Highland Velvet Read online

  “She said ye were the ugliest man created.”

  Stephen’s eyes sparkled. “And what do you think?”

  Morag grunted. “Ye’ll do. And don’t try to get compliments out of me.”

  “Now that I’ve been put in my place, perhaps you’ll tell me who you are. I take it by your accent that you’re a Scot like my Bronwyn.”

  “I’m Morag of MacArran.”

  “Bronwyn’s maid?”

  Morag’s back stiffened. “Ye’ll do well to learn that we’re freemen in Scotland. I do what I can to earn my bread. Why were ye late for yer own weddin’?”

  Stephen looked back at Bronwyn. “My sister-in-law was very ill. I couldn’t leave until I knew she was going to live.”

  “And ye couldna’ send a message?”

  Stephen gave her a sheepish look. “I forgot. I was worried about Judith and I forgot.”

  Morag gave her little cackle of a laugh. She could feel herself being charmed by this tall knight. “Ye’re a good man that ye could care enough about someone else to forget yer own interests.”

  Stephen’s eyes sparkled. “Of course, I had no idea then what your mistress looked like.”

  The woman laughed again. “Ye’re a good, honest boy…for an Englishman. Come inside and have some whiskey with me. Ye’re not afraid of a little whiskey so early in the day?”

  He held out his arm to her. “Maybe I can get you drunk and ply you with questions about Bronwyn.”

  Morag’s cackle rang out across the garden. “There was a time, young man, when men wanted me drunk for other reasons.” They walked together into the house.

  Bronwyn frowned at the laugh. She’d been all too aware of the man staring at her, and she’d found it oddly unsettling. She glanced at him occasionally, and she had an impression of easy grace, power, and a strength held lightly under control. Morag’s too-intimate conversation with the man disturbed her. The old woman didn’t usually take to men, especially Englishmen, and Bronwyn wondered how this man could charm her so easily.

  “Who is that man with Morag?”

  Roger frowned. “I thought you’d met him. That’s Stephen.”

  She stared at Stephen’s retreating form, watched how he offered his arm to the wrinkled woman. Morag’s head barely reached above Stephen’s elbow.

  Suddenly Bronwyn felt even further insulted. What kind of man was he that would stand by while another courted the woman he was to wed? He’d been only a few feet away, yet he hadn’t even bothered to speak to her.

  “Lady Bronwyn, has something upset you?” Roger asked, watching her closely.

  “No,” she smiled. “Absolutely nothing. Please continue to play.”

  It was nearly evening when Bronwyn saw Morag again. The setting sun made the room dim. Rab stood close by his mistress’s side while she combed her long hair. “I see you had a visitor this afternoon,” she said as if it were of no importance.

  Morag shrugged.

  “Did you speak of anything interesting?”

  Again Morag merely shrugged.

  Bronwyn put down her comb and went to the window seat where Morag sat. “Will you answer me!”

  “Ye’re a nosy one. Since when do I have to make an answer about my private conversations?”

  “You’ve been drinking in the afternoon again. I can smell it.”

  Morag grinned. “That boy can certainly hold his whiskey. I bet he could drink a Scot under the table.”

  “Who?” Bronwyn demanded.

  Morag gave her a sly look. “Why, yer husband of course. Who else would ye be houndin’ me for answers about?”

  “I am not…!” Bronwyn calmed herself. “He is not my husband. He doesn’t even bother to speak to me much less appear for his wedding.”

  “So that’s what’s still botherin’ ye. I figured ye’d see us together. Were ye plannin’ to snub him while you had the arm of young Chatworth?”

  Bronwyn didn’t answer.

  “I thought so! Let me tell ye that Stephen Montgomery isn’t used to being snubbed by any woman, and if he does decide to marry ye after the way ye’ve carried on with Chatworth, ye should consider yerself fortunate.”

  “Fortunate!” Bronwyn managed to gasp. It was all she could say. Another word from Morag and she just might wring that scrawny little neck. “Come, Rab,” she commanded and left the room.

  She hurried down the stairs to the garden below. It had already grown dark, and the moon shone brightly over the trees and hedges. She walked along the paths for quite some time before she finally sat down on a stone bench in front of a low wall. How she wanted to go home! She wanted to get away from these foreigners, out of these foreign clothes, away from foreign men who looked at her only as a prize of war.

  Suddenly Rab stood and gave a low growl of warning.

  “Who’s there?” she asked.

  The man stepped forward. “Stephen Montgomery,” he said quietly. He looked larger in the moonlight, towering over her. “May I sit with you?”

  “Why not? What say do I have in any matter concerning the English?”

  Stephen sat beside her and watched as she controlled Rab with a single hand gesture. He leaned back against the wall, his long legs stretched before him. Bronwyn moved closer to the edge of the bench, away from him. “You’ll fall if you move any farther.”

  She stiffened. “Say what you want and have done with it.”

  “I have nothing to say,” he said easily.

  “You certainly seemed to have ‘nothing’ to say to Morag.”

  He smiled, the moonlight showing his even, white teeth. “The woman tried to get me drunk.”

  “And did she succeed?”

  “You don’t grow up with three brothers and not learn how to drink.”

  “You merely drank and had no conversation?”

  Stephen was silent for a moment. “Why are you so hostile to me?”

  She stood quickly. “Did you expect me to welcome you with open arms? I stood in my wedding gown for six hours waiting for you to come. I have seen my entire family slaughtered by the English yet I am told I must marry one. Then I am disregarded as if I did not exist. And now you make no apology to me but ask why I am hostile.”

  She turned away and started back toward the house.

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her around to look at him. She wasn’t used to a man so much taller than her. “If I offered you an apology, would you accept it?” His voice was quiet, deep, as liquid silver as the moonlight. It was the first time he’d ever touched her or even been so close. He took her wrists, ran his hands up her arms, gripping her flesh beneath the silk and velvet.

  “King Henry only wants peace,” he said. “He thinks that if he puts an Englishman in the midst of the Scots, they’ll see we aren’t so bad.”

  Bronwyn looked up at him. Her heart was pounding quite hard. She wanted to get away from him, but her body wouldn’t obey her. “Your vanity is alarming. Judging from your lack of manners, my Scots would see the English as worse than they feared.”

  Stephen laughed softly, but it was obvious his mind was not on her words. He moved his left hand to touch her throat.

  Bronwyn tried to jerk from his grip. “Unhand me! You have no right to paw me…or to laugh at me.”

  Stephen made no effort to release her. “You’re a delicious thing. I can only think that had I not missed our wedding, I could take you upstairs to my chamber this very moment. Perhaps you’d like to forget the day of waiting for our wedding and go with me now?”

  She gasped in horror, causing Rab to growl menacingly at Stephen. She twisted sharply away from the hands that held her. Rab stepped between his mistress and the man who touched her. “How dare you?” she said between clenched teeth. “Be grateful I do not turn Rab onto you for that insult.”

  Stephen laughed in astonishment. “The dog values its life.” He took a step closer and Rab growled louder.

  “Don’t come any closer,” Bronwyn warned.

  Stephen looked at