger is only interested in her land. But just so you can tell King Henry you were fair, why don’t you meet her? I’m sure she’ll take one look at you, filthy as you are, and refuse to marry you.”

  “Yes.” Stephen grinned, his white teeth only making him seem dirtier by contrast. “Then tomorrow both the woman and I can tell Roger of our decision. Then I can go home. Yes, Sir Thomas, it’s a splendid idea.”

  Sir Thomas’s eyes shone like a boy’s; they fairly danced. “You show an uncommon wisdom for a man so young. Just wait here, and I’ll have her brought down the back stairs to this room.”

  Stephen gave a low whistle. “Back stairs, is it? She must be worse than I imagine.”

  “You’ll see, my boy. You’ll see,” Sir Thomas said as he left the room.

  Bronwyn sat buried to her chin in a tub of hot, steamy water. Her eyes were closed, and she was thinking about going home. Roger would be with her, and together they’d lead her clan. It was a picture she was beginning to conjure more and more often in the last few days. Roger was one Englishman she could understand. Every day he seemed to know more about the Scots.

  As Morag burst into the room she opened her eyes. “He’s here,” the old woman announced.

  “Who is here?” Bronwyn asked stubbornly, knowing exactly whom Morag meant.

  Morag ignored her question. “He’s talking to Sir Thomas but I’m sure ye’ll be called for in a few minutes, so get out of that water and get dressed. Ye kin wear the blue dress.”

  Bronwyn leaned her head back. “I’m not finished with my bath, and I have no intention of meeting him merely because he’s bothered to appear. He kept me waiting for four days, so maybe I’ll make him wait for five.”

  “Ye’re bein’ childish, as ye well know. The stable boy said the man’s horses had been run near to death. Ye can see he tried to get here in a hurry.”

  “Or perhaps he always mistreats his horses.”

  “Ye’re not too big to take a switch to! Now get out of that tub or I’ll throw a bucket of cold water over yer head.”

  Before Morag could act, the door was suddenly thrust open again, revealing a pair of guards.

  “How dare you!” Bronwyn yelled as she sank lower into the water.

  Instantly Rab rose from his place at the foot of the tub, ready to attack.

  The men had barely a glimpse of Bronwyn before they were knocked off balance by a hundred and twenty pounds of snarling, sharp-toothed dog.

  Morag grabbed Bronwyn’s thin linen chemise and tossed it to her. She stood in the tub and hastily pulled it over her wet body, the hem of it falling into the water. She grabbed a woolen tartan from Morag as she stepped out of the tub.

  “Quiet, Rab!” Bronwyn ordered. The hound obeyed immediately, coming to her side.

  The guards stood up slowly, rubbing their wrists and shoulders where Rab had toyed with them. They did not know that the dog killed only on direct command from Bronwyn; otherwise he protected her without doing permanent damage. The men had seen the tub taken to Bronwyn’s room, had heard her splashing. They used Sir Thomas’s orders as an invitation to see her in her bath. Now she was wrapped from head to toe in a Scots plaid. There was no outline of her body showing, only her face, her eyes shining with humor.

  “What do you want?” Bronwyn asked, laughter in her voice.

  “You are to come to Sir Thomas’s study,” one of the guards said sullenly. “And if that dog ever again—”

  She cut him off. “If you ever again enter my room without my permission, I will allow Rab to have your throat. Now lead the way.”

  They looked from Bronwyn to the big wolfhound, then turned away. Bronwyn held her head high as she followed them down the stairs. She would let no one see her anger at the way she was being treated by this Stephen Montgomery. Four days late for his wedding, then, the moment he arrives, she is dragged before him like an errant serving wench.

  When Bronwyn was inside the study, she looked from Sir Thomas to the man standing by the fireplace. He was tall, but he was filthy beyond belief. Of his face she could tell nothing. It seemed to be swollen on one side, and she wondered if it was a permanent affliction.

  Suddenly one of the guards saw a way to repay her for her sport of him. Grabbing the trailing end of the long tartan, he gave Bronwyn a sharp shove. She fell forward, and the guard yanked back on the plaid.

  “You!” Sir Thomas bellowed. “Out of my sight! How dare you treat a lady like that! If you’re within fifty miles of here in the morning, I’ll have you hanged!”

  Both guards turned and quickly left the room as Sir Thomas bent to retrieve the garment.

  Only momentarily stunned, Bronwyn quickly got off her knees and stood. The thin chemise clung to her still-wet body as if she were nude. She started to cover herself with her hands until she glanced up at Stephen. He was no longer nonchalantly leaning against the fireplace but had come to attention, staring at her in open-mouthed disbelief. His eyes were wide, showing white all around them, his mouth so agape that his tongue fairly fell out.

  She curled her lip at him, but he didn’t even notice. All he could see was what was below her neck. She put her arms straight to her sides and glared at him.

  It seemed an extraordinarily long time before Sir Thomas placed Bronwyn’s plaid gently about her shoulders. She wrapped it tightly about her body.

  “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