Improper Seduction

Disappointment raked its sharp claws across her heart. The pain was shocking, drawing a shudder from her. The arm around her tightened, the hard muscles securing her tighter against Curan. The first of his men reached the arched opening in the curtain wall.

“Welcome to Amber Hill, my lady.”

There was no missing the deadly edge to his words. Coupled with the imposing stone walls, despair closed around her like the thick clouds pressing down on them. But there was something else. A longing to have fate simply lift the burden from her by making it impossible to avoid being claimed completely by the lord holding her so securely against him.

That surely would bring disaster to them both, and her heart protested. Casting a last look at the hills rising up behind the thick stone walls, she set her thoughts on her cousin Alice.

She would go there soon. She had to.

The household was turned out in full force. The staff must have seen the riders approaching a good hour past because the inner courtyard was filled with servants. Bridget didn’t know where to look first. Amber Hill was quite a surprise. The inner yard was covered in stone. Neatly laid cobblestones and mortar filled in the space between the curtain wall and the towers. It was very modern and very expensive. Not many families spent the money to cover the inner yard, but it kept the mud from being tracked near the doorways and into the towers.

“Your staff awaits, my lady.”

“They await you.”

But they were staring at her and the way their lord had her clamped against his body. Maybe three hundred years ago, brides had arrived in such a manner, but today it was rather misplaced.

Curan didn’t appear to think so. The man looked quite pleased with himself, pulling up on his reins and keeping her securely in front of him while he turned to look at his men filling the courtyard behind them. He didn’t dismount until the last of them was through the gate.

“True enough.” His keen gaze returned to hers, and she stared at the heat smoldering there. By the look in his eyes no one would know that the man was sitting in the chill of an early spring storm.

“And I eagerly await being able to finish the task of bringing you to my home.”

“I am here.”

Bridget tried to slip from the saddle, but Curan held her in place with that strength that fascinated her. Feeling it was by far more enticing than just tracing the bulges of his shoulder muscles. Her belly twisted with excitement, and she wriggled away from him, but he didn’t allow her any space to avoid his embrace.

“Not yet, you are not.” He cupped her chin now that a younger boy had arrived to grasp the bridle of the stallion. His eyes focused on hers, cutting through all the reasons she had to leave him, and finding the answering flare of passion that flickered inside her in spite of her logical needs to leave him.

“My task will not be complete until I place you in my bed.”

She shivered, hot need licking across her skin. Her cheeks turned scarlet because she was certain every person watching them knew exactly what Curan was saying to her, no matter how low his voice was.

“Stop it. Someone might hear.”

He lifted one eyebrow, mocking her attempts to remain proper.

Bridget frowned at him but couldn’t quite stop herself from enjoying the fact that he found her attractive. She suddenly understood why women enjoyed flirting at court; it did stroke the ego quite well. “You are acting like a boy with a new toy.”

“Exactly what I intend, Bridget.” His eyes narrowed, and a hungry curve transformed his lips momentarily. “To play intimately with you as often as possible.”

Her eyes widened, but he released her and resumed his commanding stature.

“Yet such will be done in the privacy of our chamber, as befitting the mistress of my holding, because you are correct. I place too much of our relationship on display.”

He grasped her forearm and lowered her to the ground. Somehow the stallion seemed a lot taller as she was slipping over and down its velvety side. But Curan held her steady, his strength amazing her.

Her feet touched the cobblestones, and he swung his leg over the horse’s neck in a swift motion. She only had time to back up two paces before he was standing beside her. He captured her hand and kept her beside him as the stallion was led away, to leave them facing the assembled staff. Bridget lifted her chin. She was not unaccustomed to being alongside her mother when she addressed the servants, but Curan had a much larger household.

“What shall be done here is you and I making a united entrance into our home.”

There was a note of relief in his voice that surprised her. He was watching her face, and one eyebrow rose in response.

“Can you not believe that I am happy to be home, Bridget? I have been gone many years.”

At his words, she felt guilty because she had been laying her head in a safe and secure home while he was out serving his king—a duty that his wife would share the fruits of but none of the sufferings.

“Forgive me, my lord. You are correct. It must be delightful to be returned home.”

His eyes moved over her face, lingering on her features while everyone waited on them. Curan didn’t allow that fact to hurry him. He reached out and offered her his hand, with the palm up for her to lay her own in.

“It is very pleasing to bring you to Amber Hill, Bridget. I have spent many hours longing for this moment.”

Shame colored her cheeks for the promise her mother had extracted from her. She raised her hand and placed it against his. For just a moment, happiness surrounded them both. Tenderness shone from his eyes, and it touched her heart.

“Too many hours.”

He spoke beneath his breath, almost as though the words slipped out in defiance of his strict composure. He pressed his lips into a hard line and turned her to face his staff.

But her thoughts remained on his words for a moment. The tone of his voice intrigued her. He always appeared so strong that it was very humanizing to discover something so basic as a longing for home in him. This trait was also endearing in a manner that confounded her. She knew full well that the man desired her flesh, but those few words hinted at him needing her for something else entirely.

Something such as affection.

That opened up her heart, and it sent a sense of vulnerability through her. She felt exposed and in danger of having her heart broken by the man.

The thought was ludicrous. No sane person allowed themselves to fall into romantic love. It brought nothing but insanity. For someone in her position, romance would bring only misery. She had to cast the memory out of her thoughts and resist the urge to dwell on them.

Lined up in front of the main entrance to the largest tower were more than a dozen maids, all of them wearing matching livery of blue wool with topaz edging. Their hair was covered with linen caps, and there wasn’t a rumpled apron in sight. On the opposite side of the path leading to the tower was an equal number of male servants. Their doublets were buttoned to their collars, and every pair of boots was clean and reflecting the sun.

“May I present Bridget Newbury, my bride and your mistress?”

Every single head lowered. Bridget felt her resolve waver before the staff finished offering her their respect. Curan did not have to say she was their mistress. His bride, for certain, but most noble brides did not gain such public displays of respect until they had performed at least a few of their expected intimate duties. That tenderness returned to assault her heart, and this time it proved impossible not to notice how much the man was giving her.

And recall in vivid detail the fact that she had lied to avoid the duties that went with the position Curan was publicly announcing her in.

Shame wrapped around her as thick as tar. It felt impossible to keep her chin level with dishonesty dragging her down. Curan began leading her down between the waiting lines of his staff. A great deal of tension showed as they looked on their lord and new lady.

The head housekeeper stood at the base of the stairs, a large ring of keys hanging over her clean apron. The thick keys were a badge of her status and fit into locks that secured the more costly items, such as silver plate ware and spices.

“Welcome home, my lord.”

She curtsied and kept her gaze lowered, but her lips were pressed into a hard line. Bridget felt empathy for the woman. Who knew what mood Curan might be in when he returned after so long away? His staff likely expected the worst, to be demoted from their positions because they displeased a lord whom they had no clue how to serve because he might have changed during his absence.

But you know how to please him …

Her memory erupted with the recollection of Marie sucking Tomas. The man had looked pleased, all right. But could she truly bring Curan to such a state? Shifting her gaze to him, she worried her lower lip when she noticed how much larger and hardened he was.

But there was a part of her that rose to the challenge of it. Oh, stop it!

Such curiosity would land her in trouble if she did not stem such ideas. She had to recall all of the logical reasons why she could not celebrate her union with Curan. Her growing passion for the man would lead her to ruin if she was not disciplined enough to ignore her weak flesh.

“This is May, head of the house. I will leave you in her care while I attend to making sure Amber Hill is secure. A task I will be happy to see done so that I may focus on welcoming you personally.” Curan’s voice dipped down into that brassy tone that seemed to melt through her resolve to think of their union in only logical ways. When she raised her eyes to meet his, she found a look of satisfaction on his face, but it lacked the arrogance that normally irritated her. Instead she was fascinated and humbled by the sight of a man who looked very happy to be home.

She could discover herself growing affection for this side of his personality. It would be so simple, so very completing …

Bridget realized that he was still staring at her.

“Yes … thank you, my lord.” Her own curtsy was shaky.

“So, you are finally home. I’ll die of your strict nature for certain.”

Curan cleared his throat and glanced up the stairs. Bridget did as well and felt her jaw drop. One of the most beautiful girls she had ever set eyes on stood there. She was slender and petite and everything poets wrote about. Her skin was creamy and fair, her hair a perfect complement in lightest brown that was almost blond. She watched them with honey-brown eyes that sparkled with mischief.

“This ill-spoken girl is my sister Jemma.”

Jemma performed a perfect curtsy, but her lips remained in a smile that made light of her respectful gesture.

“And my dearest brother Curan keeps me secluded here to avoid having my behavior shame the family at court.”

Curan climbed the steps and stood towering over his sister. Bridget marveled at the size difference. Curan caught her staring.

“We have different mothers.”

“I am much younger.” Jemma shot Bridget a smile with her comment. “Which accounts for my brother’s lack of understanding of me. The old rarely comprehend the young.”

“I understand too well the court and what such a pretty face would gain there.”

Jemma waved a hand in the air. “Well yes, and there is that bit of fact. Yet I am not as dim-witted as those other noble girls. Sweet words do not lead me so easily.”

“Gossip is all that is needed to ruin a person at court,” said Curan. “I was glad to turn my back on it.”

Jemma’s smile grew larger. “You mean to say that you were eager to claim your bride.”

Curan shook his head. “Enough out of you, Jemma. We are soaked, and I do not wish my bride to think she has a shrew of a relative to tolerate along with learning to be a wife.”

“Compared to you, I am an angel.”

“A truth if ever I have heard one.” Bridget spoke before thinking. Jemma’s teasing nature reminded her very much of Marie and what the courtesan had tried to teach her.

Curan lifted an eyebrow at her. “I was hoping you might set a fine example for my sister on the virtue of marrying.”

Jemma scoffed at her brother. “Only if God has managed to create a man who is not boring, and able to gain your agreement to court me. I have abandoned hope of such a coincidence ever happening in my lifetime.”

She reached out and caught Bridget’s hand. “Come out of the rain. My brother seems to have forgotten that you were going to bathe.” She smiled widely once more. “Another trait of the old.”

Curan snorted, but his sister paid him no mind. She tugged on Bridget’s hand and led her away, but Bridget felt his eyes on her. Peeking back over her shoulder, she allowed her eyes to narrow with passion. It took no playacting on her part, for her body truly did desire him. His expression instantly transformed from the stern one he wore so often. Surprise covered his features, but it faded quickly into a mask of dark passion. He’d looked like that last night, she was sure of it. A shiver raced down her spine, touching off ripples of recalled sensation all along her body. She felt it travel over her skin, up and over the mounds of her breasts until her nipples tingled as they recalled exactly how hot his lips were. It did not stop there but slipped lower, across her belly and into the folds of flesh that covered her clitoris. A soft throbbing began there, a hunger that whimpered for satisfaction.

She must deny that urge. Turning her head back around, she focused her thoughts on absorbing the path that Jemma took her on. She would need to memorize how to escape when the moment presented itself. Her flesh wailed against that thought, but her heart also lamented it. She wanted to stay and learn more about the part of Curan that was happy to be home. In truth, she longed to share that feeling with him.

Yet she must not, for both their sakes. The world was an unforgiving place, full of men who would not give mercy. Her mother was correct; she must not celebrate her wedding because Curan’s honor would not allow him to see the logic in obeying her father’s letter. He was a knight, and in all honesty, part of what softened her heart to him was his unfaltering sense of honor. Without it, he would be weaker. That left the task of protecting him to her.

She would, as much out of duty to her sire as a gift to Curan.

She refused to think too long about why she felt that way. A week ago there was nothing in her head save duty and logic. The reason simply was, she wanted to celebrate her wedding and not because Curan insisted that she do so.

She wanted him. Passionately and with a growing need that threatened to consume the only part of her that was hers alone: her heart. She couldn’t allow him to claim that, couldn’t trust in a future that was riddled with uncertainty. He would discard her if ordered to by the king’s advisors. No knight would refuse his king.

So she would flee over the border to the sanctuary of her cousin Alice. If she could escape. There was a part of her that warmed to the challenge. The sounds of Curan’s men filtered into the hallway, confirming that it would be no simple task to slip past them. The only thing that would make it possible was their arrogance. None of them, including their lord, considered her anything but a prize they had claimed. Such pride would be the key to outwitting them, exactly as Marie had said. Stroke their egos and claim what she wanted. Wise advice indeed.

Chapter Seven

Dry feet were a blessing, one she had been very neglectful in noticing.

Bridget took several additional swipes at her toes with the toweling because her skin was so wrinkled and swollen from hours in wet shoes that she was feeling water that was no longer there.

“You’re not used to having servants attending you.”

Bridget jumped, grateful she’d slipped a chemise on and laced her stays to keep her breasts from hanging free before working on her feet again. Jemma wasn’t smiling in her playful manner now. The girl was more woman than she had first appeared. Her gaze was keen just like her brother’s, and Bridget felt it sliding down her length. It was very clear that her wits were sharp in spite of the teasing nature she had displayed when her brother arrived.

“My mother raised me to be frugal and mindful of how many tasks there were to be completed every day. Having servants stand about, looking after me, takes hands from those chores.”

“Hmm, perhaps that is the best answer, but I like privacy when I bathe as well. Maybe that is a maidenly need.” Jemma moved farther into the room. “You must tell me if your opinion changes over the next few weeks.”

The girl delivered her question in a smooth tone, but Bridget caught her shy look over the top of the dress she picked up. There was a hint of uncertainty in her eyes that Bridget understood all too well.

“I will not be assuming my wifely duties this week.”

The dishonesty needed to speak such words almost choked her, but her resolve was firm. The overall good outweighed the small sin of lying.

“That is a surprise.” Jemma sounded suspicious, and a glance at her face showed Bridget a familiar raised eyebrow.

“You look like your brother just now.”

Jemma looked shocked and then she laughed. A soft and low sound of feminine amusement. “Lord, I hope not. He’s an ugly creature, like most men. Poor, pitiful things.”

Now Bridget discovered herself stunned. “Your brother is quite handsome.”

“Is he?” Jemma lifted Bridget’s dress high over her head to help her dress. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Good.”

Curan spoke from the doorway, the sound filling the small bathing room that sat behind the large baking ovens. Heat filled the room from the morning baking in spite of the window shutters being left open.

“On both accounts.” He moved into the room, filling it with his larger size. Jemma laughed again.

“You find it pleasing that I think you are ugly or that I think all men are devoid of attraction?”

Curan actually looked playful as he lifted one hand and fingered his jaw. “Both, dear sister. The idea of you turning your ever-so-delicate nose up in the face of your rather large number of suitors brings me peace.”

His gaze shifted to Bridget, who felt her cheeks heat instantly. Passion flickered in his dark eyes along with pleasure. There was a part of her that enjoyed knowing that she had pleased him, because he was worthy of that.

“And hearing that my bride finds me handsome is very pleasing indeed. Do be a kind soul and leave us in private, Jemma.”

His sister blew out a long sigh while she gave Bridget’s dress a little tug to set it in place before she turned to her sibling and lowered herself very prettily.

“Excuse me, I am suddenly feeling ill.”

Curan grinned at his sister, and Bridget stared at the way the slightest curving of his lips transformed his face. Her words to his sister had been true—he was quite attractive, this facet of his persona even more than any other she had encountered. Jemma swept from the room with another dramatic sigh.

“What surprises you, Bridget? Do you not think I can be affectionate?”

She worried her lower lip while watching him through her lowered eyelashes. He stared at her, waiting for her to answer, but for once his expression lacked its commanding expectation. Instead, there was an ease about him that led her to think that the gleam in his eye was actually a flirtatious one. A similar need suddenly awakened inside her. The blush deepened on her cheeks.

“I wouldn’t dare accuse you of being unpolished in anything, my lord.” She spoke the respectful title in a husky tone. He pressed his lips into a tight line that turned them white.

“I believe it well that I sent Jemma on her way. I find myself longing for the chance to woo you.” He moved closer, and she felt him closing the space between them as much as she witnessed it. Awareness rippled over her skin. He paused when he was close enough to lift one hand and reach for her. The breath froze in her throat, her lungs suddenly suspended while she anticipated his touch. When his fingers met her flesh, it was hotter than an August day at noon. She drew in a stiff breath and felt sensation shoot lightning fast down her body. The feeling was almost too sweet to endure, but she refused to move away because it was too delightful. He stroked her cheek, sliding his fingertips along the side of her face that felt as though it were aflame.

“Sweet Bridget, your blush is by far the greatest compliment I have ever received.”

“False flattery is not necessary between us.” Truthfully, she found it difficult to think when he was behaving so charming. The hard expression that he wore when sitting in command made it much simpler to find no reason to disobey her mother.

His fingers moved up into her hair. It was still half wet and hanging loose, just as her dress was. But her stays were tight, and her breasts felt as if they were straining to be free from the stiffly boned undergarment.

As you were last night, when that hand cupped the soft mounds and his lips tasted your nipples …

“Because you are bound to surrender yourself to me?” A hint of arrogance colored his voice again. She lifted her eyelids to stare at him fully.

“Because you believe that is my place.”

He chuckled. The amusement surprised her. His face didn’t become clouded with pride; instead he stepped closer so that she could feel his body heat. The scent of soap clung to his skin, and she realized that his hair was damp like hers. His hand cupped the back of her head, tipping it up while he took the final step left between them.

