Improper Seduction

IMPROPER

SEDUCTION

MARY WINE

BRAVA BOOKS are published by

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Copyright © 2011 Mary Wine

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eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-6814-3

eISBN-10: 0-7582-6814-9

First Kensington Trade Paperback Printing: January 2011

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter One

Lincolnshire, March 1546

Her mother was nervous.

Bridget Newbury considered her mother with curiosity. Lady Connolly was normally the perfect model of poise.

“Good morrow, Mother.”

Jane turned in a flurry of wool skirts. She was wearing one of her very modest Sabbath dresses. There was no lace upon it, the only trim formed by contrasting persimmon wool cut into thin strips and used to border the brown wool that made up the garment. She even wore an over-partlet that covered every inch of her chest, all the way to her neck.

“Good, you are here.”

“I came straight after receiving your summons, Mother.”

Jane smiled. A gentle curving of her lips that was genuine. She held out her hands, and Bridget moved forward to clasp them. Even through their gloves, the embrace of fingers and palms was warm.

“Of course you did. You have ever been an obedient child. God blessed me with your sweet heart.” Her mother’s smile faded. The hands grasping Bridget’s tightened momentarily before releasing their hold. Jane clasped her fingers together in a practiced pose, one she used as mistress of the house. With the maids always observing them, appearances were important. Bridget held her chin steady and waited for her mother to speak.

“I have word from your father.”

Her mother’s voice hardened. Bridget knew the tone. It was one that often showed itself when letters from her father arrived. Lord Connolly resided at the court of Henry the Eighth. Her sire often sent home detailed instructions on how the family was to conduct themselves. In the quickly changing climate of the aging king’s court, her mother was always sure to instill a deep respect for each sentence her husband penned. It was the wisest course of action given the king’s history of beheading those nobles who displeased him.

“A marriage has been arranged for you.”

Bridget was startled. “Do you mean that Sir Curan has returned from France?”

Her mother’s face drew into an expression that Bridget knew too well. It was the look her mother always wore when circumstances were not to her liking but unavoidable.

“Your father has negotiated a new arrangement for you with Lord Oswald. The wedding is to be celebrated within a fortnight.”

Her mother’s voice was full of impending duty. It lacked joy and even mild liking. Bridget felt dread chill her heart.

“I gave my word to Sir Curan.” She had sworn to wait for him. “With Father’s blessing I swore, Mother.”

Her mother nodded and fingered her skirt. Bridget understood the nervousness now. Yet she might wish that she was still ignorant. Curan Ramsden was not a man you broke promises to. He was one of England’s border lords. Unlike many who swarmed around the aged King Henry Tudor, Curan was a man of action. He’d earned his spurs of knighthood on the field in France alongside the king on one of Henry’s campaigns to regain soil in Europe.

“You were young and obedient to your father.”

“It was only three years ago.”

Her mother’s fingers gripped her skirt. “Yes. However things change quickly these days. You shall wed Lord Oswald. We are to leave for London three days hence. Lord Oswald is one of the king’s advisors and resides at Whitehall Palace.”

“Lord Oswald.” Bridget searched her memory. Her father went to great lengths to keep her away from court. Maidens did not maintain their virtue very long once in attendance. At twenty-two years of age she was in awe of her sire for being able to keep her in the country. Having her betrothed to Sir Curan Ramsden had kept the gossips from her.

“His daughter passed a night here a few years ago.”

Bridget felt her face drain of color. The lady in question was older than her mother. She tried to cover her dislike. It was unseemly. Many a nobleman’s daughter found herself married to a man well past her in age. Even Queen Catherine Parr was many years Henry Tudor’s junior.

“He is widowed?”

Her mother’s lips pressed into a hard line. “No. Lord Oswald has divorced his newest wife for failing to conceive. The poor girl has been sent back to her father.”

Bridget lost a bit more of her color. She pressed her lips together tightly, resisting the urge to make some sound of protest. Her mother’s face was just as stark. When their father sent a letter, it was to be obeyed. There was no questioning the wishes of the lord of the house. According to the will of the king, her sire was master of the family. Especially over the female members. To argue was to question her place and offer greedy men the opportunity to name her a heretic so that her father’s lands might be forfeit. There were plenty of men who would make use of any reason to depose another noble peer, even if it was so low as to use the women in the family to accomplish that goal. Now that all the monasteries were claimed and their land and riches divided, the hungry looked to new sources to gain quick wealth.

Marriage was one of the favorite methods for amassing funds. Divorce was more common than anyone dared say. Many young wives suffered the same fate as Catherine of Aragon; Henry the Eighth’s first wife was shuffled off into the country to live out the remainder of her days in near poverty once her child-bearing days came to an end. Things had only become worse since that time. Now new brides were often discarded only months after their wedding nights and sent home without their dowries for failing to conceive quickly. Such was a grim fate. Years could go by before lawyers agreed on what parts of their wedding agreement might be recovered. The discarded bride could not remarry until such was done. Even after legal negotiations were finished, not many men wanted a girl who had failed in her primary duty as wife.

Jane clasped her hands together. She was still agitated, and her leather gloves made a smacking sound when they met.

“We must do all in our power to ensure that your union is a solid one.”

The look in her mother’s eyes was one Bridget had not seen before—a sort of determination that almost looked desperate. Jane looked at Bridget in a way she had never done previously. It was an assessment from one woman to another. Her mother settled on some firm decision.

“Come with me, Daughter. I have someone for you to meet.”

Bridget stared at the woman her mother took her to. Hidden behind the thick oak door of her mother’s solar was someone she had never thought to actually converse with.

“This is Marie. She is a courtesan. We shall refrain from mentioning her family name. The staff does not know she is here. That is best for us all.”

“I’ve heard of such women before.”

Jane looked displeased. Bridget merely stared back at her mother.

“What is the point in behaving as though I have not heard of courtesans when you have brought me to meet one?”

Courtesans were women who captivated men. They were not common prostitutes. Most of them serviced only one rich client at a time. Such women were well educated, schooled in dance, and versed in several languages. More than one nobleman’s illegitimate daughter was a member of their ranks. Most important, they were demure and silent, keeping their exploits hidden behind closed doors. Men flocked to them, often waiting for long periods before being able to sponsor one of the elite women and thereby gain her personal attention.

Her mother sighed. “I suppose you are being more practical than I.” She drew a deep breath and gestured at Marie. “In light of the perilous times, I have purchased some of Marie’s time in order to have you instructed. She has graciously agreed that you should not remain ignorant.”

“In what subject?” The question slipped out because Bridget was too busy looking at Marie. Yes, she had heard of courtesans, but the reality was far more intriguing than the whispers. The woman was gowned in wool as fine as Bridget and her mother wore. The courtesan’s gloves were leather and lacked no tailoring detail. Her face was smooth and lightly accented with powder. Her lips were stained the color of ruby, and not some garish shade of red that was too bright. Marie looked for all the world as if she might be a woman of noble birth on her way to court. The only difference was the lack of jewelry. She wore no pearls or gems. Such things were only for the blue-blooded nobility. But Jane’s tone also reminded Bridget that Marie did not have to answer her summons like a servant. The courtesan was there of her own free will.

“The subject of seduction.”

Bridget turned a curious look on her mother. “You have already taught me what to expect in my marriage bed.” Jane had seen to that task the night that she and Curan had knelt in the family chapel to swear to one another. She was practically a wife after such; the only detail lacking was a bedding. Curan had said that he would not claim her until his last duty to the king was served. It was not an uncommon arrangement. Negotiations for a wedding between noble families often took many years, often difficult to time exactly. A “pledge to marry” ceremony often took place when the families reached agreement but the knight still owed service. Moreover, such a ceremony was expected to be honored by both families, drawing its strength from the codes of chivalry. But it was a truth that legally her father could wed her to another. She had simply never considered that her sire might break with the knightly code of conduct.

“What you have not been taught is how to please a man.” Bridget’s mother flushed slightly, but she didn’t appear uncomfortable. The stain on her cheeks was paired with a flicker of enjoyment in her eyes. “Since the men of this country have become so greedy, taking numerous wives whenever the whim consumes them, I believe it is time we women employ a few tactics of our own to ensure our futures.”

Jane looked at Marie. “I will trust you to teach my daughter everything she needs to know about stealing a man’s wits in bed. I shall be in the outer chamber making sure you are not disturbed.”

Or discovered. Bridget added the little comment inside her head. Her mother cast a look at her before leaving the room. Bridget returned her attention to Marie, curious to discover just what seduction entailed. Certainly she had heard the word, but in truth she knew little of the details.

A slow smile curved Marie’s lips as Bridget watched. Something very intriguing swept over the courtesan; a confidence seemed to radiate from her.

“We shall begin with how to disrobe.” Marie strode into the center of the chamber. Her eyes took on a slightly slanted appearance. “Men can be slaves to their lust. They are greedy like children looking for sweets. Learn to control that appetite and you shall master the man.”

She turned in a graceful flare of skirts. “Always make him watch you. Do not give in to his demands to rush. Once he is spent between your thighs, your power over him recedes.”

Marie paused with her back to Bridget. She peeked over her shoulder in a gesture that was both teasing and naughty. Her eyes were half closed, the lashes veiling her deepest thoughts. Bridget heard the popping sounds of the hooks opening on the front of Marie’s bodice. That sound sent a little heat racing into Bridget’s cheeks. Hearing it, yet being prevented from seeing the opening of the garment, sent her mind racing with ideas. Marie laughed. Low and sultry, the sound floated over her shoulder.

“You understand, don’t you, Bridget? The idea of what I am doing is more powerful than the act itself. Tease him with it. Make him wait for you to reveal yourself to his eyes.”

Marie rolled her shoulders, and her dress slid over them. It was a slow motion. The dark wool slipping inch by inch to reveal the creamy fabric of her chemise.

“Disrobing in front of the fire is pleasing. The flames illuminate your body beneath the fabric of your undergarments. It tantalizes men.”

Marie turned and stepped out of her dress in a smooth and graceful motion. Her chemise was held against her body by a set of stays that did not match the somber color of her dress. Peacock-blue silk shimmered in the afternoon light. Such a rich fabric spoke of a lover who did indeed keep her very well.

“Now you try.”

Bridget felt her throat constrict. “Me? Do you mean to say that you want me to disrobe?”

Marie walked across the solar on little steps that looked lazy. She was completely at ease in her lack of clothing, almost content.

“I’m pleased to hear you say it plainly. At least we shall not have the chore of washing puritan teaching out of you.”

“Puritan habits are wise considering how Queens Catherine Howard and Anne Boleyn both met their ends.”

Marie lifted a hand and began slowly pulling her glove off, one fingertip at a time. “To court a crown is a dangerous game. Resist the urge to be too greedy when it comes to the power men like to believe should be theirs. Politics has always been deadly. With greater gain always comes higher risk. Remember to stroke the ego of the man who thinks he owns you.”

“Thinks he owns me?” According to the law, a husband did own his spouse. Even if Bridget wished it otherwise. Why did her gender make her less in the eyes of the world? She was every bit as keen witted as any of her brothers.

Marie pulled the glove free. Her hand was clean and smooth. She trailed her fingertips up her own neck before answering. In spite of the fact that she was another woman, Bridget found herself watching that touch. A faint tingle crossed her own neck in response.

“If you are wise, you will never forget that your heart is yours alone. It can be the greatest gift, but never can it be commanded.” Marie aimed a firm look at her. “You cannot entrance a man unless you are comfortable with your own body. Turn and disrobe.”

Bridget found that her hands shook. She fumbled the hooks that normally she opened with ease. A shaky breath rattled past her teeth as she tried to force herself to relax. It was only another woman, after all. What shame was there in showing her body to someone who had one exactly the same?

Her hands still trembled. But she finished and rolled her shoulders to send her dress down her arms. A least that worked well. Her dress slumped to the floor in a pile.

“Tomorrow I shall have you watch me while I entertain a man.”

“What?” Bridget’s arms crossed over her body in defense. Marie had no pity for her, though. She reached across the space between them and flicked Bridget’s quivering chin back up with one firm finger.

“You heard me correctly. I will arrange a place for you to view me giving pleasure to a man. You must gain confidence or you shall be doomed to be taken on your back like countless other brides. With nothing to do but endure being used to relieve your groom’s lust.”

“You mean there are other … positions?” It was a bold question, one she normally wouldn’t have voiced. Maybe sin was intoxicating such as they said in church. Now that she was on the path, each step was easier to take. She craved knowing more.

“Oh, yes. There are many positions for a man and woman to make love in and several other things that will keep your husband eager to join you after sunset.”

Enjoyment flickered in Marie’s eyes again. Bridget smiled without thinking. She wanted to know whatever it was that made Marie look that way. It was some secret that promised to bring pleasure when she at last discovered what it was.

“First we shall refine your entrance and disrobing. You must grasp your partner’s attention the moment you enter the room.”

Marie proved a tough taskmaster. Bridget redressed and unhooked her bodice countless more times.

“Better. Now we must proceed, for our time is limited. Once your dress is removed, take your shoes off, and always wear lace stockings. Change into them before supper.”

“They are so expensive.” Or time consuming to produce. The only two pairs Bridget owned were ones she had made under the watchful eye of the estate tailor. She had labored until her shoulders ached to knit them.

“But they draw a man’s eyes to your legs.” Marie sat down. But she didn’t use one of the chairs the solar offered. Instead she lowered her body onto a padded footstool. She parted her knees so that the point of her corset dipped down to cover her mons. With one hand on top of either thigh she slowly drew her chemise up to display her lace-stocking-clad legs.

“I see what you mean.” It was captivating. Naughty. But ever so clever. The subtle demonstration played on the submissive role that a wife was expected to embody while wielding a measure of control that Bridget had never considered she might. The last traces of her childhood felt as if they were evaporating, and she was happy to allow it. Here was the thing that she had felt the need to discover ever since accepting that she would wed Curan. Deep inside her, she had felt a surprising rush of heat, unsure what its purpose was.

“Good. Now you try it.”

Sleep eluded Bridget that night. She heard the fire crackling beyond the bed curtains, but her mind was still engrossed with her lessons. She was caught between the things she had practiced and the unknown lessons that were to come. How was it possible to spend so many years being tutored only to discover an entire subject untouched? Since she had been allowed out of the nursery, she had been groomed to be a well-educated companion and an expert accountant for her husband’s holdings. At the center of it all had always been her marriage. It was what a nobleman’s daughter did—wed well and manage her husband’s estate.

And produce heirs.

That was the part in which she found her education lacking. Her cheeks heated in spite of the night’s chill. Well, in all truth it wasn’t nearly so lacking now. Yet she was not arrogant enough to believe that learning how to disrobe with some skill was all there was to enticing a man. If that were so, no man would be paying for peacock-blue silk corsets for a courtesan.

She knew it was more. It had surrounded Marie like a mist. Some would label such a thing witchcraft. The king had accused Anne Boleyn of using unnatural skills to enchant him away from his wife. But was that the same thing she had witnessed in Marie today? That subtle motion of her body and the slanting of her eyes. Was it a ploy of the devil or merely a clever use of what God had given her?

She liked the latter idea. There was no mistake about it. Bridget felt her lips curve up with enjoyment. She had never been very fond of the lectures given in church to wives. Strict instructions drilled into her every morning on the merits of obedience and submissive traits.

Why? Did not boldness breed strength? Whoever heard of choosing a docile mare to be covered by the strongest stallion? No. Never. When her father was home, he would go out and watch the mares to see which ones had fire in them. Only the ones that displayed courage and life would be allowed to breed with his prize stallions. The same held true across the estate, from prize-hunting hounds to the falcons. Strength was sought, not meekness.

Maybe that was the difference between men and women. The solid truth was that the two genders were very contrary to one other.

Curan’s face rose to the front of Bridget’s thoughts. It wasn’t the first time he’d invaded her bed. There was something about his features she liked to dwell on. He was a hard man with a body thick with muscle. Such was to be expected since he still rode alongside the Earl of Pemshire and then with the king. That was no place for soft courtiers. Each man was expected to wield his sword with a skilled hand and a strong arm. To do any less was a sure way to end up dead … Curan did not disappoint.

She suspected it was the reason her father had contracted with him. The border lords were men who took estates along Scotland’s border. It was an uncertain place. Many of England’s nobles had failed to keep their land secure against the clans that lay on the other side of that border. Curan was earning his land and title by holding an estate for England. When he had ridden into sight for their swearing ceremony, she had shivered. Every man following him was hardened, all in firm command of their warhorses.

She had felt that strength in the light touch of his fingers against her skin, a faint brushing of his fingertips across her cheek as he cupped her face for a kiss. She had trembled and studied his face in an attempt to discover if he was moved by her. Curan never complimented her hair or her eyes. Others had. Her hair was the lightest brown that turned copper in the sunlight, but he didn’t seem interested in it. He made no comment on her smooth, freckle-free complexion, either. The only thing that drew his dark eyes to her with interest had been the way she stared straight into his eyes as he bent to kiss her. She saw clearly a flicker of admiration before his lips made contact with hers, the hand on her cheek tightening ever so slightly while his mouth pressed against hers. Time had frozen—as still as the lake did in winter. She had been suspended in that moment, with his body looming over hers and his lips impossibly hot against her own. Even now she recalled it vividly.

Maybe too much so.

For certain she felt lust for him. Hidden behind her bed curtains, Bridget refused to be dishonest with herself. Out among the staff, tending to her father’s estate, was another matter. There were appearances to maintain. Here, she felt the heat over her cheekbones and the way it spread down her throat and across her chest. Wearing only a chemise beneath the bedcovers, she was aware of her nipples drawing into hard pebbles as though she were cold. Yet she knew that was not the cause. A flush of warmth spread along her skin, not startling any longer because she had become accustomed to it. Whenever she allowed her thoughts to dwell on Curan, her body responded.

For certain, it was a pity that she was not to wed him.

Marie kept her word.

Jane was not as composed when facing the prospect of leaving Bridget in the company of the woman when her intention was to take her away. Her mother stared at the courtesan, but Marie returned the look without wavering.

“There are things that words simply do not convey. Men take advantage of that in maidens. I only agreed to these lessons because I thought you wanted your daughter to avoid being led to her marriage like a blind child, as you most likely were.”

Jane scoffed. “That is a fact.”

Resentment edged Jane’s words. A little crack in the polished exterior she normally presented. But there was also a shimmer of victory in her eyes. The look she aimed at Bridget was full of achievement.

“Do not judge me too harshly, Bridget, but I would see you standing on firm feet when you meet this man who discards young wives. I cannot stop this marriage, but I can make sure you are not helpless. Learn to arouse your husband, and you shall conceive.”

Jane watched them as they walked down the steps to where two horses were held ready.

“You are very fortunate to have a mother who is so cunning,” Marie said.

“Cunning?”

