s, her relatives, the people whose lives she held in her hands. She could not return to Scotland with this madman.
“I cannot marry you,” she said quietly, her eyes hard and deadly serious.
“I don’t believe you have a choice,” Stephen said as he resheathed his weapon. He hadn’t meant to get so angry, but the woman needed to know from the start who was in control…as did the Scots she called “her” men. “I am an Englishman,” he said quietly, “and I will remain English wherever I go. You should understand that, as I don’t believe you’re willing to change your Scots ways.”
Her body was feeling quite cold in spite of the warm autumn day. “It is not the same. You’d be living with my people, day in and day out, year after year. Can’t you see that they could not accept you if you strut about in your fine English clothes with your old English name? Every time they saw you, they’d remember their children the English had killed, they’d see my father, slain while he was a young man.”
Her plea reached Stephen. “I will wear the Scots’ garb. I’ll agree to that.”
Sudden, red-hot anger replaced the coldness in Bronwyn’s body. “So you’ll agree to wear the plaid and saffron shirt! No doubt you like the image of showing your fine, strong legs to my women.”
Stephen’s mouth dropped open slightly, then he grinned so broadly he threatened to split his face in half. “I hadn’t thought of that, no, but it’s nice to know you have.” He stuck his leg out, flexed the big muscle running from the top of his knee. “Do you think your women will agree with you?” His eyes sparkled. “Will you be jealous?”
Bronwyn could only stare in astonishment. This man could not be serious for a moment. He teased her and laughed at her when she talked of life and death. She grabbed her skirts and started toward the stream.
“Bronwyn!” Stephen called. “Wait! I didn’t mean to make light of what you said.” He’d instantly understood his mistake. He grabbed her wrist, whirled her to face him. “Please,” he begged, his heart in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that you’re so beautiful that I can’t think. I look at your hair and I want to touch it. I want to kiss your eyes. That damned dress is so low you’re about to fall out of it, and it’s driving me insane. How do you expect me to talk seriously about the disputes between the Scots and the Englishmen?”
“Disputes!” she spat. “ ’Tis more like war!”
“War, whatever,” he said, his focus on her breasts, his hands running up her arms. “God! I can’t stand so near you and not have you. I’ve been in this condition so long I’m in pain.”
Involuntarily she looked down, then her face turned red.
Stephen smiled at her with hooded eyes, a knowing smile.
She curled her lip back and snarled at him. He was a low-minded man, and he obviously thought she shared his lack of character. She twisted away from his searching hands, and when he refused to release her, she gave him a sharp shove. Stephen didn’t budge, but the impact against his hard chest made Bronwyn lose her balance. She had no idea she was so near the edge of the stream.
She fell backward as she frantically tried to grab hold of something. Stephen put out his hand to catch her, but even as it touched her wrist, she slapped at it. He gave a slight shrug and stepped back, since he had no desire to wet his own clothes from the splash she was going to make.
The water from the stream must have come from the mountains of the Highlands. There was no other way it could have been so cold. Bronwyn sat down hard in the water, and the heavy wool dress soaked up the liquid ice as if it’d been waiting for such a chance.
She sat still for a moment, slightly dazed, and looked up at Stephen. He was grinning at her as a cold drop of water clung to the tip of her nose. Rab stood beside Stephen and began to bark at her, his tail wagging in delight at her game.
“Could I offer you assistance?” Stephen asked cheerfully.
Bronwyn brushed a wet black curl off her cheek. Any moment her teeth would begin chattering, but she would yank them from her mouth before she’d let him see. “No, thank you,” she said as loftily as she could manage.
She looked around her for something to use as balance, but there was nothing unless she crawled to a rock some feet away. She would never crawl before him! “Come, Rab!” she commanded, and the large dog quickly splashed into the water after his mistress.
Bronwyn wiped more water from her face, studiously avoiding Stephen’s grinning face. Placing her hands on the dog’s back, she started to lift herself up. The wool dress was extremely heavy to begin with, but thoroughly soaked with water, it was impossible. This in addition to the slippery stones under her feet were too much.
She was in a half-crouch, a position that had taken her minutes to achieve, when her feet flew out from under her. Rab jumped away as Bronwyn fell again, this time flat on her back, her face going under the water. She came up gasping.
The first sound she heard was Stephen’s laughter, then with a sense of betrayal she heard Rab’s bark—a bark that sounded suspiciously like a canine laugh.
“Damn both of you!” she hissed and grabbed the cold, clinging, offending skirt.
Stephen shook his head at her, then entered the water. Before she could speak he’d bent and picked her up in his arms. She would have given a lot then to be able to pull him into the water with her, but his footing was too sure. When he bent to lift her, he kept his legs straight, using only his back and avoiding most of the contact with the water.
“I would like you to release me,” she said as primly as possible.
Stephen gave a one-shoulder shrug, then dropped his arms. In a reflex motion, to keep from falling back into the icy water, she gasped and threw her arms about his neck.
“Much better!” he laughed and hugged her to him so tightly she couldn’t remove her arms.
He waded ashore with her and then stopped, still holding her. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen blue eyes with black hair before,” he whispered, his eyes devouring her face. “I’m more than sorry I missed our wedding.”
She knew exactly why he was sorry, and his reasons didn’t help her mood any. “I am cold. Please release me,” she said flatly.