A soft sigh left her lips when his body touched hers.

“It is your place, Bridget, for so many more reasons than the agreement I made with your father.”

He pressed a hard kiss against her lips, but she enjoyed his strength. It was the shameful truth. Her mouth opened, and she tilted her head before he used his hand to move her. The tip of his tongue traced her lower lip before thrusting into her mouth to toy with her own. Sweet delight filled her, burning through the last of the chill that lingered from the freezing journey on the road. She reached for his shoulders, eager to touch him. His lips left hers, wringing a soft cry from her, but it turned into a sigh as he trailed soft kisses down the column of her neck.

Never once had she noticed how sensitive was the skin covering her throat. His lips were hot against it, making her shiver and press her body closer to his. He locked a hard arm around her waist, holding her tightly. Her hands tangled in his half-wet hair, threading through the strands. Every inch of her was alive with new awareness. She felt more, noticed more than ever before. She could smell his skin and knew his scent apart from others. It twisted into her senses, bringing an enjoyment that rose up from some dark corner of her mind. Just as a baby smelled sweet, Curan’s skin brought her enjoyment when she was close enough to smell its scent.

Her blood felt heavy as though she had drunk too much wine, but she did not care. She wasn’t close enough to him. Her hands moved over him, seeking to touch every part of him. She slid one down over his chest, over the hard flesh she craved. Her fingers curled around his erect cock, and his powerful body shuddered. She gasped, stunned by the ferocity burning in his eyes when he lifted his head to lock gazes with her.

She did not abandon her grasp. Confidence surged through her, awakening the need to command him just as completely as he had done to her last night.

“Do not toy with me, Bridget.”

She stroked his cock through his pants, refusing to shiver at his tone. In his eyes was a need that flickered in spite of his warning.

“You mean as you did with me last evening?”

The hand on her nape tightened and his voice deepened. “I left you very satisfied.”

“You assume I would leave you wanting, Curan.”

She spoke his name in a sultry voice that drew a husky groan from his lips. She kept her hand moving up and down over the hard bulge covered by the fabric of his britches.

“Or is it the idea of losing control over me that truly drives you to reject me?”

The hand around her waist slipped lower, over her bottom, and clamped her tightly against him. Her hand became trapped between their bodies, his hard cock against her palm.

“Gaining satisfaction with you has been my wish since I arrived to claim you, Bridget. You are the one who insists on telling me that you must obey your father.”

He leaned down and pressed a hard kiss against her mouth, taking a bold taste of her that sent heat throughout her body. But he broke the kiss and stepped away from her. “You accuse me of toying with you, and yet you remind me that our union is not valid in your own eyes.” All hint of playfulness had departed from his face, leaving her facing the hardened side of his nature. “Yet I think you mean to toy with me, Bridget. To practice some of those lessons your mother had you given, only to take your practiced knowledge off to Lord Oswald.”

Her eyes widened, shock making her curl her fingers into a fist and hug her hand closed to her chest. “I told you it would be better if you left me with my mother.” Because she truly hadn’t meant to play with him. He was correct to be wounded. Shame choked her.

He reached out and cupped her chin. “And I have told you, Bridget, that you are mine.”

His eyes were lit with anticipation and determination. She witnessed the raw power that made him the knight who had earned a title. There was no faltering in him, only solid purpose.

“I will have satisfaction from you, my bride, but it will not be so simple as a trick you watched a courtesan perform. I desire more from you, and I swear that I shall have you as my wife.”

A knight always kept his vows.

Bridget shivered, her body tormenting her with how much it craved Curan. Except he’d left her directly after firing his words at her.

Her temper did not save her this time. How could she be angry when in truth she was behaving shamefully? The maid always cried foul when a man trifled with her while intending to leave her.

Was she not committing the very same transgression? Taking her ease with Curan, touching him and sharing her kisses with him all the while thinking that she would leave.

Harsh and laden with guilt, her thoughts cut into her for the rest of the day. She found it hard to focus on the housekeeper May and her introductions to Amber Hill. Bridget found that her resolve to resist Curan had dwindled. Her heart ached, which confounded her the most, that small glimpse into his relaxed nature having snared her tender emotions. Hidden inside him was a heart she could love, tempting her beyond everything else to stay and disobey her mother.

Yet to what end?

Amber Hill was truly a remarkable castle. Three main towers rose up from the border land. The stone was solid and sturdy, while inside the roof of the great hall was supported with timber covered with slate tiles. There were no damp corridors. Whoever had drawn the plans for the towers knew his art well. Windows were placed to capture the most light possible, even on such an early spring day. From the third floor the hills of Scotland were visible as well as the patches of snow that dotted them. Alice lived far over the rise, her husband performing a similar duty to his overlord that Curan would for England. Both of them helping to secure the border.

A curtain wall surrounded the towers, but every inch of the yard was covered in cobblestone. Curan clearly had his financial affairs in good order to be able to afford such a fine fortress. Many border holdings were little more than mud piles that boasted well-armed knights.

“My lady?”

Bridget jumped. “Forgive me, I was lost in thought.”

May inclined her head, but her eyes held a knowing look that such a demure action could not conceal.

“There is no hurry.”

Bridget drew herself up straight. “Spring is upon us. No one will have time for a lack-wit trying to run things.”

“It is not so upon us that you may not take a small amount of time to celebrate being a bride before the duties of mistress take you away.”

“Yes, well, my mother raised me to be diligent to my chores.”

The housekeeper looked like she wanted to argue, but Bridget did not give her time.

“Show me where the spices are kept.”

May turned and walked down the hallway without a comment. There was no escaping the unspoken words lurking in the woman’s eyes, however. Bridget followed her and forced herself to take note of the portions of herbs and spices stored in the still room. Rows and rows of stores kept Bridget’s thoughts centered on the task at hand. She didn’t dwell on the fact that she needed to gather such knowledge only if she intended to remain at Amber Hill. She had to appear as though she were, so she remained in the still room for hours. The shadows grew long across the floor before May spoke again.

“My lord.”

She lowered herself and stopped opening locked drawers.

“Supper is on the table. You should have told my bride.”

May offered him a smile. “I have had too many days of idleness when supper was the only thing for me to spend my time on. It has been a delight to assist the mistress with getting to know Amber Hill.”

She dropped another curtsy to Bridget before leaving the still room.

“I didn’t mean to keep her from her meal.”

Curan was fully dressed now, but her memory recalled him vividly in naught but his shirt. His doublet was good English wool and lacked any trim. He hadn’t dispensed with his boots, either—they were still pulled up above his knees—but the leather was cleaned and recently oiled. They suited him, and she decided that he would most likely never wear the smaller slippers that were fashionable for gentlemen of the court.

“The cook hoists the blue flag when she is beginning to serve.” He walked across the still room and pointed out one of the windows. A flag was fluttering in the evening breeze. The horizon was scarlet and gold, the sun sinking below the mountains.

“You will learn to look for it near sunset.”

He reached into the window and pulled the shutters in. The thick wood covers blocked out the light, casting the still room into semidarkness. The dimness sent a tingle across her skin because her memory of what Curan did to her in the night was a passionate one. He grasped her hand and she jumped, far too aware of every touch he laid on her.

He clicked his tongue at her in reprimand.

“I do believe this might be the longest week of my life, waiting for your courses to be finished.” His face was cast into shadow and his voice was dark and husky while his hand clasped her warmly. His thumb found the center of her palm and rubbed it gently.

“Week?”

“Aye. I have come to understand that is the longest that a woman’s courses might last.” His thumb sent shivers down her spine and drew her nipples tight. “But some are shorter …”

He leaned down and placed a kiss against her lips. “Dare I hope you will come to me sooner … Bridget?”

His voice was soft, too soft. He was testing her. Tension knotted in her belly, and she squeezed her hand tightly against his to still his teasing thumb.

“I must be sure that I am clean …”

“Ah … of course.”

Silken and smooth, his voice didn’t betray anything, but she could feel him circling her like a hunter looking for the weakest spot on his prey.

“That is nothing to question me over, my lord. It is—”

“We are alone, Bridget.”

His voice rose, and she clearly heard its sharp expectation. He pulled her closer by their joined hands, twisting their forearms to bring her nearer.

“You shall use my name when we are in private.”

It was the command in his tone that tempted her to do as he said, but it was the flicker of need in his eyes. Lurking in the dark pools was something she had difficulty defining, but her heart seemed to understand. A desire to know you were treasured. It was hidden behind the stiff expression of the warrior, shoved down behind the mask he wore when being dutiful to every part of his life.

She knew that burden, too, always hearing the lingering echo of what was expected of her.

“As you say, Curan.”

He didn’t respond for a long moment, remaining frozen, but her heart accelerated and she became aware of each one of his fingers wrapped around her own. He suddenly drew in a deep breath.

“I suppose I must learn to ask you for what I wish in private.” He placed a soft kiss against her hand before allowing their hands to lower between them.

“We should attend supper. I suspect the clergy will refuse to bless the meal until you and I appear.”

The look in his eyes told her he could care less about the meal awaiting them. But the guilt that had assaulted her earlier resumed its tearing at her.

“We should not keep others from eating.”

“I suppose you are correct. You will have to teach me the appropriate manners for a household. I believe they are different from commanding an army.”

Bridget smiled and then laughed. There was no holding back her amusement. They were closer to the door now, and the fading daylight illuminated Curan’s expression. Back was that easy expression that he used with his sister. Her lips rose higher and parted to show her teeth.

“You do not smile enough, Bridget.”

“I do not? I do not believe I have seen a single one gracing your lips.” At least not one that wasn’t mocking.

He shrugged, his powerful shoulders relaxed but still looking so strong. He pulled her out into the hallway.

“A commander needs to be focused on what is happening around him, not finding things to make him smile.”

He maintained his grasp on her hand, a grasp that seemed such an intimate thing. Her mother had held her hand, but this was vastly different.

“I suppose that is what makes you so competent in your position.”

He titled his head and studied her from a sidelong glance. “Yet it does not please you, does it, Bridget?”

She tried to pull her hand from his. The smile faded but only for a moment before his lips curved back up and his fingers gently massaged her hand.

“You are too tense. Our arrangement is three years old. I find it odd that you are still so ill at ease with me.”

“I have not been in your company these three years. Thinking about something is different than doing it.”

He nodded, but suspicion glittered in his eyes. Bridget pulled on her hand again but gained nothing. Frustration made her temper heat.

“I have been in the company of only my mother as well. If you wanted a wife who was used to being in the company of men, perhaps a court lady would have been a better choice for your wife.”

He stopped and turned to face her. But the man did not remain still. He released her hand and reached for her face. She tried to command herself to remain firmly rooted in the face of his imposing stature but failed miserably. Her feet retreated before her mind was able to order them to stand in place. She bumped into the wall and hissed with frustration.

“I am such a ninny …” The words slipped out.

Curan laughed. Only it wasn’t the sort of amusement heard when the players were performing well. This was a deep rumble of male enjoyment. He pressed his hands flat against the wall on either side of her body, caging her with his muscular limbs while his body faced her.

“I see the correctness of what you say, Bridget. You are not resisting our union, merely skittish now that the moment is here.”

“Horses are skittish, sir!”

His eyes narrowed as he angled his head down to look at her. Her muscles were twitching with awareness now, her skin warming and becoming sensitive once more. His eyes focused on her mouth, and the tender skin of her lips actually tingled. She licked her lower lip before realizing that he was watching her mouth so intently. His smile melted away as his mouth became a hard line of hunger.

“So are you, Bridget. If you do not like the term, I suggest you take action to change.”

“You are the one who left me earlier, my lord.”

She used his title on purpose. He was too close, and it was awakening her passion for him. She needed space before she weakened further, before her resolve to follow her mother’s words melted in the flames of need.

“If I hadn’t, I would have taken you up against the wall without a care for how unclean you think you are.”

It was harsh and blunt, but she witnessed the truth simmering in his eyes. He meant each word.

“Then you should back away from me now, before your control is tested beyond your endurance.”

His lips rose into a grin, a teasing glint mixing with the hunger in his eyes. “There is wisdom in your words, but I confess that you often have a way of encouraging me to behave il-logically … Bridget.”

He bent down and captured her mouth with his. His hands remained pressed against the wall beside her shoulders, but that did not lessen the impact of his kiss. It was bold and demanding. His tongue teasing the seam where she had her lips pressed together. His hands left the wall, coming to cup the sides of her face and angle her head so that he might apply more insistence to the kiss. Her jaw opened without thought. Need led her forward, refusing to allow her to ignore the pleasure. She wanted it and reached for him, her hands slipping up and over the hard muscles of his chest to hold on to his shoulders.

The touch was pure bliss. Delight flowed through her and excitement tightened her belly. Her clitoris throbbed and she enjoyed it. Her tongue stroked his, laying with it as the kiss continued.

Someone cleared their throat, a loud sound meant to interrupt them. The hands holding her head tightened a fraction before Curan lifted his mouth away from hers. Her body lamented the loss of his touch, and frustration at the interruption whipped through her. An answering flare of displeasure met her from Curan’s dark eyes.

“Forgive me, Lord Ryppon, but a party is approaching the gate.” Synclair’s voice was gruff.

Curan’s face instantly became a mask of command once more. He turned and placed his wide back directly in front of Bridget. It was a protective posture that struck her as gallant. She was grateful for the small bit of privacy as well, lifting a shaky hand to her lips because they felt swollen and shiny. She did not want the other knight to see her blush.

“What colors are they flying?”

Synclair drew in a stiff breath. His face was unreadable when Bridget peeked around Curan to question why he hesitated with his answer.

“It is the Lady Justina.”

Tension rippled along Curan’s features. A muscle actually began to twitch on the side of his jaw. He was not pleased; in fact the man looked angry.

“The hell you say.” Curan growled out his comment.

Synclair retained his serious expression in the face of his lord’s displeasure. Curan pushed his body forward on quick strides, his boots actually making sound on the stone floor because of how agitated he was. His body was tight with displeasure. He didn’t slow down, and Bridget found herself scurrying to keep pace with his longer legs. Using a doorway that led outside, he climbed the stairs built into the curtain wall. They were steep, making it necessary for Bridget to yank handfuls of her skirt up in front of her to avoid stepping on the fabric.

With the sun gone, the night air was bitter. It blew down from Scotland with an icy touch that sent a shiver along her spine once she stood on the top of the wall. The soldiers welcomed their lord with inclines of their heads while they maintained their posts at the open spaces. The wall was topped with large stones that were equal to the open spaces, providing each soldier with something to hide behind during attack. The men looked at her with astonishment. Curan spun about to shoot a deadly glare at her.

“You do not belong on this battlement, madam. Ever.”

All traces of the playful man who had been kissing her vanished. She faced the impenetrable commander who had taken her from her home. He flicked two fingers, and she felt her forearms grasped from behind.

That infuriated her beyond every lesson in poise she had ever learned. “I can remove myself, my lord.”

Shrugging off the hands, she turned without looking to see what sort of response her words gained her. She refused to care. The man was callous beyond endurance.

Which made it pure torment to know how well he could control that brute strength when they were in private. May was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, her hands twisting her apron.

“My lady, you must never go up onto the battlements.”

“So I have just been told.”

The housekeeper was startled, but she recovered quickly, her face becoming stern. “As it should be. Lord Ryppon is thinking of your safety. You cannot take offense at that.”

Bridget bit her lip. Yet another thing that she must not take offense over. God, she was sick unto death of should nots and could nots. The look on May’s face, however, drew her attention.

“What is it?”

The housekeeper tried to herd her through the doorway and into the hallway instead of answering.

“May, I asked you a question. I see that something is troubling you.”

May clasped her hands so tightly her fingers turned white.

“I suppose there is no keeping it from you.” She huffed before drawing in a deep breath and pegging Bridget with a direct stare.”The Lady Justina is … or I should say was … the lord’s mistress.”

Chapter Eight

Bridget felt the blood freeze in her veins. She stared at May and knew that she was gaping at the woman but couldn’t seem to correct herself. The housekeeper looked flustered, wringing her apron between nervous fingers.

“Of course, Lady Justina is a widow, which does not make it respectable, but she isn’t an adulteress at least.” The housekeeper seemed exasperated and at a loss as to what to say further. She sighed before reaching out to pat Bridget on the shoulder.

“I am sure Lord Ryppon will make it clear that you are mistress here.”

But nothing further than that, and she had no one to blame save herself if he sought out another woman’s bed. It was entirely possible that Curan had sent for Justina. Cold and bitter, the truth stuck in Bridget’s throat. The sound of the gate being raised sent a chill down her back. She rubbed her hands along her arms as she felt her skin growing colder.

You could go to his bed …

She could and then what? Discover herself chasing the man as his mistress was now doing? Doomed to be gossiped about even as she hoped for shelter in that same house?

That was the plight her mother was attempting to save her from.

“May, go and tell everyone else to begin their supper without Lord Ryppon. It appears he has a guest to attend to.”

The housekeeper offered a slight curtsy before moving away. She looked relieved to do so, for it was an awkward moment. Bridget breathed a sigh of relief, too. She needed no one witnessing how unhappy she was.

She shouldn’t be.