Marie arched one slim eyebrow. “Oh, yes, Bridget. Your mother is cunning. I suspect your father has promised your groom a sheltered, country-raised virgin.”

“Will these lessons displease my husband?”

“Not if you are wise enough to give him the innocent looks he expects. It really is no deception; you are a maiden.” Marie offered her a smile. “Listen to me and you shall never regret losing your innocence.”

She kicked her horse, and the two rode away from the house. The countryside was still bright this morning, and their horses covered the distance quickly. Yet not so fast that Bridget didn’t have time to think herself almost to death. Anticipation held her in an iron grip, the idea of what was to come both teasing and tormenting her. Marie led her toward a smaller house that Bridget had seen before. Her father owned it, but no one had lived in it for some time. The dwelling was kept in good repair and cleaned in case someone important might come to visit. Marie lifted one gloved hand to her lips. The woman dismounted and tied her horse up a good hundred yards from the house.

“My client is inside. You will watch us but remain perfectly silent.”

Bridget bit her lip to avoid having her jaw drop once more. She was shocked, but she was also insanely curious about what exactly coupling looked like. From her mother’s description, the act was difficult to picture. Marie gripped Bridget’s hand and pulled her toward the house. They did not approach the main doorway but went toward the kitchen entrance. Marie led her up the back stairs and into the small doorway that was intended for a manservant. The opening led to a tiny room that was big enough only for a narrow bed on one side and a single chair and space for clothing on the other. A noble would expect his manservant to be able to hear him at any time. Such rooms were discreetly built alongside the master. There was no door but a carved wooden screen that formed a sight block, which was intended for the master, not the servant.

“Stay here and be silent.”

Marie entered the room next door and looked it over. Nothing escaped her notice, and she walked over to the bed to inspect it as well. The covers were turned down and violets sprinkled across the sheets.

She reached up and gave the cord that was attached to a bell in the kitchen a pull.

She unhooked her dress and stepped out of it. She moved faster today, but her actions still had a grace to them that was slightly hypnotic.

“I was getting tired of waiting.” A man entered the room, his expression surly, but that changed when he looked at Marie.

“Some things are worth waiting just a little bit for, Tomas.” Marie made it her business to learn the man’s name beforehand.

Marie arched that eyebrow once again. She fingered the tie that held her stays closed. Her cleavage swelled just above it, and when she pulled on the ties, it tightened the stays just a small amount, making her breasts plump up even more. Whoever her client was, he appreciated her efforts. His attention was drawn to her breasts, and his lips took on a slight curve.

“I hope so, this was a long ride.”

He was a large man with wide shoulders and long legs. There was nothing boyish about him, even if his face was shaved smooth. He reached up and unbuttoned his doublet with steady fingers and shrugged free of the open garment a moment later to face Marie in his shirt and britches.

“I can see you are anticipating something that would make your long ride worth it.” She moved toward him and reached up to cup his face. Bridget leaned closer to the screen and watched the courtesan boldly kiss her partner. He kissed her back, a long moment of their mouths slipping and sliding against one another. Marie broke away from the kiss and rubbed her hands down the man’s chest and farther until she rubbed over the bulge that was pushing his britches out.

“Ah, I seem to have discovered your motivation for seeking me out.”

Marie backed away from him, gaining a frown, but she lifted her hands to the tie of her corset and regained his full attention. She pulled the tie and the knot popped. The weight of her breasts immediately pulled the loosened lace through the eyelets.

“Now that is a fine sight.” His voice was turning raspy, and Marie trailed one fingertip over her own breast. His eyes followed her motions.

Bridget felt her throat constrict again. Never had she thought to watch such a thing. She forced herself to swallow. It wasn’t as if the man was going to touch her. Her virginity must remain intact. She took a deep breath; she wasn’t a child any longer and could not afford to be shocked by something she would be expected to do within a fortnight. Far better to know what to expect.

“Confidence is the key to enchanting a man …”

Marie’s words suddenly became more than another lesson. True understanding dawned on Bridget. It was something that only the look in Tomas’s eyes could have taught her. He watched Marie with absolute devotion as she shrugged out of her corset and set it aside.

“Well done. I never thought I’d enjoying watching a woman undress so much.”

Marie turned, and her chemise flared out as she moved. She moved toward her partner and began to untie the laces at the collar of his shirt.

“Tossing skirts is only part of the fun.” She drew his shirt free and ran her hands along his bare skin.

Marie fingered the hem of her chemise. Tomas’s attention focused on her action. Bridget stared at his face, studying the way he watched the other woman. Something flickered in his eyes, and his lips parted slightly when Marie began to pull the ivory fabric up. She bared her thighs and showed a pair of pink garters holding up the tops of her knit stockings.

Hearing about it had not truly driven home what Marie meant by “enchant.” Bridget understood now. It was in the way Tomas watched her bare her body and the confidence with which the courtesan performed the act, truly showing that she had the upper hand. Yet there was a coldness to it—a callousness that sent a tiny shaft of disappointment through her. Perhaps it was due to her night dwellings on Curan, but Bridget looked at the couple in front of her and noticed how little affection there was. Even horses played more before mating.

She could not expect anything else from Lord Oswald. Must not, for her own sake.

Bridget banished her thoughts of Curan. That was in the past now, although her conscience tormented her over the vow she was expected to break. Yet in order to keep it, she would have to disobey her father’s will that she wed at his newest command. Being a daughter was difficult at times.

“You’re a good sight in nothing but skin.”

Marie stood in only her stockings and shoes. Her breasts hung free, the coral nipples flat.

“You think so?”

Her tone was sultry, and she smoothed her hands up her body until she cupped her own breasts. Slipping her fingers all the way around each globe, she smiled while touching herself.

“I came to touch, not watch.”

Tomas didn’t wait for anything else. He moved forward and took over the duty of cupping Marie’s breasts. His eyes were focused on her flesh, his hands cupping each globe gently. He brushed his fingers over the nipples, and they beaded into hard points. A moment later he leaned down and sucked one of them into his mouth.

Bridget gasped and pressed one hand over her mouth to remain silent.

The sight of them sent a little ripple of pleasure down her back. It should have repulsed her to witness two people engaged in such actions, but Bridget admitted it did not. She craved an understanding of intimate matters that went beyond lying on her back and being taken. The idea of having her thighs spread and her body penetrated sounded so cold. But the thought of having Curan kiss her nipples was quite exciting.

Lord Oswald. She would have to begin thinking of him in relation to her lessons.

Enjoyment sparkled in Marie’s eyes. Bridget felt her cheeks burning with a blush, but she was far more intrigued by the moment to care about what was proper.

Tomas pulled his lips away from Marie’s nipple. “I want to feel how talented your lips are.”

There was arrogance in his tone and a smirk on his lips. With another quick motion of his fingers he unlaced his pants. Bridget felt her cheeks burn hotter as he bared his male flesh.

Her breath froze in her throat, but she truly did not notice. Everything was suspended while her gaze studied the one thing she had heard about yet never seen. It was not so different from a stallion’s penis. Long and thick. It stood up through the opening in his pants. The head had a ridge of flesh circling it and a slit directly on top. It appeared hard and firm.

“You will not be disappointed.” Maire’s voice was sultry but brimming with confidence.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He sat down and leaned against the padded back of a chair. The position allowed his cock to stand straight up.

“Come over here and show me the French fashion. That’s why I agreed to your price. I ain’t ever paid for a fuck before, but I want to be Frenched. I hear the king gets it every day.”

“His majesty does indeed enjoy having a pair of lips suckling his cock.”

Marie took command of Tomas with one delicate stroke of her fingers. So gently she stroked that hard pole from base to slit. Tomas shuddered, his face drawing into a harsh mask. Yet when Bridget took a longer moment to study Tomas’s face she noticed more. A deep enjoyment of what Marie was doing was etched into his features. Bridget felt her cheeks flame, but she didn’t take her attention off the lesson in front of her.

Marie traced his cock with gentle fingers for long moments. She did not rush nor did she hesitate. Sure and steady, her hand stroked and finally closed all the way around that cock. Bridget could hear Tomas breathing roughly. He was leaning farther back against the chair, his hands gripping the arms. Marie was truly in control. It wasn’t so complete that the man couldn’t rise and escape her touch. It was more a matter of him choosing to remain right where the courtesan might continue to touch him.

Marie shifted her attention to Bridget. A bright look from beneath hooded eyes. There was a wealth of knowledge in that look. Bridget stared at the confidence Marie displayed and felt envy burn inside her. She was jealous of the poise and knowledge, but more important, Bridget envied Marie’s lack of fear. There wasn’t a single trace in her eyes. Coupling did not concern her, not at all. In fact, the courtesan looked as though she was anticipating something enjoyable.

Bridget lifted her chin. She banished the quiver inside her that was causing her face to burn with a blush.

Marie sank to her knees in a graceful motion. She maintained her grasp on Tomas’s cock, slipping her closed hands down to the middle of it. Leaning forward, she opened her mouth and licked the head of his cock.

The blush returned to Bridget’s face. Nonetheless her eyes stayed focused on the tip of Marie’s tongue. She circled the crown in a slow lap before teasing the small slit that topped his length.

She looked back at the hard flesh in her hands. Leaning down over him, she opened her mouth and demonstrated exactly what the man had meant by Frenching. The sight was as shocking as it was fascinating. Marie took the entire head of his cock inside her mouth. Her lips closed around it while her hand began working up and down on the portion that did not fit into her mouth.

Tomas drew in a hard breath and reached for her head, his hands threading into her hair. His hips actually began to move, thrusting in quick little motions. The action drove his cock deeper into Marie’s mouth, but she didn’t resist. She maintained her position, moving her head up and down in unison with his thrusting. A soft growl filled the chamber and then several more. Tomas’s hands gripped her head tighter, and his thrusting became faster. It looked as if something was building in him, something he was struggling to maintain control over. His breathing was rapid and harsh now, hunger drawing his face tight.

Marie suddenly pulled her mouth away from his cock. He snarled at her, his face becoming a mask of rage.

“Bitch.”

He growled the single word at her, but she didn’t take it as an insult. Instead a look of sultry confidence covered her face. She pumped her hand up and down on the length of his cock, and he suddenly stiffened. A sharp cry came from his lips while his cock erupted with a squirt of fluid. Marie kept her hand moving, drawing several more streams from him. Her client gasped and shuddered, his face a mask of strain, but he collapsed back into the chair with a satisfied smile.

“Holy Christ, the king is one lucky man.”

His words were labored as though he’d been running. Marie reached behind him and plucked a small linen from the table. She cleaned away the fluid before licking the underside of his cock once more.

He groaned but smiled brighter, like a child who was going to get a second treat from the cook. Greed shimmered in his eyes, and his cock remained rigid as Marie licked and teased it.

“I always send my customers away satisfied. Very satisfied.”

She rose to her feet and lifted one foot up, then placed her knee on the chair next to his left hip. His attention was instantly snared by the opening of her thighs.

Marie lifted both of her eyebrows in a sultry motion while she reached out and stroked Tomas’s cock once again.

“Stop teasing me.” His voice was strained, but the courtesan took it as a compliment, her lips rising into a smile full of achievement.

“You enjoy the teasing as much as the riding. Possibly more.”

Tomas chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy sound; it was deep and full of male enjoyment. “I do indeed. But I’m ready for some fucking from you, woman.”

He seemed to have no difficulty with speaking bluntly, but Marie didn’t appear shocked. Raising her other knee up, she grasped Tomas’s shoulders and crawled up onto his lap. His hands landed on her hips and reached around to grip both sides of her bottom. She was poised above his rigid cock for a moment before lowering her body down onto it. There was a soft sound of wet flesh against flesh before she took the entire length inside herself.

A soft gasp passed her lips. A little sound of pleasure that lent evidence to the fact that she did indeed enjoy what she was doing.

“Fuck me.” Tomas sounded impatient.

He didn’t wait for his words to gain action, either; he lifted Marie up off his cock but not all the way. He released her before the head was free and let her body weight push her back down to the base. He groaned, and she did, too. Her hands gripped his shoulders, and she began to lift herself up exactly as he had. They moved in unison. When Marie lowered her body, Tomas thrust up toward her. Their breathing became harsh, their movements harder and faster. The chamber was filled with their harsh breathing and cries of delight. The chair shook under their combined efforts. Tomas gripped her bottom, his fingers white. A moment later he snarled and surged up toward her, straining against her body as a growl of satisfaction ripped from his lips. Marie was not outdone. She ground herself down against his cock, her hips straining and moving in quick little motions. Her entire body shuddered when she cried out. It was a sound of extreme pleasure that bounced around the walls of the chamber. Marie collapsed against her companion, his arms closing around her and his hands gently stroking her bottom in the first sign of tenderness he had shown her. They remained still for a long moment, their breathing slowing.

Marie drew a stiff breath and lifted her head.

“You were worth the price. I’ll be back.” The man smiled and patted Marie on the bottom.

“I am glad to hear you say so.”

She sounded tired and distracted as though forming her thoughts into words was an effort she would rather not make. Both appeared satisfied in some manner. Bridget bit her lower lip, actually jealous for some reason. It felt as though she had missed out on some treat. Disappointment gnawed at her insides.

The man stiffened before setting Marie aside and reaching for his pants. He was gone quickly and without any further conversation. Marie walked toward the window and watched to make sure he had left the house.

“You may come out now.”

Bridget felt awkward emerging from behind the screen, which was foolish considering that Marie knew full well that she had been there the entire time.

“You must take your husband’s seed inside your belly and keep it. If he has you ride him like I just did, roll onto your back once he is spent.”

Marie began dressing, but she paused and cast a look toward Bridget that was full of frustration. “Men are greedy creatures, the ones at court more so than any you have met. That is why I showed you the art of Frenching on Tomas. It is almost assured that any man in a position of power at court will expect such service. Be the one to give it to your husband; that will keep him from wondering and thinking of divorce. It is unfair the way men expect so much of women, but you must make the best of it. Make sure he sinks his member into you before his seed erupts.” She shuddered but drew herself up.

“I will return tomorrow for your final lesson.”

Chapter Two

What more is there?

Bridget turned the question over and over inside her head. The lack of attention saw her scrambling, when the sun began setting, to finish the tasks left unfinished.

She stared at the three trunks sitting in her bedchamber. Her belly was knotted with anticipation. For years the topic of marriage had been a common one. She realized it had taken on a surreal significance—something much talked about but not truly a reality. Tension had drawn her tight for the two days Sir Curan had slept under their roof three years prior, but it had left when she stood on the front steps and watched him lead his lines of retainers away.

Taken to the altar and yet not a true bride. The circumstances had placed her in a unique position. No reason existed any longer to strive to learn court manners and dances. Or to maintain a constant written correspondence with those at court to learn of the recent happenings. She did not have to worry about being sent to court. Her attentions had turned to running the estate.

Yet now she packed for a journey to court.

Her mother was frantically attempting to gain knowledge of what was happening at court from her neighbors. Which left Bridget with the chore of packing her belongings. The chamber became bare as she and two maids took down the tapestries she had woven to impress Sir Curan when she arrived as his wife.

Now they would go to Lord Oswald.

Her best dresses were rolled and placed in the trunks. She packed all of her wool ones, too, because she had no hint as to what her true destination might be. Would she be expected to attend court or to remain in Lord Oswald’s town home in the hopes that she might conceive quickly? There were many who believed a new bride should be kept from distractions until she performed her primary duty.

All that much better to keep you from finding a lover among the court gentlemen.

Heat colored her cheeks, but she could not keep her memory from offering up the vision of Marie wrapping her lips around the head of that cock. Tomas had enjoyed it. She’d witnessed the pleasure rippling over his face.

Did men ever do anything that made a woman feel that good?

She wondered and was suddenly grateful Marie had promised to return. There were questions she wanted to ask. Of course the courtesan might not answer her. After all, she was the student. Her duty was to listen, not annoy her tutor by chattering.

The trunks were packed, and Bridget found the sight of them depressing. Her chamber was so cold now, it felt as if a death had passed in the house. She made the sign of the cross over herself before realizing what she was doing.

Well, in truth it was a form of death. The ending of her life with her mother. The remaining hours she had under her roof seemed more precious than gold. Once she left she would be expected to remain strong in the face of all things she encountered.

No one would give her comfort, save the church. Yet that was her place, her duty, and she was no coward.

“Let us take these trunks downstairs.” She wanted to be finished the soonest so that she might sit with her mother and enjoy her company.

“Yes, mistress.”

The maids lowered themselves before hurrying out of the chamber to seek out the boys who worked in the lower kitchens. Before long she heard their booted steps on the stairs. With a quick pull on their caps, they lifted the trunks and carried them from the room. Bridget followed them, the chill chasing her. She doubted she would sleep at all, finding it best not to retire until her eyelids were drooping with fatigue.

She followed the trunks and watched them being set in the receiving hall. Their estate was not overly grand, but it was newer than those of many of their surrounding neighbors. Each spring, new construction added to the main house. The receiving hall was new and set with glass windows. Even covered with shutters, the night chill crept in. The last of the day’s light illuminated the open doorway. The kitchen staff placed the trunks in a neat row near the door. The trunks appeared small next to the uncertain future looming large outside.

A steady beating began in the distance, rumbling along the ground first. Bridget felt it as much with her feet as she heard with her ears. There was no mistaking such a thing—the sound of many horses. The noise grew louder and was joined by the household retainers running along the edge of the house. But there were few armed men here in the country. Her father expected his position at court to protect his holdings. Besides, any nobleman who kept too many retainers fell under suspicion if they were not engaged in the king’s business.

Bridget reached for the door. If they came at sunset, they had been on the road all day. Pulling it open, she stared out into the scarlet horizon. The estate sat on the high ground of her father’s land. Streaming up from the main road were columns of mounted men, their shoulders and thighs covered in armor. The slap of hundreds of small plates of metal against metal added to the sound of their arrival.

But the leader of the horde drew her attention. His lower face was covered by a scarf, the fabric tied around his neck to keep the dust from the road out of his mouth and nose. Every man behind him wore the same. Chain-mail hoods flattened their hair, the low edges hiding their eyebrows. It was a frightening sight—men ready for war and riding in perfect harmony with their mounts.

The leader held up a gloved hand, halting the men who followed him. They pulled up on their reins with powerful motions of their hands, their thighs gripping the saddles. The leader’s hard gaze swept the front of the house completely, his keen stare missing not a single soul. His dark eyes returned to hers. A shiver shot down her back. Her breath froze in her chest, and she was sure her heart almost paused.

Curan.

She knew his eyes, but the man of her dreams paled compared to what sat facing her. This man was far more imposing than she recalled. Maybe it was due to the fact that they had only met under very controlled circumstances. Standing on the ground and tipping her head up to look at him, the man appeared impossibly large. Some sort of blending of legend and flesh that she had trouble believing was real. He reached up and pulled the scarf away from his face to reveal a hard jaw that was dark with a hint of whiskers, telling her that he had been in the saddle for many hours without stopping to attend to his vanity. Yet his eyes were keen and sharp and staring directly into her own.

