In the Warrior’s Bed by Mary Wine Page B

the toweling quickly. There was wickedness twisting through her blood tonight. A taunting desire to immerse herself in thoughts of Cullen McJames and what a man did with a woman.
    Since she carried the charge of guilt, her mind wanted to know what the sin felt like. It would seem that she was as foolish as she was unlucky. Nothing good would come of her mental wonderings.
    She worked the fabric through her wet hair for many long minutes to remove as much water as possible. Lifting her clean chemise from the chair, she let it cover her body and reached for the hair brush. Standing close to the fire, she drew the bristles gently along the strands of her hair, lifting the strands so that the heat from the fire would dry them. Soon the linen of her chemise began floating gently around her knees and her hair became a soft cloud.
    She did love being clean. The church might call it wicked but she could not deny that she enjoyed the way her skin felt after a bath. With a sigh she reached for her stockings and covered her lower legs with them. She stepped into her ankle boots and laced them for the return trip to her room. At night the rats could make it into even well-kept town homes. In the crowded conditions of the city, the vermin were desperate to find food. Walking barefoot was an invitation to spread disease. Red Stone was much cleaner.
    A rush of cold air made her shiver when the back door was opened. But there was no splash of water against the cobblestones. A startled gasp from one maid made Bronwyn turn in a flutter of unbound hair. A hard body collided with hers, turning her around once more so that her back was pressed to his front. Fear spiked through her as she bucked wildly, a snarl rising from her throat.
    The sound never passed her lips. One hard hand sealed it inside her mouth. There was iron strength in that hand, such as she’d never felt. The dying firelight glittered off the spinning blade of a dirk as it sailed across the kitchen to embed its deadly blade several inches into the table a mere foot from the younger maid.
    “Nae one sound, lasses. Not a one or the next dirk goes through yer hand.”
    Recognition was instant. Her memory recalled Cullen McJames’s dark voice. Her fear died in a sizzle as her temper erupted. The maid’s eyes grew huge while they stared at the slowly vibrating handle of the dirk.
    Bronwyn jerked against the arm holding her, rage making her stronger. His grip slackened for a moment and she twisted violently, even biting at the hand lying across her mouth.
    There was a soft hiss from Cullen but his body twisted and moved at the same time. His hand slipped away from her mouth but gathered up most of her hair. He twisted it around his hand, jerking her head backward. She opened her mouth to yell but a wad of fabric was pushed between her open teeth, smothering the sound. His larger body pushed hers forward until she was pressed against the table, her hands becoming useless when he leaned his body weight against her back to imprison her against the hard surface of the table.
    “Now imagine my surprise to find ye here in the kitchen, lass.”
    Bronwyn spat the cloth out of her mouth only to feel a thick strip of leather sliding through her open teeth. Cullen tightened it down around her head, pulling some of her hair as he made sure her tongue was trapped and useless.
    “And here I thought I’d have to search through the house for ye.”
    A garbled sound made it past her gag. Cullen leaned down across her body, letting her feel his strength. His breath brushed against her ear, enraging her with how easily he subdued her.
    “Easy, lass. I’ve no desire to bruise ye.”
    Dark shadows moved past the kitchen. Blinking her eyes, she watched as men quickly bound the two maids without a squeak out of either of them. The ease and smoothness of their action enraged her further. She screamed behind her gag, pushing against the tabletop. There was a soft word in Gaelic from her captor before