And still her heart ached. It was there, in her chest, an agony that refused to listen to logic. There was no denying the fact that she was jealous. She wouldn’t be the first bride who shared her home with her husband’s leman.

She was quite sure, however, that she would be the most unhappy out of the three of them.

Supper no longer interested her. The light was fading rapidly and the hallways becoming dark corridors that looked more friendly to specters than the living. Bridget moved toward the wide double doors she had entered the first tower through and watched Curan stride across the cobblestones of the inner yard toward the arriving party. Lady Justina pushed back her cloak’s hood to reveal a face that was quite pretty. Her hair was the lightest blond and her teeth even when she smiled.

Bridget was too far away to hear what they said, but Lady Justina’s features remained radiant. She never frowned or even lost the curve of her lips. She reached out and laid a familiar hand on Curan’s forearm without a care for any stares directed at her. Instead the lady kept her eyes on the man in front of her, just as intently as Marie had done with Tomas.

Bridget turned her back. She did not have the right to watch, not if she intended to leave. Drawing in a stiff breath, she went searching for the supper hall. There would be no escaping without food in her belly. Even if her appetite had vanished, she needed to be practical.

Practical … dutiful … she hated the world and all of its rules. Yet most of all she hated the fact that Curan was welcoming another woman that held the dear, so very dear, option of choosing whom she would lay with.

May bustled about the chamber where she had taken Bridget after supper was finished.

“Of course, we didn’t think to ready a separate chamber for you, seeing as how you are so newly wed, but I run a good house, and everything you need for the night should be here.”

It was a good-size room with a solid door and even two windows that had glass set into them. May pulled large sheets off the bed and handed them to two maids who stood nearby. If there was any dust, Bridget couldn’t see it in the candlelit room. May was clearly not lax in making sure that the maids were cleaning all the rooms assigned to them. More than one lord had returned to a tower that was ankle deep in dirt with a staff that was fat on the coin he had paid them to maintain his home while he was away.

“The bed is strung tight. You’ll sleep well.” May turned back the covers and cast a knowing look at her. “Sleep you’ll be needing come next week, my lady.”

There were a pair of stifled giggles from the maids.

“Thank you. I will attend to my prayers before retiring.”

The maids took their leave, eager to be finished with their duties for the night. May hesitated, the housekeeper clearly expecting Bridget to want help disrobing.

“I am very accustomed to putting myself to bed, May.”

May lowered herself, but there was still firm determination in her gaze. “As mistress, there will be many changes in your life.”

“Yes, well, they may wait until I take my place.”

The housekeeper nodded. “A pleasant night to you, mistress.”

May had a light touch, for Bridget never heard the door close. She sighed with relief as she looked around the chamber to ensure that she was alone. Hiding the fact that she was not having her monthly courses was going to take diligence on her part. The staff were loyal to the lord, for certain.

“That isn’t the bed I wanted to see you in.”

She jerked the covers up to her chin as Curan’s voice cut through the darkness. Gooseflesh rippled down her limbs as she strained to see him in the dark. She didn’t hear him, but his shape materialized from the night anyway. The bed shook as he sat on the side of it.

“Why … why are you here?” It would be far too simple to have her lie discovered.

He blew out a hard breath while watching her.

“Is it not a poor groom who fails to toast his bride on the first night they begin their life together?”

The bed rocked and he was gone, but she still felt his presence in the room. A spark brightened the room and then another as he struck a flint stone. A single candle began to cast its golden light over him a moment later. It was quite magical, the way that single source of light softened him. He appeared very gallant, and she stared in awe at the relaxed expression on his face.

But he frowned when he looked back at her.

“I did not imagine you sleeping in any chamber save my own.”

“This chamber is very nice.”

He reached for a small bottle that rested on the table. She did not recall it being there earlier, so he must have brought it with him. He lifted the bottle and tipped it until fluid poured out of it and into a small silver goblet. The light sparkled off the pouring liquid, and she smelled the strong scent of strong drink filling the room.

Wine. French wine—an expensive item. The aroma of it teased her nose while he filled a second goblet.

“My chamber is nicer and will be even more so when you are sleeping in it with me. I did not marry to endure a cold bed.”

He left the bottle and the candle on the table. The bed itself was far enough from the table to be cast into semidarkness. It set a romantic mood she had only read about in poetry.

Yet this was very real.

The bed rocked again when he sat down, confirming that she was not lost in any girlish fantasy. Her cheeks heated when she noticed his gaze aimed at her with no hint of wavering.

“If I had not been distracted, I would have had May take you to my chamber in spite of your courses.”

“What?”

She nearly fumbled the goblet, spilling the wine onto the sheets. Curan merely offered her a firm look while holding the stem of the goblet steady until she recovered and grasped it solidly.

“I do not mean to have us sleeping in separate chambers.”

He lifted his own goblet to his lips but watched her over the rim of the glass. He was judging her once more, reading her face for clues as to her thoughts.

“Most noble unions do not share a chamber, my lord.”

He lowered his goblet and frowned at her. “We are in private, Bridget.”

She took a sip from her own wine to cover her indecision. To allow his name to slip across her lips seemed so intimate. This action opened the door to other, even deeper intimacies that were dancing through her mind. Never once had she spoken with a man while in a bed, and she was having difficulty recalling exactly why she needed to keep him away.

Her body held no reservations about welcoming him closer. “I will have to have more time to become accustomed to addressing you in a familiar manner.”

“Hmmm.” He took another sip from his wine but lost a great deal of his judgmental expression. “I suppose that is to be commended. Your lack of comfort in the company of a man.”

He reached out and laid a hand on top of her knee. “I will enjoy giving you ample opportunity to become at ease in my company.”

She jumped, the wine sloshing up toward the rim of the goblet. A quick motion from her wrist rotated the cup enough to avoid staining the sheets. Curan chuckled, rich male amusement filling the chamber while he took another sip from the goblet.

“That is, if I survive this week.” He stroked her knee and up over her thigh as hunger began to flicker in his eyes. “I confess that the temptation is driving me insane.”

His gaze settled on her lips, and the sensitive skin tingled, warming beneath the attention of those dark orbs. She wanted to taste his kiss, wanted to have it combine with the sweet taste of the French wine …

“You should go … now.” Bridget looked away and drained the remaining wine in one, long swallow. The sweet elixir burned a path down her throat and pooled in her belly like liquid fire, but it was nothing compared to the need licking at her.

The hand resting on her thigh squeezed. “I want to stay …”

Her body liked that response. Excitement flared up, burning away at her resolve to refuse to celebrate their union. Once she had lain with him, Lord Oswald would reject her.

She liked the sound of his words, full well, and the firm grip on her thigh told her that Curan enjoyed it, too. She lifted her face to make eye contact. She felt it right down to her toes. His dark stare was piercing and consuming, making it impossible to ignore how much she wanted exactly what he craved, too.

He growled and pushed up to his feet. His lips pressed into a hard line while his grip around the silver wine chalice threatened to destroy its delicate shape.

“You are being more logical than I am, and yet I am not sorry I came to this chamber tonight.” He moved over to the table and refilled his goblet. This time he tossed the wine into his mouth, draining the liquid in two quick swallows. He paused for a long moment before leaning over to blow out the candle.

She instantly felt alone, yet watched. A shiver raced along her back as she strained to hear his steps in the dark room. Instead she felt his fingers sliding along her hot cheek.

“You tempt me beyond measure, Bridget, yet that is nothing to lament.”

He pressed a warm, wine-flavored kiss against her lips that she eagerly returned. But he pulled away, leaving her with only the sound of his breathing to know that he still remained near.

“Are you quite certain you will not take your place beside me in my bed tonight?”

Her fingers gripped the bedding. “There is no doubt.”

No doubt that her parents had forbidden her this man.

She heard him sigh, a soft sound that betrayed his disappointment. It wasn’t arrogant or demanding such as she expected from him. But it cut her deeper than any words he had spoken.

“Until dawn, sweet Bridget.”

Until I discover a way to leave you … or cast my fortune to the wind and embrace what I really long for …

Such was a tantalizing idea … rich with the promise of pleasure and even affection.

She heard the door softly open and close behind him. The scent of candle wax drifted into the bed curtains, making her eyes burn with unshed tears for what was not to be.

“So, you’re the bride Curan spent so much effort contracting.”

Bridget turned in surprise but more so for the way her temper flared. Before she even turned around she knew who was in the chamber now. A small lantern hung from the woman’s gloved fingers, casting a welcoming glow through its costly glass sides.

Lady Justina was even lovelier up close. Her complexion was flawless and her eyes the blue of a summer day. Her lips looked like new spring berries, and she knew how to carry herself well. She looked down her nose, clearly judging Bridget.

“Yes, I am.”

Justina blew out a little snort. “You needn’t take such a tone, Bridget. After all, I have traveled a great distance to assist you.”

“What do you mean?”

Justina sighed. “Your father was most concerned when he heard that Lord Ryppon had left court with his full contingent of men. He made no secret of the fact that he intended to claim you on his way north. Since you had not arrived yet at court, your father feared that you might be caught before you could obey his summons.”

So her mother was correct. Her father had changed his mind about her match with Curan. The walls suddenly felt thicker and even more impossible to escape, while her need to do exactly that grew.

“I fail to understand what manner of help you bring me.” Bridget lifted her hands to indicate the walls around them both. “You are as much a prisoner as I, now that the gate is lowered for the night.”

Justina’s eyebrows rose slightly. She pressed her hand against the door to make sure it was closed before moving closer. Her voice lowered when she spoke once again.

“I know Amber Hill. There are two escape routes built into the walls in case of the castle being overrun. Your father sent me here to make sure you do not celebrate your wedding. Lord Oswald is not a man to disappoint. Thank God you sent Curan away even if you had to lie to do so.”

Bridget felt her gaze lower for being caught. “How did you know I wasn’t suffering my courses?”

“You did not ask the housekeeper for more linen. She will report such a suspicious thing by tomorrow, for Curan is her lord.”

Bridget snorted with frustration. “I am not accustomed to being dishonest.”

She slapped at the bedding but suddenly looked up at Justina.

“Did you say escape routes? Ones that would lead outside the curtain wall?” She should have considered such. A border castle would be exactly the place for such a consideration to be built into it, under the strictest of silences, of course.

“Yes. I left most of my escort outside the walls where the passage leads. They will take you across the border to your cousin Alice and then on to a Scottish port where a ship will take you south. You must not try to ride for London. Curan will run you down on the road. His men can travel much faster than you.”

“Of course they can.”

Justina was correct about the housekeeper, too. By tomorrow, she would not be able to hide that she was very fit indeed to take her place in Curan’s bed. Her father was wise to send Justina, and yet she felt tears burning her eyes. Bitterness filled her mouth as she looked around the chamber and stared at the bottle of wine left on the table.

“There is no time for you to sleep. You must go now while Curan is engaged with his officers. They will meet for only a half hour; they do so every night before he seeks his own bed, and I do suggest that you slip out while he is busy. The man has a keen sense and does not leave the running of his men to others. He walks the walls himself. Besides, I do not hesitate to think he will return here once again. He is drawn to you.”

As you are to him.

Justina pulled Bridget’s surcoat from where it hung near the fire. “Come.”

There was an urgency that cut through her grief. Bridget rose from the bed and began dressing. Justina helped with hands that were quite steady despite the tone of her voice and the way she kept looking at the chamber door.

“I will distract the guards at the escape gate while you slip through. Head south by the moonlight and your father’s men will be there to help you.”

All too simple.

Bridget lifted the lid of her trunk and pulled the small bag of coin from it her mother had given her. At least she need not fear who would be taking her to Alice. Her father’s men would be trustworthy.

Justina took the two plump pillows at the head of the bed and stuffed them beneath the coverlet. She pushed at the lumps they made until they looked like a person curled up in sleep. She lifted one pane of glass in the lantern and pinched out the candle. The chamber became dark, but Bridget heard the woman walking across the wooden floor.

“Come on, your eyes will adjust. We dare not risk a light to draw attention to us.”

Justina opened the door a mere sliver and looked out into the hallway.

“Synclair has the same keen senses Curan does. The man is always appearing when you do not expect him to. I had hoped that Curan would give him his leave to return to his holding, but I saw him on the walls.”

Justina opened the door slowly to ensure that the iron hinges remained silent. With a wave of her gloved hand, she motioned Bridget out of the chamber. There were few candles burning in the hallways, and that suited her mood. Bridget cringed when they came close to one, the orange and scarlet light illuminating her and Justina and casting their shadows onto the stone walls. Tension tightened across her shoulders, and her mouth went dry. She wasn’t sure if she feared being discovered or succeeding in her flight. It would be so simple to fail. Even Curan’s anger would be easier to bear than the cold separation from him forever.

Justina had not lied to her. The woman knew her way through Amber Hill very well. Envy rose in Bridget because it proved that the housekeeper had not lied when she told her that Justina had been intimate with Curan.

Justina knows her way about Curan’s flesh, when you are to be denied such a pleasure …

Her jealousy returned to mix with the tension that filled her. Never had she felt so unhappy.

“There, do you see them standing near the wall with no light? The gate will allow you to move away from the curtain wall without being seen from on top of it. There is a small tunnel cut through the earth on the other side. Very clever roofing has been placed there with soil and rocks placed on it to cancel it. Once I have the guards’ attention, slip through and move quickly.”

“What will you do if Curan discovers me missing too soon?”

Justina drew in a stiff breath. “I will go to him as soon as you are away.”

Bridget felt her blood freeze. Justina stared straight back at her, a knowledge in her eyes that was devastating. Justina reached out and gripped her upper arms, shaking her.

“You must go, Bridget, just as I must help you escape. Neither of us dare disappoint Chancellor Wriothesley. The man holds terrible power, and he uses it. Do not be foolish enough to think there is any mercy in him. I assure you, there is not.”

For just a moment, Justina lost her composure. Her eyes became pools of yearning, and her lips took on a pinched look. Bridget felt pity for the woman, for though not many years separated them, Justina seemed much older.

“Don’t move until both guards are occupied with me.”

Justina shook off her melancholy and restored her sweet expression. She squared her shoulders and pushed her cloak open to reveal a low-cut dress. The swells of her breasts were in clear sight. She didn’t flinch or cower but walked down toward the guards with a sure confidence that reminded Bridget of Marie. There was a clang of metal against metal as the guards moved, and their armor shifted quickly with the motion.

A soft chuckle came from Justina.

“Do forgive me, good sirs. I was simply taking some of the night air and meant no harm. It is a lovely night. I confess that I enjoy the dark hours more than I should.”

Justina’s voice was soft and husky. She appeared to float on delicate steps, the moonlight glimmering off the creamy swells of her breasts. She leaned forward, just the correct amount to display her charms, and the guards became her disciples. Both men moved toward her, and she fluttered her eyelashes while twirling back a few paces. Her cloak and skirts spun up, giving the men a tantalizing glimpse of her ankles and calves. Her laughter floated upward.

“The moon is so large. I simply cannot help but long for May day. I want to dance and sing and enjoy the spring.”

She began singing a catchy tune while grasping the hands of one guard and leading him around and around in dance. His comrade was eager for a chance to touch her as well, and crowded closer, taking him even farther away from the post the pair had been assigned to watch.

Just as Marie had shown you with Tomas …

Bridget shivered as she ducked through the gate. The tunnel leading through the thick curtain wall was pitch-black. The air within it was dank and stale. Thankfully there was no mud beneath her feet because even rain didn’t make it past the first few feet. The ground was dusty and dry, so hard beneath her shoes because it had not seen the elements since construction of the wall. High above her head were men diligently guarding the castle, but she slipped beneath their boots as easily as a ghost.

Panic tried to steal her courage, but she resisted its icy grip. Pushing herself forward even as the stone walls felt like they were stretching out longer, Bridget kept her feet moving. She had to rely on herself and her family. Curan wasn’t her family, not yet. Her heart ached for how close she had been to having the man to husband. There was no doubt that she would prefer him to Lord Oswald.

She pushed onward until her eyes detected a faint glow of starlight. The brightness grew more enticing as she hurried to reach the end of the tunnel. She hesitated at the exit. The trees and plants grew thickly around the tunnel end. Gooseflesh rippled down her limbs as she searched the darkness.

“Mistress Newbury?”

It was a mere whisper, but Bridget flinched. Tension held her body so tight, the sound felt as loud as thunder. The impulse to edge backward toward the protection of the castle lord was strong.

A shadow emerged from the darkness. The moonlight cast its glow on the blue and green colors of her father’s retainers’ uniforms.

“It is Captain Brume, mistress. Sent by your father so that you would know his will.”

Brume. One of the oldest captains in her father’s guard. She had grown up knowing the man. He drew close enough for her to see his long beard. In the poor light, his face remained a mystery, but the soft whistle he blew was something she recalled very well.

“Come away now, mistress. We don’t want to be discovered. There is a ship waiting for you up the coast of Scotland. We’ve a fair bit of land to cover.”

More shapes moved in the night. Bridget felt her heart freeze as cold as the patches of snow on the hills of Scotland. To be sure, she was away now, the night providing the perfect cover again.

Only this time, it was helping to ensure that she would never see Curan again.

Time was often so cruel.

It twisted like a dull knife into the mind, while a person waited for punishment to begin. Justina did not sleep, could not have closed her eyes if Chancellor Wriothesley had ordered her to. All she would have done was pretend to do as bid. Her lips twisted into a bitter line. Always she pretended. There was only one thing that was real in her life, and that was the thing that she played her role to protect.