“Mistress Newbury, I greet you.”

His voice dispelled any further ideas of him being unreal. That deep tone burst into her head and jerked her into a shaky breath. His dark eyes cut into hers with an intensity that sent fire down her back.

“Sweet Christ …”

Her mother’s voice was startling. Bridget turned to look at her mother and then wished that she had not. Jane’s eyes were wide and filled with a fear Bridget had never seen before. Not even when they had received word that the plague was on the move again two summers past.

“Take yourself upstairs, Bridget.”

Her mother didn’t wait for her to comply. She reached for her arm and pulled her toward the open doors. “This moment.” Her mother’s voice rose with her distress.

“Delay that.”

Curan’s voice rang out loud and clear, the men behind him angling their heads to get a clear look at what was happening. His horse tossed its head in the wake of its master’s order, almost as if the huge war stallion was agreeing with the man who sat astride him. A sure pull on the reins stilled the animal before Curan swung a leg over its hindquarters and dismounted.

“Go.” Jane gave her another push and stepped in front of her.

“I said delay that command, Lady Connolly.” Several other men dismounted and fell into step with their lord. Curan closed the distance between them very quickly. But Bridget didn’t truly have a choice. A half turn of her head showed her several knights behind her. Curan was a man of action. He’d sent part of his force over the ridge to surround them.

“I have come to collect my bride. It is time she stands and meets me as she will be expected to do once we are settled on my lands.”

Jane drew in a stiff breath. “I am pleased to see you have fared well since our last meeting.”

It was a polite statement, devoid of true emotion.

“As I am delighted to see you both in good health.”

Those dark eyes cut to hers again. This time he was close enough for Bridget to see something flickering in them. Men were still riding up to the house, their numbers continuing to grow until there must be three hundred of them. Wagons and carts made up a large portion of the back of the ranks. There were even cannons being pulled by thick-legged oxen. This was the entirety of Sir Curan’s force. It was more than impressive, the sheer numbers of them filling the green in front of their estate home. Men dismounted and went toward the wagons to begin pulling tents from them. There were orders being issued by the lower-ranking officers while Sir Curan and his higher staff remained near her.

Suspicion clouded his eyes. Her mother drew another stiff breath.

“You are, of course, most welcome to pass the night.”

“You are too kind, lady.” Curan’s tone was anything but pleased. He looked at her mother and back to Bridget.

“Yet, on the morrow you will have to seek my husband at court.”

A frown appeared on Curan’s face. The man had never smiled, his lips an unemotional line. Now they turned down and he hooked his hands into his wide sword belt.

“My negotiations with your husband were completed three years past.”

“Yet—”

“Yet what, lady?” Curan took a step forward. Jane stumbled back into Bridget, drawing a sound of disgust from him. His frown deepened, but he retreated a step to allow her mother space.

“Explain your timidity, lady. What causes you fright? I have come to claim my bride as agreed upon. You have had plenty of time to become accustomed to the idea.”

Her mother didn’t seem to have the courage to tell him. Bridget discovered that she couldn’t tolerate waiting any longer. She stepped up beside her mother.

“My father sent for me three days past. He has ordered me to court and marriage with another.”

Those dark eyes returned to her. A hint of approval lasted only a moment before his temper flared bright.

“We have already been blessed by your husband.” His face reflected his anger, and he reached for her. Jane stepped between them.

“As I said, Sir Curan, you shall have to take issue with my husband.”

He stopped his hand in mid-air. He took his eyes off her mother for a brief moment. A quick flick of his hand, and her mother gasped when she was moved to the side by one of the men behind her. It was the boldest of actions, but one that Bridget decided suited him. This man would be polite only so long as he was gaining what he desired.

“I am ennobled, lady, and here to claim the bride sworn to me by law and church. Do not place yourself between what is mine and me again. Or I shall have you removed, permanently.”

His men shifted, and Bridget moved in front of her mother.

“If you do consider yourself my husband, you should have more respect for your mother by marriage.” Bridget wasn’t sure where the urge to argue with him came from, only that she could not resist it.

An incredulous look appeared on Curan’s face. Obviously the man was not accustomed to being questioned.

He bit back his first response, his gaze raking her from head to foot. “If she wishes to be respected in that manner, she will have to dispense with this notion that you are going to London and not my holdings, Bridget.”

He spoke her Christian name very purposely, as if a public declaration of ownership. One that blew more air on the flames of her temper. Her first name was an intimate thing. Meant to be used by her parents, her immediate church clergy, and a husband behind the closed door of their chamber. Even her brothers did not use it unless they were in private.

“We are bound to respect the wishes of my father. That is not disrespectful.”

“And what of the vows you took on your knees beside me, madam? Where is the respect for the promises you made to me?” He stepped closer, seeming to grow larger, but she did not care. Her chin lifted to keep their gazes locked.

“What man would have a wife who disobeyed her father before she was wed?”

That flicker of approval entered his eyes once more. His frown smoothed out as something that might almost be considered a hint of a grin appeared on his face.

“Not I. You are correct to think such.” His voice was rich with warning now.

“Then you will understand my mother’s request that you take your argument to my father in London. It is the only honorable thing we might say unto you. To obey you means to disobey my father, something you agree would displease you. So there is nothing to do except advise you to ride for London.”

So simple and yet so devastating to what she truly wanted. Bridget bit her own lip to keep her lament private. She was disappointed, very much so. Perhaps too much so.

One dark eyebrow lifted. His chain-mail hood still covered his hair, but that single brow lifted mockingly.

“I understand how you might think that is the way things should be. However, our union was blessed by an archbishop. It is sealed. There is no point in further discussion. You are my bride, and I am here to celebrate our wedding.” His lips became a small smile. “Bridget.”

He raised a hand, and his men swept inside the house. She and her mother went because the alternative was to be run into by the larger men. They worked together, leaving neither she nor her mother any space to dart around them. Of course that was no true option, not with his men making camp on the lawn. Smoke was rising above campfires now, confirming that they intended to remain through the night.

Bridget stepped into the entry hall and turned her gaze back to Curan. For all her dreaming of him, the man was a stranger, a hardened knight who did not resemble the fables written in her books.

And he considered her his. Heat touched her cheeks as she considered how close she might be to discovering what it felt like to do all the things Marie had shown her. Of course she did not think this man would need very much enticement to enter her bed.

Yet I wonder if he would still enjoy being Frenched …

She shook her head. Such ideas were misplaced under the circumstances. Wedding against her father’s wishes would spell disaster. There were not even convents in England any longer for her to be banished to once her sire hunted her down.

“You need to see reason, Sir Curan.” Bridget tried to moderate her voice. It proved a difficult task with her temper so hot. She was not normally given to such high emotions but could not seem to cool the flames.

“Save your pleading, madam.”

His voice was stone hard, his attention on the three trunks waiting by the door. He looked up at her mother first.

“Be very sure that I shall have correspondence with your husband upon this betrayal of my trust.”

Jane straightened her back. “These are uncertain times, Sir Curan. It may be that my husband was ordered to arrange a new match by the king himself.”

Two of the knights behind Curan seemed to consider that amusing. Their lips twitched up, and one even cleared his throat to avoid laughing out loud.

“In that case, you shall be relieved to know that I came from Henry’s side just two days past with his expressed good wishes on my union.” He shifted his attention to her for a moment. “And it is Lord Ryppon now. A barony bestowed on me for service well tendered.”

“Congratulations, my Lord Ryppon.” He watched her intently, but she did not shift from her position. “It is unfortunate you were unable to meet with my father while in London. Surely that would have been most fortuitous.”

He stepped toward her. One hand rose into the air. There was a scuff of booted feet against the stone floor and a soft exclamation from her mother. But Curan’s men swept her from the room in a smooth motion in response to their leader’s command. For the first time she felt icy anxiety grip her. Bridget refused to label it fear. She would not cower.

He took a quick look over his shoulder to ensure that they were alone.

“Your father managed to be sealed behind closed doors each time I attempted to converse with him.”

“He is very busy with serving the king.”

“Or Chancellor Wriothesley.” Suspicion edged his tone. His dark eyes cut into hers. He took another step toward her. It brought him within arm’s length. For some reason she was keenly aware of how simple it might be for him to touch her. Lift that large hand and stroke the fingers across her cheek as he had in the past. It seemed so very long ago right then.

“What I wish to know, madam, is what means these trunks?”

His question sliced through her distracted thoughts. She stepped away from him, drawing a disapproving look from him.

“As I told you, my father bid me to travel to London.”

“And you planned to do so in spite of your vows to me?”

He pressed his lips into a hard line. His face darkened with judgment before she had a chance to answer. His hand did reach out between them but only to point one finger at her.

“We are bound by the blessing of the church, and I shall have my wife.”

“But my father—”

“Pressed his signet ring to the parchment in front of my own eyes and that of an archbishop, too.” His fingers curled into a fist. “Go to your chamber, Bridget. We shall ride for the border at dawn. I suggest you rest while the sun is down, for the day will be long. Go now, I needs have words with your mother.”

“My mother is a good wife; you should not be angry with her.”

His expression became even more disapproving. She could see his temper flickering in his eyes now. A muscle twitched on the side of his jaw, betraying how greatly she vexed him.

“And I am a knight. Your concern insults my honor. I will have words with your mother, nothing else.” He drew in a deep breath and snapped his fingers. She heard the solid step of boots on the floor in response. She shivered, not having considered that he might set his men to guarding her.

His eyebrow dipped in response. A tiny response of concern that did not last long. Yet he reached out and gently stroked her face. His touch burned, the heat shooting down her body so quickly she felt light-headed. She stiffened and stepped away without thinking. There was no consideration, only response.

“I will forgive you the slight to my good nature for the sake of how strange we are to each other. We will celebrate our union at Amber Hill.”

He didn’t wait for a response. His fingers gestured to whomever he’d summoned. The knight moved instantly, closing the space between them until he was close enough to reach for her. He didn’t, though. The man inclined his head with respect and gestured to the doorway that led to the stairs. A look into Curan’s eyes showed her a man with no mercy. Only solid determination stared back at her.

She would not disgrace herself by being dragged away by his men. Besides, she felt more like demanding that he see her dilemma. She lifted her chin and left. The knight followed her silently all the way to her chamber, yet the man did not leave. He joined another who stood outside her chamber door. She closed the door, but a quick look out the small hatch that allowed her to see anyone who wanted entry showed her the pair of knights keeping guard over her.

That dread returned, clasping its icy fingers around her neck. Never once had she been imprisoned. Nor had her honor been questioned. A person was nothing without their word. Especially a woman. She walked in a wide circle, her thoughts churning. Never before had she questioned her father’s honor, yet there was no way to avoid it, considering the circumstances. She had taken vows. How then did she go to London? Even at her sire’s command?

The world was a far kinder place for men. Curan did not have as much to lose as she. Her father controlled whom that dowry was paid to. If she married against her father’s wishes, her dowry might be withheld, or end in the wrong hands, thereby leaving Curan the legal right to divorce her and send her back to her father without her virtue. It might take years in court to sort the matter. For all Curan’s insistence, men often changed their minds when there was money to be considered. He might take her virtue and turn her out when the dowry was denied him. He would be free to contract another wife.

She would be soiled and labeled a disobedient daughter. No one would shed any tears of pity for her. It would be quite the opposite. Mothers would point out her flaws as lessons for their own daughters. Her own mother might refuse to shelter her for disobeying her father’s command on whom to marry. She might end in the street. It was a mess, to be sure. In decades past, many who found themselves in such a quandary had fled to convents. The church welcomed them because the clergy was wise and patient. Restitution was always made by the court to a religious order, even if it took twenty years. Being a nun was preferable to whoring on the dockside to keep yourself from starvation.

But you want to lie with him …

Her thoughts might be wicked, yet she could not deny the truth of them. She did want to be Curan’s wife. Even more so now than when she had met him for their vows. His touch made her quiver, not a fearful sort of thing but one that shook her all the way to her toes. She could feel it traveling over her skin, chasing the chill away. Little bumps rose up on top of her arms and legs. Her breasts tingled before the nipples drew into pebbles.

Was that arousal?

Marie’s words came to mind. Was this the thing that would make it easier to endure penetration? Her cheeks flamed brighter.

You do not wish mere comfort, you want the same pleasure you witnessed.

Indeed she did, but at what cost? She needed to focus on the future that would come after she had yielded her innocence. Of course, she might conceive, making it very difficult to discard her, but not impossible.

She was still pacing and stopped when a trickle of sweat ran down the side of her face. Her skin was unusually sensitive. She realized how grimy she felt, the day of packing having left its mark.

Turning around, she went to the only things she had left in the room. A clean chemise and surcoat. After picking them up, she turned toward the door. The knights were still there, and they frowned when she opened the door.

“I am going below to bathe.”

One of them snapped his mouth shut quickly and considered her words. Bridget did not linger in the doorway. Striding forward, she descended the stairs but heard their boots hitting the floor behind her. Each footfall felt as if it pierced her. It was an effort not to wince. Only prisoners were guarded, and this lack of trust grated against her pride.

She moved faster, seeking out the privacy of the bathing room. It was next to the kitchens to make it easier to have warm water placed into the tubs. Theirs was a simple life with no time for hauling water to the upper floor. Such would be a selfish act. Her mother had raised her to be a good steward of the estate, thinking of the overall well-being of everyone instead of her own comforts.

The kitchens were built along the back of the house, a separate building to reduce the risk of fire. But wooden troughs were built between the walls of the kitchen and the bathroom. A pull on the bell cord and water could be dumped into one of the troughs in the kitchen, which would spill into one of the large tubs kept in the bathing room. There were three tubs and two others used for laundry. Bridget could feel the heat ten paces before entering the doorway. A splash made her stop. There was no way to keep her eyes from falling on the very bare shoulders of the man in one of those tubs. They were wide and covered in thick muscle.

“Who has come to help me?”

Curan sounded amused, and he turned with a grin on his lips. Surprise flickered in his eyes. His attention shifted to the two knights behind her and then onto the clothing draped over her arm. His lips twitched, and something flickered in his eyes that reminded her very much of Tomas when he looked at Marie.

“So you’ve come to help me as a wife should? How delightful. My back welcomes your sweet hands.”

Chapter Three

She didn’t have to remain.

Oh, yes you do, or he will call you coward, and it shall be the truth.

Bathing a guest was a time-honored trait of hospitality. Bridget was surprised her mother wasn’t in the room. She worried her lower lip. Considering how unhappy Curan was with her mother’s insistence that he return to London, maybe it was no surprise that he was bathing alone. Women might be legally chattel, but annoying the lady of the house was not a wise choice unless you enjoyed being overlooked by the staff.

“Unless you are too timid, Bridget.”

Challenge coated his words along with an arrogance that sent her temper back into flames.

“That is not a word I have heard used to describe me before.”

He turned his head and eyed her. The scrutiny needled her. Walking over to one of the clothing racks in the room, she laid her things on it. Set near the fire, the rack would allow the garments to be warmed while she bathed. A pair of britches was already there, along with a creamy shirt. Her gaze lingered on the male clothing for a moment.

“Good. I’ve little tolerance for timidity.”

“Is that another warning I should heed?”

Pausing to roll up her sleeves, Bridget kept her eyes on the fabric. She refused to worry if the man’s ego was bruised by her question. He was the one tossing out barbed comments, after all. She refused to buckle in the face of a few harsh words. A desire to show that to him refused to allow her to maintain a demure silence.

“It is not.”

There was a hint of remorse in his tone. But when she raised her eyes she found him watching her. Heat teased her cheeks almost instantly. Her poise deserted her for a moment, her eyelashes fluttering and breaking their connection. She detested the way she responded to him. Forcing herself to look straight at him, she refused to appear submissive. Let the man see that she was not some marzipan bride who would be easily molded to suit his ego, so perfectly molded into the ideal of beauty but with no strength.

This defiant gaze allowed her to view him completely. He had dark hair that was shiny from the water and curling gently across his forehead. There was nothing boyish about him. Not a hint of weakness anywhere on him. His shoulders were cut with thick muscles. Beginning at his wrists, his forearms were corded. That same condition continued up his arms, where his biceps rose into thick display. His chest was wide and had a sprinkling of dark hair across its expanse. She moved her gaze over his square-cut jaw to discover his eyes glittering.

More heat surfaced in her face. She glided toward him, reaching for the soap neatly laid out next to the tub. Bathing guests was a tradition because keeping fleas out of the house was a Herculean task that fell to the women. It was easier to control the pestilence by seeing to the scrubbing of all their guests.

She had assisted her mother many times, but today she paused before beginning the task in front of her. Touching Curan, even the idea of it, still caused a quaking inside her. Sending her hand along his shoulder, she hoped that the first contact might banish the anticipation, but it did not. Instead, she had to tighten her fingers on the soap to maintain her grasp on the slippery bar. A faint hint of rosemary arose from it. He leaned forward to allow her to wash more of his back.

Marie’s lessons suddenly surfaced above the strange quivering inside her, capturing most of her attention. The courtesan had never rushed. Drawing a deep breath, Bridget slowed her own motions, taking more time to smooth the soap across his shoulder blades. She made several lazy passes, making sure to work up a good lather before setting the bar aside and taking up a cloth. Even through the fabric, she felt the heat of his body. Her fingertips suddenly became more sensitive. They wanted to discover what he felt like when there was nothing between them at all.

Soon enough …

It was stunning how quickly her body responded to that idea. A flush of heat poured over her. No hint of night chill was left anywhere on her body. She was warm from head to toe, even longing to remove her outer dress.

“I enjoy your hands on me, Bridget.”

She fumbled the cloth, tightening her fingers to keep it in her grasp. A tiny gasp crossed her lips, and she looked at him to judge if he had heard it. There was no way to tell from the back of him. He stretched his hands out to the foot of the tub so that she might reach all the way down to his lower back.

“I believe I shall take to bathing twice a day.”

His words were arrogant, but her temper did not flare up. Instead her attention was captured by the hint of huskiness in his tone. She had heard it in Tomas’s voice, too. That bit of knowledge filled her with confidence. It was an odd feeling that combined with the quiver that touching him produced. She leaned over to work the cloth down his spine, and her senses filled with the scent of his skin.

It was dark and very male. What surprised her was the way she enjoyed it. Her nipples hardened even further. They ached behind her stays. Only this time she knew exactly what the little points craved.

The touch of his lips against them.

She trembled and hurried through the last few motions of washing his back. Becoming prey to lust would not assist her. She longed to have that last lesson with Marie. Maybe the courtesan would have given her instructions that would have enabled her to control her responses.

