d one hand on her breast; the other held a flagon of wine.
Rab bared his teeth at the girl, and she gave one look from Bronwyn to the dog, screamed, then fled the room.
Stephen only glanced at his wife. “Welcome,” he slurred and held up his cup to her.
Bronwyn felt her heart pounding. To see Stephen touching another woman! Her skin felt as if it were on fire and her head throbbed.
Stephen looked up at her. “How does it feel, my dear wife?” His eyes were red, his movements slow. He was obviously drunk. “I’ve had to stand aside and watch you play with man after man. Do you know how I felt when you let Hugh touch you?”
“You did this on purpose,” she whispered. “You did this to punish me.” She held her shoulders back. She wanted to hurt him, to make him ache as she did. “I was right when I told Sir Thomas Crichton I couldn’t marry you. You aren’t fit to be married to a Scotswoman. I’ve stood by for months and watched you ape our ways. And I’ve seen you fail at everything.”
In spite of his drunkenness he reacted swiftly. He threw his flagon to the floor, sprang to his feet, and grabbed her by the neckline of her dress. “And what have you given me?” he rasped. “I have made every effort to learn from you, but when have you listened to me? You’ve fought me at every moment. You’ve laughed at me before your men, even scorned my advice in front of my own brothers. Yet I’ve taken everything because I am fool enough to believe I loved you. How can anyone love someone as selfish as you? When are you going to grow up and stop hiding behind your clan? You aren’t concerned with your clan; your only concern is what you want and what you need.”
He pushed her away as if he were suddenly very tired of her. “I’m tired of trying to please some cold woman. I’m going to find one who can give me what I need.”
He turned away and drunkenly left the room.
Bronwyn stood where she was for a long time. She had no idea he despised her so much. How many times had he been close to saying he loved her yet she’d ignored him? Oh, but she’d been fiery and proud when she told him that of course they cared for each other but that what she wanted was more important than love.
What meant more to her than Stephen’s love? She could see now that there was nothing nearly as important. She’d had that love in the palm of her hand, and she’d thrown it right back in his face. In Scotland he’d worked hard to be fair and to learn how to live in her country. Yet what had she done to conform to his way of life? Her biggest concession was to dress in the luscious English fashions, and she’d even complained about that.
She clenched her hand. Stephen was right! She was selfish. She demanded he become a Scot, change every fiber of his being, yet she’d never done a thing for him. From the moment they’d met, she’d made him pay for the privilege of marrying her.
“Privilege!” she gasped aloud. She’d made him fight for her on their wedding day. She’d taken a knife to him on their wedding night. What was it Stephen had said? “Someday you’ll know that one drop of my blood is more precious than any angry feelings you carry.”
How could she have hurt that beautiful body she knew so well? How could she have drawn blood from him?
Tears began to run down her face. He loved her no longer. He’d said that. She’d had his love and discarded it like so much rubbish.
She blinked at the tears and looked around her. Stephen was good and his family was good. She’d hated him for being an Englishman just as she’d hated all the MacGregors. But Stephen had shown her there were good MacGregors and warm, generous Englishmen.
Stephen had shown her! He’d taught her so much, yet she’d never so much as softened to him. When had she ever been kind to him? She drugged him, cursed him, defied him—anything to be spiteful.
Anything to keep from loving him, she realized. She hadn’t wanted to love an Englishman. She was afraid her clan would think she was weak, unworthy of being laird. Yet Tam had loved him, and most of her men had even come to love him.
She turned toward the door and went quietly through the Great Hall and outside into the courtyard. She looked about for Stephen. Perhaps she could find him. Somehow she knew he hadn’t gone upstairs.
“Stephen rode away a few minutes ago,” Miles said softly from behind her.
She turned slowly. This man was also kind to her. He’d held her after she’d been attacked.
Suddenly a cold wind brushed past her, and she had a vision of Scotland. More than anything else in the world she wanted to go home. Perhaps at home she could think what to do to win Stephen’s love again. Maybe she could imagine how to make him understand that she loved him too and that she was willing to bend as he had.
She looked at Miles as if she didn’t really see him, then turned and walked toward the stables.
“Bronwyn,” he said as he grabbed her arm. “What’s happened?”
“I’m going home,” she said quietly.
“To Scotland?” he asked, astonished.
“Aye,” she whispered, rolling her words. “Home to Scotland.” She smiled. “Would you give my regrets to Judith?”
Miles searched her face for a moment. “Judith understands things without being told. Come on, let’s get started.”
Bronwyn started to protest but then closed her mouth. She knew she couldn’t prevent Miles from accompanying her any more than she could stop her urge to go home.
They rode through that long, awful night without saying a word to each other. Bronwyn felt only her pain at having lost Stephen. Perhaps he’d be happier in England where his family was, where he didn’t have to struggle just to survive. She often held her hand to her stomach and wondered when it was going to begin to swell. She wanted an outward sign that she would soon have his child.