Her son.

She allowed herself to think of his face when he smiled. Brandon was six now and his mind inquiring about everything. Every letter he sent was clearer, his spelling and command of the quill becoming more practiced. She smiled at the memory but felt it shatter when steps sounded outside her chamber. Sure and hard, they announced the arrival of one of Curan’s men. There was no knock upon the door; it swung in, telling her that her guilt was already known by her former lover.

“Lady Justina.”

Synclair’s voice was grave, but Justina expected such. She turned to look at the knight and stared at the harsh accusation being aimed at her. The sun had risen, and she’d heard the bells begin ringing across the walls. Bridget was well and truly away now, and Curan was no fool.

“Lord Ryppon would have words with you.”

Synclair was not alone. More knights waited in the hallway, their expressions grave. Justina sighed and moved toward the escort awaiting her. They fell into step around her, reminding her all too clearly of the way Queen Catherine Howard had been escorted to the boat that took her to the tower after running down the palace hallways to beg her husband for mercy. In spite of that event being many years in the past, Justina recalled it clearly. She had been there, in the palace to watch it, of which Chancellor Wriothesley reminded her often.

He threatened her with the same fate if she dared to disobey him.

But she would not have betrayed Curan for him, hadn’t taken the man as her lover because she was ordered to, either. She had been drawn to the man the first time he cut into her with his dark eyes.

Today, those eyes were filled with hard displeasure. His hands were hooked into his belt, the fingers white from gripping it so tightly.

He glared at her, harsh reprimand etched into his features. “Where is my bride?”

Each word made her flinch. His men surrounded her, and she lifted her chin. There was power in his stare, but she refused to crumple. Maybe it was because she had been intimate with him, she didn’t know, but there was still a trust deep inside her that refused to believe that he would harm her.

There was no other man alive she felt such a thing for.

He snorted but flicked his fingers, and she heard his guards retreating. Only Synclair remained, his eyes burning into her back.

“Do not force me to break you, Justina. It would grieve me.”

Yet he would do it. Justina saw that truth reflected on his face. She shivered, feeling the last of her tender emotions for him dying.

Good. She didn’t want to even like any man. It was much better that way.

“Tell me where she heads and who sent you to assist her. I do not wish to raise my hand against you, but I will not order any man to do it, either. You know the only way out of this fortress. I trusted you with that knowledge. Curse you, Justina, for using that against me.” He stepped toward her, and Synclair appeared in front of her, too.

“I am already cursed, you need not apply more to me.” Fury edged her words, and both men looked stunned by her outburst.

“I am cursed with this beauty that prompts men to possess me like a fine bit of jewelry, all the while trying to use me against their enemies.”

“I never treated you as such.” Curan shook with his anger but kept his hands on his belt. “Yet I never deceived you with false promises, either. What have you done with my bride?”

The truth of his words undid her. Tears fell from her eyes for the friend she was losing in him. “I have restored her to her father’s men, as I was sent to do. They waited outside the walls for her. One of her father’s captains, he had a letter with the baron’s seal upon it.”

Curan looked stunned for only a moment before his face became a mask of rage, but it was Synclair who cupped her chin and turned her to face the flames of anger brightening his eyes.

“Are you mad to involve yourself with that bastard Wriothesley?”

Justina shook off his hold and stepped away, snarling fiercely. Synclair reached for her again, his expression furious.

“Hold.”

Even Curan’s voice wasn’t enough to stop Synclair before the knight had advanced another few paces. He drew himself up with a great deal of effort and turned to look at his lord, his body quivering with rage.

Curan stared back at him. “Think upon it, Synclair. There is only one thing that drives a woman to these lengths, and it is not affection for me.”

Synclair cursed. It was a vicious grouping of words that made Justina’s eyes widen, in spite of her sordid life.

“That bastard Wriothesley has your son.” Rage darkened Synclair’s face. The knight drew himself up stiffly. “You should have asked for my assistance.”

Justina shook her head. “There is nothing to do save obey. He is the Lord Chancellor, named by the king to remain in control even after the king’s death. Bridget has been promised to his compatriot. You cannot keep her.”

“I will have her back, Justina, make no mistake about that. The church will support my claim. Bridget is my wife.”

“To what end? Wriothesley will strip you of everything if you attempt to reclaim her. You will have nothing left if you resist. The church will offer you nothing save confirmation of your marriage, yet where will you live? How will you feed your children? What will become of them when they are grown and labeled with the stain of your disobedience to those in power? The king is dying now.”

Curan snorted. “That is my concern.” His voice softened. “I would have thought you would have more faith in my ability to defend what is mine.”

“Against the future that includes the chancellor ruling in all but name because Edward is a child? Trusting in that is foolish, and you are the one who needs to adjust your thinking. No one will call you Lord Ryppon if you persist in defying the will of the chancellor.”

Curan moved closer but stopped and looked at Synclair. “Leave us. Prepare the men to ride.”

The knight did not like the order, and his face showed his displeasure, but he turned and left after a barely noticeable inclining of his head. Curan waited until his footfalls had faded.

“Did Wriothesley order you to my bed?”

There was no hint of emotion in his voice, but Justina saw it lurking in his eyes. Just a mere flicker of injured feelings. Of course she had known that he did not harbor more than gentle affection for her, but that did not seem to change how he felt about her deceiving him. Anger she was accustomed to; this was something far different.

“It was the first time I did not feel like a whore since my husband died.”

He sighed, a soft male sound of frustration.

“I never suspected you.” He shook his head. “I believed I seduced you away from Synclair.”

Justina raised her chin. “Of course you did. My circumstances do not allow me to fail at the tasks demanded of me.”

Curan’s features hardened. “Then you will understand that I feel the same way about Bridget. Tell me where she rides to and trust that I will not allow your son to suffer.”

She couldn’t see the towers of Amber Hill at dawn. Bridget turned to look behind her, but the travelers were already too far north. Sometime during the night they passed a crumbling section of Roman wall that had been raised to keep the Celtic tribes out of Britain. Now the hills of the highlands rose in the distance. Before dawn chased the night away, she had been certain she heard the wailing of all the men who had died fighting over the ground she rode across.

In spite of having a king, Scotland was still divided. Clan lairds maintained the loyalty of their men even above the king. James the Fifth had his hands full with keeping his isle lords from stealing his crown, and while his attention was on them, the lairds often raided one another. Her cousin Alice had been terrified when her father negotiated a match for her on the other side of the border. But it had been done to help maintain peace, for Alice had only a single brother who was fifteen years her junior. Her father had needed his neighboring Scot to stay on his side of the border.

And now Bridget would be sent to Lord Oswald for a similar purpose—a pawn to be used to a father’s best advantage.

She sighed and tightened her grip on the reins of her mount. Captain Brume and his men were silent, their eyes moving constantly. They wore only chain mail, instead of armor, to better blend in. Without armor, from a distance they might be mistaken for Scots if you didn’t look at their pants too closely. The English cut their britches differently than the Scots made their trews.

“Up there, my lady.” Captain Brume pointed at the horizon. A single round tower was materializing as the sun burned some of the clouds away. Relief rang through his voice, and his men urged their horses faster. He turned to look at her.

“We’ll be sheltered soon, mistress. With something to ease our empty bellies, I’ll wager. Kin is kin, no matter what side of the border it lives on.”

“Indeed, Captain Brume, I believe you are correct.”

She gave the expected reply. One that she pushed past her reluctance, ordering herself to recall that she must make the best of her coming marriage. Just as all daughters were expected to do. She cradled her feelings for Curan deep inside her heart, where no one might view them. There was no further point in attempting to ignore the affection. It was like an infection, just as she had always been warned such tender feelings were. Now that these feelings had taken root, she was at their mercy.

They drew closer to the tower, and they heard the gate closing with the harsh grinding of the metal chains. The Scottish captain looked down on them while his men pulled their bows tight with arrows in the notches and aimed at them.

“We seek shelter for the Mistress Newbury, cousin to your Lady Alice, come with a letter from her father seeking shelter,” Captain Brume called out to the Scots while they waited.

“You’ll have to be proving that, English, and do nae expect it to be a simple matter. These walls were built to keep you English out.”

“I’ve a letter that the Lady Alice will know is true.”

The Scots lowered a bucket in which Captain Brume was instructed to place the letter. Time seemed to stop while they waited, unknowing if they would be denied entrance and struck down where they waited. But the chains suddenly groaned, and the thick gate inched upward. When it had risen completely, they faced over a hundred steel-edged pikes aimed at them while the archers maintained their posts above them. On the far end of the yard, Alice squinted as she tried to recognize Bridget. She suddenly nodded, and a shrill whistle went out across the men threatening them.

“Come in, English, and don’t be making any fast motions.”

Captain Brume muttered something under his breath as he eased his mount forward. Bridget followed, feeling the stares of the Scots upon her.

“Bridget? Oh, Bridget, it is so wonderful to see you.”

Alice waved from where she stood at the base of the entrance to the tower. The gate groaned behind them, lowering once more.

“Come in, Bridget, it is going to storm.”

There was nothing else to do, and her cousin was correct, the clouds were turning dark. A brisk wind had whipped up, cutting through the wool of her surcoat. Her cousin wore a Scottish dress complete with arisaid pinned over her shoulder. It was hard to see the girl who had spent many years with her sharing her tutors before being sent north to the match her father had arranged for her.

“Go on, mistress. All will be right now.” Captain Brume was out of the saddle and reaching up to offer her a hand with relief shimmering in his eyes. “We’ll take shelter here for the night and head out at first light.”

Until then she would hide behind the walls of a Scottish tower. Bridget took slow steps toward her kin, the muscles of her legs protesting. Alice smiled warmly at her, continuing to wave her forward. Clutched tightly in Alice’s other hand was the letter Captain Brume had placed in the bucket. The wax seal was broken, but Alice held it against her chest as though she cherished it. There was no missing the sparkle in her eyes.

“You must come inside with me, dear cousin. I am so glad you have come to me.”

Alice reached out and clamped a strong hold on to her wrist. She pulled hard, surprising Bridget.

“I thank you, cousin, for your hospitality.”

“You must be hungry. Come … come. We will eat. Inside now.”

Alice pulled her inside and toward a set of stairs that rose to the upper floors of the tower. There was the loud sound of the doors shutting behind her that drew a startled sound from her lips.

“It’s going to storm, Bridget. We need to shut out the rain, you know. Here in Scotland it rains like heaven’s fury.”

“Yes, of course.” But two burly Scots took up position on either side of the front door, and she doubted that they were needed to hold it shut against nature’s fury. Suspicion clouded her mind, but there was little to do about it.

She would have to trust in her kin.

The day became a long string of hours in which everyone she met smiled and welcomed her. The night-long ride made it harder and harder to think every action through. She was longing for a bed well before Alice showed her to a chamber, which was high in the tower up too many stairs to count. But there was a fireplace and coals already blanketed with ashes to help keep her warm. She collapsed into the bed while Alice watched.

“Rest easy, cousin. You are very secure on Barras land.”

“Thank you, cousin … Alice.”

Her words slurred and her eyelids fluttered shut. Every muscle felt limp and lacking strength. It was strange and odd. She had been tired before, but not felt so drained of strength. Suspicion began to grow in her thoughts, but she slipped into slumber unable to act upon her mind’s musing. In her dreams, Curan stood just beyond her reach. She strained toward him, desperately needing to touch him. Just a brush of her fingertip would satisfy her, but no matter how much she tried to make such a connection, she failed. Bitter defeat filled her, sweeping her away into a nightmare where she was tormented by the thought of him lying with another bride. Tears wet her cheeks as she fought against the bedding, trying to fight her way free of the chains holding her. She turned her face up to see him riding away with another bride clinging to him.

In her dreams, her heart broke.

Chapter Nine

Her mouth felt as if she had eaten wool when she awoke. Sunlight was streaming in through the thin window on one side of her chamber. It was little more than an arrow slot, and the shutter had been opened. The sun was bright, confirming that morning had come and gone without waking her. Her entire body ached, as though she had spent the night struggling instead of resting. Her hair was a tangled mess, lending more evidence to the fact that her slumber had not been natural.

“I’m glad to see you rising. My husband is home and eager to have you brought below.”

Alice wasn’t consumed with good cheer today. A calculated look on Alice’s face and something in her eyes instantly revived the suspicions had begun when Bridget fell into sleep last evening. She stumbled when she tried to stand, and her cousin frowned.

“You’ll have to shake it off now, Bridget. Laird Barras is below and we don’t want to be keeping him waiting.”

“Who?”

Alice snapped her fingers, and a maid gripped Bridget’s wrist and pulled her over to a chair. There were suddenly hands on her everywhere, brushing her hair and wiping her face with a wet cloth. The cool water against her cheeks helped sharpen her attention, her mind beginning to function once more. A dryness in her mouth confirmed that her suspicions were well founded. It coupled well with the look of anticipation on her cousin’s face.

“What goes on here, Alice?”

Her cousin frowned and looked down at her clasped hands for a long moment. Not a single maid allowed their eyes to meet hers, and her anger stirred as she felt more of her head clearing.

“You poisoned me yesterday.”

Alice’s head lifted immediately. “‘Twas not poison. Just a bit of sleeping draught is all. You’ll be right as can be in another hour.”

Bridget pushed the maids away when they tried to resume tending her. One had even brought forward a powder box and was holding a small face brush.

“You are my kin, Alice; we are blood.”

Alice drew in a stiff breath. “And I am married to a Scot. You have no concept what that means, cousin. Life is harder here. My husband has to maintain friendship with the laird or we’ll be overrun by another clan, and he will refuse to protect us.” She shook her head. “I have my children to think of. Their inheritance must be kept secure.”

A sickening dread began to twist in Bridget’s belly. She turned to look at the maids and found every one of them looking as resigned as Alice did. Firm resolve shone from their eyes, but what made her belly fill with nausea was the pity mixed in with that determination.

Alice shook off her remorse, taking a step forward. “Laird Barras is below and waiting on you. It’s best not to test the man’s patience.”

“And I’m to be painted up for his pleasure as well, cousin?” Bridget used the family term on purpose, but she maintained a tone of voice that was sweet as springtime honey. Alice flinched, but Bridget gave her no pity. “By all means. Let me not keep the great man waiting. Far be it for me to expect my own gender not to offer me up like a roasted lamb. Or a painted harlot.”

“Bridget, do not be so hard upon me. Life is different in Scotland. The king does not have as tight a control on his clans. Raids happen here, and they change lives forever.”

“Alice, do not be so traitorous as to slip potions into my cup if you do not want me to tell you plainly that it is shameful behavior. The circumstances do not remove that stain from your actions, and I am no coward to look at the floor and refuse to say such straight to you.”

Her cousin paled. Bridget grabbed a hairbrush from the frozen hand of one maid and pulled it through her hair herself. She didn’t clamp down her temper but allowed it to burn away the sickness pooling in her belly. She needed her courage and her wits now. It took only moments to restore neatness to her hair.

“Keep your paint away from my face. If your Laird Barras doesn’t care for my face as it is, that much the better. I am no wanton doxy.”

Alice snorted. “Your temper will make things worse for you, Bridget. Better to use every weapon you might to lull a man into dealing softly with you. A pretty face has led more than one man to doing what a woman desired of him.”

Just as Justina had done last evening. The memory burned through her anger, allowing her to recall how much Justina was like Marie. Both women play acting the role of temptress to steal the wits of the men holding power over them. It was unjust but at the same time very effective. What truly mattered? Her pride or her future? Men did not take well to being challenged by women, or to being shown that women had intelligence equal to their own. Queens of England had lost their heads on the tower green for forgetting that fact. Bridget sat back down.

“Keep it simple and light.”

Laird Barras was a large man. He wasn’t an old man, either. Alice’s husband was sitting at the high table with the man when her cousin escorted her into the great hall. His eyes moved to her the moment she appeared. Sharp and keen, his stare declared him to be a man who was more than a roughly raised peasant. Over his shoulder rested a length of plaid wool in rust and orange. He wore no doublet at all, and the wide sleeves of his shirt were actually tied up to the shoulders of the garment, baring his forearms. The cool air of early spring didn’t seem to chill his bare skin. A knitted bonnet was hanging at an angle over his dark blond hair and he kept his blue eyes on her in spite of Alice’s husband talking to him.

“He’s a powerful man, Bridget. Take heed of that. He can lock ye away and no one will challenge him on it.”

Alice mumbled beneath her breath while she made a curtsy and pulled on her to follow.

“Clearly you have never met Curan.”

He would challenge the very devil if the fallen angel had something he desired. But she had fled from him, and it was very possible that he would simply wash his hands of her for the insult. She would have to deal with this Scot and do it well, or suffer the fate he dictated.

Bridget lifted her chin and remained standing while all the women with her lowered themselves before the laird. Eyes widened at her behavior, but the only change in Laird Barras was a slight tightening of his fingers around the cup in his grasp.

“They do nae teach manners in England anymore, Mistress Newbury?”

She stepped forward, maintaining eye contact with the man. He was an arrogant one, but she didn’t think it was unearned. His forearms were cut with muscle, declaring him to be a man of action.

“I do not lower myself in front of those that drug me into compliance.”