But that was not to be. So she reached for a small jug and pushed it beneath the surface of the water to fill it. Curan made a soft sound of enjoyment when she poured it over his back to rinse the soap away.

“Now my hair.”

He remained in place, with his head bent over the water.

You have washed many a head of hair, you ninny …

Not on a man she longed to touch, however. After pouring more water over his head, she set the jug aside. Her heart seemed to be working faster than it should be. Her breaths came in short gasps, too. Anticipation twisted in her belly so tight, she felt as if it would snap her in two.

“Come, Bridget, I believe you said you were not timid.”

His tone was still husky, but the mocking amusement mixed with it did stoke her temper. The flames burned away enough of her unsteadiness to allow her command of her hands.

“I did not realize you were in a hurry, my lord. Forgive me for taking up so much of your time.” Her voice was perfectly mild and polite. A true credit to every tutor her parents had paid to instruct her. She might have been talking about the laundry for all the emotion in her tone. If he wanted to treat her like a toy, she would give him the personality of a wooden top.

His face turned in an instant, his dark eyes stabbing into hers. He captured her hands that were reaching for his hair. His fingers curled easily all the way around her wrists to clamp them in a grip that felt like steel. Hunger danced in his eyes. And he tensed, as though he were going to rise. Her breath caught in her throat while she waited to see what he would do.

“I suppose toying with you means that I deserve the same in return.”

“I do not know what you mean.”

His lips pressed into a hard line while he considered her.

“Maybe not. Then again, maybe you are an accomplished female when it comes to twisting men.”

She dropped the soap. It sent water splashing up into his face. He shut his eyes quickly to avoid having the strong lye soap burn them. Any other time she would have been mortified to cause such concern to a guest. Yet for the moment, she was quite pleased.

“I have done no practicing on any men. I have never even bathed one before without my mother present, sir. You are the one who bid me enter else wear the title of timid.”

He released her wrists and drew his forearm across his face. But when he opened his eyes they glittered with amusement. A soft male chuckle filled the chamber.

“I suppose I have been in the company of men too long and forgotten that women do not enjoy being teased. Still, I find your tenacity enjoyable.”

“You were being insulting, my lord.”

He laughed at her words. This time it was a full sound of amusement. One hand disappeared into the water and retrieved the bar of soap.

“Possibly. Maybe I was merely admitting that having your hands on me twists my emotions.”

She almost dropped the soap again. Something crossed his face that fascinated her, something hard and hungry. The quiver inside her responded to it and increased tenfold.

He looked down again, but the hands that rested on the edge of the tub were gripping it. She stared at the white knuckles for a moment before drawing a deep breath. So strange. Yet so intoxicating. Reaching over the edge of the tub, she began washing his hair. It was silky-soft and thick. She had to work the soap into a lather and curl her hands to find his scalp. When she poured water over his head to rinse it, he shook like a large hunting hound. He scraped a hand down his face and opened his eyes before she had time to reach for a dry cloth for him.

His face reflected his dislike of being blind. That made sense. A man such as he most likely did not allow his guard down very often. He took the cloth from her hands anyway and dried his face with it. But when he pulled it away from his face, his lips were sitting in a mocking grin.

A second later he stood up. Water ran down his body, glistening in the firelight and turning him crimson. She couldn’t keep her gaze from tracing his long legs or from looking at his cock. It stood tall and proud, thicker than Tomas’s and longer, too.

“Aren’t you going to wash the rest of me, Bridget?”

He was toying with her again. She raised her eyes to his, determination making her bold.

“It is a truth that I have never washed the front of a male guest. My mother would never allow such. Yet who am I to argue with a baron?”

She picked up the cloth and swiped the soap across it with a quick stroke. His forehead furrowed when she extended her hand toward him. But she did not aim for his cock. Marie’s slow motions sprang to mind. She slid the cloth over his thigh, making sure to wash all of it from his hip to his knee. His leg was just as hard as his back, her fingertips communicating how solid he was. Even with her eyelids lowered and her gaze focused on his thigh she caught glimpses of his cock. She simply could not prevent herself from stealing quick looks at his manhood. The thing seemed to swell and grow larger while she worked.

Dunking the cloth in the water, she then applied more soap to it before washing his opposite leg. She refused to look up to see what he thought of her actions. There was the chance that he might consider her glance a plea for reprieve. Her pride forbade her to do anything that might be interpreted in such a way.

Washing his other thigh seemed to take only half the time. She was too aware of what stood between them. That hard flesh was the only thing left to wash. Maintaining her grip on the cloth, she slid it along his inner thigh. Higher and higher until she cupped the twin sacs hanging below his staff. He shuddered. Just a tiny amount, but she saw his powerful legs move. It restored her confidence. She gently rubbed those sacs before gliding the washcloth along the length of his erect flesh.

“You have made your point, Bridget.”

He sat down too quickly. Water sloshed over the edges of the tub. She sprang away, but was too slow; water soaked into her skirts. She landed on her bottom in a pile of wool while the water made it all the way to her legs.

But the scowl on his face made it worth getting wet. He glared at her, his fingers rubbing against one another.

“I don’t know what point you mean. Unless it is that I am bendable to your will.”

Pushing her feet beneath her, she rose. Her wet skirt stuck to her legs and pulled down on her waist. It made the fabric too long in front, so she grasped a handful of fabric and pulled it up.

“I would not say bendable. ‘Tis more like you are challenged by my demands.”

She looked down to avoid his seeing how much pleasure his words gave her. He sounded too pleased by far. Like a boy who had discovered a new game where he could be the victor. Yet she was pleased. There was no denying that she enjoyed knowing that he did not find her meek. If that was a sin, she was guilty.

“Since you have aided me so sweetly, I believe I shall return the favor.”

Her head jerked up to meet his eyes. “What do you mean?” She sounded too breathless. Swallowing hard, she tried to force her nervousness down where it would not be so noticeable.

He pointed at the drying rack. “You came to bathe. A rather good idea since we are to take to the road on the morrow.” His lips resumed that mocking grin she detested. “I will remain and wash your back.”

“That is not the custom.”

His grin faded. “Neither is departing for London to wed another when you have already had the blessing of the church given to you to wed with me.”

“You may say that as often as you like, and still I will not change my response to you, Lord Ryppon. I am not ashamed of being obedient to my father’s will. He is the one who commanded me to kneel beside you.”

His face was set into a disapproving mask, but it suddenly broke when he chuckled. “I am pleasantly surprised by how much courage you have, Bridget.”

It was a compliment. She turned and busied herself with taking the used washcloth to the basket for soiled linens. She heard the water swish behind her and his wet feet connecting with the floor. He must have tugged the little cork stopper from the bottom of the tub, because the sound of rushing water filled the chamber. Gravity took the water away from the tub through a hole in the stone floor that led to a carefully maintained gutter beneath the house. Such a design allowed for bathing year-round and was a sign of the more modern construction of the estate. The bathing chamber had only been added a few years ago after her father had seen one at the palace. He’d had to bribe the royal guards to get a look at the king’s newest comfort, but he’d declared it well worth every bit of silver to not suffer stinking during the winter.

She felt a prickle along her nape and looked up to discover Curan within arm’s reach. He moved quickly for so large a man, a length of toweling wrapped around his waist now, but the fabric was wet and lying over the hard shape of his erection.

“I am grateful that you respected your father’s wishes to wed me.”

“We are not completely wed.”

He reached past her and picked up his britches. “Then why did you just stroke my cock?”

He whispered the words, but that did not lessen their impact.

“You should not say such things.”

His hand reached out and captured her upper arm. A moment later she was pressed against him with a hard arm securing her around her waist.

“I enjoyed it.”

Three words had never sounded so enticing before.

She was captivated by the sound of his voice and the flicker of hunger in his eyes. The hands that she’d laid on his chest to push him back flattened. Her fingers spread wide in enjoyment. His skin was warm and his flesh firm beneath her hands. It was a delight for the senses. Pleasure began seeping past her temper. The sweet sensation produced by their skin meeting swiftly became more important than whatever had upset her.

“And now I wish to see you enjoy my touch.”

He angled his head and pressed a soft kiss against her mouth. She sprang away from it, using her hands to push him back, a soft growl her response. A moment later the arm around her waist slipped right up her back, pulling her toward him again. His other arm encircled her waist, and her hands became trapped between them.

“Accept my kiss, Bridget. It is my right to taste you.”

It was a command, one given in a husky tone. He didn’t wait for her to agree, his lips pressing against hers in a hard kiss that demanded compliance. But it was not unpleasant. Her lips tingled and her belly tightened. He slipped his lips across hers, teasing the tender skin with his own. Pleasure rippled through her when he took instant advantage of her open mouth, the tip of his tongue sweeping along her lower lip before venturing inside her mouth. A soft sound issued from her, but she wasn’t sure if it was distress or delight. She shivered in his embrace, her body twisting as she became overwhelmed by too much sensation. His tongue boldly penetrated her mouth, stabbing deep inside to stroke her own. The feeling was too much to understand. She struggled to pull her lips away from his only to hear her own breath gasping when she succeeded. Her hands strained to push him away. Her strength was nothing compared to his. One of his hands cupped her nape and turned her to face him.

“Look at me.”

She couldn’t seem to resist. Even as her body burned with a multitude of impulses, she was eager to look into his eyes. Drawn there for some reason. The hold on her neck became tender, his fingers stroking the soft skin beneath her braid.

She was not frightened. Bridget ordered herself to meet his gaze. His dark eyes were full of hunger. She understood what he craved. Beneath the layers of her clothing, her passage was heating and yearning for exactly the same thing. She felt empty. Never had she noticed her passage so aching to be filled. She craved the same penetration she had witnessed Marie receiving. Call her wanton, yet she was honest enough to admit her hunger.

“I will not take you here, beneath your father’s roof.” Pride edged his words. “We will consummate our vows at Amber Hill. That is more fitting.”

A muscle jerked on the side of his jaw. His attention dropped to her mouth for a long moment, and his arms tightened around her. But he suddenly released her and turned his back on her. The toweling dropped, and Bridget turned to avoid looking at his naked body again. The sight was too much to resist. She forgot every reason not to touch him when her sight was filled with his bare form. Never had she considered that she would find a male body so pleasing. Curan’s body drew her attention to each hard ridge of muscle and then onto the rigid cock standing proudly between his thighs. Obviously she was too weak to resist temptation.

She heard him dressing, the sounds of fabric being drawn over his body a relief, but it also drew a lament from her.

He turned with his shirt still untied.

“Finish dressing me, Bridget.”

Confusion drew her lips into a frown. He reached out and lifted her chin.

“I enjoyed your hands on me when you did it of your own free will. I would have such again.”

“As you will.”

It was an unpolished response. But her mind was crowded with too many sensations and the impulses they drew from her. She could not seem to sort it all into any manner of logical understanding. But her hands lifted and smoothed his collar into place before tying the ribbons to close it. Part of her raged against the action. But she finished and took up the ribbons that would close the cuff of his shirt. Her fingertips lay against his inner wrist for a moment, and then the contact was severed when she pulled the laces. She bit into her lower lip. Concentration seemed to elude her when he was near—quite bothersome, but exciting, too. In truth, she longed to be out of his sight for a few moments to compose herself.

But he wanted to wash her back.

She continued to worry her lower lip. There was no way to leave without turning coward. Maybe she should. He liked her courage. If she showed him weakness, the man might very well turn his back on her.

Every fiber of her person rebelled against that thought. Whether it was because her pride refused or her body, she didn’t know.

But she stood back and reached for one of the pins holding her braids to her head and tugged it free. He watched her. Her stomach tightened with nervousness. But Marie’s lessons surfaced above the tension. Taking a few steps away from him, she peeked over her shoulder and drew another pin. His face became hard and unreadable, but his gaze followed her hand with absolute devotion. A few more pins and her braids loosened before falling down her back. She placed the pins aside before turning and slowly untying one of the ribbons that kept her hair braid from unlacing.

Heat filled her once more. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her every motion. This knowledge bred another form of excitement in her, a new understanding of her own attractiveness. She had never been vain, but this was different, having nothing to do with the dress she wore and everything to do with how she looked without fashion’s creations. Her fingers began to tremble, making it harder to untie the second ribbon. But she finished loosening her hair, and a shaky breath rattled her when she finished. She had to force herself to look at him. But once she did, she was hypnotized by his dark eyes. Hunger blazed there, a deep appreciation that was very male and very intimate.

He moved forward, reaching out to finger a lock of her hair. For such a simple touch, her body responded violently. She shuddered and drew a rough breath. Her hair slipped over his fingers, and his eyes narrowed.

“I regret that I am going to fail to repay the kind service you did for me, Bridget.” He pulled his gaze from where her hair was draped over his fingers to look at her face. What blazed in his eyes unsettled her. He had appeared so strong and disciplined. At that moment, though, something wild lurked in his eyes. “But I must confess that I doubt my own ability to keep my word on not taking you beneath this roof if I remain.”

He lifted a handful of hair to his face and drew in a deep breath. His eyes closed and his face became a mask of enjoyment. It was mesmerizing. Bridget stared at it and still found it difficult to believe that she might inspire such a look, especially on such a man. Perhaps a boy might appear so enthralled but not a mature knight such as Curan. Her hair looked delicate against his fingers. Her head did not reach to his chin, and she felt small next to him.

“Until later, Bridget. No one will disturb you.”

He turned and left with that final warning spoken. Her arms came up to hug her body as all of the heat he’d inspired left her. Her body became chilled, and the need pooling in her belly made it ache.

It was by far the most confusing thing.

Curan didn’t sleep very much. His discipline failed him. After only a few hours of rest his mind became too crowded with thoughts to sleep. He knew better, had served too many days on hostile soil to not take sleep when he might.

His bride was a distraction.

Of course that was not something to be lamented. Most men battled to find enough interest in their negotiated wives to beget their heirs. His cock throbbed softly with unsatisfied hunger. It would seem that he would not have to suffer that difficulty.

Bridget’s mother descended the stairs at the first sign of light on the horizon. Lady Connolly clearly was not content with his intention to claim her daughter. The woman strode straight up to him without flinching. It was clear where Bridget learned her courage from.

Jane did not lower her eyes.

“You should understand that these times call for adjustments.”

“What I understand, madam, are things that you do not know of.” Her demeanor softened, allowing Curan to moderate his tone. “Your husband is a compatriot of Chancellor Wriothesley.”

“I am aware of that.”

“Are you likewise aware of the fact that Lord Oswald is another compatriot of the chancellor?”

Jane clasped her hands tightly together. “Your tone implies that you are angry with my husband’s choices.”

“I am certainly not happy to discover my bride being readied to travel to another man’s bed.”

“My daughter was heading to the marriage her father arranged for her. Not to be anyone’s mistress.”

Curan drew himself up in the face of her outrage. He did not suffer such a tone from many men and even fewer women. Yet the woman was insulted on behalf of her daughter, and that was a just cause. He had spent his entire adult life serving honor. A mother was right to defend her daughter’s name.

“I should have said marriage.”

Jane looked ready to argue further, but she paused and bit back her reply.

“The king sent me here to claim my bride. With full knowledge that I plan to take her to my border holding and settle into family life.”

Jane’s face became one of confusion. “Yet my husband writes of a very different course for Bridget. I cannot ignore his summons.”

Curan drew in a stiff breath. “Court is a place full of men trying to achieve their own goals.” He paused for a long moment, clearly weighing his next words. “The chancellor is rumored to be seeking evidence against Queen Catherine Parr.”

“What? That is madness. I hear nothing but good tidings concerning our queen. She is a devoted wife.” Jane’s eyes went large.

“Yet she would not be the first queen brought low by men seeking to install some other in her place.”

Jane’s face drained of color. “You should not say such things. I shall not have such things spoken of beneath my roof, be you noble or common.”

“A wise rule to keep.”

She shot him a hard look. “I do not understand what you are hinting at, Lord Ryppon. It still remains that I was doing only as instructed by my husband. You should understand that being dutiful is not something that may be questioned.”

“I do.” He stepped closer but took a look about to see if there was anyone listening. “Yet I believe that your husband is placing his name on a very risky gamble. If the chancellor is working to bring down the queen, be very sure that blood will flow.”

She nodded and began to make the sign of the cross over herself. Curan captured her wrist, stopping her.

“Careful, lady. There are men with me who have family related to these men of whom we speak. You are not the only one who will have your loyalties tested by this scheme. Do not give them hints as to what we discuss.”

She clasped her hands together once more. “Of course. You are correct. Yet I still do not understand what you want here.”

“I came for Bridget. She is my bride, and I plan to protect what is mine, even if her father is intent on placing her in the center of this plot.” He lowered his tone. “I will not allow anyone to do that.”

The woman didn’t argue further. She considered him with eyes that were full of distrust. Curan understood that. Chancellor Wriothesley and his compatriots were plotting a very dangerous thing. Personally, he felt they were fools. The king was dying even if no one dared say it. Soon England would have a boy on its throne, and the man favored to become regent was in love with Catherine Parr. Any man who plotted against her risked a great deal more than his own life. His family and estates might become forfeit. The chancellor knew that and was trying to tie as many men to the scheme as possible. Lord Oswald would be bought with Bridget. The man was old noble blood with many connections, his only weakness a liking for young girls in his bed.

He had made a mistake in casting his eye on what Curan believed was his. The Earl of Pemshire had repaid him well in making him wise of the plot. He would allow no man to take Bridget from him. Only duty had done that so far.

Yet his time was done, at least in France. Henry Tudor had made his last campaign. The next few years would be unsettled times for England. Holding his border lands against Scottish invasion was his new duty.

“I would bid farewell to my daughter.”

Jane’s voice was smooth now. She offered him a curtsy before leaving the room. Curan watched her go. Suspicion ate at him. He allowed it to burn in his gut for a time. He was still alive due to heeding his instincts. But even if he did not trust the lady, he could not decide what she might do that would cause him worry. He had the church’s blessing and Bridget’s father’s seal on the parchment agreeing to his marriage. Jane was one woman against his entire army. Instructing her daughter to hate him was the worst she might do.

But the kiss he’d shared with Bridget was all he needed to dispel any worry about that. His bride was not cold toward him. His cock stirred behind his britches. He was likewise anything but unmoved by her. If he had kissed her that way three years ago, he would have found a way to consummate their union sooner.

He walked to the doorway and looked at the pink fingers of dawn cutting through the night. Soon enough he would have her. The trunks drew his attention. They intensified his need to take to the road and gain the high ground before those plotting men in London knew what he was about.

Her sweet kiss only made him more anxious. But it was something he allowed himself to enjoy. Once they departed he would have to focus on the protection of his men and bride. Nothing was certain in these days. He planned to keep his mind on the matter of making it home, not on what delights awaited him once he arrived with his bride.

