was just too much in love and it made for an envious sight. That was the truth.
His English wife drew looks of longing from his brother that should have made him laugh but instead he found jealousy rising at the way the two longed for one another. Brodick lifted his son away, pride shimmering in his eyes. The baby squirmed, making smacking sounds with his lips. Anne sighed.
“He eats constantly.” Her words lost a great deal of power when Cullen watched the way she cradled her son. Happiness illuminated her features as she turned to climb the stairs to her chamber. Anne would not let a wet nurse tend to her son. She’d turned her back on the English tradition, choosing to suckle her child. That made Cullen even more envious.
It shouldn’t and still he couldn’t dismiss the idea of it from his mind. A year ago, he’d have laughed good and hard at the idea of marriage and family. Now he watched his sister-in-law like a hungry man, enjoying the scent of a good meal.
Brodick straddled the bench next to him. With Anne gone, his brother’s expression sobered. Cullen knew the look well. Inheriting the title of earl from their father had introduced both men to the weight of responsibility. The English queen was rumored to be on her death bed and Scotland was set to inherit the crown. The times were riddled with ambitious men all fighting to take as much English land as possible.
“I’ve news from the king.” Brodick reached for a mug. “He’s released McQuade and his sons from court.”
Cullen scowled. Their neighbor would soon be raiding McJames land once more.
“That greedy bastard will be nibbling on our winter stocks the moment he returns.”
“Aye, that’s what I was thinking.” Brodick held his tongue for a long moment.
Cullen stared at his brother. “What?”
Brodick merely raised an eyebrow.
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
Brodick shrugged. “Nothing.”
Cullen snorted. “Well, it sure looks like something.”
Brodick aimed a hard look at him. “Ye seem to be watching my family a lot. It looks like ye enjoy the sight of it, too.”
“Is there something wrong with that? Would ye rather I brought a mistress home with me?”
Brodick shook his head. “I was thinking that there was something right about it.”
“Get to yer point, brother, before I have to knock it out of ye.”
“I was thinking that it is time to petition the king for a possible marriage between ye and Bronwyn McQuade.”
Cullen stared at his brother. The teasing tone of their conversation died instantly. His brother might hold the title but the family was strong because they worked together to ensure that the McJames clan remained powerful.
Brodick ran a hand over his chin. “It’s a sure thing that McQuade will no deal with either of us on the matter.”
“Which leaves Jamie.”
Their monarch might decide to grant them the match. If for no other reason than to rid himself of the headache McQuade caused with his endless ranting. Cullen’s mother had been betrothed to the man but he’d lost her contract in a game of dice. McQuade still held a grudge against every McJames. His men raided and burned their farms every season. It was also a sure bet that some of his neighbors were thinking the same thing. Everyone knew McQuade had a single daughter and that she was of a good age for marriage. It wouldn’t be the first time a laird’s son took a wife based on the peace it might ensure over his lands.
“It would be a good match, I agree. I’ll think upon it.”
His brother nodded, not pressing the issue. Cullen rose and strode through the hall. His brother’s faith in him weighed more on his shoulders than any well-rehearsed words might have. Brodick held his tongue because he trusted that Cullen would do right by the McJames people. As the son of the last laird it was his duty to place the welfare of the clan above his own wishes.
Even if that meant marrying a shrew.
Cullen didn’t stop at the double doors that led to the inner yard. He kept walking, his legs covering the yard in a quick pace.
A loving family sounded good but not binding himself to a demon hellcat that would likely carve his eyes out if he fell asleep in her bed. Bronwyn McQuade was her father’s daughter, born and reared to hate every drop of McJames blood flowing through his veins. Marrying for the good of the clan was one thing, but taking Bronwyn to his bed promised a life of misery. Even his brother had better hopes for his marriage and his bride had been English.
“I’ll fetch yer Argyll.” One of the younger lads that tended the horses was already running for his horse before Cullen realized he’d gained the stables.
With a grunt he shook his head. He was in a fine state, that was for sure. So deep in thought that he didn’t know where his feet were taking him. The lad returned with Argyll, quite possibly the finest horse in Scotland. Reaching for his head, Cullen offered the beast a firm rub between the eyes. The animal snorted, stamping at the ground.
“Aye, I agree with ye.”
Argyll liked to run and at the moment Cullen wanted to feel the slap of the Scottish wind against his face as well. Tugging on the saddle, he made sure it was solid before swinging up into it. Argyll shifted, snorting with his excitement. Cullen held the reins in a tight grasp, keeping the stallion still.
“Milord.” The stable lad ran forward with a leather bag.
“Aye, lad, that’s what I’m waiting for.”
Cullen held Argyll steady as the lad tied the bag onto the rear of the saddle. It was the simplest of provisions. Oats, wine, and maybe some bread left from the midday meal. Leaving Sterling without it was a choice designed to see his belly rumbling by sundown. The boy finished his task and backed away from Argyll. Cullen flashed him a grin. He was a young lad but he had courage. McJames courage. Argyll was a powerful animal, one with the strength to kill the lad but he wasna afraid of the stallion.
Shrugging, Cullen felt the weight of his sword. It was strapped to his back, highland style. With a flick of the reins, he gave Argyll his freedom. The animal headed for the main gate, his hooves picking up speed as they neared the opening in the main wall that surrounded Sterling Castle.
Argyll charged forward, leaving the walls behind. The wind was brisk, hinting at winter. But the hills were still green and giving the stallion his head allowed Cullen to release his mental burden for a time. He pulled Argyll to a stop some time later. Looking down over the next valley, Cullen frowned.
He’d been here before. Summoned in the dark of night to defend the farmers below. There were three newly thatched roofs in sight, the reeds a brighter yellow than that of the others. It was a blunt reminder of the McQuade’s lust for revenge. The man was nae content with plunder, his retainers always set the flame to the farms they attacked. The feud was near thirty-five years old now.
It seemed too simple to think that one wedding might wipe all that bitterness aside.
Kneeing Argyll forward, Cullen left the valley