One of his fair eyebrows rose as he crossed his arms over his wide chest.

“I take it ye prefer to be chained then?”

Amusement coated his words, and a few snickers escaped from the men surrounding her. Bridget allowed her lips to rise into a small smile that was mild and unworried.

“What I prefer is honesty. Slipping potions into drinks is the age-old skill of traitors, is it not?”

All traces of amusement left his face. His hands landed back on the tabletop with a firm sound that betrayed how little liking he had for her veiled accusations. The hall was silent, so much so, she heard the hounds’ tails thumping against the floor. One of the dogs whimpered, clearly feeling the discontent in the room.

“I did nae order such an action.” His voice was hard as steel and bounced off the wall behind her. “Will ye offer me courtesy now, mistress?”

Bridget made him wait for a response. His eyes clouded with displeasure before she turned in a wide circle, her skirts flaring out as she went. Turning back to face him she sunk into a low curtsy and remained there with her hand spread wide. Several gasps came from the women watching, but most of the men took to stroking their beards while they waited to see what their laird would make of her mockery.

Standing back up, she lifted her own eyebrow at him. “Be assured that my mother had me schooled in the art of soothing arrogant egos, even of those that intend me ill.”

Laird Barras stood up. He was a large man, and he flattened his hands on the tabletop. “Be very sure that I do nae hand out abuse where it is not warranted, lassie. I protect those wearing me colors when needed, and I would nae accept those words from any man.”

“You face those men with honor, not with poison slipped into their cups while you smile in false welcome as has been done here. My cutting remarks have been earned, and I am not given to speaking lies for the sake of being polite.”

“Bridget, mind yer words,” Alice whispered, but it was so silent in the hall that Bridget was sure half the people watching her face down their overlord heard.

“I believe I am finished with minding you, dear cousin Alice.”

Bridget cut a quick glance at her kin to see her cheeks turning scarlet. But a chuckle from the high table drew her attention back to the Scottish laird watching her.

Laird Barras suddenly grinned at her, and the expression transformed his face into a handsome one. “I do believe I understand why Ryppon would be wanting to get ye back. Ye’re a fine bit of spirited lass, to be certain.”

“I have not promised you that there is reason to think Lord Ryppon would wish me back. If it is gain you seek, take me to the ship my father has sent so you may receive a reward from my father’s gratitude.”

Laird Barras left the raised platform the head table stood upon to stride down toward her. The plaid was pinned in place by a large gold broach that kept the fabric flattened against his shoulder. A wide belt went around his waist, holding the back of that plaid in wide pleats against his waist, too. As he came closer, she noticed why he wore the belt over the fabric. Strapped to his back was a large sword. The pommel rested behind his right shoulder, and the tip of the scabbard was tied to the belt near his left hip.

“I am Gordon Dwyre, Laird Barras, and since ye’ve made a point of saying ye prefer honesty, I’ll tell ye straight that I intend to take ye home with me, Mistress Newbury.”

“I am quite sorry to disappoint you, Laird Barras, but I have been summoned by my father and cannot linger in your country. To do anything else would be to disrespect my parents, which is something the scriptures forbid.”

There were several outright laughs in response to her words. Laird Barras tilted his head slightly and grinned at her. The man had a devil’s grin, for it made him too handsome when he allowed his lips to curve.

“Ye’ll be doing a wee bit more than lingering, and that’s a fact. Yer a woman grown, and it’s time for ye to be giving obedience to a husband.”

He reached right out and grasped her forearm. With a quick tug, she stumbled toward him, and the man bent over so that she collided with his muscle-packed shoulder. He rose and lifted her right off her feet, her body falling over his shoulder with the help of a solid whack that landed on her unprotected backside.

Bridget snarled, but the man laughed and strode from the hall with her over his wide shoulder like a sack of grain. Humiliation rose thick and choking up her throat while the blood rushed to her head. The snickers of those waiting in the yard only intensified her shame.

There was no sign of a storm today. Bright sunlight streamed down to illuminate her undignified position. He tossed her up onto a horse without any more effort than he might have used to toss a child. Bridget sat up in a huff, her face red from hanging over his back.

“You are a brute.”

He swung up onto the back of a stallion standing near the horse he’d placed her on. Someone held the reins of the animal and tossed them to him. Bridget looked at the ground, tempted almost beyond endurance to dismount simply because he had placed her on the horse, but that would only see her standing in her cousin’s yard, which she detested more. She muttered something beneath her breath that would have shocked her mother before tightening her grip on the saddle.

Laird Barras chuckled, drawing her attention back to him.

“I am a Scot, mistress, and ye should have expected to run into a few of us when ye crossed so boldly into me country.” His eyes darkened. “We have a reputation of keeping what we find on our land.”

“I am a person, not some possession.” Bridget realized that her skirt was flipped up, exposing her legs. With a growl she sent the fabric down into place. Gordon was grinning at her when she looked back at him.

“What ye are, lassie, is a fine bit of fortune, and I’m nay going to quibble about the details. Ye’ll be riding with me, if I have to tie ye over that saddle. So think a wee bit afore ye slip off that animal. I’ll no give ye the chance to sit upright again.” He tossed the reins at her, and she caught them with a firm hand, determined to show him that she was not beaten by his crude handling.

“Barbarian. Your threats do not intimidate me. Even an Englishwoman knows that a Scottish laird would not keep a woman who brings him nothing. Not unless you are a fool.”

He smiled, flashing even teeth at her. “Careful now, ye’ll be turning me head with such flattery.” His words may have been teasing, but there was a hard glitter in his eyes that warned her he was not pleased.

“We’ll have to be talking about it once we reach me home. I’ve a yearning to tuck ye behind the very sturdy walls of Barras castle.”

The stallion he rode tossed its head, eager to be on its way. Gordon clamped hard thighs about the animal and remained solidly in place atop it. He was the picture of strength, but she didn’t feel any heat licking across her skin.

Not as she did when she watched Curan …

Men mounted all around them, and the gate was raised. Bridget cast one look back to see Alice watching her, but her husband stood one step in front of her, his hands propped on his hips and his face in a set expression that told her not to expect any leniency from him.

From the side of the stable, her father’s men appeared, every one of them stripped of their chain mail and swords. Their horses were strung together with thick rope to keep them from having command over the animals.

“I’ll be getting a bit of silver from your father, too. Just no in trade for you.”

“You sound like a Viking raider.”

Gordon reached up and tugged on a curling lock of his blond hair. “Of course I do, lass. Don’t ye ken that we Scots are Norse blooded?”

He sent his fist into the air, and the mass of horses and men made for the open gate. Her horse followed without any guidance from her. They raced out of the yard and into the rocky hills that made up the border land. Gordon had a good sixty men riding with him, over half of them remaining outside the keep. They joined their laird now, their plaids bouncing with the motion of riding. The sun was warm on her face and the wind just brisk enough to keep her from becoming too warm. There was a certain spark of life in the moment, a sense of freedom that made her want to smile. The men kept her surrounded while they headed overland. Within an hour a fortress came into sight. This one put Alice’s home to shame. It rose up into the sunlight as proud as Amber Hill. But she felt a touch of sadness for the fact that Curan was not there waiting for her.

Thinking of the man killed her enjoyment of the ride. She took a sidelong glance at Laird Barras, and in spite of his well-muscled body she did not feel any passion for him, only a slight annoyance for the arrogance he seemed to radiate.

Well, that was what she could expect from tender feelings. Dissatisfaction forever because she had been foolish enough to allow her passion to rise for Curan. She looked down toward England with a longing that sent a shaft of pain through her heart.

“Ye’ve no given me any time to press my suit, Mistress Newbury. Do me the favor of no looking so forlorn.”

She snapped her head about to discover Gordon watching her. He wasn’t mocking her now, but there was a deep consideration flickering in his eyes that warned her to be careful how much of her true feelings she allowed him to see. He was a man who would make the most of an opportunity.

“Ye’ll find me home quite comfortable, I assure ye.”

“Please do not think it is my nature to argue over every point, but I disagree with you.”

“Because Ryppon isnae inside? Dinna worry too much on that account, lass. I expect the man soon enough.”

Confusion crowded her thoughts. “What do you mean? I have no such confidence, nor have I given you any reason to believe he would chase me. I ran away from him and the vow I made to wed him. It is an insult that he does not have to suffer. He can easily find a more obedient bride.”

Gordon shrugged. “Well now, if the man doesna show his face soon, I’ll just have to marry ye myself.”

He offered her one of his grins again before kneeing his stallion and moving ahead to the front of his men. They cheered as he took his place among them, and the pace increased. They embodied the legend that she had so often heard about Scots. There was a wildness about them that was balanced by their homage to their laird and the plaids they wore that gave them enough order to not become lawless bandits.

That did not mean she wanted to marry their leader. In fact, the idea of wedding anyone save Curan sent a twist of nausea through her. She tried to remember her duty, but the attempt failed. Her passion was rapidly taking her past the discipline instilled by her mother. The longing to return to Curan was gaining ground inside her, becoming hotter and more uncontrollable.

But that was assuming a great deal. The man would be unlikely to welcome back any bride who had fled from him. His pride was most likely wounded too greatly for her to resume her role. There was also Lord Oswald to think about. Bridget suddenly felt tired. More weary than ever as Gordon’s men sent up a cheer and their leader took them through the open gate of his fortress. The castle was built of solid stone, and that fit her mood.

Cold and dead … exactly as she felt.

She wasn’t placed in a cell, or even in a chamber with a door that might be barred to keep her prisoner. Instead, Bridget discovered herself following two burly Scots through a maze of hallways and staircases. They kept her going in circles until she blew out a frustrated snarl and stopped, refusing to take another step.

“Enough of this game. I am confused. The only way I can think of to make it back into the yard is by slipping out a window. Are you satisfied?” They watched her from brooding expressions that didn’t give her a hint as to their thinking. Bridget shrugged.

“Well then, I have thought that the gossip I have heard concerning just how lazy Scottish men are was false. However, if you have naught better to do than lead me through hallways, I must rethink my opinion on that matter.”

“This way.”

The words were spoken with a great deal of irritation, but at least they led her to a destination instead of another set of hallways. This was an older portion of the castle, and the room she was in did not have doors. Of course, that was most likely the reason she was placed there. Candles burned in the center of the large round room, but the light did not allow her to see what was beyond the arched doorways. It was a solar, simply one floor built across the expanse of the keep. She was in one of the four that she had seen rising up to form Barras Castle. Arches surrounded her, helping to hold up the floor above her. In spite of the bed and furnishings that were present, she doubted that the solar was used very often. If it were, walls would have been built to create hallways, but such was more of a newer construction technique. This keep was just as it had been fifty years ago when it was expected that the surrounding villagers might need to take shelter inside it during a siege.

Having the dark arches ringing her was worse than any door. She felt placed on display. The candles illuminated her while the Scots withdrew behind the arches. She heard them walking sometimes and, as the day wore on, listened to them being relieved and replaced by others. There was no way to tell how many guards she had or where they were.

Nevertheless, that was not what weighed heavily on her mind. She walked over to one of the windows and leaned out. Greeting her were a hint of green on the hills and a little nip of chill blowing down from the north. She was too high to consider leaving the keep by the window, which left her with nothing to do but look down toward England, where Curan was most likely drawing up an offer for another bride.

Her heart ached, and there was no comfort to be found in knowing that she had done as instructed by her parents. A maid brought her food, but Bridget had little appetite. So she left it where the girl placed it. The day grew long with nothing but her own thoughts to keep her company. Always there had been work to occupy her hands. She suddenly did not understand how anyone might endure being lazy; it was quite irritating to have nothing to do. Bridget discovered herself pacing simply to have something to occupy herself with. Yet the true torment was the fact that her idle mind had naught to do save think about Curan.

“I thought ye had more spirit, lass. Me men tell me ye’ve been pacing and no eating. Are ye truly broken in so short a time?”

Bridget turned her head to discover Gordon watching her from one of the arched doorways that led into the solar she was occupying. She bit into her lower lip when she realized how happy she was to see him. She didn’t like knowing that one day of solitude had made her so hungry for companionship.

“If you prefer to hear me railing, then you shall have to learn to live with disappointment. The body does not require much nourishment when it is doing little.” She folded her hands neatly and offered him a mild expression. “I have no intention of becoming some type of amusement for your entertainment.”

“Och now, lass, would ye like to get down to that bit of the business right now then? I’ll be quite happy to show you what manner of entertainment I think ye can provide me with.”

Gordon was just as large as Curan, but for some reason he didn’t have the same impact on her. He moved too close, and she did not have any urge to back away from him. Her belly did not tighten, and no excitement rushed along her skin. Instead she simply watched him close the distance, but her boredom ended when he reached out to touch her. She lifted a hand quickly to slap the hand he tried to touch her with. The blow made a loud popping sound that drew a chuckle from her captor.

“You are quite out of line, sir.”

“I’m a Scot, I was never a well-behaved lad. Goes against the entire idea of being Scottish. You wouldn’t want me to be disloyal to me own country, now would ye?”

Moving away from him, Bridget turned to shoot a hard glare at him. “Somehow, I doubt that you are quite the marauder that you are attempting to act. I have never understood that being Scottish means you were raised with a lack of honor.”

He frowned and crossed his arms across his chest. She was beginning to realize that he did that when he was afraid that too much of his true feelings were on display.

“I will wed ye if it comes to that.” Instead of a threat, his words were more of a soothing promise. One that she found distasteful.

“To preserve my honor? Is that it? No, thank you.”

He shrugged and allowed his arms to relax. “I’ll admit that there’s a wee bit of me that would enjoy needling your English chancellor by taking a lass he thinks is his, but aye, I’d wed ye before seeing ye returned to a life of shame since I’m the one who brought ye here.”

“You may dispense with that concern. I shall weather the storm well enough.”

“Nay, lass. I know the world, and it’s a harsh, unforgiving place when it comes to an English lass who has been behind these walls.” He moved closer, and she had to resist the urge to retreat from him. Approval shimmered in his eyes when she stood still.

“If Ryppon does nae come for ye, the man is a fool, and I’ll be happy to take advantage of what he is dim-witted enough to let go unclaimed.”

He reached out and stroked her cheek. It was a simple touch, and she remained still while his fingers made contact with her skin. No rush of sensation resulted from the touch, only a mild enjoyment. Gordon tossed his shoulder-length hair back and laughed.

“I should keep ye anyway, just because that English lord is too fortunate by far to have earned such devotion from ye.”

“I am not devoted to him. My father arranged the match.” She turned in a snap of her skirt and offered him her back. “What you should do is return me to my father. That will gain you more from this bit of evildoing by my cousin.”

He clicked his tongue at her in reprimand. She began to turn, but he slid a hand around her body and pulled her back against his body in one quick motion. Bridget snarled and became a spitting bundle of resistance. Her flesh crawled with revulsion, making her struggles even more violent. She scratched and hit him without a care for the damage she inflicted. He released her with another mocking laugh.

“If ye are nae devoted to the man, why does my touch enrage ye, lass?”

“Because I am not some loose light-skirt slut, you mongrel! You insult me by trying your hand at me.”

“As ye insulted me so freely in front of yer cousin’s husband.”

That hard glitter appeared in his eyes.

“Oh, I see. You are repaying me, is that it?”

He shrugged. “Well, I suppose ye cannae be expected to understand the way respect keeps peace on me land. But it is a way of life for me. The moment I begin letting someone insult me is the day that a new challenge to my authority begins. Those most often end in bloodshed.”

“I see.”

“Do ye now?”

Bridget offered him a slight nod. “I can understand that our lives are very different and thereby require different actions.”

He grinned again, clearly amused by her response. Even knowing it, she still had trouble pushing her emotions down where he could not see them so easily.

“I’ll not be content to have any man’s hands on me who is not my husband. Yet that is no excuse for being surly this morning.”

At least her tone of voice cooperated with her resolve to maintain her dignity. Gordon lost his grin, his face becoming a firm mask of consideration.

“Is that why I hear that you spent most of this day looking toward England? Because ye’re longing to join the man ye fled from?”

Gordon snorted when her eyes narrowed at him, but she denied him any comment. The Scot shook his head.

“I ken, lass. I’m a stranger to ye and one that has taken ye in the hope of getting something for ye. There’s no foundation for trust between us. But I keep my word. Dinna fret that I’ll allow ye to return to England’s court. Ryppon will either give me what I want for ye, or I’ll take ye to the altar and we’ll find a way to make the best of it. I can be a charming man when I put my mind to it.”

“Do not bother on my account, sir.”

He reached out quickly, succeeding in touching her cheek with two thick fingers before she jumped away.

“Och now, lassie, ye need to stop all that worrying.”

Don’t worry? The man had a misplaced sense of kindness if he believed he was putting her at ease. Still, it wasn’t his place to soothe her. She was a woman, not a lost girl.

“Lord Ryppon will not come for me. I cannot fathom why you believe he will. Best that you return me to my father and gain your recompense from him.” And she did hope the ransom was a dear one, for her father was beginning to wear her patience thin with all his demands. It seemed quite fair that someone else in her family should have to suffer as she was.

Gordon’s eyes lit with something that made her step back. A burning determination that she had seen in Curan’s eyes when he looked at her.

“He’d better show, because I’m nae in the mood to search for another way to get what I want from him.”

