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  It seemed a long way back to the manor house, and the horse’s sharp backbone hitting him seemed just punishment for his behavior. She was a proud woman, and he had treated her badly. It was just that she did things to him. He looked at her, and he had difficulty thinking. She tried to talk to him, and all he could think about was getting her in bed. Later, he thought, after they were married and he’d bedded her a few times, he’d be able to look at her without his blood boiling.

  Bronwyn stood before the mirror in her room. She felt much better now that she’d had a hot bath and some time to think. Stephen Montgomery was not the man to become her husband. If he antagonized her people as he did her, he would be killed instantly, and then the English would come down upon their heads. She’d not marry a man who would surely cause war as well as strife within her clan.

  She adjusted her hair again. She’d pulled the top of it back from her forehead, allowing the rest of it to hang freely down her back. A servant girl had brought her freshly cut autumn daisies, and Bronwyn had made a band of these across the back of her head.

  Her gown was of emerald-green silk. The trailing sleeves were lined with gray squirrel fur, accenting the gray silk revealed by the part in the front of the bell-shaped skirt.

  “I want to look my best,” Bronwyn said, catching a glimpse of Morag in the mirror.

  Morag snorted. “I’d like to think ye were dressin’ to please Sir Stephen, but I don’t think so.”

  “I will never dress for him!”

  “As far as I can tell, the man only wants ye undressed,” Morag mumbled.

  Bronwyn didn’t bother to answer, nor would she allow herself to become upset. What she needed to do would affect the lives of hundreds of people, and she couldn’t enter upon it when she was angry.

  Sir Thomas was waiting for her in the library. His smile of greeting was cordial but reserved. He heartily wished he could get rid of the beautiful woman so his men would stop snapping over her.

  When Bronwyn was seated, a glass of wine refused, she began. She knew the real reason that she couldn’t accept Stephen: because he refused to accept the Scots’ ways. But she’d planned a more English reason to give Sir Thomas.

  “But my dear,” he said in exasperation, “Stephen was chosen for you by King Henry.”

  Bronwyn lowered her head in shy submission. “And I’m willing to accept a husband chosen for me by the English king, but I am chief of Clan MacArran, and Stephen Montgomery is merely a knight. I would have trouble with my men if I were to marry him.”

  “But you think they’d accept Lord Roger?”

  “Since his brother’s recent death, he is an earl, more nearly my rank as chief.”

  Sir Thomas grimaced. He was getting too old for this sort of thing. Damn those Scots anyway for allowing a woman to think for herself. None of this would be happening if Jamie MacArran hadn’t named his daughter his successor.

  He walked to the door and asked for Stephen and Roger to be brought to him.

  When the young men were seated, one on each side of Lady Bronwyn, Sir Thomas told them of her plan. He watched the men’s faces carefully. He saw the light come into Roger’s eyes, and Sir Thomas turned away from him. Stephen sat quietly; the only sign he gave that he heard was a slight darkening of his eyes. Bronwyn never moved, the green of her dress giving her eyes a new depth, the daisies in her hair making her appear sweet and innocent.

  Roger was the first to speak when Sir Thomas finished. “The Lady Bronwyn is right. Her title should be honored.”

  Stephen’s eyes flashed. “Of course you’d think that, since you plan to gain a great deal by such a decision.” He turned to Sir Thomas. “The king spent a year choosing a bride for me. He wanted to reward my family for helping patrol the Lowlands borders.”

  Bronwyn whirled on him. “Kill and rape, you mean!”

  “I meant what I said: patrol. We did very little killing.” His eyes went to her breasts and his voice lowered. “And almost no raping.”

  Bronwyn stood. “Sir Thomas, you’ve been to the Highlands.” She ignored his shudder of unpleasant memory. “My people would be dishonored if I were to bring back a lowly knight who was to be their laird. King Henry wants peace. This man,” she pointed at Stephen, “would only cause more trouble if he entered the Highlands.”

  Stephen laughed as he stepped behind Bronwyn and put a strong arm around her waist. He held her tightly against him. “This isn’t a matter of diplomacy but a girl’s anger. I asked her to come early to my bed, before the wedding, and she thought I’d insulted her.”

  Sir Thomas smiled, relieved. He started to speak.

  Roger stepped forward. “I protest! Lady Bronwyn is not a woman to be put aside so easily. What she says makes sense.” He turned to Stephen. “Are you afraid to put the winning of her to a test?”

  Stephen raised one eyebrow. “I don’t believe the Montgomery name has ‘coward’ attached to it. What did you have in mind?”

  “Gentlemen! Please!” Sir Thomas fairly shouted. “King Henry sent Lady Bronwyn here for a wedding, a happy occasion.”

  Bronwyn jerked from Stephen’s grasp. “Happy! How can you say the word when I am to be married to this greedy, insufferable lowling? I swear I’ll murder him in his sleep the first opportunity I get.”

  Stephen smiled at her. “So long as it’s after the wedding night, I might be content.”

  Bronwyn sneered.

  “Lady Bronwyn!” Sir Thomas commanded. “Would you leave us?”

  She took a deep breath. She’d said what she wanted, and now she could no longer bear being near Stephen. With great grace Bronwyn lifted her skirts and stepped from the room.

  “Stephen,” Sir Thomas began. “I wouldn’t like to be the cause of your murder.”

  “I’m not threatened by the words of a woman.”

  Sir Thomas frowned. “You say that from innocence. You’ve never been north to the Highlands. There is no government there, not like we have. The lairds rule their clans, and no one rules the lairds. All Lady Bronwyn has to do is murmur discontent, and every man, or woman for that matter, in her clan would be ready to end your life.”

  “I am willing to take that chance.”

  Sir Thomas stepped forward and put a hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “I knew your father, and I feel he wouldn’t want me to send his son into sure death.”

  Stephen stepped back from the friendly hand. His face changed into one of furor. “I want that woman! You have no right to take her from me.” He whirled on Roger, who had begun to smile. “I’ll meet you on a battlefield, and then we’ll see who is most worthy to claim chiefship.”

  “Accepted!” Roger snapped. “Tomorrow morning. The winner will wed her in the afternoon, bed her at night.”

  “Done!”

  “No,” Sir Thomas murmured, but he knew he’d lost. They were two hot-blooded young men. He sighed heavily. “Leave me, both of you. Prepare your own battlefield. I want nothing to do with it.”

  Chapter Four

  STEPHEN STOOD BESIDE HIS STALLION, COVERED IN STEEL from head to foot, the sun beating down on his armor. It was weighing him down, but he’d long ago learned to handle its weight.

  “My lord,” his squire said, “the sun will be in your eyes.”

  Stephen nodded curtly. He was well aware of the fact. “Let Chatworth have what advantage he can. He’ll need it.”

  The boy smiled in pride at his master. It had taken a long while to dress Sir Stephen in the layers of padded cotton and leather that went under the steel plates.

  Stephen mounted his horse with ease, then reached to take his lance and shield from the boy. He didn’t bother to look to his right. He knew Bronwyn stood there with a face as white as the gold-trimmed ivory dress she wore. It didn’t help his spirit any to know the woman would like to see him lose or perhaps even be killed.

  He adjusted the long wooden lance against his armor. He and Roger had not spoken since last night, and Sir Thomas had been true to his word; he was