“It’s beautiful, Judith,” Bronwyn whispered. “I don’t know how to thank you. All of you have been so generous.”
Judith kissed her friend’s cheek. “I must go now and do the day’s work. Perhaps Stephen would like to see the new gown,” she suggested.
Bronwyn turned away. Stephen would only complain that the neck was too low or some other such accusation.
After Judith was gone, Bronwyn went to the cold courtyard below. She threw a fox-lined mantle about her shoulders and walked toward the stables.
“Bronwyn,” an unfamiliar voice said once she was inside the dark place.
She looked into the shadows and saw the man who’d fought Stephen’s George that morning. “Yes,” she said curtly. “What is it?”
The man’s eyes sparkled even in the dimness. “The English gown becomes you.” Before she could speak, his manner changed to a more formal one. “I’ve heard your Scotsmen are quite good with a bow. Perhaps you”—this seemed to amuse him—“could teach me a better way to handle a bow.”
She ignored the undercurrent of laughter in the man’s voice. Perhaps his laughter was meant as a defense in case she refused his request. But Bronwyn had spent many hours learning how to handle a bow, and she was used to training men. It was good that this Englishman wanted to learn the Scots’ ways. “I would be happy to give you instruction,” she said, then walked past the man—and straight into Stephen’s hard chest. The man quickly left the stables.
“What were you saying to the man?” Stephen asked flatly.
She twisted out of his grip. “Do you never say anything to me except in anger? Why can’t you be like other husbands and greet your wife in a friendly manner? I have not seen you in days, and all you have done is curse me.”
He grabbed her into his arms. “Bronwyn,” he whispered. “You will be the death of me. Why did you have to jump into an icy pond in the dead of winter?”
She pushed away from him. “I refuse to answer such questions.”
He grabbed her again, pulled her mouth to his, bruising her, his teeth hard against her lips. He seemed as if he wanted more than just a kiss from her. “I missed you,” he whispered. “Every minute I thought of you.”
Her heart was pounding in her breast. She felt like she could melt against him. But his next words broke the spell.
“Was that one of Miles’s men you were talking to when I entered?”
She tried to pull away from him. “Is this your jealousy again? I can hear it in your voice.”
“Bronwyn, no. Listen to me. I only want to warn you. The Englishmen are not like your Highlanders. You can’t talk to them as if they were your brothers as you do your own men. In England too often the ladies sleep with their husbands’ men-at-arms.”
Bronwyn’s eyes widened. “Are you accusing me of sleeping with your men?” she gasped.
“No, of course not, but—”
“But you accused me of doing just that with Hugh Lasco.”
“Hugh Lasco is a gentleman!” Stephen snapped.
Bronwyn nearly jumped away from him. “So!” she blazed. “At least you think I am a discriminating whore!” She whirled about and started toward the door.
Stephen grabbed her arm. “I am not accusing you of anything. I am trying to explain that things are different in England than in Scotland.”
“Oh! So now I’m too stupid to be able to learn the difference between one country and another. You can adjust but I can’t!”
He stared at her. “What’s wrong with you? You aren’t acting like yourself at all.”
She turned away from him. “And what would you know of me? You’ve never done anything but curse at me since I met you. Nothing I do outside the bedroom pleases you. If I lead my men, that makes you angry. If I try to save one of your brother’s serfs, that angers you. If I’m kind to your men, you accuse me of sleeping with them. Tell me, what can I do to please you?”
Stephen glared at her with cold eyes. “I had no idea you found me so unpleasant. I will leave you to your own company.” He turned away stiffly and left her.
Bronwyn stared after him, tears beginning to form in her eyes. What was wrong with her? Stephen hadn’t really accused her of sleeping with the man, and he had every right to warn her about what his men would think. Why couldn’t she welcome him home like she wanted to? All she wanted was to be held by him, loved by him. Yet for some reason she started a quarrel every time he approached her.
Suddenly she felt as if her whole body ached. She put her hand to her forehead. She wasn’t used to not feeling well, and now she realized she’d been ignoring the feeling for days. Of course, her late nights with Judith and this morning spent in a half-frozen pond hadn’t helped her any. She cursed the disease-ridden English countryside and left the stables.
“Bronwyn,” Judith called. “Would you like some fresh bread?”