And it wasn’t her.

Bridget knew it. Somehow she sensed that the Scot wasn’t any more interested in wedding her than she was in marrying him. He wanted someone else, and the truth of that glittered in his eyes while she watched. “I wish you every success, and it is of course a relief to hear that this is truly not about me.”

He drew in a stiff breath and crossed his arms over his chest once again. His expression became hard. Clearly the man didn’t care to know that she had read his emotions.

“Good. Then I’ll no be hearing that ye refused yer supper. I dinna need to think I’m starving ye.”

The laird in him was talking now. Thick authority edged his words, and his voice rose, ensuring his men heard him. He gave a soft grunt along with a solid nod of his head when he finished. Bridget merely stared back at him, content to let him have the last word.

Soothe the male ego … Marie had clearly known what she was talking about.

A moment later he was gone in a swirl of plaid wool. Bridget suddenly felt chilled, as though she stood on the edge of a cliff just waiting to see if her balance would fail. The image was well founded for the future looked bleak.

Would Curan come for her?

Doubt was cruel, and it sliced into her fragile hope. Gordon might believe she was smitten by Curan, but that did not mean Curan would shoulder the blow she had dealt him in fleeing. Which left her standing on the cliff, looking at the fall that would not kill her, but instead leave her suffering from her broken heart for too many years to endure.

“Synclair, you must not do this.” Justina tried to dig her feet into the floor, but her shoes slid easily across the stone surface.

The knight offered her no mercy. His hand was clamped about her forearm, pulling her along in spite of her resistance. He suddenly snorted and released her. Relief swept through her, but it was short-lived, for the man boldly swept her off her feet, cradling her against his chest. It shocked her because Synclair had always acted the perfect gallant, never ignoring chivalry. Holding her against his body was a direct violation of those ancient codes.

“Synclair—”

“Enough, lady. I shall do as bid by Lord Ryppon and gladly so. Cease your protests for they gain you nothing.”

Doing so allowed her to notice how much she liked his embrace. Justina tried to wiggle out of it, but the knight was far stronger than she. He carried her the last few steps to the top room in the tower and angled her through the narrow doorway. Maids were busy pulling sheets off the furniture and placing candles in the holders.

“Out. All of you.”

Synclair’s normally controlled tone was strained. The staff scurried to obey him, their steps fading down the stairs quickly. He released her legs, allowing her to stand, but he maintained a solid arm about her waist, binding her against his hard body. He had never been so forward with her. Always the knight had maintained tight control over the urges she had seen plainly in his eyes. It had always been possible to push him away when she felt her emotions rising.

She could not trust any man.

But it was so difficult to recall her reasons to maintain that vow with him so close. He gently stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, allowing her to inhale the scent of his skin. A shudder shook her as a breath got stuck in her throat. Her eyes slid closed because there was so much sensation, she didn’t need to see, only to feel. She was suddenly so weak that she could not resist taking comfort in the moment. Only for a few beats of her heart.

A soft kiss landed on her mouth, startling her. It was brief, because Synclair allowed her to jump away from him, his arm releasing her when she tore herself from his embrace. Lifting her eyelids, she discovered him watching her from eyes that were dark and full of desire. Yet he hadn’t taken a deep kiss from her, hadn’t used his greater strength to impose his will on her. Hadn’t acted on that hunger blazing so clearly in his eyes.

Disappointment clawed through her, surprising her with how intense was her own longing for him. She could not afford such reactions. Her circumstances did not allow such feminine weaknesses; she must prevent him from thinking kindly of her because she could not resist him. Lifting a hand, she laid it across his cheek in reprimand. The slap made a harsh sound in the silence.

“Blackguard.”

He drew in a sharp breath, a muscle along the side of his jaw beginning to twitch, but his hands remained at his sides.

“I must attend my lord, but I swear unto you, Justina. I shall return to you and you shall confess every detail of how they threaten you.”

He turned to leave and pulled the heavy door shut behind him. She heard a bar being lowered into place and the grinding of a lock being set.

“Don’t bother! Do you hear me? I care not if I ever set eyes upon you again. You are nothing to me. Nothing. I prefer my circumstances, sirrah!”

He heard her. Justina willed herself to believe that. There was no future with him. She would never be allowed to follow her feelings, never. Worse still, any gallant knight who took up the cause of lending his good name to her would find his honor stained by her soiled reputation. She was a whore. A highborn one, but a woman who used her body to survive nonetheless. Her father had sold her first, and then her husband. Widowhood had not freed her as she had hoped. Instead, the man in charge of her son’s inheritance directed her misdeeds. Her sin gained her the sweetest fruit, however, for it kept her child where he belonged.

Tears filled her eyes, and for once she allowed them to drop down her cheeks. Her prison room was as much sanctuary as cell for she could weep now. Weep for the child she ached to hold and for the knight that she would deny.

Gordon Dwyre knew his land well. He’d ridden it by moonlight and by pitch-blackness, too. He knew what the birds sounded like when there were men hidden in the shadows. He left his sword in the scabbard strapped to his back, in spite of the fact that it tested his discipline. His fingers itched to yank it free, and his palm craved contact with the solid pommel.

But that wasnae what he was about tonight, and he needed to remember that fact. Some battles weren’t fought using the steel of a man’s sword. Sometimes, a man needed to apply his wits if he wanted to win the prize he had his eye on.

He could smell the men on the breeze, and it was a sure bet that Ryppon would notice he was on the prowl, too. His muscles tensed, his skin itching with foreboding as he moved forward a few more inches.

“You are either brave beyond measure or a fool to venture outside your walls.”

Curan’s voice was whisper soft. A second later, he stepped into view so that the meager moonlight washed over him. “Maybe you’re both.”

Gordon straightened up and ignored the impulse to draw his sword. His neighbor was fighting the same urge, but the English baron managed to keep his sword hanging from his hip while he gripped his belt. Tension drew both their features tight. One false move and there would be a bloodbath around them both.

Gordon drew in a deep breath and made sure he stood completely still.

“I doubted that ye’d come inside me home for the conversation I’m interested in having with ye.”

“You are correct on that account, Barras.” Curan frowned and gave a flick of his wrist. His men halted where they were behind Gordon, but the Scot merely grinned and gave a toss of his head to indicate his own men behind Curan. There were a few curses muttered around them, but Gordon and Curan maintained a steady lock of their gazes, each man recognizing the cunning of the other.

“I’ve been wanting a meeting with ye, Ryppon, and hearing that your bride had snuck onto me land was a bit too much of a temptation to ignore the opportunity that capturing her would afford me. I’m out here to show ye that conversation is what I’m seeking, no spilt blood.”

Curan snorted. “I’ve come for Bridget and nothing else until I have her.”

“I set the lass up in one of me towers with the hope that ye wouldnae be far behind her.” Gordon smirked. “I wouldnae hesitate if I were wearing yer boots.”

“She is my wife, Barras, so return her now if you have a sense of honor.”

“Well now, the way I hear it, the wedding has nae been celebrated. That makes her yer bride, and those can be stolen, my friend. Even among honorable men.”

Curan growled and stepped closer to Gordon so that his words wouldn’t drift.

“Name your price, Scot, and do it quickly before my mood turns too dark. Stealing my bride, is not in your best interest. Not if you want me to remain friendly.” He was itching to lay the man low just for the fact that he had Bridget, but that wouldn’t get him through the walls she was hidden behind. Uncertainty always remained in battle, and having his bride mixed up in that enraged him.

Gordon abandoned his teasing. “Ye don’t take teasing too well, Ryppon, so it’s a good thing ye are no Scottish. Let’s sit for a moment. I’ve business to talk with ye, and it’s a truth that I’ve been thinking on it for some time. I’ve nae intention of keeping the lass, only of using her to bring ye up here so that we can talk face-to-face.”

“I’m not going into your castle, if that is what you mean by sitting down with you, Barras.”

“Ye won’t?” He chuckled, gaining a raised eyebrow from Curan. “Well now, I suppose ‘tis a good thing that I figured on that already.”

“There is nothing good about this entire situation.”

“Now is that any way to talk when I’ve gone to so much trouble to set a welcome out for ye?”

Gordon waved some of his men forward. They actually deposited chairs and struck light to a quickly gathered fire before setting out a bottle of wine on a small end table that one of them set down with a grunt of relief. They had hauled all of it across the hillside, lending weight to the fact that the Scot clearly did have something of importance weighing on his mind.

“I’m impressed, Barras.”

Gordon shrugged before untying his sword scabbard and handing it to his captain. His teeth were clenched tight while he did it, and Curan felt his own jaw tightening while he forced himself to give his own sword over to Synclair. It was the only honorable thing to do. He took a seat and watched Gordon pour a measure of the wine into a wooden goblet, then take a large swallow out of while keeping his eyes on Curan. With a soft grunt, he poured another measure into a second goblet and offered it to him. Curan took it and lifted it to his lips, once more bound by honor to not insinuate that the man was trying to poison him when the man had tasted it in front of him.

Gordon sat back in his chair. “We were born enemies, you and I, but it doesna have to remain that way. Times are changing. You English will have a new king soon.”

“I’ve been riding with my current king, Barras, and will not have his name insulted.”

“I’m merely mentioning that the way of gaining fortunes is changing. Conquering land is no longer the only way to riches.”

Curan paused, thinking about what the man had ordered his men to haul several miles in order to have a conversation with him. “What do you have in mind?”

Gordon swirled the remaining wine around the inside of his goblet. “To start with, you have a port and I’ve got goods that will fetch a far better price if I can load them onto a ship, instead of taking that cargo across land by cart. I want to strike a bargain that will keep yer port busy and my goods moving towards markets that are hungry enough for them to pay a decent amount. Between us, we can modernize and provide a brighter future for both our people.”

Curan narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t need to imprison my bride to talk trade with me, Barras. I’m beginning the process of settling down and am thinking along the same lines.”

“I didna need to stop her from running away to the ship her father sent for her, either, but I thought it might make a fine gesture of goodwill between us if I tucked her away in me tower to wait for ye. It seems to me that her father is doing a fine job of confusing the lass with all of his mind-changing on just who she’s going to be wife to.” Gordon offered him a cocky smile. “Why, give me a few days, and I do believe I can convince her that her father has settled on me as the man she’s supposed to marry.”

“You’ve already noticed that I don’t tolerate teasing well, Barras.” Curan watched the man shrug. “But you make a good point. Her father is making a mess of this matter. Be very sure I will hold him to the bargain he struck with me. Bridget is my wife, and I’ll challenge any man who tries to interfere with that union.”

Gordon lifted his goblet while he considered his next words. “I find it very interesting the way her father is spending so much coin on getting her back to London. Mind ye, having seen the lass, I can see the value in her. She’s a sweet little bit if ever there was one.”

Curan growled, earning him a snicker from Gordon.

“Relax, Ryppon. I’ve different taste than ye when it comes to women.”

“Is that so?”

The Scot pegged him with a hard glare. “It is. I want to offer for yer sister. I’ve seen her riding along the ridge like a Spartan when she thinks no one is wise to what she is about. I admit that I have a taste for spirited lasses. Yer sister is untamed.”

“My father would have run you through for making that offer.” Curan felt his tension ebbing. The Scot was the one who looked stressed now, and that suited him quite well, but there was also a part of him that had empathy for the man. He knew well what it was like to long for a woman and only one woman, while no other would do.

“Well now, you see why I wouldnae ignore the chance to get ye onto my land so that I could place the matter in front of ye. I want a bright future, not more fuel for hatred that has claimed too many lives as it is. But I’m wanting yer sister for my wife, and it’s getting a wee bit hard no to snatch her off the back of that horse she is so fond of riding across the very edge of me land.”

Curan took a swallow from his goblet. It gave him a moment to consider the man sitting in front of him. The Scot had an excellent point; they didn’t need to be enemies, and trade was what would make his own land profitable. A marriage between their families would forge a solid union, but he would have to admit to the fact that he held different opinions than many men in his own society when it came to dealing with his female relations.

“My sister is no witless girl. I know very well how often she rides. You would have discovered it a harder task to steal her than you think, but you are correct about her nature. If I caged Jemma, she would have strangled on the chain or found a way to escape. Allowing her to think she slips away from her escort is a compromise I make to her spirit. As such, I will not contract her to any man that she is not willing to wed.”

“Is that a fact?” Gordon’s fingers tightened around his goblet.

“It is also a fact that I would not be opposed to you courting Jemma.” Curan watched his words sink in. “Providing we were doing good business together. I think a match would be favorable to both of us. If you can charm your way into Jemma’s heart, that is.”

Barras flashed him a cocky grin at the challenge. Most men would have taken exception to that look, but Curan recognized that it was quite possibly exactly what his sister needed. Jemma would never behave meekly, thanks to his father’s reluctance to have her disciplined when she was a girl. He had lavished indulgence upon her, allowing her to grow into a woman who was firm in her opinions. Women who spoke their minds were not faring well in England, thanks to the king’s own pride. Any marriage to an English lord would most likely end with Jemma being broken when the man’s ego suffered. The Scot in front of him was a different matter. He found Jemma’s wildness attractive, giving Curan hope that she would be happy.

Curan stood. Men jerked to attention behind him, but he made no further moves toward his host except to extend his hand to the man.

“My hand and word upon the matter, Barras. You may court my sister.”

The Scot was on his own feet in a blink of the eye. He grinned while he grasped hands with him.

“Let me fill yer cup again, Ryppon. It seems ye have a wedding to celebrate.”

Curan felt his fingers tighten around the Scot’s hand. All amusement left his face.

“Show me to my bride.”

Chapter Ten

Bridget didn’t sleep well. She felt too many eyes upon her to relax. The bed in the solar was encased in heavy curtains to ensure privacy, but she awoke several times when she heard the guard near the arches changing. She heard only the brushing of leather against wooden floor, but her eyes opened and every muscle tightened. Darkness engulfed the room, but there was a single glow of light, as if someone had opened the shutters that covered the windows.

Pushing back one of the bed curtains, she stood and saw that the shutters were indeed opened wide. The night air blew in, ruffling her chemise and chilling her legs. Loneliness seemed to go hand in hand with the darkness. Nevertheless, the beckoning moonlight saw her striding to the window, the silver glint bathing her while the night breeze lifted her unbound hair.

Lovers meet in the moonlight …

Heat moved over her skin, licking across the sensitive flesh while Curan’s face filled her thoughts. She felt him so keenly, it was as though the man was in the room with her. Noise from beneath the window made her frown. Moving forward she looked down and gasped.

Horses and men were filling the inner yard. Many of them lying down next to their horses to sleep while they had the chance.

“I brought my entire army to fetch you back.”

Bridget didn’t gasp, she didn’t make any sound at all, because it felt as if Curan had materialized straight out of her longing for him.

“Does that please you, Bridget? To see that I will place my men in harm’s way to possess you?”

“No.”

He was half shadow, standing near the wall where only a spattering of moonlight touched him. She felt him more than saw him. Strength radiated from him, making her more aware of how chilly the night air was and how warm his skin would feel against her own.

He struck a flint stone, and the spark was brilliant. It gave birth to the flicker of a candle, the yellow flame bathing him in light. He lacked the mail shirt that he so often wore and stood only clothed in a shirt and pants. She sighed, too full of joy to hold the sound inside her. One of his dark eyebrows rose.

“Are you pleased to see me, Bridget? You will have to forgive me for doubting such.” His gaze slipped down her body, the candle flame turning her chemise transparent. Hunger drew his features tight.

“I am pleased to see you, yet that is not a good thing. It is a sign of how weak I am.” She moved away from the window and the candle, suddenly recalling the guards who had watched her most of the day. “I am far too happy to allow you to take the burden of obeying my father away.”

Curan made a low sound of frustration. “Do not begin trying to twist my thinking. We have received the church’s blessing three years past. It is done.”

“You know that is not so.” Bridget turned in the dark, her chemise flaring away from her body. “Do not think that because I am a woman raised in the country that I do not hear of the number of divorces. Women who knelt in front of the altar, too, yet find themselves cast out without a single silver piece. You shall suffer along with me if we celebrate this union. No one disobeys the chancellor. It is time for you to accept reason in this matter.”

The candle flame died in a quick pinch, robbing her of her sight. Bridget didn’t hear him, but she felt him closing the distance between them. In spite of every reason, she was still keenly aware of him, still yearning for one more touch to savor before she had to live without it.

His hand cupped the side of her face, and she heard a soft moan rise from her throat. She hardly recognized such a sound coming from her own lips; it was too husky, too passionate to be hers.

“If challenging a chancellor is the only way to have you, sweet Bridget, then I shall face him without faltering.” His thumb passed over her lower lip, sending little bolts of sensation down her spine. “But be very sure that I will never allow you to leave me again.”

He growled the last few words in a deep tone that raised gooseflesh along her arms. His hand slipped into her loose hair, threading through the silken strands to capture the back of her head. His mouth pressed against hers, a hard kiss claiming her lips while his hand held her in place. His lips demanded compliance, boldly pressing hers to open so that his tongue might plunge deeply into her mouth. Passion ignited inside her so hot the night air became a soothing thing. She twisted toward him, lifting her hands to touch the hard body that had so absorbed her thoughts. Her fingertips found his chest covered in only the shirt. The ties that secured the collar were simple to open, her hands performing the task without thought. There was only instinct guiding her, and the need pounding louder and louder until it was the only thing that she heard.

