words to use. How to state the truth and not anger her sire, but it seemed impossible.
“Ye see? She’s choking on her shame.”
“I told ye that I’ve heard enough from ye.” The king gestured with his hand. “Remove him and his sons. The daughter stays.”
“She’s my child!”
“And my subject. I’ll hear what she has to say, even if I must toss ye out so that the girl can speak. The girl must have learned manners from someone other than ye because she at least knows better than to rage in my presence.”
The king’s voice cut through her father’s blustering like a knife. The guards behind him moved around the small dais with their swords drawn. The sharp tips pointed toward her father and brothers. All three glared at her, blaming her for the king’s displeasure.
“Your Majesty, I pray ye allow my family to remain.”
The guards froze, awaiting their monarch’s response.
“No.”
There was no more hesitation from the royal guard. Her family was sent back through the double doors without another word. When they closed again, the sound felt like a gunshot going through her.
“Now, answer my question. What is Cullen McJames to you?”
“A stranger.”
The king sat back down. He fixed her with a stern look. “Yer father claims he caught ye with him.”
“I was riding and he was at the top of the ridge. We did speak, that is all. I did not even know his name until my father told me.”
“But it was on McQuade land?”
“The border. We were both on the edges of our land.”
The king sighed, clearly frustrated. “How many men were with him?”
“None.”
James Stuart snorted, a chuckle rising from his chest. A gleam flickered in his eye and he raked her from head to toe. “Did Cullen know who ye were?”
Heat spread across her face. “I refused to tell him. He was wearing the McJames plaid.”
The king scoffed. “Cullen always wears his family colors. The man is pure Scot and proud of his family name. He’s a brazen one, too, riding onto yer land with no one to guard his back.”
He was…
The thought rose instantly from her memory of that meeting. The way Cullen had closed the distance between them, brash and unafraid of the possibility of being discovered. But the king was watching her intently. Bronwyn lowered her eyelashes to mask the excitement in her eyes.
“Did he touch ye?”
“Nay.” She spoke too sharply for the presence of a king, but her pride was blistered from her father’s words.
The king’s eyes narrowed. “Are ye a maiden?”
Her eyes widened. The man might be her king but she had not expected such an intimate question from him. Her temper flared up because never once had she behaved in a way to bring suspicion onto herself.
“Indeed I am.”
A slow smile covered the king’s face. But it did not soothe her. Quite the opposite. Just as Cullen’s grin had promised her something else, the king’s pleasant look made her stomach tighten with anticipation.
“Has yer father betrothed ye to anyone?”
The question startled her. It shouldn’t have, but she looked at the floor for a moment.
“Papa…I want a night blessing.” A curtain behind the dais moved and a little girl emerged. Dressed in a fine linen chemise and nightcap that were worked with masterful blackwork embroidery, the wee girl was only waist high. Her cheeks still chubby and her eyes large in her face. The cuffs and collar of the chemise were edged in bobbin lace. Bronwyn stared at the hours of work employed to decorate a garment that was only for sleeping. The fabric itself was finer than any Bronwyn had ever seen.
Fit for a princess.
“Elizabeth, my rose, where is your nurse?”
The king transformed into a loving parent before her eyes. He scooped up the wee girl and she clasped her arms around his neck.
“Please, Papa. All good children get a blessing from their father at night. They told me so in my studies.”
“Yer’re a good wee lass to listen to yer tutors.”
Bronwyn watched the way the king pressed a kiss on the top of the child’s head. Bronwyn couldn’t help staring. Never once had her own father kissed her so lovingly. The king noticed her watching and covered his emotions once again.
“This is my daughter, Elizabeth. Who should be abed.” He patted her bottom before turning to place the little girl on her feet. One of the guards held out a hand for the child and Elizabeth took it easily. Clearly the little girl was not an uncommon visitor in the king’s private receiving chamber.
“I see from yer face that yer own father has never been so kind to ye.”
The king sat back down, looking pensive. Bronwyn held her tongue. James waved his hand.
“There is no point in denying it. I see the way ye stare at my daughter, as though ye’ve never considered that a father might show affection.”
It was a hard truth and one that near choked her. “My father loves his sons very much, sire.” It was no an uncommon thing. Henry the Eighth of England had gone through six wives in his quest for sons.
The king snorted. “How old are ye now?”
“Twenty-three.”
The king shook his head. “No one seemed to know yer age exactly. Yer father has done a good job of hiding ye.” James Stuart looked at the guards behind her.
“Bring her family back. Bronwyn, ye may wait in the outer hall. I’ve a few things to say to yer father.”
She lowered herself and gratefully quit the room. If she wasn’t near the king, she couldn’t say things that would upset the harmony of Red Stone for Keir. It was the honest truth that she never wanted to look at another mare, much less ride one.
But that stung because it was the only escape she had. Despair gripped her and she was out of reasons to avoid tumbling into its grasp. The guards opened the doors for her and summoned her father back into the presence of the king. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard those same doors seal behind her. But the feeling was short-lived. Staring at her was an ocean of eyes. The great hall was much quieter than it had been when they entered. Now women whispered behind their fans while they peered at her like something foul. A few smirks decorated the lips of the men, and more than one was even bold enough to wink at her.
She kept her chin level with the aid of years of practice. But she cringed when she heard one
