“He’ll want your breast, if he’s anything like your brothers.”
Anne didn’t have time to lower her chemise. There was a scurry of feet in the outer room.
“Stop! These are my private chambers. You have no right to invade my rooms, you…Scots!” Philipa bellowed in outrage as the sounds of footfalls echoed between the stone walls.
“I’ll tell you who has rights, madam. I have the right to see my wife. Now stand aside or I’ll knock ye to the floor. But I will find where ye have hidden her.”
Brodick sounded dangerous, but he also sounded sweeter than any sound she’d ever heard. Anne clutched her son close, tears easing from her eyes.
“Brodick! I’m here!”
The curtain was ripped half off the rod as her husband erupted through the doorway. His face was a mask of fury, his sword in hand. He swept the room before charging towards her.
“I swear I wish I had the strength to beat ye for placing yourself in such danger.” He cupped her chin and his fingers shook. “Look at what ye reduce me to, lass. I’m but a shell of a man in yer grip.”
The baby hiccupped and Brodick dropped his sword. Anne wasn’t sure what surprised her husband more; the sight of their newborn son or the clatter of his sword. He ignored the dropped weapon, reaching instead for the edge of the cloth wrapped around the baby’s head. With a single finger he gently pulled it aside to peer at the tiny face.
“I’ve given you a son.” Her voice was laced with tears, tears born from happiness. “Just as I know you wanted.”
“No!” Mary screamed, stomping her feet. Brodick turned, his kilt flaring out. The sword was back in hand before the fabric settled.
Mary’s face was red, her eyes bulging from her head. “That’s supposed to be my baby. Mine. I’m a countess.”
“Ye’re no wife of mine.” Distaste colored his words.
Philipa stood frozen in the corner. “Oh, but she is, my lord, and you’d do well to listen to me. You have your son. My daughter is the only daughter with a dowry. You must keep Mary as your legal wife or lose what you married for. As for that bastard, you may have her for a leman. Look how strong she is. She’ll give you all the children you want and Mary will bring you the land you desire.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” Cullen stood behind Philipa, his face a mask of disapproval.
“I wish I didnae believe it, but the proof is plain.” Brodick lowered his sword but stood in front of Anne, shielding her from Philipa.
“You can keep yer dowry. The woman I love is worth far more than any land.”
“But you need the land, Brodick.” Anne reached for his hand, unwilling to see him lose what he wanted. “It is still yours and your son’s.”
“I’ll not have that creature on my land.” He pointed at Mary. She tossed her head, looking down her nose at him.
“I certainly do not want to go to Scotland. Why do you think my mother sent that bastard in my place?”
Druce reached out to close his hand around Mary’s nape. She squealed but he granted her no mercy. “And the world calls us Scots the uncivilized ones.”
He flung Mary into the outer room without any remorse. Anne heard her half–sister’s shoes scuffing against the floor. Druce pointed at Mary through the arched doorway. “Keep a hand on her and a gag if she starts talking again. We’ve heard enough from that one to last a lifetime.”
There was a grunt from the retainers in the other room before Druce turned to face Brodick. “She was making me head ache.”
“Mary is your legal wife.” Philipa shook her fist in the air. “My daughter. Not that bastard girl.”
Philipa looked at the baby, hunger brightening her eyes. She made a lunge towards the bed but froze when Brodick raised his sword, the deadly point even with her heart.
“Ye’ll nae touch my family, woman. Make no mistake about it, I’m nae a forgiving man when it comes to what I consider my own.”
His words were as strong as the steel in his hand. “I swear I’ll run ye through, noblewoman or not.”
“Sounds like a fair plan to my way of thinking.” Cullen wasn’t joking this time. His voice was as hard as his brother’s. “Ye deceived every McJames and we nae take kindly to that.”
“Leave her for her husband. ’Tis his duty to sort out this mess.” Brodick didn’t lower his sword until Druce took hold of Philipa. She snarled but the Scot shook her like a rag doll.
“Have done, madam,” he growled at her, towering over her.
“The marriage won’t stand. You’ll get nothing if you bring my husband into this.”