She wanted to touch him, wanted to be touched in return. A sigh broke through their kiss when her hands finally pushed his shirt aside to allow her to touch his skin. It was smooth and hot beneath her fingertips, but so decadent she couldn’t contain her delight. His hand still cradled her head, but the hold had become dear to her. Resistance was gone, her body willingly leaning into his. In the dark he was more approachable, and boldness took over as she sent her hands along his neck, pressing her entire palms to his skin.

“Sweet Bridget …”

His voice trailed off into a throaty whisper. His hand moved, his fingers combing down her loose hair. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes to allow the sensation to command her. He reached the ends and lifted both of his hands to her head to begin another long stroke through her hair. He closed the gap between them, leaning down to bury his face in her tresses. She heard him draw in a deep breath and make a sound that resembled a contented grumble against her neck.

When he reached the ends of her hair this time, his hands slid onto her hips, cupping them for a moment. The grip sent a wave of excitement through her belly, her clitoris suddenly becoming needy and demanding. The knowledge of what he could do to the little nub hidden within the folds of her sex made her even more eager for his attention.

“Tell me you want this.”

He lifted his face away from her neck and stared at her. In the moonlight, his face was cast in silver and black, making him appear more legend than man. Yet his touch was warm, like a man … like a lover.

“Tell me you desire me.”

His fingers tightened around her hips, the hold feeling more intimate than any she had ever experienced. Her blood was racing through her body, her heart beating in hard thumps that pounded against the inside of her chest. She wanted to press her belly against him, against the hard cock she knew lay hidden behind his clothing. He held her in place, however, refusing to allow her to remain silent.

“I do desire you.”

His fingers plucked at the delicate fabric of her chemise, tugging it up until he pulled the entire garment over her head. Her hair floated down once he drew the last of the chemise away from her, the long strands settling against her bare back in a whisper of sensation.

“Good, because I lack any further ability to resist you.”

He reached up and yanked his shirt free in one hard motion that betrayed how little control he had remaining. The moonlight cast its illuminating glow over hard ridges of muscle that covered him from his neck to where his pants hid the rest of his body from view. A light covering of hair curled over his chest and down the center of his belly. Bridget was acutely aware of the fact that she was nude, but not because she was ashamed. There was no guilt pressing down on her, only an awkwardness and fear that he would find her form lacking. She felt his gaze sliding over her, lingering on the teardrop shape of her breasts as they hung exactly the way nature had designed them. Her nipples drew into tight little pebbles while he remained silent, and his attention slid lower to her waist and then over the flare of her hips.

“It feels as though I have waited an eternity to see you like this.” He reached out, gently stroking the curve of one breast, his fingers tracing the soft globe until they encountered her hard nipple. “It was worth every tormenting moment.”

His fingers lingered on her nipple, softly pinching it. Sharp enjoyment shot through her, and she shifted away, unable to remain still. He frowned at her but reached for the waistband of his pants and opened them instead of closing the distance between them. The open garment sagged down his legs, and he stepped out of it in one swift motion. His cock stood up, stiff and erect, with nothing to impede her sight of it.

“I believe you claimed your mother had you tutored by a courtesan to keep you from fear tonight. Is it working?”

“Yes …” She answered before thinking. Her mind had long since stopped trying to interrupt her with its ponderings.

“Then touch me, Bridget.”

She had never heard him plead, but it was there in his husky tone. A need to have her come to him. There was no choice involved. She reached out, her fingers connecting with his erect member. He stiffened, drawing in a harsh breath. Hearing that telltale little sound flooded her with confidence. She closed her hand around his girth, allowing her fingers to grip him gently. Her memory offered up a picture of how Marie had stroked Tomas’s length, and Bridget mimicked the motions.

“Sweet Christ.”

Curan clamped a hard arm around her, pulling her against his body and trapping her hand in place.

Frustration sent her chin up. “Now who is timid?”

His teeth were bared at her, but she rubbed the underside of his cock with her fingers and listened to him suck breath through his teeth.

“I believe it only fair that I reduce you to the same weak creature your touch makes me.” His lips curved up in an arrogant grin. “I enjoyed hearing you whimper.”

“I believe I will enjoy hearing the same from your lips just as much.” She rubbed his cock once again. “Unless you are too much afraid of a woman gaining control over you. Somehow I doubt that you have never been sucked.”

“Sweet Christ, that woman told you about sucking a man?”

Bridget laughed, a throaty sound that drew one of his hands down to one side of her bottom. His fingers gripped her, the tips curling into the valley between her cheeks. Rising up onto her toes, she placed a soft kiss against his chin.

“She showed me.”

He cursed beneath his breath and in French, but it filled her with more boldness.

“Does that displease you? I seem to recall that the subject Marie demonstrated on was most pleased. Or did you want a wife who would lie on her back and submit while reciting her prayers as you serviced her?”

His fingers began stroking her bottom, massaging and gripping the cheek they were holding. Heat licked its way through her passage, making her aware of how empty she was.

“You will be far too busy whimpering with pleasure to pray.” His fingers suddenly delved farther between her thighs to touch the entrance of her body. She jerked, knocking her teeth against his chin. He grunted but remained still, one fingertip gently entering her body.

“But we were discussing me making you whimper.” This clear challenge in her voice caused his face to tighten. The arm chaining her to him suddenly relaxed, allowing her to move far enough away to begin stroking his cock once again.

“So we were.”

There was unmistakable challenge in his voice as well. But her confidence rose to answer it, determination making her bold. Sinking to her knees, she used both hands to stroke his flesh. It was hard, yet covered in silky smooth skin. Opening her mouth, she licked along the ridge of thick flesh that ran around the head. She heard him drag in another harsh breath, heard it hissing through his teeth. Such a small thing, but from Curan it was a glaring signal that she was affecting him. She longed to be more than a possession; here in the dark she wanted to be his lover. Which entitled her to an equal share of giving delight.

She allowed her lips to close around the head of his cock. Another hiss escaped from him, but his hand appeared at the back of her head, gently cupping while she teased his cock with her tongue. Her heart was still pounding, the frantic pace keeping her warm. Her rapid breathing drew the scent of his skin into her senses. The fragrance was distinctly male and intoxicating when coupled with the way he drew those harsh breaths. Her confidence blossomed, and she relaxed her jaw to take more of his length into her mouth. His flesh felt harder than she’d expected, but it was covered in the satin of his skin.

Bridget felt nothing unpleasant, and she discovered that she preferred doing the sucking far more than viewing someone else perform the deed. Watching had not allowed her to truly experience how much it excited her. She hadn’t smelled the scent of his skin or tasted the faint salty drops of seed that collected in the slit that crowned his cock. She had been ignorant of so much while watching, for the act was decadent.

He muttered something that didn’t make sense, but the tone stoked her growing pride. She might be on her knees, but there was nothing submissive about her position. Using her hands to caress the portion of his cock that wasn’t inside her mouth, she experimented with speed and tightness. She judged the success of her efforts by the sounds he made and the way his hand began to grip her head tighter, as though he feared she might stop.

She recalled that yearning … that pounding need to press against the hand giving her pleasure. She wanted to place him in that same position, wanted to know that he was as desperate for her touch as she had been for his. Her hands moved faster, and she took even more of him into her mouth. His hips jerked, thrusting toward her as she heard his breathing become ragged and fast.

“No.” He pulled her head back as he snarled that single word at her.

She hissed back at him, her temper flaring up. “You gave me release with your hand. Why will you not submit to my touch?”

“Because I have spent too many hours wondering if I have lost you to take the quick pleasure your lips promise me.”

He hooked his hands beneath her arms and lifted her off her knees in a motion that stole her breath. She forgot how much strength he possessed, forgot because he always controlled it so expertly when touching her. Yet it was there in his body, far more strength than she had, plenty to imprison or hurt her if he chose to disregard her comfort.

“I will have my wife, Bridget, and I swear that I shall have you now. There will be no more time for you to spin false tales.” He bent one knee and scooped his shirt off the floor. When he pushed back up to tower over her, he captured her head with one hand and held her hostage with his breath teasing her wet lips.

“You are not suffering your courses. Maybe once I have claimed your innocence you will be done with all of this resistance. To be honest, I care about naught save proving that your body craves our union as much as my own does.”

He pressed a hungry kiss against her mouth, boldly sending his tongue deep into her mouth to stroke against her own. The hair on his chest tickled her skin, but it felt so very male that she shivered. Passion rose quickly to flood her. Thoughts of taking command vanished as he held her head in place and took a deep taste of her mouth. This kiss was everything she had seen in him the moment he arrived—hard and conquering. His cock brushed against her belly, promising her that he could indeed keep his promise to claim her.

You long for it …

“Yet I will say most plainly that your suckling is a delight that I will be most glad to yield to.” He placed a soft kiss against her cheek. “Yet not tonight. I have reached the end of my discipline for waiting.”

Firm and hard, his tone drew a shiver from her. His hands found her breasts and cupped them, unleashing a wave of heat that washed down her body. He picked her up and sat her on the tabletop with his shirt beneath her, quick and efficient. He pushed her thighs open to allow for his body to stand between them, lending weight to the fact that he truly was impatient to claim her.

She shared that feeling. The time for waiting was past. “I am ready, Curan.”

He drew in a sharp breath, and she felt his hands tighten on her for a moment. “Sweet Bridget …”

The height of the table raised her so that her body was even with his cock. A tiny bolt of fear intruded on the hunger burning in her. She was a maiden, and losing her virginity would not be pleasant.

Her thighs tried to snap shut, but his legs prevented such. Curan gripped her hips, but he did not pull her toward his erect flesh.

“I would never cause you pain, Bridget, you needs learn to trust in that.”

His hands stroked across her bare thighs, back and forth, rekindling the delight that had been consuming her. Skin against skin felt too wonderful to waste her attention on what might happen later. She wanted to immerse herself in the bliss at hand.

“Touch me.” His tone returned to the husky whisper that made her think of moonlight liaisons. Her hands lifted without delay to press against his chest.

The next stroke of his hands along her thighs did not stay on top of her leg. He smoothed one firm palm over the top of her thigh and onto the delicate skin of her inner leg. Her passage was quick to recall how good it had felt when he fingered her sex. Hungry and yearning, her body lifted toward his, her knees willingly spreading.

“That’s the way, my sweet, trust my touch to pleasure you.”

His fingers found the little nub between the folds of her sex that burned for friction to satisfy it. Lightning shot through her at the first rub, and she clutched at his neck to avoid falling back across the table.

“I have waited years to feel your arms about me.”

His whisper awoke tenderness inside her. Such soft words from so hard a man. She had never expected them. It almost sounded as though he needed her.

He stroked her slit, running his fingers through the wet flesh from her clitoris to the entrance of her body. Need clawed her, breaking down every thought until she was reduced once again to a whimpering creature.

She craved penetration. No matter how coarse such an idea was, she wanted him to thrust deep and hard into her sheath. Reaching out, she found his shoulders and pulled him nearer. The head of his cock pressed against her sex hot and hard. She muttered approval while he teased the entrance of her body once again. It was impossible to remain still. Her body began lifting to that finger, desperate to take it deeper. Inside her passage, the walls were sensitive and alight with more pleasure just from being touched.

“Forgive me, Bridget, I would save you this small pain if I could.” His words were too soft for all the yearning churning inside her.

Her hands became claws on his shoulder, her fingernails biting into his skin. “Enough. I am not so delicate like a child. I am a woman grown.”

He chuckled, his chest rumbling. “What you are is my woman!”

Curan’s hands cupped her hips, closing around them in a grip that was as solid as steel. He closed the remaining space between them until she felt the hard touch of his cock against her slit. Her folds were wet, allowing his rigid erection to slide easily between them and into the opening of her sheath.

Hard and hot, his flesh pressed against her, finally breaching the thin membrane and stretching her body until pain pinched her along every point of contact. She would have shifted away, but his grasp held her in place for the invasion. He paused when she drew in a harsh breath, her fingernails digging in deeper.

“Finish.” She hated being suspended in that moment of dread. Lifting her chin she stared into his eyes. “Now.”

His eyes glittered, his lips pressing into a hard line in response to her words. His hands renewed their grip on her hips before he withdrew from her body. Relief swept through her, but it was nothing compared to the longing she had for him to return.

“As you wish.”

The words might have been designed to be conciliatory, but he punctuated them with a firm thrust that didn’t stop partway into her. His hard flesh penetrated her deeply, and he held her steady while his cock burrowed into her. Pain burned along every inch of contact, her passage becoming a hotbed of torment that stole her breath. Her muscles drew tight, her back arching away from him, but there was no escaping his grasp.

The pain receded almost as quickly as it had begun. She dragged a deep breath into her lungs and gasped when she realized how deeply her fingernails were clawing into his shoulders.

“Leave them. I enjoyed sharing the moment with you.”

“You are coddling me by saying such a thing.”

Curan chuckled again. It was a rich, male sound that struck her as somewhat wicked.

“I am not coddling you, Bridget.” His hands released their grasp and massaged her hips for just a moment before resuming their hold. “I am making you mine.”

He pulled his length free and thrust smoothly back into her. “Completely mine.”

Enjoyment edged his words. They were arrogant and possessive, but she was too distracted by how good his cock felt sliding against her clitoris to give her temper any attention. She shuddered, wanting him deeper, willing his thrusts to be harder, but her position did not allow her to move very much, only a slight tilting of her hips toward each plunge of his length.

“That’s the way, ride with me, Bridget.”

His words were whispered against her ear because she was pulling her body so close to his. Twisting her hands around his neck, her hips curled up to each thrust. Pleasure tightened deep in her belly, more intense than the last time he had touched her. This need was deeper, stronger, and she cried out with the desire to gain release from the mass of need consuming her.

Her lover did not disappoint her. Curan’s breath was harsh, and a soft growl issued through his teeth as his motions became more frantic. He thrust harder and faster into her body, his hands holding her hips in place for each penetration. He lingered deep inside her for a moment each time before withdrawing and thrusting once more. Her heart accelerated faster and faster until she was sure it would burst, but she did not care. All that mattered was the brightening flame of pleasure burning beneath the path his cock traveled.

Pleasure erupted deep inside her, spraying up to cover her in thick delight. She bucked toward her lover, pulling on him because she wasn’t close enough. Her thighs clutched at his hips to hold his cock deep inside her. Curan snarled and thrust hard a few final times before he stiffened, holding himself rigid as she felt his hot seed flooding her. That set off another ripple of enjoyment, her passage gripping his hard length while she shivered with enjoyment. No words could express this need to remain close to her lover.

Their skin was dewy with perspiration in spite of the night air. Bridget felt his heart hammering as fast as her own, and his breath blew past her ear. He shuddered, his larger body quivering just a tiny amount. Her own became limp, every muscle losing the ability to cling to him. She became grateful for the table and its support. To stand felt impossible. Little ripples of enjoyment ran along her limbs, with only a dull ache to mark where he had taken her innocence.

A soft kiss landed on her temple and then several more. They were mere whispers he trailed along her cheek and across the column of her neck before pulling his flesh from her body. A quiver went through her as pain pinched her sheath.

“It will not hurt like that again.”

She suddenly laughed at him. Even in the dark she noticed his eyebrow rise.

“You know so much about virgins, do you, my lord?”

He scooped her up, cradling her against his chest and walking toward the bed.

“I agree that I do not understand you well.” The bed shook when he laid her upon it. He pushed the thick coverlet over and leaned far into the bed.

“Yet that is a matter we shall discuss once the sun has risen.”

The bed shook once more as he left it. Tears pricked her eyes in spite of how ridiculous it was to feel lonely. She was not some child who needed cuddling. She listened to his feet making contact with the floor and forced herself to pull the coverlet across her body. When it touched her bare skin, she recalled that her chemise was lying on the floor somewhere. With a sound of frustration, she pushed the coverlet back off and sat up.

“Be still, Bridget, you sleep with me.”

“With you?”

The bed shook once more as he placed a knee upon it. He reached out and gently pressed her down onto her back with a single hand. Another quick motion and he pulled the edge of the coverlet over her once again.

“Your hearing is excellent.”

The light from the window didn’t reach all the way to the bed, and the curtains kept most of it out, but Curan was still outside the bed and she watched him lean over to prop his sword against the wall directly beside the bed. As soon as he finished, he rolled over to take the place beside her, lying on his back and stretching his feet out toward the footboard.

“Morning will come soon enough.”

He hooked an arm beneath her and pulled her alongside him. Bridget put her hands out to stop herself from colliding with him but might as well have saved herself the effort. He folded her into his embrace, even raising one of his knees between her legs to keep her near him. She ended up draped along his side, with one of his arms curled around her waist and the hand resting on her hip, while his opposite hand pressed her head down onto his shoulder.

She wiggled, uncertain how to respond. He sighed and pulled the coverlet over them both. She was suddenly so tired, but also keenly aware of how her body adjusted to lie comfortably against his. As though nature had designed the genders to lie just so after passion was satisfied.

Such a tempting idea …

Her body liked it well enough. Satisfaction was like the glow of fire coals on a winter night. Her body was basking in it. Curan shifted, his hand smoothing along her waist and hip.

“I need my chemise.”