For the next few minutes while he watched the horizon surrender to the sun, however, he indulged himself in allowing his thoughts to dwell on the moment when Bridget would surrender to him.

Chapter Four

Curan was a confident commander.

Bridget watched him from her second-floor room. Dawn was turning the sky pink. Even before what she would call daylight, his men were rising. The few tents they had erected were being disassembled in the meager light.

A knock at her door startled her. Whoever it was did not wait for her to respond, either. The door was pulled open by one of the knights standing outside. A little sigh of relief passed her lips when she saw her mother standing there.

“Good. You are awake.” Jane entered the room and turned to make sure the door closed completely behind her.

“I did not sleep long.”

Her mother came closer and took her by the hand. She led her to the far side of the chamber in front of the window.

“There is nothing I can do to stop Lord Ryppon from taking you.” Her mother scanned the men below. “In truth, I am not sure I should.”

“What do you mean?”

Her mother was pale. There was fear in her eyes Bridget could not recall seeing before, except for the brief time her brother had been ill and the physician suspected smallpox.

“Lord Ryppon claims there is a plot to gather evidence against the queen and that your father is helping those who would see her brought low.”

Bridget felt her own face drain of color. Her mother’s hands tightened around hers. Men made decisions that too often had terrible effects on the women in their families. If her father or brother became entangled in a scheme against the queen, the entire family would be stained. Their lands possibly forfeit. She and her mother would become beggars at the tables of their relatives.

“Lord Ryppon claims that the king is dying.”

That at least made sense. No one dared say Henry Tudor was dying. There were men who would try to gain the king’s favor by delivering anyone foolish enough to say such a thing out loud as a possible treason plotter.

That did not keep many from thinking that the king’s days were drawing to an end. Times were turbulent indeed. Henry’s only son was a boy too young to rule. That fact would plunge England into dark days filled with regents and noble families struggling for power. Marriage was a common way of uniting those powerful names, yet if the king discovered the vultures gathering to feast on what he left behind, Bridget doubted there would be any mercy in him. No man liked to admit his own mortality, and Henry Tudor would be no different.

“I cannot go to London.”

It didn’t matter if it was a disobedience against her father. Bridget felt her stomach clench at the mere idea of riding into the swirling plots circling the king. Only a fool sought such a fate, or a woman who was greedy for power. She had lived this long without it. Marie’s words rose from her memory.

Bridget stared at her mother. “I will not go there, Mother.” Her voice was edged with respect but full of determination.

“I do not believe that Lord Ryppon intends to allow you any choice on where you go, Bridget.”

That brought her a measure of relief. Her mother read it off her face.

“That does not mean you should celebrate your marriage, Bridget.”

Frustration filled her. “What is it you suggest I do, Mother? He has every right and an army to enforce his will.”

Her mother nodded. “I know. Yet I fear for you if you go to his bed. Your father has powerful friends. To lie with Lord Ryppon is an insult to Lord Oswald now that your father has given the man his word on a match between you.”

“Mother—”

“Forgive me, Bridget; I know I am making no sense.” Jane cast a look behind her to ensure they were still alone. “You should allow Lord Ryppon to take you north.”

Excitement flickered in her belly. Bridget looked down to conceal the unexpected response from her mother. But Jane cupped her chin and lifted it.

“Your cousin Alice is married to a Scot. Their land borders Lord Ryppon’s.”

“Of course, that is why father arranged this match.”

Her mother sighed. “Well, one of the reasons, Daughter. There are others, but it appears that your father feels those reasons have diminished compared to the gains he might secure with Lord Oswald.”

“You want me to seek Alice for sanctuary?” The idea sounded absurd, but she could think of nothing else her mother might be suggesting. Yet she had not seen Alice since they were children, and Scotland was not a place for an English noblewoman to venture into without a great deal of thought. As well as prayer.

Jane’s face lit with satisfaction. “Yes.” She pressed a small bag into Bridget’s hands. It was heavy with coin. “Use this gold to bribe Lord Ryppon’s men once you are on his land. Go by night, and your cousin will give you shelter. I will write to her today so that she expects you. Make sure you only bribe someone without a sword. If a man carries a sword with Sir Curan, I doubt his loyalty is for sale.”

Bridget looked at the small purse; it reminded her of a serpent because it would indeed give her the means to escape Curan. The memory of his kiss rose thick and hot from her mind.

A heavy knock made them both jump. It was loud enough to echo off the far wall of the chamber. Only a man’s fist made such volume of noise.

“Well now. Up with you, Bridget.” Her mother offered her a smile that she knew was false. It was the expression she used when hiding her true feelings behind a lady’s manners. Bridget responded with a similar one. Genuine approval brightened her mother’s eyes. Bridget savored the moment and tried not to think that it might be the last time she saw such.

“Lord Ryppon has called for you, Lady Bridget.”

The knights who had been guarding her door stepped into the chamber. Distaste for invading her personal room flickered in their eyes, but they did not retreat. Instead they halted a few paces into the room, leaving a space between them for her to pass.

“I will get your surcoat.” Jane turned to retrieve the garment from where Bridget had laid it across the foot of her bed. Tears stung Bridget’s eyes, and she turned to hide her moment of weakness from Curan’s men.

Grabbing her gloves, she pushed her right hand into one while blinking away her melancholy. When she finished, her composure was firm once more. Her mother held out the surcoat and helped ease the heavy wool garment up onto her shoulders.

“Remember what I have told you, Bridget, and all will be well.”

To the knights, her mother’s words were innocent. Both of them stood unalarmed and relieved to see her making ready to depart.

“I shall, Mother.”

Jane cupped her cheeks. “And do not forget your lessons.”

Bridget felt her cheeks color, but her confidence swelled, too. A naughty little smile replaced the polished proper one. Her mother returned it.

“I shall, Mother. Indeed, I shall.”

The man was insufferable.

Bridget stared at the inside of the wagon cover and allowed her lips to curl into a snarl.

A wagon. The man had her loaded and transferred like a sack of grain. It was an insult. There were horses aplenty, and yet she sat on the floor of a wagon bed. A bit of guilt pricked her. In truth, someone had gone to trouble on her behalf. A thick wool blanket was folded and placed beneath her. Two large bedding rolls were pushed against the sides to form a corner that was soft. They kept her from knocking her elbows against the hard sides while she was jostled about.

The cover was stretched over a rounded frame of poles. No one could see in unless she opened the corner near her. The sound of horses and men filled her ears. Bridget could hear the plates that made up their armor hitting against each other with every step of their mounts, swords clanging against belts, and the creak of the wagons. Even if she weren’t alone, the noise level was too high to compete with. There was little to do. She left the cover in place for the first hour, not trusting her discipline to witness the last sight of her home. It was better not to dwell.

Yet that left her battling with her temper. She adored riding, the wind chilling her cheeks and the feel of the powerful animal beneath her. Sitting in a wagon was dull and turning her stomach queasy. Even when she looked out, she could not see forward. A cloth sat near her with bread and cheese. It was good fare for traveling, but her belly protested. She sipped at the wine, but even that brought another threatening heave from her stomach.

Well, she did not need very much strength under the circumstances. A few missed meals would not be so difficult to bear. Once she reached Amber Hill that would change. She would need all her strength and more to cross the border into Scotland.

Should she?

The question occupied her thoughts for hours. The times were so perilous. A woman was nothing without her family. Wedding against her father’s wishes would not be wise. Such disobedience might even have an effect on her mother. After all, it was her mother’s duty to raise the children to respect the master of the house.

Bridget felt her throat tighten. Indeed, she could see that Curan would not be a man who would shoulder anything that was not to his liking, either.

She sighed and flipped the wagon cover up to look out. The line of wagons appeared endless, as did the number of men. Her mind had been set on the realities of becoming a wife, but she had never expected to feel so out of place when she departed with her groom. The movement of the wagon cover drew instant attention. These men were fresh from hostile soil, and they looked at her the moment her face was in sight. Their attention left her just as quickly, clearly making it known that they considered her their master’s possession, his personal property.

Was it respect? She honestly doubted. Still, the manner in which they looked away suggested that they were granting her an honor by not imposing on her modesty. That was chivalrous, something spoken of in legends.

Curan didn’t call a halt until the sun was almost gone. Light was meager, and his men hurried to build fires. Bridget gratefully scooted toward the end of the wagon. Her dress and surcoat bunched up beneath her, making it a frustrating journey.

But the need for a bit of privacy was far too pressing. She made it to the end and gratefully let her feet dangle over the edge. After the entire day her muscles were sore and reluctant to work. The moment she stood up, pain shot up her legs. She forced herself forward a few steps, searching the hordes of men clustered around her.

They did their best to ignore her, which suited her needs. Grasping a handful of her heavy surcoat, she climbed the steep incline away from the road. Amazement rippled through her mind when no one shouted at her.

Gaining relief from both her body’s needs had never pleased her so much, but once she finished she noticed that she was also free of the constant presence of being watched. Her shoulders were tense, muscles aching. With no one about, she lifted her arms and made wide circles with them to ease the strain. A little sound of delight passed her lips.

“My apologies for not allowing you a break to stretch.”

She jumped and spun around too quickly. Her surcoat and dress kept going even though she tried to stand facing her company. The motion of the fabric pulled her out of her steps. She stumbled twice before catching herself. Heat stung her cheeks as she looked straight at the amusement decorating Curan’s lips. Lifting her chin, she offered him a smooth expression.

“I assure you I am fit and able to endure, sir.”

The grin melted off his lips. Still a good ten feet down the embankment, Curan had one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. His fingers were curled around it, not draped in some casual display. His gaze cut away from her to sweep the area behind her briefly.

“You shall not endure long without eating, Bridget. Did you decide not to partake of what was given to you because I neglected to allow you some privacy to attend to your body’s needs?”

“No.” She answered too quickly.

One dark eyebrow rose. He took several steps toward her, his longer legs covering far more distance than her small steps did. Strange how she was aware of that. Her eyes were drawn to the way his body moved, powerful, almost mesmerizing.

He stopped a single pace from her. “The fare was not to your liking?”

“It was very well.” To say otherwise would be childish.

“Then explain why you did not eat.”

The man was clearly accustomed to being in command. He wasn’t asking; it was a command and one she was expected to quickly obey. Her eyes narrowed with annoyance.

“I should think that you would not care for a wife who complains.” Gripping the front of her surcoat, she took a step away from him and back toward the men she could hear just beyond the trees that shielded them.

Curan caught her upper arm. It was quick and the grip solid. A gasp escaped her before she mustered the discipline to contain her reactions. The ease he felt in touching her was unsettling. Years had passed since even her mother had been so quick to reach for her. Odd that she had not noticed the lack of human contact until Curan placed his hand on her. A tiny flicker of pleasure filled his eyes.

“What I prefer is a wife who answers me plainly when I ask her a question, Bridget.”

He was using her name on purpose, as a sort of demonstration of his claim on her. Determination flickered in his eyes, and her chin rose in response.

“Are you so set against our union that you intend to try to force me into returning you home out of pity because you will not eat? It takes a long time to weaken from hunger, lady. Longer than you think.”

“I thought no such thing.”

The grip on her arm tightened. “I am glad to hear you say so.” He held her steady and closed the remaining distance between them. With him so close, she had to tilt her head back to maintain contact with his eyes. What she witnessed in their dark centers sent a ripple of awareness down her body. Determination, hard and unwavering, stared back at her.

She pulled against his hold. It was an impulse—her body simply tried to escape without any thought. The attempt was a waste of effort. His hand remained firmly in place, and she heard a small sound of frustration from him.

“One meal is hardly cause for an interrogation. Release me and I shall sup as I intended to do.”

His forehead furrowed. “As you intended?”

“Quite so.” Now her voice was firm, her chin steady as she glared at him. “You are making far too much of such a simple matter.”

“Only because you seem so intent on denying me the truth of the matter. I see no reason why you cannot answer me directly.”

He released her, frustration darkening his features. The action surprised her, yet also threatened to shake her composure as well. She was far too aware of how warm his touch had been, too knowing of the fact that he chose to release her and that she was not strong enough to force her will upon him.

Or was she? Marie’s words suddenly rose to mind. Challenging Curan’s strength with her “strength” was unwise. Drawing a slow breath, she pushed her pride aside and sweetened her voice. She forced a soft smile onto her lips and lowered her eyelashes so that her eyes were partly veiled.

“It is only a trifle. What is a bit of bread and cheese when I have done little the entire day? For certain there are more important matters for your attention.”

He hooked his hands into his belt, his lips pressing into a hard line. “Do not try to placate me, Bridget. It was two meals missed, for you never broke your fast this morning.”

Stubborn man, so determined to have his way, but his keen observance of her was unnerving. This attention felt so intimate. Drawing a deep breath, Bridget continued smiling at him. His eyebrows lowered; the hands gripping his belt turned white.

“As you will. The wagon sways, sir. I have not been to sea since I was a girl, but I found the sensation quite similar. It was not so great a burden that I felt the need to delay the progress of your entire army by telling you that it unsettled my stomach.”

Surprise crossed his features at the simple honesty of her response.

“I am quite hungry now, I do assure you.” With another soft flutter of her eyelashes, she turned and resumed walking down the hill. It was a bold move, but she kept her chin level and her pace even. Marie had been confident and smooth. Still, Bridget felt his eyes on her.

She made the bottom of the rise, and the sounds of men talking grew. The horses were quiet now, the animals eagerly chomping on their feed. Smoke teased her nose, coupled with the scent of roasting meat. That smell drew a rumble from her belly, loud and long, betraying just how empty her stomach was. Now that she thought about it, she had not supped the night before, either. The scent of food actually made her quiver. Her pace quickened; the desire to make it through the last screen of trees became intense. Was there truly fresh meat? Her belly grumbled once again.

“We need more practice on how to deal with one another, Bridget.”

Curan spoke next to her ear. She felt his breath, warm against her skin, and shivered. He caught her once again, this time sliding a solid arm around her waist to stop her. He plucked her out of her steps and pulled her against his larger frame.

“I, for one, am most curious to discover just how well your confidence holds up when there is nothing to prevent us from being completely intimate.”

He stood flush against her back, his body hard and large behind her. Every little sensation intensified because she could not see him. The idea of him was far more powerful than the man she saw when facing him. Gooseflesh raced across her skin, and she couldn’t quite decide what to do with her hands. Her fingers released the fabric of her dress and sought out the hard arm holding her in place. But without gloves, her fingertips seemed more receptive. She felt his body heat through his clothing, and her hand abandoned his arm.

A soft chuckle shook his chest, and she recalled it from when she had bathed him. A moment later his fingertips gently stroked the bare skin of her neck.

“Uncertain, Bridget?”

Though his voice was teasing, the inference of his comment annoyed her. There was no thinking through her actions; she was too agitated by the proximity of his body. She jerked against his hold, her hand clawing at the arm imprisoning her.

“Of course I am. What think you? That I have been free with men?”

Her efforts to free herself were wasted. Too much strength rested in him, yet he controlled it, his embrace remaining solid without hurting her.

He stroked her neck again. She was keenly aware of each fingertip. Her own skin, sensitive to his lightest touch, bloomed with warmth under his touch. The chill of the evening quickly became soothing as her body heated.

“I wonder about what you have been doing with a courtesan.”

He spoke the words softly, but there was no mistaking the sharp edge to his tone. Bridget froze, standing still in his embrace.

“My mother told you about Marie’s lessons?”

He grunted, which was no true answer. A moment later she was free. She could still hear his men on the other side of the trees, but she was too curious to know the answer to her question, so she turned to look at Curan.

“Lessons? What sort of a mother has her daughter tutored by a courtesan?”

His tone implied that he disapproved, yet his expression remained unreadable.

“Why didn’t you ask my mother that question?”

His eyes brightened with his temper. “If I had known of it while still beneath her roof, I would have.” Thick determination edged each word. “My men found your teacher on the road, intent on spending another day instructing you.”

“Didn’t you ask Marie that question, my lord?”

His expression tightened. “She refused to speak upon the matter. So I ask you, Bridget. What manner of lessons were you taking from her hand?”

Even Marie’s soft instructions to stroke men’s egos didn’t keep Bridget calm. Her annoyance burned bright. Her neck was still warm and tingling where he’d stroked her, driving home how well he knew a woman’s body. Yet he was displeased that she might know a thing or two about how to touch him.

The arrogance of it all.

“Frank ones, sir. So that I would not find myself quivering like a ninny when my groom removes his nightshirt. Somehow I doubt that you are unaware of what I look like beneath my stays, and yet you stand there displeased by the notion that my mother made sure that I was ready to take my position as wife with confidence instead of dread. If that displeases you, set me back on the road home. I am sure you can find some bride who will sniffle like a frightened child, since that appears to be what men think they desire from marriage.”

His unreadable mask transformed into an incredulous expression. “You play the docile lady well, yet I see it is not your true nature.”

“If you do not wish to hear me speak plainly, do not address me in private. Be assured that I know how to appear meek so that the egos of my male relatives are not bruised while others watch.”

His lips curved up into a grin that was anything but comforting. Instead the expression sent a shiver down Bridget’s spine.

“Yet in private is the only true place for us to discuss what a courtesan taught you.” His eyes narrowed. “Show me.”

Bridget plucked at her skirt nervously. He was playful once more, but she couldn’t miss the warning bell ringing in the back of her mind. “I do not know what you mean.”

One of his eyebrows rose. “Show me what manner of instruction prompted you to stroke my cock.”

His words were intended to prod her into making a hasty confession. Bridget felt her face heat. She pressed her lips into a hard line as her hands fisted in the fabric of her surcoat. A memory of Marie and her steady poise rose to mingle with her temper. She rubbed her fingers against the wool fabric of her dress to distract her from her rising emotions. She needed her poise now, more than ever before, for this man was deadly accurate in the barbs he cast.

Bridget drew a slow breath before answering him. “Since it vexed you so, I will refrain from doing such again.”

Her words did more damage than any slap from her hand might have. For a moment his eyes were filled with yearning and disappointment. Yet he recovered quickly, a soft snarl coming from him.

“On the contrary, madam. I am looking forward to giving you ample opportunity to perfect your skill.” His face darkened, hunger drawing his expression tight. Had she truly affected him so? Part of her enjoyed thinking such. His dark eyes suddenly glittered.

“Be careful, Bridget. Look at me like that and you will not arrive at Amber Hill a virgin.”

There was thick promise in his tone, but also hunger. A soft laugh spilled out of her mouth. “Your mood appears to change rather abruptly, my lord. I find myself confused as to your will.”

“My will? My will remains unchanged.” He scanned her from head to toe, missing nothing. “I intend to take you home and to my bed.”

He was trying to shock her. Or perhaps test her was a better way to consider it. Challenge was etched into his features, and it drew a response from her pride.

“Ah, but I believe I am now unsure how you prefer me to behave once you have placed me where you will, since you appear unhappy about my dealing with Marie. Hmm … I suppose I can remain still and quiet.”

