The decree was especially unpleasant because at the time Stephen thought he was in love. Her name was Margaret, Meg for short. She was a plump, pink-and-white blonde, the daughter of a Lowlands merchant. She had great blue eyes and a tiny little mouth that always seemed to be puckered for kissing. She was shy and quiet and she adored Stephen—or so he thought. At night Stephen would hold her in his arms, feel her soft white body, and imagine the hideous life ahead of him with a woman who was chief of a clan.
After several nights with no sleep, he began to think of refusing the king’s offer. He thought of marrying the merchant’s daughter. She wasn’t rich but her father was comfortable, and Stephen had an income from a small estate of his own. The more he thought of the idea, the more he liked it. He tried to forget the wrath of the king when Stephen refused him.
But it was Hugh who shattered Stephen’s dreams. Hugh told Meg of Stephen’s forthcoming marriage, and the poor girl, distraught and helpless, had flung herself into Hugh’s willing arms. Hugh didn’t think twice about helping her into his bed, or so Meg had told Stephen.
Stephen was bewildered when he found his friend and the woman he loved together in bed. But oddly enough his bewilderment never turned to anger, and because of this he realized he hadn’t really loved Meg or she him if she could so easily turn to another. His only thought had been how to repay Hugh with some of his own medicine. Before he could make a plan, a messenger arrived saying Gavin needed help, and Stephen went to his brother without another thought of Hugh.
Now Stephen saw a way to repay his friend, and Hugh was still his friend. If he, Stephen, could get inside Hugh’s estate and out again, undetected, yet leave a message that he’d been there, then he felt he’d have accomplished something. Hugh didn’t like to feel there were strangers around him; he rarely went anywhere without a full guard. Yes, Stephen smiled, there were ways to repay Hugh Lasco.
They arrived at the Lasco estate just before sundown. It was a tall, stone house, the windows covered with ironwork shutters. The entrance courtyard was filled with people who walked about in an orderly manner, as if they had a task and were hurrying to do it. There were no groups of servants standing about and gossiping.
Stephen and Bronwyn were challenged by guards as soon as they were within sight of the house. Stephen, in a heavy Scots burr, asked if he could sing for his supper. They waited patiently while one of the guards returned to the house and got permission from Sir Hugh.
Stephen knew Hugh considered himself an exceptional lute player and wouldn’t miss an opportunity to judge someone else’s playing. He smiled when the guard told them to take their horses to the stable, then go to the kitchen.
It was later, when they sat before a hearty meal at the enormous oak table in the kitchen, that Bronwyn began to resign herself to Stephen’s plans. Not that he’d even told her much about them! All she’d been able to find out was that Stephen planned some boyish prank on his friend.
“What is Sir Hugh like?” she asked, her mouth full of freshly baked bread.
Stephen snorted in derision. “He’s handsome enough, I guess, if that’s what you mean, but he’s short and thick, very dark. And he is damned infuriating to be around. He moves slower than anyone else alive. In the Lowlands I was always worried that we’d be attacked and Hugh would be killed before he could even open his eyes, much less put his armor on.”
“Married?”
He gave her a sharp look. He studied her for a moment in speculation. He could never see it himself, but for some reason women found Hugh quite attractive. To Stephen, Hugh’s plodding, overly cautious ways were infuriating. But the women…
“I want you to keep your head down at all times,” he said firmly. “Just this once I want you to try and act like an obedient, respectful wife.”
She raised one eyebrow at him. “When have I ever been anything else?”
“Bronwyn, I’m warning you! This is between Hugh and me, and I don’t want you involved.”
“You sound almost as if you were afraid of him,” she teased. “Is there something about him that makes women throw themselves at his feet?”
She meant her words lightly, but the look on Stephen’s face told her she was closer to the mark than she realized. Suddenly she wanted to reassure him that it was highly unlikely that she’d ever throw herself at any man’s feet. Of course, there had been a few times, a few positions, where she’d found her head against Stephen’s feet. She smiled warmly in memory.
“I see nothing to laugh about!” Stephen said stiffly. “If you don’t obey me, I’ll—” He stopped as one of Hugh’s guards approached and said Stephen was to come and entertain now.
The trestle tables had already been set in the Great Hall and the meal begun. Stephen half pushed Bronwyn onto a low stool against a far wall. She smiled impishly at his behavior and even smothered a giggle when he gave her such a black look of warning. She hoped she made him regret this whole childish scheme.
Stephen took the lute that was handed him, then sat several feet from the head table. He played quite well; his voice was rich and deep, and he carried the melody beautifully.
For a while Bronwyn looked about the room. The dark man at the head of the table never looked up at the singer. She watched without interest as he ate, as Stephen had said, very slowly. Each movement seemed to be planned and thought out.
She quickly lost interest in watching Hugh Lasco and leaned her head against the stone wall, closed her eyes, and gave her mind over to Stephen’s music. She felt as if he played for her alone; once she opened her eyes and saw that he was watching her, and his look was as startling as a touch. She felt chills race across her body as she saw the expression in his eyes. She smiled in answer, then closed her eyes again. He sang a Gaelic song, and she was pleased that he’d taken the time to learn the words, probably from Tam. The sweet music, the words of love sung in her own language, made her forget she was in England, surrounded by Englishmen, married to an Englishman. Instead she was at home in Larenston, and she was with the man she loved.
She smiled dreamily at the thought, but even as she smiled she was aware of a change in Stephen’s song. She opened her eyes quickly. He wasn’t looking at her but across the room at Hugh. Slowly she turned her head. She knew before she looked that Hugh was watching her.
He was quite handsome in an earthy sort of way. He was dark-haired, dark-eyed. His mouth had lips a little too large for a man, but they only drew Bronwyn’s attention. As she watched, Hugh blotted his lips in his slow manner, and it flashed ac
ross her mind to wonder if he moved that slowly and lingeringly in bed.
She smiled at her own thoughts. So that was Hugh’s attraction! Of course, Stephen wouldn’t be able to see it, but as a woman, she found his ways quite interesting. She smiled again as she thought of telling Stephen of her discovery.
She turned to her husband and saw him scowling at her, his brows drawn together, his blue eyes turned a dark sapphire. For a moment she wondered what she’d done to anger him, then she nearly laughed aloud. He’s jealous, she thought with a sense of wonder, and that thought gave her more of a thrill than any of Hugh’s hot looks.
She looked down at her skirt, traced her finger along the plaid. She shouldn’t be, of course, but she was extraordinarily pleased that Stephen was jealous. She wouldn’t dare tell him that Hugh had no more interest for her than…than the gardener, because it made her feel warm all over to think Stephen cared enough to be jealous.
Hugh said something to one of the two guards behind him, and the guard went to Stephen. Stephen listened to the man, handed him the lute, then strode angrily across the room, grabbed Bronwyn’s arm, and half dragged her with him.