His lips curved up again. “Not unless you have the strength of Diana, you won’t.”

There was a smug confidence in his voice that taunted her, but it also reminded her of the look in Marie’s eyes. Bridget recalled the sultry confidence that had surrounded the woman when she was sharing intimacies with Tomas. Curan seemed to understand it, too, and the reason was plain—the man was no virgin. Bridget found herself battling envy.

“What do you mean?”

His lips parted to show her even teeth. It was a roguish smile and one that transformed his face into a handsome vision. Curan clicked his tongue in reprimand.

“What is this, Bridget? Playacting? Do you really expect me to believe that a courtesan neglected to divulge the knowledge of just how much pleasure a woman can experience?” He stepped closer, and she tipped her head back to keep their gazes locked. Something dark in his eyes beckoned to her, hinting of that final lesson Marie had promised her.

“I promise you, as my wife, I intend to make sure you experience as much delight as possible.”

Her mouth was suddenly dry, but she wanted to know what he meant, if it was that same thing Marie had promised to teach her but never got the opportunity.

“She said it would be better if I allowed myself to enjoy your touch …”

Her words trailed off into a whisper because her lungs were having trouble keeping up with the racing of her heart. Bridget looked away in order to sort her thoughts, but a large hand cupped her chin and brought her eyes back to his. Her cheeks burned at the probing intensity of his gaze, his dark eyes seeming to sear right into her thoughts.

“But she didn’t demonstrate any of those touches?”

Alarm raced through Bridget, and she jerked her head out of his grasp. “You mean upon me, with her own hands?” Revulsion flooded her, and she shook her head.

His arm captured her once more, sliding across her back to secure her against him.

“I am pleased to see that look on your face.”

Confusion needled her, and she spoke before thinking about how unwise her words might be. “Do you mean to say that she might have touched me?”

“Exactly as I have done, madam.” His arm held her steady when she would have jerked away. “Some women enjoy it. Even prefer it to a man’s touch.” His eyes flickered with hard resolve. “I wonder if you do.”

“She did not touch me. Save for a hand beneath my chin once. I did not enjoy it as I do your—”

She shut her jaw so fast her teeth clicked together. Embarrassment heated her cheeks, but what made her belly tighten was the flicker of heat in Curan’s dark eyes.

“Stop toying with me.” She was ashamed of how close her tone was to begging but could do nothing to change it. Her entire body was twisting and tightening with needs she was losing the ability to control. His eyebrows lowered.

“I do not mean to be unkind, Bridget. Yet I am as drawn to you as you are to me.”

He lifted her and moved her back until she felt the thick trunk of a tree pressing into her back. His huge frame held her against it while one of his knees boldly pressed between her thighs. His free hand smoothed down her body, over the curve of her hip and onto her thigh to grip it and pull it up.

“I find myself battling the urge to bind you to me.” He spoke through his teeth, his control clearly stretched thin. He pulled her thigh up until it rested against his hip, allowing his leg to press firmly against her sex. The fabric of her dress was no shield. At least not one up to the task of protecting her from the rush of pleasure that assaulted her.

You could couple in more positions than just on your back …

The position he held her in was enough to allow him to penetrate her right now, and she felt the night air brush her ankle as he began to tug her skirt up.

“Curan …”

“Yes, Bridget?” Her skirt rose higher, that cool air teasing her knee. She clamped down on the panic trying to flood her. It would be better to know what he intended; then she would not shiver while she waited to discover his will. Yet that did not mean she would simply bow to his command. She flattened her hands on his chest and listened to the soft snort that passed his lips in response to her touch.

“What do you want of me?” Her voice was firmer, and that gave her satisfaction. “Is it your intention to shame me in front of your men by lifting my skirts like a doxy?”

His hand fisted in the fabric of her gown. She could feel how tightly he gripped it, and her chin rose with defiance.

His face was becoming harder to see as night wrapped around them. In a way, the darkness deepened the mood gripping her, making it even harder to ignore the need pulsing through her. Though the night made it much simpler to surrender, her pride refused to remain silent.

“If you choose to challenge me, Bridget, be very sure that I will take up the gauntlet.” He pulled her gown up farther.

“I did not cast out any challenge, sir.”

His hand found the back of her thigh, skin against skin, and she gasped as hot sensation shot up her leg.

“Ah, but I disagree, sweet Bridget. Your very demeanor challenges me to claim you.” He smoothed his hand along the back of her thigh, sending little waves of enjoyment through her skin. Her breath felt almost too heavy in her lungs, and she labored to exhale.

“So the fact that I am not simpering like a foolish chit makes it correct for you to treat me disrespectfully?”

His face was hidden half in shadow, but she still noticed the tensing around his mouth as her words impacted him. His hand froze on her thigh, granting her a reprieve from the delight his touch inflicted on her.

“You are my wife. Touching you is my right; there is no disrespect.”

“Indeed, my lord? With my skirt hiked above my knees and my thighs on display to any of your men who cares to watch?”

She felt his fingers tightening on her thigh, but they relaxed almost as soon as she felt the tensing.

“None of my men would dare.”

“Or would they simply not admit that they were enjoying the sight, my lord? By the time you were ready to protect my modesty, they would likely have slipped away.”

Her words were bold, dangerously so, because now she was casting a challenge. Maybe it was the darkness, or the overwhelming need he provoked that made her want to allow him to do what he pleased with her…. Whatever it was, there was no tempering her words.

The hand on her thigh left, and her skirt fell back down to cover her legs.

“You are correct, Bridget. You are not a girl, but more of a woman. One that knows full well how to tease a man.”

His tone told her that was not a compliment. His breath was raspy, and he didn’t move away, but remained with his body pressing her tightly against the tree. There was a look in his eyes, one that told her he wanted her to feel his strength, know that it was greater than her own.

A shiver of what she now knew to be arousal skittered down her back, because she did indeed enjoy his embrace. He was her opposite, hardness opposed to her softness, and the contrast was alluring.

“I will look forward to a full rendering of your studies once we are encased in the privacy of my chambers at Amber Hill.”

His mouth captured hers in the dark, his lips boldly taking a hard kiss from her. But the shocking thing was how much she enjoyed the way he commanded her mouth, his lips pressing hers until they opened and he could thrust his tongue inside her mouth. The invasion drew an insane need to press her body against his. She didn’t want to be his prisoner; she craved something different. Her hands slid up and over the hard muscles of his chest until she found the top of his shoulders where her fingers might curl around and hold him. She tilted her head to the side so that their mouths might fit more completely against one another. A low growl rumbled through his chest before he cupped the back of her neck.

“Meet me, Bridget. Give me your tongue.”

Yes …

That was the only thought her mind seemed able to hold. Her mouth opened for his kiss, and she sent her tongue toward his, stroking along its surface. Another growl came from him, and he pressed her tighter against him. She could feel the hard outline of his cock against her belly, and it tore her away from the pleasure of the kiss. His hand left her head, smoothing along the column of her throat and down to boldly stroke the swell of her breast. Excitement made her shiver, and her nipple begged for his fingers to travel lower so that she might feel what it was like to have his hand on them.

You yearn for it so much …

She retreated, letting her body fall back against the tree instead of pressing so feverishly up against his, the force of her desire shocking her. Watching Tomas and Marie had not prepared her for how her body was demanding she allow Curan to claim her.

“Enough, Curan. We have agreed that this is not the place to …” Her voice was too husky, shocking her further, so she shut her lips while her hands gripped the rough bark of the tree behind her.

He allowed her retreat, but only a few inches. Her breath came in pants, but his was labored, too.

“I see that your tutoring did not include true kissing, even if you were shown what to expect.”

He drew in a deep breath and stepped back. “We will wait until we reach Amber Hill.”

Each word sounded as though it were forced through his teeth. But she understood why. Her entire body was pulsing with needs so great they were rapidly transforming into demands. She fisted her fingers in her skirts while fighting off the urge to reach for him once more.

She longed to, actually craved having their skin meet again. The urge to shed her dress and press against him pounded through her so loud and hard it drove almost every other thought from her mind.

“These … feelings. They cannot be right.”

Her words were a mere whisper, a vain attempt to regain some measure of control over the weakness that seemed to have taken command of her flesh. How did one kiss destroy so many years of practice and instruction on proper behavior?

Curan snorted. “I see why the courtesan was on her way to you again.” He reached out and clasped her wrist to draw her slowly away from the tree. With a turn he began leading her down the remaining distance to where his men were camped.

“She hadn’t finished your lessons.” He stopped just short of breaking through the trees and cupped her chin in a warm hand once again. To her starving senses, the contact was jarring and she shivered.

“I will look forward to introducing you to the pleasure intimacies can produce in a woman when her partner takes the time to make sure she is satisfied.”

Satisfied …

Curan was as far from that as possible. He stopped when they broke through the tree line and allowed his bride to leave his side. He had to hook his hands into his belt to keep from taking her back up into the night for enough privacy to relieve the ache in his cock.

Yet he did not suffer passion’s burn alone. That bit of knowledge drew a stiff breath from him while he watched Bridget make her way back toward the wagon she’d traveled in. Her step was hurried and her hips not nearly as steady now. Her poise was deserting her in the face of the flames licking her body.

It was astounding—the way they were attracted to each other. How had he missed it three years ago? He had chosen her for many reasons, always understanding that celebrating his union would be another duty required of him. Something stirred inside him, and he realized he was happy for the first time in a very long time. There weren’t many possibilities for personal happiness while earning his spurs of knighthood, or in the service that was required of him after he became a knight. The years since he’d left his father’s house to begin training stretched out in a cold trail of completed tasks. For sure, he had been proud the day he received his knighthood and likewise during the times he had ridden in the midst of other lords who respected him for what he had proven on the field of battle.

The feeling settled in his chest, and he stood still to enjoy it. Bridget climbed easily into the wagon in spite of her dress and bulky surcoat. He was rather grateful for the over-garment that hid her form from his gaze. It would seem his self-discipline was inadequate to the task of resisting her.

There was a confidence in her he admired. Truth was he had no patience for helplessness even if he had spent many hours tempering his judgment to expect his bride to need some coddling. His lips curled up. Somehow he doubted his bride would enjoy hearing his thoughts. She was stubborn, a trait he didn’t find at all repulsive. After all, he was not some polished gentleman of court. Amber Hill did not need a lady who was despondent over being denied the court atmosphere. They would not live without comforts, but there would be work aplenty for his new wife to see to.

Yet he wondered if she would be happy. He had little taste for dealing with those who could not adjust to the way things were. Too many times he’d seen noble sons sent off to earn the respect of their king by riding with him, only to hear them whine about everything that wasn’t up to their standards. Spoiled. There was no other word to place upon them.

Well, his bride was neither a child nor spoiled. He allowed the grin to remain on his face as he walked farther into camp. It was a fine day in spite of the circumstances that had almost seen him having to fight for his rights as Bridget’s groom. He would have fought for her, and the devil take whichever man thought to claim her away from him. Maybe the throbbing cock in his britches was a result of the years he had carried the image of her face in his dreams. On countless nights he had closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy the vision of her face, the way she moved or the shy manner with which she had sneaked glances at him. Now that he thought about it, the happiness warming his heart wasn’t very surprising at all. He had considered her his for three long years, enjoyed her in his dreams, and taken his only leisure while thinking of her.

They would both be happy. Her brazen kiss was proof of that. Stoking her passion would be the perfect place to begin demonstrating just how content she would be as his wife.

It was a situation he was eager to begin showing her.

Chapter Five

So this was passion.

It was as much a torment as it was delightful.

Bridget tried to hold her head steady while covering the space between the trees and the wagon. She couldn’t recall being so ill at ease before, not even when she was younger and first placed in a position of authority over the household. Tonight, it felt as if every man watching her could tell that her nipples were hard behind her stays. Her cheeks colored because she was very sure that Curan knew it.

She certainly understood that he was the one causing her such upset.

Passion …

Hot and thick, moving through her veins like strong cider. The sort that her mother had insisted she sample so that she would know how potent it was, just as her mother had brought Marie to show her the power passion might yield over a man. At the moment Bridget found herself longing for that final lesson Marie had promised her.

Curan seemed very willing to instruct her; that was as clear as a summer day. To be honest, she was enjoying his tutoring. Watching Marie and Tomas had not been nearly as enjoyable as having Curan’s hand on her thigh.

What did it feel like to be touched on more sensitive parts of her body?

She was sure her blush was burning bright enough to illuminate her shame now, but the men around her only looked away when their gazes connected with her. It was a reflex, something they did without thinking because they turned their attention to any motion near them. Once they realized it was their lord’s bride, their eyes shifted. That was true respect for the man they followed. She reached the wagon and climbed in, only pausing on the tailgate to unlace her boots lest she track dirt into her bed. The evening air was chilly on her stocking-clad feet, and she scooted into the back of the wagon where she might pull her toes up into the folds of her clothing.

Someone had laid out one of the rolls of bedding. Considering that ninety percent of the men making the trip to northern England would be passing the night on the hard ground, the fact that any of them had even taken time to see to her comforts was an extreme luxury.

“Beg pardon, lady.”

Bridget looked back at the foot of the wagon to see one of Curan’s officers. She recalled his face from those who had stood nearest him when he had first arrived. This was the man who had moved her mother. He had light blue eyes that seemed to make his gaze sharper.

“We downed a few deer today, and your mother had her kitchens bake bread for us as well.”

He stretched out his arm and placed a large wooden bowl as close to her as his arm length allowed. Even covered with a linen cloth, the rich aroma of roasted meat teased her nose.

“Thank you.”

“I am Synclair, first in command. You may look to me when Lord Ryppon is not present; he has charged me with your welfare, lady.”

“I see.”

Synclair inclined his head but did not lower his gaze. There was a firm confidence in him that reminded her of Curan, but it did not send a jolt down her spine. This man was just as hardened, just as polished in his skills, but there was nothing drawing her closer to him.

At least it would appear that she was not wanton. Or only when it came to Curan, it seemed. A curse with a blessing attached, now there was a paradox if ever she had heard one.

“You should eat, lady.”

Her thoughts had distracted her yet again. “Yes, I shall.”

She reached for the bowl and had to force herself to do so calmly. Her belly rumbled low and long, berating her for losing sight of how hungry she was. The night would seem endless if she neglected to fill her stomach.

Synclair watched her silently. His armor breastplate was missing, but a gold knight’s chain sat proudly over his shoulders. It was a symbol of his years in service, and the intense focus of his eyes on her felt misplaced because every other man had spent the day looking away from her. This knight appeared to take the matter of her not eating as more important than the need to allow her privacy. That spoke of command and grooming to rise in rank. Unless she judged incorrectly, this knight was one whom Curan relied upon to help command his men. One of his captains, his helmet would have feathers that proclaimed his rank. He was one that she would have to watch if she planned to escape.

“It is not necessary for you or Lord Ryppon to give so much attention to my eating habits.”

She found it difficult to consider taking even one bite while being scrutinized so closely.

“The pair of you are treating me like a prized mare. I am not some child who must be monitored.”

Surprise registered on Synclair’s face, but he remained firmly in place for another long moment, clearly considering her words against those of his lord’s.

“Yet you are prized, lady. The border land is an uncertain place. Attention must be paid to ensure your safe arrival at Amber Hill.” His gaze shifted to the wagon cover that was tied securely in place along the sides of the wagon now. “It is not my intention or Lord Ryppon’s to see your modesty bruised.”

But keeping a close eye on her would be their way, no matter her feeling on the matter. Bridget saw that truth clearly illuminated in his eyes. A firm, unwavering set to his expression confirmed his opinion of her position as his responsibility. Her mother’s words returned.

“Trust no one with a sword …”

Wise advice, indeed. Synclair did not move until she uncovered the meal he had brought. The way he watched her definitely bruised her pride. She felt the sting of this hurt even after the knight inclined his head and left her to eat in privacy. Escaping would not prove simple. She resisted thinking that it might be impossible. She resisted thinking that she would prefer it to be impossible.

Then she truly would be free to enjoy what delights Curan promised her.

She scoffed at her own ideas. The man had more threatened her with those pleasures of the flesh than promised her them. She recalled very plainly the look in his eyes and the feeling of his hand tugging her skirt up. Firm purpose, coupled with the same passion she felt burning her as well. A passion that removed any conscious choice in the matter because her body had already decided to yield.

She had to remain firm; to falter would see her ruined. No matter how much Curan desired her body, the man had contracted her for the connections and dowry that came from her father. If her sire cut her off without a shilling for disobeying his command to marry Lord Oswald, she would be less fortunate than a whore, for she would have nothing for the favors she gave to Curan.

Not only would she have nothing at all, but possibly a child in her belly. Her best option was to beg to remain as his leman when he took another wife who brought him everything he desired from marriage.

She stopped eating before finishing the portion given to her, her grim thoughts killing her appetite. When had life become so dim? Truthfully, she had been spoiled. Never had there been such a lack of hope in her life. Now there was only the very difficult task of somehow escaping the diligence of Synclair and Curan, before attempting to cross the border into Scotland while avoiding any Scots who might decide to slit her throat simply because she was English.

These thoughts were quite dark indeed, crowding her mind and giving her little peace throughout the night. She huddled beneath the bedding and woke several times, keenly aware of the howl of the wind. It sounded colder and lonelier than she could ever recall. The only mercy came when the camp began to stir at the very first hint of dawn. But the day was gray; the thick clouds massing above them were black with the promise of rain.

The precipitation began to fall before noon, but there was nothing to do save continue onward. The wagon cover was well oiled, providing her with a haven of dryness that none of her escort enjoyed. From the opening at the foot of the wagon she could see the water turning chest armor shiny. Drops dripped off helmet edges, and the horses’ coats darkened. The steady clop of their hooves became a sloshing sound when the road turned to mud. The wagon began to sink, and the team pulling it snorted as they tried to drag it through the mire.

Bridget truly tried to temper her thoughts and recall that appearing docile would serve her intentions best, but when Synclair or Curan did not appear at the rear of the wagon and the team continued to struggle, she lost the resolve to not challenge Curan’s authority publicly. Sliding to the edge of the wagon, she made sure her shoes were tied well before jumping to the ground. Her feet instantly became cold, but she turned and stepped out of the way of the mud being flung by the wagon’s wheels.

Horses snorted and jostled at her appearance, making the knights riding them struggle to control them. More than one annoyed glance was shot at her, but the grumbling was kept low. The felted wool of her surcoat absorbed the rain quickly, making it necessary to grip the front and hold it up to avoid tripping. The clouds were pressing down on them, creeping along the sides of the hills to promise her a long day of chilling rain.

“Get back into the wagon.”

Curan was angry with her. A side glance showed her an expression that was tight and inflexible. He held the reins of his stallion in one gloved hand while the other rested on top of his thigh in a hard fist.

“You will stay where I place you, madam.”

“I will walk, for I shall not add to the burden of the team pulling that heavy wagon. My legs work as well as any man marching under your command.”

“You have the concept of being under my command quite correct.” His words were still hard and edged with anger, but he shut his mouth before finishing. His gaze rose to the wagon and the way it sank into the mud. His lips turned white from being pressed tighter, but his eyes were full of displeasure over her questioning of his will.

“I suppose I should admire the fact that you are wise enough to notice need around you. That is a good trait in a wife. Yet I do not favor your manner of acting on your impulses when it places you in jeopardy.”

“There is no danger here, only mud.”

His gaze settled on her, and one of his dark eyebrows lifted. In a smooth motion he slid from the saddle to land next to her. She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the water reaching her skin. He fell into step alongside her easily, while maintaining a firm grip on his stallion’s bridle. Another shiver went down her spine as she noticed just how much taller he was—her eyes were not even level with his shoulder. He tucked his chin to angle his face so that their eyes might meet.

“Be assured that there is plenty of danger on this road, Bridget. The Scots cross the border now that word has reached their ears that the king is nearing his final days.” He broke away and scanned the horizon. “Do you not wonder why I am being given permission to maintain such a large number of men?” He looked back at her. “I am being charged with maintaining the border. The Barras clan resides on the other side of the land that I call mine. Their clan laird would pay a large reward for you if someone were brave enough to attempt to snatch you away.”

“Are you saying you wanted to hide me inside that wagon?”

“Exactly. A ploy that has been rendered useless by your impulsive action.”

His tone attempted to condemn her as a foolish girl who should know enough to trust in the men around her, but Bridget held her chin level.

“Anyone intent on stealing me would already know that I travel with you. A wagon cover would not blind them to my presence, which makes it ridiculous to burden the horses with my weight when I am able-bodied.”

He swept her from head to toe with a quick, yet efficient look.

“A simple boast to make when you have not yet spent hours in the rain.”

Her pride flared up, chasing the chill from her. “An easy enough matter to prove as well, Lord Ryppon, since I see no castle in front of me to announce the end of this journey.”

His attention was on her once more, and she shot a hard look straight into his eyes. A flicker of male enjoyment lit then, drawing a soft sound from her. Men made no sense. In one breath he demanded obedience, and yet he appeared to enjoy it when she refused his will.

No sense at all.

A soft chuckle teased her into returning her attention to his face. His lips were curved up now, smug male enjoyment making his expression far less imposing.

“You ruffle too easily, Bridget.”

He rolled her name, lingering over it as his gaze dropped to her lips.

“I wonder how well you shall rise to my suggestions when we are alone. Although I confess to looking forward to your rise in passion quite a bit.”

She jerked her attention away from him and set her sights on the road in front of her. “An unimportant question when we are where we are.” She cared not if she sounded surly; the man was being obnoxious.

“I find the topic drives away the chill, leaving me quite warm.”

She found herself agreeing.

In spite of wanting to shun him, she turned to fix him with a narrow look. “Begone if all you want to do is toy with me. I have not practiced the art as much as you clearly have.”

The grin melted until his lips were a hard line once more. “Good.”

His tone was hard and edged with possession. He held her gaze for a long moment, and she felt the heat ripple across her skin in spite of the chilling rain. “I find the idea of you flirting with other men very displeasing.”

She laughed at him. There was no stopping the rise of amusement; not even the hard glint in his eyes was able to warn her sufficiently enough to remain silent.

“Ah, and yet you are so practiced in the art of, as you said … ruffling me. Where have you practiced such skills?” Bridget leaned closer so that her next words would not carry. “Perhaps with a courtesan?”

“How better to make sure I understand how to keep you satisfied in my bed, Bridget, than to take lessons from a woman who might instruct me on the very intimate details of her body?”

“That is—” Words failed her as she felt her face burn scarlet. He leaned even closer until she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes on his but stared at his mouth instead.

His kiss was intoxicating …

“My solemn promise to you.”

A moment later he remounted his stallion. Settling atop the huge animal, Curan resumed the role of commander. She clearly saw the change, actually felt it. The man who had been verbally sparring with her now hid behind the polished exterior of his command.

The transformation was complete, except a slight flicker of heat in his eyes. Deep in those dark eyes was a flame that promised he was not finished toying with her. In sooth, the man appeared to consider her his favorite plaything.

“We shall make Amber Hill sometime tomorrow.”

There was a finality in his tone that sent a shaft of fear through her heart. She cast her attention forward and heard him make a sound of frustration before the stallion moved away.

Tomorrow.

So close and unavoidable. It felt as if someone had their hands locked around her neck, squeezing and tightening their grip until she couldn’t breathe. That idea persisted the rest of the day. With nothing but rain and mud to look at, her thoughts churned like the swollen rivers they crossed. It grew colder the farther north they traveled, but it wasn’t the location she dreaded. It was the groom who intended to claim her on the morrow who was the source of her concern.

Crawling into the wagon at dusk, she gratefully took shelter in it. Curan’s men sought out the trees, pulling the lower branches down to drape oilcloth over to form crude tents. The blanket of leaves that had fallen beneath those trees last fall gave the men a drier place to pass the night. They scraped aside the moist top layer, and soon there was the scent of smoke in the air. She did not have a fire, but the wagon was by far drier than anything else. Bridget pulled her shoes off and even stripped off her stockings because they were soaked. One of her trunks was sitting near, and she was able to open it slightly. The cover prevented her from raising the lid very far, so she reached in to pull what she might from inside. A chemise came out first, and then a light dressing gown. While she wouldn’t have normally considered wearing so little while surrounded by an army, the night was cooling down rapidly. Getting out of her wet dress was imperative before she caught a chill. Reaching up, she untied the flap that would cover the back of the wagon and act as a curtain to give her privacy.

Removing her dress proved difficult. Her fingers fumbled the hooks, and the knot in her laces stuck tight. She couldn’t help but notice the difference between the practice disrobing she had performed for Marie and the struggling efforts she had to use to strip the wet garment from her. She shivered when her bare skin was exposed. A quick look at the tail of the wagon showed her that the curtain was still in place. Tugging on her wet chemise, she pulled the wet fabric over her head. She used the linen cloth that had covered her supper last evening to dry off as best as possible. Her teeth started to chatter, and she clamped her jaw tight to keep them still. Even lightweight clothing that was dry would be welcome. Besides, she could use the bedding to provide the additional warmth she craved.

“Lady?”

Synclair’s voice came through the curtain, sending Bridget beneath the blankets before she even had the dressing gown tied.

“You may lift the flap.”

Pulling the covers up to her chin, she watched the knight use one hand to open the flap. He still wore his helmet for the protection it might provide him.

“It is cold fare, but I found you a bit of wine to cut the chill.”

“I am grateful, but you need not pamper me, sir.”

“You are not alone. Lord Ryppon has opened the stores to ease the aches this rain brings.”

So Curan was a generous lord. Somehow she found that bit of information heartwarming. Synclair pushed a wooden tray toward her. A wineskin was sitting in it, too.

“Good evening, lady.”

The knight offered her a quick nod before the flap fell back into place and she was left in privacy.

She was being kept in luxury and felt a surge of guilt for the dry wagon bed at her disposal. Her intention to flee made her unworthy of such comforts, for they were being provided to her because she was the mistress.

In the bowl, her fingers found little droplets of water clinging to the bread and beading on top of the thick slice of cheese. Feeling the little drops of water made her realize that she was dry for the first time since leaving the wagon that morning. While it was still cold, the air lacked the bite of winter ice, making her count her blessings that they were not traveling in the dead of winter. Having anything to eat was welcome; even simple fare would be filling and a comfort to enjoy. The wine truly did chase the chill from her nose, warming her cheeks, while the bedding helped relieve the bite of cold from her feet. Her legs ached from pulling her feet out of the mud all day long. A throbbing pain bit between her shoulder blades from the weight of her soaked surcoat hanging on her shoulders. She shied away from thinking about getting back into her wet clothing at dawn. Better to enjoy the warm, dry bed, even if it was hard against her back. She slipped into sleep but found dark eyes watching her there.

Eyes that flickered with passion while they came nearer. She felt his hands on her, first only a single brush of fingertips and then his entire hand stroking her until she yearned for his possession. She twisted away but couldn’t escape her own passion. It slithered across her skin, giving her no reprieve until she threw herself out of the bed she lay in.

She hit a hard body and opened her eyes to stare into pitch blackness.

“What troubles you, Bridget?”

“Curan?”

“Aye. No one else would dare approach your bed. Even if you did cry out.”

His voice was husky and edged with concern. There was also a hint of tenderness she did not expect from the imposing man. Her hands pressed flat against his hard chest while she tried to decide if her nightmare was over or simply beginning.

“What are you doing here?”

The arms around her shifted, moving her so that she was once again lying on the bedding that was unrolled inside the wagon. Curan was beside her, propped on his side, but his larger body dwarfed hers, and she was keenly aware of it.

“As I said, you cried out. Softly, yet ‘twas enough to carry past the wagon cover.”

He stroked a hand over one side of her cheek, sending a shiver down her chest and across her breasts.

“I am well.”

She wasn’t, but keeping her voice lower disguised that fact. A soft grunt brushed her ear before she felt the press of his lips against her temple.

“You are not.”

One large hand pressed down in the center of her chest, directly over her heart. There was no hiding the frantic pace of it, but it was the feeling of having his fingers so close to her nipples that sent her rolling away from him. She was keenly aware of how simple it would be for him to touch one of those soft tips. It was almost as if she longed for it.

“I am, and know myself better than you do.” She tried to sit up and push him away from her. She needed some space between them for her mind to begin functioning once more.

He snorted softly and pressed her back down.

“I know that you enjoy my touch.” His words were edged with frustration now. “So lie still, Bridget, and do not act as if you do not like my hand upon you. No one sees us, and there is no other way to begin my education of you, for you are correct—I do not know you well enough at all.”

“You said you would wait until we reached your holding.”

“To possess you, yes, I would wait until we have a bed beneath us. A maiden deserves such respect from her groom. That does not mean I will not begin the process of learning more about you before then.”

He found her mouth in the darkness, claiming her lips with a hard kiss. She was suddenly aware of how thin the dressing gown was and how exposed her natural shape was to his hand. Strangely, his kiss was perfect coupled with the darkness encasing them, as though she had never truly understood what the night was made for. The dark hours were crafted for veiling lovers, the lack of light allowing her to feel every touch more deeply. Without her sight, her skin was aware of each touch, each stroke. She noticed what his skin smelled like and detected the scent of rainwater clinging to his hair. So many little details suddenly grabbed her attention. She turned her head and drew in a deeper breath that brought the scent of new spring grass with it. She could smell the faint traces of bread that clung to his fingers where he held her head in position for his kiss. But most of all, she noticed how warm his lips were against hers, the way they slid across the tender surface, producing a friction that was sweetly enjoyable. His weight was even pleasing. Part of her enjoyed knowing that he had her pressed down for his pleasure. Hidden deep within her own thoughts was some unexpected longing to feel him completely on top of her.

It became impossible not to reach for him, her hands longing to seek out the warmth of his chest. Each fingertip ultra-aware of the moment when they made contact with him, first one and then another until her hands were resting lightly against him.

Bridget shivered, and he pressed her lips wide for a deeper kiss. The tip of his tongue slipped gently over her lower lip in a slow motion that sent ripples of sensation through her. He was tasting her, lingering over her lips like fine French wine. Her confidence swelled as she felt the power of her own attractiveness. Her jaw relaxed, allowing him to penetrate her mouth with a slow thrust of his tongue. It wasn’t the bold invasion she expected from him, but that did not mean it was soft. Steady and sure, he stroked her tongue with his until she mimicked his motion, kissing him back.

“Sweet Bridget, I must thank you for having mercy and giving me an excuse to join you. I confess I’ve been discarding reason after reason to come in here since you lowered the flap and shut me out.”

“I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

A low chuckle drifted over her. In the dark she felt it as much as she heard it. His fingers threaded into her hair, slipping through the strands to rest against her scalp and cradle her head. He turned her face up to his, but all she saw was a shadow. Her sight failed her, but her other senses were keenly aware of him. She could feel his warmth and smell his clean male scent. It sent her heart racing once more, as if she had fallen back into her dream and his arms.

“Yet you enjoy having me here as well.” His hand trailed down to rest over her heart once more. He tapped against her chest in time with the frantic tempo her heart was keeping. “The proof is plain. Besides, you should be happy that you have snared my attention.”

“Why? Because you believe that all women thirst for male admirers?”

He chuckled again, and his opposite hand moved, sliding gently over the soft mound of her breast. She shucked in a harsh breath, her body attempting to roll away from the sheer abundance of sensation that touch produced. But he denied her any escape, his body leaning over hers and the hand cradling her head keeping her firmly in place while his hand gently fingered her breast. Soft strokes made the breath freeze in her lungs.

“I think it is time I demonstrated just how much you may expect to enjoy being admired by me, Bridget.”

“You shouldn’t—”

“I disagree wholeheartedly.”

And he wasn’t going to continue to debate the issue, either. His fingers circled her breast, sending ripples of delight through the soft flesh. With naught but two thin layers of linen between his fingers and her skin, she felt the heat from his hand scorching her. A soft sound made it past her lips, but she honestly didn’t know if it was born of distress or delight. She felt suspended between the two emotions, but her body was rapidly losing the will to protest. She wanted to arch up and offer her breast to his grasp, to his will.

“I believe I made a grave error in leaving our union uncelebrated. The knowledge of how close I came to losing you sticks to my thoughts like tar. I find myself jealous of even the idea of another having you.”

His voice turned husky and deep, drawing her closer to him to ensure that she heard each word. She felt his breath against her cheek, and his hand closed gently around her breast. A soft sound came from her that she didn’t recognize as her own. The night air was no longer chilly, Curan’s body warming her until she was hot. Her racing heart warming her more completely than a summer day.

“Perhaps it was best, though, else I might never have been able to complete my duty knowing how sweet you sound with my hand upon you. Knowing how soft your flesh was might have turned me traitor to my king’s will just so that I might lie with you again.”

His hand moved away from her breast, and disappointment surged through her. A tiny groan came from her, but it became a gasp when he slid his hand beneath the neckline of her chemise. Delight raced across her skin, startling her with its intensity. Excitement twisted through her belly so tight she jerked with it. He controlled her easily, moving with her as though he understood what his touch was doing to her.

“You shouldn’t—”

“It would be a sin against the flesh nature gifted us with not to show you what delights await you as my wife.”

She lost track of what she was trying to forbid him to do as his hand cupped her breast. Skin against skin, it flooded her with pleasure. It seemed as if she were finally experiencing what her breasts had been created for. With them contained behind stiffly boned stays for years, she had never realized how much the mounds of flesh might feel.

“Disagreeing with you is becoming an enjoyable thing, sweet Bridget.” His thumb glided across the hard peak of her nipple, wringing another gasp from her. “I believe it is time to crush this desire you have to tell me no so often. Maybe you doubt my ability to make my bed a place you will eagerly look forward to sharing.”

“You mustn’t say things like that. What would the church say?”

He pinched her nipple, the harder touch shocking her with how much she enjoyed the sensation. She pushed against his chest, but it was more reaction than a desire to be free. Curan didn’t move; he remained solid and hard beside her, resting most of his weight on one elbow. His fingers remained closed about the hard point of her nipple, gently rolling the woman’s tip.

“I have followed their teachings and taken you as my wife. I expect the church to bid me well and leave me to enjoy my bride, in every manner I desire or you do.”

“Your words are far from humble and quite lustful.”

He grunted and tightened his hand on her breast. “You begin to know me better, Bridget. A task I believe we shall delve into deeper.”

His hand left her breast, and this time he grasped the tie that held her dressing robe closed. With a sharp jerk it opened, and he grasped the edge of her chemise to pull it down and bare her chest. She felt the brush of the night air against her hard nipple a mere moment before he leaned over her and captured the puckered tip between his lips.

Another cry crossed her open lips, but she was not intent on escape. Her body arched, offering her breast to his mouth. Sweet delight flowed from that point of contact, his mouth hotter than anything she might have imagined. His hand moved from cradling her head to the center of her back, where he lifted her to him so that he could suck more strongly on her nipple. The pleasure bit into her, sharp and hard, racing through her flesh to the spot hidden in the folds of her sex. A throbbing began there that spread to her sheath. It became a needy ache that made her twist, because remaining still was impossible.

She wanted to touch him, spread her hands over him just as boldly as she had witnessed Marie doing. There was no forcing herself to do it. She reached for the hard shoulders that her attention had rested on so frequently and muttered with enjoyment as her fingertips glided over the hard ridges.

His knee dropped over her thigh, locking one of her legs in place. He teased the hard top of her nipple with his tongue, lashing it with soft motions that set her heart racing faster. Her blood felt as though it were on fire, and she didn’t truly protest when he tugged her chemise up to bare her thighs. The cool air was a relief and so freeing, she shuddered. Her eyes opened, and she realized how overwhelmed she was. She wanted more than that, craved the same level of involvement she had seen Marie taking.

Curan released her nipple, and the night air turned it cold where her skin was wet. Slipping her hands up to his face, she held him cupped in her hands and lifted her head up to press a kiss against his mouth. He shook slightly, surprised by her boldness, and that filled her with confidence. She held on to him and pressed a firm kiss to his lips. He didn’t take command of it, only allowed her to push his lips apart so that she might deepen the kiss. His hand cupped her breast lightly, tenderly, before slipping down her body to her belly, where it rested.

Sensation twisted beneath that hand. An insane sort of excitement made her kiss him harder. Curan abandoned his relaxed demeanor, his lips meeting hers with equal passion while his hand ventured lower to where his knee kept her thighs slightly parted.

She gasped, and it broke their kiss. Knowing what happened between a man and woman did not completely prepare her for the first touch on the top of her mons. The throbbing increased, and she was suddenly aware of her passage being empty.

His cock would fill you …

It was a wicked thought, but her mind was filled with the memory of the way Marie had so confidently lowered her body onto Tomas’s hard flesh. Curan was watching her, trying to gauge her mood, but her expression was hidden in the dark. He kept his hand on her mons, as sure and steady as he did everything else. There was no retreat in this man, only steady, onward progress that would win the day.

She could be taken on her back or rise to meet him …

Stretching up, she pressed a soft kiss against his neck. His skin was not as rough as she might have thought it would be. Her hands on his chest felt him shiver slightly in response. This tiny vibration filled her with a sense of victory.

“You tease me, Bridget.”

His voice was rough, but she detected a note of admiration in it.

“Because I do not remain still and simply allow you to cover me, while I lay still in submission?”

She relaxed and did exactly that, forcing her limbs to go limp. “Is this better?”

He growled at her with a low sound that practically defined the idea of frustration. Bridget laughed softly at him, but her amusement died swiftly when his hand moved lower until it was resting directly over that spot that throbbed so incessantly between the folds of her flesh.

“Two may play the game of taunting. Be careful what you begin. I enjoy victory a great deal. It might be interesting to pit our wills against one another, to see exactly how long you might remain still while I tried to entice you into responding.”

His fingers moved, rubbing her directly on top of her sex. Pleasure shot up into her passage so fast she cried out. She quickly lost her ability to remain in place, her body bucking with the amount of sensation his touch produced. His chest rumbled with his amusement as his fingers continued to move. He covered her lips with his, smothering the sound while his larger body held her on her back and at his mercy.

“I believe the victory goes to me.”

“You are arrogant. Why do you torment me?”

Yet it was a sweet torment he inflicted upon her. His fingers rubbed, working in a slow motion that produced as much pleasure as need. She felt torn by the twin emotions, each so opposite from one another but being created by the same action. Her hips wanted to lift up to his hand and increase the pressure. She felt compelled to strain toward him, seeking some form of release from the aching need filling her passage.

“Have you ever been pleasured?”

“What?”

That single word sounded hoarse. She shut her mouth and swallowed to try to force herself to recall how to answer in a smooth tone.

“You have never fingered yourself?”

“Of course not.” She tried to twist away but was pinned quite securely. His fingers continued their slow and lazy motion. Her taut muscles began to ache. It seemed impossible to relax or to even be completely still.

She wanted to be filled. Wanted it so badly she almost cried out in demand.

“Release me. You promised we would wait.”

Her words sounded sulky, as though she wanted to taunt him until he lost his own control and gave her what she craved. In the night, it seemed right to feed the desire tearing at her. The darkness hinted at absolution for any sins committed while hidden in its velvety folds.

He leaned down and bit her neck, a soft nip that sent a ripple of pleasure down her spine.

“I don’t want to wait, I want to fill you tonight and feel you clasping me with your thighs. I can feel the need shaking you, Bridget. Tell me you desire release.”

His tone was gruff, and part of her rejoiced. His lips found her breast again, and he nuzzled the soft mound before teasing the nipple with little kisses. It was too soft for what she needed, and she arched up to press against him.

“I will not.” The words felt as if they were torn from her. Her body shivered in disappointment.

“I shall not make it such a simple thing for you, Bridget.”

His finger continued to torment her, building more hunger beneath its slow motion. She wanted something more, but she was powerless within his grasp to obtain it.

“You are my wife; there is no shame in taking pleasure from my touch.”

He loomed over her again, and she could feel the change in his mood. Tension felt thick in the air when his fingers stilled. She shuddered, her body reacting to the lack of motion. She still needed more. Needed something harder and faster to satisfy her.

“Tell me you desire pleasure from my hand.”

Hard and unyielding, his words drew a sharp gasp from her. She shut her jaw so fast her teeth clicked against one another, but he chuckled at her response and gave a sharp tug on her chemise. The lightweight fabric rose up her legs quickly, baring her to the top of her thighs.

“Begone, Curan.” She didn’t care if he took exception to her tone. He’d been warned to avoid her in private if he wanted properness from her.

He snorted, sounding as frustrated as she. “And leave you hungering, sweet Bridget?”

He pulled on the fabric of her clothing again. Even her weight did not prevent him from raising it above her waist. A soft sound came from her lips as she felt her sex being touched by the night air. She shivered just a tiny amount as the first layer of her innocence was stripped away.

“Where has your confidence gone?” The trace of amusement in his tone chaffed her pride.

“You shouldn’t jest. Would you rather I was a slut? Well accustomed to a man’s touch? Eager to follow my lustful impulses the moment I laid eyes upon a man who pleased me?”

His fingers gently returned to her mons, petting the soft curls that grew there in a gentle motion before seeking out the cleft that lay beneath them.

“I would rather you accept that I am your husband. The man you will willingly welcome into your body without further hesitation or excuse.” His fingers penetrated the folds of her sex, sinking down until they connected with that point that was keeping pace with her heart rate.

“I want to hear you say that you are mine.”

She wanted to. The need was clawing at her insides. Her hips were begging to lift once again and press her clitoris against his fingertips. She felt desperate for that contact, so intensely hungry that her body shivered while she battled against her pride. But she would not submit so simply. Reaching out, she touched his thigh and trailed her fingers across it until she found the hard bulge of his cock.

He drew in a sharp breath that whistled through his clenched teeth.

“And what about what I desire, Curan? Submission is quite boring when it is the only thing allowed.”

His finger moved on top of her clitoris, sending a bolt of white-hot pleasure up her passage. This was what she had craved. Direct contact, his flesh against her own.

“This is very much about what you desire, sweet Bridget. Submission to my will has rewards.”

His finger rubbed the sensitive little point, drawing a moan from her. She had never made such a sound before but seemed to be a stranger unto herself at that moment. Stripped away were the polished manners and poise she had spent years perfecting. There was no set of rules that she understood to follow as his finger drove her into a mindless state where nothing mattered but the need twisting tighter and tighter beneath his touch. She clamped her thighs closed, but his hand remained in place. He leaned down over her to pin her shoulders flat, filling her senses with his warm, male scent. It was intoxicating and impossible to ignore. Her thoughts dis-solved into impulses that all centered on having him pleasure her, the hard body pressing down on her adding to the moment and increasing the frantic need pulsing through her.

“Submission can be sweet. So sweet because it feeds what you crave.”

He kissed her hard and with a demand that she struggled against but found her will bending to accept. His finger moved faster, applying more pressure, and it became impossible to remain still. Her hips strained up toward his hand, her thighs grasping his forearm now out of the need to keep that hand exactly where it was. Her thighs burned because she strained up so strongly, but that only added to the pulsing sensation gripping her. It all centered under his finger. Her passage begged to be filled, but her clitoris became white-hot a moment before pleasure squeezed her in a grasp so tight it felt as if she were shattering under the pressure. Delight raced through her, burning along her muscles and limbs without missing a single inch of her body. She cried out into their kiss, his lips smothering the sounds. Time ceased to exist. She found herself suspended in that moment, with pleasure glowing in her belly like a flame. There was no thinking, only feeling.

“And that, my sweet wife, is the reason for submission. The pleasure my touch can give you.”

She lay willingly on her back now. Every muscle in her body feeling lax and limp. Exhaustion clouded her thinking while delight still warmed her passage and clitoris. He trailed his hand up to rest over her womb, gently massaging the quivering muscles. Her hand still lay near his cock, and her fingers brushed against it, telling her that he was still hard and unsatisfied.

He shifted away from her touch, a snort brushing past her lips.

“We shall sleep beneath my roof tomorrow night and I shall be happy to allow you to stroke my cock as much as you like … wife.”

“But—”

He growled, the sound full of impatience.

“There is nothing further to say, Bridget, unless you wish to discuss exactly what delights we shall share tomorrow. I, for one, am dwelling on the idea of you clasping your thighs about my hips as you just did to my forearm.”

He was being blunt on purpose in an attempt to intimidate her. It was strange how she noticed it. Her body was basking in a glow of contentment, but her wits had returned. He tucked the bedding back around her, and the wagon rocked as he left it. When he lifted the flap, enough light illuminated him to show her the rigid set of his face. She suddenly understood what Marie had meant when she spoke of power over a man when he was hungry.

Curan was hungry for her. Yet he had pleasured her and left unsatisfied. She tried to dwell on that fact, but slumber stole her away, her body happily slipping into its restful embrace now that her passion had been fed.

Chapter Six

Morning broke, but it was hardly noticeable. Dim light was the only thing the dawn offered. The rain had stopped, but the clouds massing directly above rumbled with thunder, making the horses irritable.

Everyone walked, including the knights, to avoid being thrown from the saddle by the powerful horses. They held on tightly to their mounts and led them up the road while lightning began to flicker. The only saving grace was the fact that it was not night. It was much harder to soothe a stallion during the dark hours.

Bridget’s first sight of Amber Hill was dreary, to say the least. The stone fortress rose up from the landscape, almost the same color as the black and gray storm clouds. The clap of thunder only seemed to add to the foreboding nature of the moment. Three towers were built near each other. A wide curtain wall connected them, and they reached up into the clouds to provide good sight over the Scottish border. Bridget shivered, certain she could hear the voices of generations past who had met their death along this disputed strip of land.

Her gaze shifted to the man who intended to take up the post of guarding this plot of English soil. Curan was back in the saddle, his powerful thighs gripping the stallion with confidence. No hint of unease marred his expression; in fact, the man looked smugly pleased while drinking in the sight of his home. His attention shifted to her, and a deeper shudder shot down her spine. Thunder cracked above them, and she had to fight the urge to make the sign of the cross over herself.

For certain she had never felt so threatened before. It was not fear of pain that sent that sensation rippling down her back; it was the memory of just how needy he had made her while wrapped in the dark cloak of night.

“We’ll be dry soon, Lady Ryppon.”

Synclair sounded glad even if he remained the image of a properly dutiful knight to his lord. Still, there was no disguising the note of relief in his voice. When Bridget glanced at him, she saw that pleasure flickering in his eyes.

“Forgive me, lady, I should have begun by telling you that Amber Hill is the fortress ahead of us.”

“I recognized that from the looks on the faces about me.”

His elation faded a bit, lines appearing beneath the edge of his helmet. “Returning home is normally a time of rejoicing.”

“Of course.”

He did not care for her lack of enthusiasm. His expression became tight, his lips pressing into a hard line.

“You will come to think of it as your home. Soon would be best.” He paused for a moment, clearly attempting to soften his comment since he was addressing a woman instead of a man. Obviously the knight had spent far more time in the company of men and found the task difficult. “In time you will adjust.”

“Of course.”

She did not care that she was repeating herself. The fortress standing so coldly in front of her resembled more of a prison, not an unusual thought considering that an army surrounded her, and the choice to enter was not resting in her hands. She might have been a stolen heiress instead of a negotiated bride. Someone watching would never know the difference.

She wasn’t sure if she wasn’t both, considering that her father had made the match.

She sighed, chastising herself for her thoughts. Railing against the way the world was would bring her no gain. Besides, she liked Curan well and good, and that was a solid truth. He was no old man who wanted young flesh, and he was no coward who paid others to fight in his place. He was absolutely everything that she should be thankful for in a husband. This acknowledgment made it doubly hard to recall why she had to stick to her course and deny him.

Synclair gave her the briefest of nods to accept her response before he mounted his horse and rode toward his commander. They made quite a pair, both men embodying the image of strength.

Her mood turned surly. It was not the rain or the fact that her toes felt swollen from being wet for two days. What needled her was the way the sight of Curan instantly revived the memory of what he had done to her last night. Her cheeks turned hot with a blush and her nipples began to tighten just from the thought of it. But what truly turned her mood dark was the fact that she recalled just how much she had wanted everything he had carried out.

There was no choice, not even control, Marie’s example seeming so impossible to reproduce within herself. The courtesan had always appeared in command, but Curan reduced Bridget to a weak and needy creature after nothing more than a few kisses.

But such hot kisses …

A soft growl made it past her lips. Amber Hill rose higher in front of her, darkening her mood further. She was torn between duty to her father and desire for Curan. Never once had she thought to be in such a dilemma. Only daughters who were foolish enough to get carried away in romantic verses full of love found themselves struggling to follow their fathers’ dictates when the time to become a wife was at hand.

Resentment boiled inside her for the position in which she found herself. She had been obedient. Even if the church would berate her for thinking harshly against her father, she still did. She desired Curan only because her father had made it possible for her to.

That is not so. You would have desired him no matter what …

She snorted again, annoyed by her own thoughts.

“I assure you, in spite of its exterior, Amber Hill is a modern building.”

Bridget jumped, startled by Curan’s deep voice. The man seemed to have materialized directly out of her musings.

“I do not doubt such.”

He frowned at her tone. “You would prefer a crumbling castle complete with a moat half full of century-old sewage?”

“What I would prefer—” Something gleamed in his eyes, and she shut her mouth. The man was baiting her.

One dark eyebrow rose. “Yes, my lady?”

He rolled the word “my,” giving the word more emphasis, and that pushed her demeanor over the edge into angry. It had been so long since she had allowed herself to be so unpolished that the burning emotions stunned her.

“Finish what you began saying, Bridget.”

Now he turned her name into a warning that further agitated her.

“I shall not.” She lifted her chin and shot him a full look of fury. It took him by surprise, his expression breaking the unreadable mask he so often wore when verbally sparring with her. She gained a glimpse at his true thoughts and the frustration lurking there. She found a measure of calm in the sight of that frustration because she felt just as unsure.

He reached down and plucked her right off the road like some Scottish marauder. A sound of rage got past her lips before she smothered it, drawing the attention of the men around them, and the guards jerked their eyes to Bridget and Curan while reaching for their swords, proving that the two days of rain had not stolen any of their sharpness.

They looked away even faster once they saw her lying across their lord’s thighs.

“Let me up!”

Bridget didn’t soften her words and did not care if Curan took offense. The man was insufferable. Since his saddle didn’t allow for her to roll toward the neck of the stallion, she ended up curled around his body with her legs flopping on one side of the horse and her head and arms on the other. Her wet skirts stuck to her ankles and calves, snapping with the motion of the animal.

She heard him make a sound that resembled a chuckle too closely for her comfort. She was past behaving the way everyone expected of her. Far past it. Planting her hands on his thigh she pushed her body up without concern for the fact that she just might end up in a heap for her efforts.

Curan did not take exception to her actions. Instead the man hooked her about the waist and lifted her up above the saddle, so that he might lower her bottom onto the saddle in front of him. She ended up sitting upright and riding sidesaddle with his hard body flush against hers. Her cheeks heated again, and that heat licked down her skin, touching all the places his hands and lips had the previous night.

“Are you more pleased now, Bridget?”

His tone was disgruntled, but it suited her mood well enough.

“Pleased that you haul me off the ground in front of your men like a whore?”

“More like a reluctant bride.” One of his arms was holding her in place against him, and it tightened with his words. “I treat you as your surly behavior deserves. Yet I wonder why you want to avoid my touch by using such comparisons. It sounds as though you wish to keep yourself from my touch completely.”

His eyes flickered with frustration, but shame made her lower her eyes. He was correct. She was using barbed words to attempt to place distance between them. Obedience to her father did not make her behavior less disgraceful. She heard him sigh.

“You are my wife. Your father has given his blessing to our match. Be at ease.”

“Not according to my father’s last letter home. Can you not see that I must question our union?”

His nostrils actually flared with anger, his gaze becoming so sharp it felt as if it might cut straight into her mind. But his lips curved in a sensual fashion, sending a pleasant shiver over her born from the memory of how they felt latched onto her nipple.

“And what of last night, sweet Bridget? Are you not my wife because of the way you let me taste your tender breasts and stroke your slit?”

His voice deepened until it was brassy and husky such as it had been in the dark. He leaned down close to her ear, and she felt his warm breath against her skin.

“You clung to me, and I felt you shiver when my hand gave you pleasure.”

I have …

Her body shivered, and he chuckled as he felt it. Along the side of her body that was flush against his, she felt the unmistakable rise of his erection.

“Only after you pressed your suit. It was not your bed I snuck into.”

He frowned but took a moment to raise his gaze to scan the horizon. His attention lingered on the fortress growing larger and more impressive with each jolt of the horse’s hooves. The hand resting over her belly tightened.

“It shall be my bed you lay in tonight.”

Hard certainty coated each word. Her temper resumed its fury as she became bone-weary of being considered his property. May the rest of the world be cursed, she did not care if it was the way her entire life was structured, she was sick of being a man’s chattel. Her mother’s lessons on poise and being clever suddenly became quite useful. Men did not know as much as they thought … at least not about women.

“I must disappoint you, my lord.” Her voice was smooth and devoid of anything that might be considered anger. “My monthly courses are due. I cannot possibly assume my position in your bed tonight.”

He growled at her, the arm lying around her contracting. Bridget raised an innocent look to him and actually enjoyed the appearance of frustration in his eyes. Let the man taste what it was like to be told what would be instead of informing her what he desired. A taste of humility would do him good.

“And why did you wait until now to tell me this?”

“You have given me little enough time to share conversation with you that allowed for personal topics.”

He ground his teeth. She could see the muscles along his jawline drawing tight. “You have had ample opportunity to mention something of that importance, madam.”

Bridget lowered her eyelids. She suddenly understood exactly what Marie had meant about her power over a man only being effective while he hungered for her. The hard cock pressing against her hip transmitted exactly how much appetite Curan had for her at that moment. Confidence filled her, and she lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug.

“I am not accustomed to sharing intimate details with anyone. It has even been years since I told my own mother when my courses were upon me. It is a private thing.”

“Not between husband and wife, it is not.”

He sucked in a hard breath, and she heard it whistle through his clenched teeth. “It is not something that I choose the time of. Why do you think that it is the duty of the mother of the bride to set the date of wedding celebrations? An experienced woman knows what details to confirm with her daughter.”

She raised her eyelids and stared him straight in the eye. Indecision flickered in his, but she did not lower her lashes and give him the opportunity to question her honesty.

“Are you positive, madam?”

She shoved her guilt down deep so that it couldn’t reach her expression and foil her plan. “It is not something any woman mistakes.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse. His body jerked, and he dug his heels into the side of the stallion. The horse quickened his speed, eagerly trying to cover the remaining distance to Amber Hill.

“You should place me back on my feet.”

His arm remained firmly in place around her.

“I believe I have heard enough of what you would have me do with you this day, my lady.” He gestured at his fortress. “I intend to have you seen sitting on my saddle when we ride beneath the gate.” Rich possessiveness coated his words. “At least that will leave no doubt as to whom you belong to among the inhabitants of my holding.”

She smothered a snort. But not quite enough. A chuckle rumbled through his wide chest, raising her ire.

“Still so determined to avoid taking your place, Bridget?” He leaned close to her ear once more. “I thought I proved my worth quite well last night. However, I shall be most happy to persevere and apply my full attention to the task of keeping you satisfied.”

She did not doubt him, and that sent another chill down her back, but it was followed by a flood of heat that touched off a yearning that chewed on her thoughts.

Staying sounded more enticing than ever. Her mental debate took far too much of her energy, leaving her almost relieved to see the gate growing closer. It was so tempting to simply surrender and allow Curan his way.

She still heard the warning in her mother’s voice, however, echoing inside her head and refusing to allow her to relinquish her misgivings.

Time was something she needed. Time in which to flee to her cousin Alice before she consummated a union that might just enrage her father. There was also the growing concern that Chancellor Wriothesley might seek retaliation against Curan for taking her. If the king truly was dying, Curan’s friendship with him would not protect him or her if she chose to celebrate their union.

So she would not, even if he could not see the wisdom in agreeing with her.