“I disagree.” His hand wandered up to cup a breast. “You are not cold, and I enjoy the feel of you against me. I have marched an army across a border to feel you against me, Bridget, so be still.”

His fingers landed on top of her lips, sealing her next comment behind them. What was the use in arguing? The man was impossible when it came to changing his mind. She was too tired to attempt to coax him into agreeing with her anyway. Her body relaxed and demanded rest.

Curan did not sleep as quickly as his bride did. Yet that was not a burden. He listened to the way her breathing softened and felt her body become relaxed against his. He was in awe, his fingers lightly skimming over her skin just to test if she were real. Bridget had lived in his dreams for a thousand nights. Three years of thinking of this moment when they would at last be together. He did not begrudge his king his service, but he would be a liar if he did not admit to longing to lay his head down in his own bed with his family sharing the same roof.

Yet his bride was not content by his side. That tormented him. He remained awake, savoring the way she clung to him, for once the sun rose he would have to renew his struggle to keep her.

Chapter Eleven

Bridget jerked awake but discovered that she could not move. She was held in an iron embrace against Curan’s body. The window shutters were still wide open, and dawn was casting its first pink stain across the horizon.

A shuffle on the floor drew her attention to the one curtain that was still open.

“Sweet mercy …”

Her voice was a mere whisper, and the men standing in the chamber all averted their eyes. Synclair kept his gaze directly on Curan’s face, somehow managing to not look at her lying on his lord’s shoulder.

Curan suddenly released her and sat up. He tucked the coverlet behind him as he moved, shielding her nude body from his men.

“The proof you seek is on the table.”

The men all turned and moved almost in the same moment Curan spoke.

“Proof?”

Curan stepped into his pants that he must have brought alongside the bed last night, and pulled them up before looking back at her. His expression was cast in stone once again, making her wonder just who had slept with her so tenderly all night long.

“The stain will not be on this sheet.”

Stain … Her face turned scarlet and she cupped her hands over her cheeks, but couldn’t stop her gaze from darting over to the table. Synclair held Curan’s shirt up to the morning light. In the golden glow, the creamy linen was marked very clearly with a dark stain of dried blood.

“Fly it.”

Synclair wasted no time. His boots tapped against the floor as he walked toward the open shutter. He thrust the soiled shirt out into the morning light and a cheer rose from the yard below. Bells began to ring along the walls and even from the chapel.

Curan walked over to where Bridget’s chemise lay on the floor. Reaching down, he plucked it up and returned to the bed while his men became absorbed with looking out the window.

Her face burned hotter, if such a thing were possible, but there was no mercy in his dark eyes, not even a shred. Instead there was hard determination glittering back at her. He laid the chemise down where he had slept.

“We have ground to cover, Bridget. Synclair will wait for you with his back turned.”

Curan slid the bed curtain closed, and she heard his men walking back across the solar. Yet his warning rang, clear in her head. There would be no trust given to her.

With a sigh, she picked up the chemise and lifted it above her head. She had no right to expect anything else, but still it hurt to know she had a guard waiting upon her. She suddenly detested her father. Never once had she questioned his will, because she had been taught her entire life to be obedient to her sire, but today she felt her temper rise clear and bright against the man who could not seem to settle her future. Where was her reward for being a dutiful daughter?

Where was the lover you felt tenderly holding you in the darkest hours of the morning?

“Mistress? Are ye ready to rise?”

Bridget sighed. Reaching for the curtain, she pushed it aside and let the light chase away the last of her dreams. Illusions were for the night, after all, and the sun had risen now. Just as she had known it would. Her mother had warned her, and yet she had done all that she could to follow her mother’s advice.

A maid lowered herself before holding up her long stays.

“There’s too many eyes on ye, and that is for sure. Best to get dressed before we tend to yer hair, if ye don’t mind me saying so.”

Bridget slid her arm into the strap of the corset. “You’re correct.” Even if nothing else seemed to be right.

Her body ached, reminding her that Curan had done exactly what he wished, and there was no undoing of that now. She was his woman, even if her father might yet argue that she was not his wife. The maid was quick, and her gown settled into place before the sun had completely risen. There was little to do with her hair, save brush it until it was neat and then braid it. Tears prickled her eyes, because she would have enjoyed spending time lingering in naught save her chemise. The freedom was quite addictive as was the tender nature of her husband. She feared that she would not meet that side of him again.

“Lady Ryppon? Are you ready?”

Synclair used her title, and it snapped her back into the moment. Lady Ryppon, indeed. It was a mark of respect from the knight and not one used lightly.

“Yes.”

He crossed the solar and retrieved the shirt that was still flying from the window ledge. Bridget turned her back on it and headed toward the stairs. She heard Synclair hurrying to catch up to her and had to force her distaste down for being guarded. Raging against injustice had never changed it, and she knew that well. Her mother had sent for Marie just to show her a way around the imperfect world in which she lived.

It worked remarkably well, though … Curan does enjoy having his cock suckled.

She paused at the top of the stairs that led down into the courtyard in front of Laird Barras’s fortress. Yesterday’s long journey to the solar made her want to snarl for seeing the truth that she had in fact been taken on a merry parade designed to confuse her. Inside the stone walls, it had worked very well. She had never guessed that the exit was so near to where she was being kept.

It was a well-kept place, giving no credit to the rumors she had heard of Scots who wallowed in muck. There were no mounds of droppings or foul odors, either. The yard was not covered in cobblestone, such as Amber Hill, but the dirt was well packed and bore marks from being swept.

“Good morning to ye, Lady Ryppon. I trust the bed met with yer approval.”

Gordon Dwyre was a cocksure man, and no doubt about it. The Scot flashed her a bright smile that was followed by a bold wink. “Ye know, I’m quite taken aback by the fact that I did nae get to kiss the bride. A shame that is, considering ye passed the night beneath me own roof.”

“Find your own bride to kiss.”

There was a note in Curan’s voice that suggested he was jesting with the Scottish laird. There was no hint of playfulness on his face, however. He sat on top of his stallion looking every inch the commander. His armor was in place once more, even gauntlets covering his fingers.

Laird Barras shrugged. “From yer lips unto God’s ears. Go in peace, neighbor.”

A mare was led up to the base of the stairs. Clearly the animal was for her, for it was fitted with a sidesaddle to enable her to keep her skirts over her ankles. The courtyard was suddenly filled with the sound of armor plates hitting against each other as Curan’s men mounted. Horses snorted and danced with eager anticipation. Synclair offered her his hand to mount.

So now she was gifted with a horse?

The mare was soft brown and looked healthy. Keeping her chin level, Bridget gained the saddle with all the grace her mother had ensured she had. Bridget discovered herself grateful for lessons she had been forced to repeat over and over until she polished her skills, because today there were more than a hundred stares being directed at her. They were silent but judging looks that weighed her worth through her actions.

Taking the reins, she adjusted her skirts so that they were properly placed. There was only one set of eyes she was concerned with. She shifted her attention to Curan to find him watching her with that dark, keen gaze. He took a moment to survey the way she sat on the mare, judging her confidence. Approval sparkled in his eyes, and she discovered that she enjoyed knowing that he thought her capable in the saddle.

“I hope the mare pleases you.”

“Very much so.”

Formal and polished, their words might have been exchanged between strangers. Nevertheless she didn’t miss the fact that he had recalled that she did not care for being transported in a wagon. Some might suggest that she was clutching at anything to be satisfied, but she ignored those nagging thoughts. There would be plenty of days ahead to worry and battle suspicions.

For the moment she would cradle the idea that Curan had brought her a mare because he cared about her happiness. Something flickered in his eyes, and she smiled at him. His lips twitched, abandoning their firm line that she had become used to seeing on his face. A brief smile was the result, fading almost in the same moment that it had appeared.

Yet it was branded into her memory.

So what if the man had smiled at her? He possessed a disposition that was impossible to tolerate.

They reached Amber Hill before sunset. The ride had been quite enjoyable with spring in the air. The mare carried her smoothly, and she discovered a new respect being given to her by the men surrounding her. They inclined their heads when she looked at them now. Gone was the rather blatant desire to ignore her.

It really wasn’t fair that a woman’s virginity was so highly prized when you considered that most men were not virgins when they married. Still it pleased Bridget to know she had brought honor to Curan by being proved chaste.

All of her happiness ended abruptly when they entered the courtyard of Amber Hill. Curan tossed his reins to a young lad who hurried out to greet him. Before she had lifted her knee off the horn set into the side of the saddle to help keep her on the horse, Curan was reaching up to help lift her. His face was set in hard lines, firm resolve flickering in his eyes. He didn’t release her when her feet were firmly on the cobblestones. Instead, the man curled his hand around her wrist and turned with her in tow. He pulled her up the stairs that led to the first tower, ignoring the staff that lined the way. His manner irritated her because it reminded her of a child being taken inside for a whipping.

Her throat tightened. A man did have the right to beat his wife, and she had run from him. Everyone in the castle must know. The slight to his honor was unmistaken. Curan pulled her toward the stairs that led to the second floor, his longer legs making it necessary for her to scurry to keep up while he maintained his stony silence. Her skirts slapped against her ankles, threatening to trip her.

“Enough, my lord. You need not pull me along like an errant child.”

He turned to peg her with a sharp glare, but that was not enough to deter her. She yanked on her arm, her temper lending strength to her motion.

“Do you mean to say that you have not earned to be treated as such?”

“I do.”

He looked stunned. His lips opened slightly in shock.

“I have obeyed, obeyed, and obeyed until I am sick unto death of hearing what everyone else expects of me. It is far past time for the lot of you to come into agreement on just what is expected from me.”

Grabbing a fistful of her skirts, she yanked the fabric up past her ankles and took to the stairs. She didn’t know where his chambers were, but a scurry of footfalls on the third floor was telling enough. Gaining the third floor, she faced a set of double doors that were held open. The entire floor was the lord’s chamber. The doorway led to a candlelit entry chamber.

A wise choice considering their master stomped into his room behind her.

“Close the doors and be gone.”

He snarled his words at the remaining servants while yanking on one of his armor gauntlets. Bridget turned in a flurry of wool skirts and offered him no penance for her sharp words.

“You shall not temper my mood, madam. I marched an army across a border to retrieve you. Barras could have considered that an act of war.”

“And I have told you, my lord, that I am merely obeying my father. An action you told me you would not have me fail at, lest you discard me. I struggle to please both of you while suffering displeasure all about me.”

He threw the freed gauntlet onto the table and it made a loud metallic sound as it landed.

“Agreed. Your point is well founded, but you are my wife now, no longer just my bride. Obeying me takes precedence from hence forward.”

He stopped himself from throwing the second gauntlet. He dropped it while he struggled to regain his composure.

“Promise …” He shut his mouth and took a deep breath. “I understand that you were trying to respect your parents, but our union is celebrated now. Promise me, swear to me, Bridget, that you will stay by my side henceforth. Give me your agreement that this matter is settled.”

His eyes were bright, and a muscle along his jawline twitched. He flattened his hands on the tabletop. “I want your solemn pledge of honor, Bridget, nothing less.”

She was torn. Her anger dampened in the face of his willingness to accept her word. That was trust and not a thing that came easily for a man such as he.

“I do not know what to do anymore.”

His fingers curled on the tabletop. “Why not? You are my wife. Do I not deserve your loyalty?”

She wanted to give him what he sought, wanted to soothe his troubled expression. It was but a few simple words, but she knew they would be false.

“You know the ways of this world. There will be a cry from court if you keep me.”

“A matter you will trust me to shoulder, Bridget.” He straightened up, much of his anger clearing from his expression. “I ask you to settle into your place and allow me to shelter you as a husband should.”

She clasped her hands, trying to maintain her resolve. “And I ask you to recall that husband and wife should work together. That is the reason for marriage, the forming of a union.”

Triumph lit his eyes. “Exactly what I desire, a union between us. Give me your promise on the matter.”

“The chancellor could take everything you have earned from you.” She shook her head. “I will not be the cause of you losing all that you have battled to hold.”

Her voice trailed off, and her attention strayed to the bed. It was a huge one, with carved head-and footboards. Thick curtains hung from the canopy. Moving closer, she marveled at the fact that those curtains were made of velvet.

“Henry gave me that bed.”

She jumped because Curan was directly behind her. She had not heard even one step. His hands closed around her shoulders, gently keeping her in place while he leaned down to tease her ear with his lips.

“Henry Tudor.”

“The king?”

His hands gently rubbed her arms, sending little ripples of sensation down her body. Her skin became more sensitive, eagerly anticipating where his lips would touch next. Erotic anticipation began to burn along her neck at the sight of the bed.

“A gift given in honor of our wedding. Henry had it made by the very same family that made his own.” His lips closed around her earlobe, drawing a stiff breath from her.

“Look at it, Bridget. I have imagined you in it from the moment I laid eyes upon it. Swear that our marriage is true and binding in your thoughts, and we shall leave the past behind us.”

She suddenly understood how Eve must have felt. She was tempted, her resolve so weakened by his voice. It was rich with the promise of the lover she had known last night.

“Henry will not allow the chancellor to interfere in our union, Bridget, you must trust me on that.”

She pulled herself away from him, stumbling because of how fast she moved to avoid being held captive. Frustration showed in Curan’s eyes, but it was edged with determination, and he was not alone in that desire.

“I will not be the cause of your downfall. We must think of any children we might have.”

His eyes darkened. “There will be children. Be very sure that I will not allow you to sleep anywhere except by my side.” His lips curved up. “And there will be no chemise worn in my bed, I promise you that, Bridget.”

She believed him. Her cheeks colored, heating with a blush that told him how much she liked his declaration. He reached out and laid the back of his hand along the side of her face. It was such a simple touch, but she shivered in response.

“Swear to me, Bridget. I have no liking for this fight between us.”

“If I give you that promise, I condemn you to whatever wrath the chancellor wishes to strike out with.”

His eyes narrowed, and his hand fell away from her face. He hooked his fingers through his wide sword belt, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“So be it.” His voice was gruff with distaste. “You shall remain in this chamber unless you have my permission to leave it.”

Bridget stiffened, but he was not finished.

“Without your dress.”

“What?”

He offered her no mercy, only a hard expression. “I doubt that you will find it simple to slip across the yard without a dress, so you will disrobe and hand me your clothing. It will be stored elsewhere until you swear to me or I get a letter from your father ending this debate.”

“That is barbaric.”

“I consider it kinder than chaining you to the wall. Yet I would far rather have your word. The road is full of danger, Bridget; I will not have you risking yourself in some attempt to shelter me.”

“Because I am a woman?”

“Because you are my wife.”

She walked away from the bed, unable to quell her own longing for it. The man was unable to see reason when it was spoken plainly to him. She felt his eyes on her and turned to stare straight back at him. She watched a flicker of approval light his eyes, but it did nothing to soften his expression.

“Disrobe, Bridget. Do not make me handle you unkindly.”

“I make you do nothing, my lord.”

But she also recalled her first lesson from Marie, and the man had ordered her to disrobe …

Chapter Twelve

Raising her chin, Bridget stared into Curan’s eyes.

“I suppose there is little point in testing my strength against yours.”

Surprise flickered across his eyes, but suspicion remained. Lifting one hand, Bridget reminded herself to move slowly. Her heart began beating faster, and her senses became keener. She heard a pop when she undid the hook that held her over-partlet closed. Thrusting a finger into the opening, she traced her own collarbone while drawing the wool garment aside to reveal her skin.

“Is this what you wanted, my lord?”

She drew the over-partlet off her shoulders completely and walked toward another table that was near the fireplace built into the wall near a huge set of windows.

“I would prefer your promise and the removal of your gown.”

She offered him a raised eyebrow.

“You sound greedy. If I gave you my word, I would expect to keep my dress.” She forced her words to pass her lips slowly. Curan seemed willing to wait for each one as well. His eyes followed her every motion, no matter how small. She gently unbuttoned one cuff and then separated the fabric before shifting her attention to the matching one.

“I believe you shall have to choose. My word …” She trailed her finger along the newly exposed skin of her wrist. “Or my dress …”

He swallowed roughly.

The little response made her confidence swell. Heat began licking along her skin as she moved her hands to the hooks that held her bodice closed. The first gave way with a pop, and the next one, too.

“It’s rather chilly …”

She turned her back but peeked over her shoulder at Curan. His lips were pressed into a hard line, but another little pop told him that a third hook had been released.

“The fire feels quite nice against my skin.”

“You are toying with me.”

Another pop, and the shoulders of her dress began to sag down her shoulders.

“Such a critical thing to say, especially considering my very perfect compliance with your demand, my lord.”

She rolled the title and turned to display her half-open dress. Her corset was in plain sight, and his attention settled on the top of it, where her exposed breasts swelled up. Her fingers released the last two hooks, and she turned back to face the fire before allowing the dress to begin falling down her body. The garment caught on her hips, and she smoothed her hands down the length of her stays until she reached it.

“That courtesan taught you her tricks.”

The dress slumped to the floor, and she stepped out of it. Turning back around, she toyed with the end of the lace that held her corset tightly closed.

“Is there something wrong with my actions? You did tell me to disrobe. Am I doing a poor job of it? Shall I try again?” She bent her knees and lowered her body so that she could grasp the pooled dress.

“Leave it.” He blew out a stiff breath in response.

She straightened and pulled on the tie holding her corset closed. The cord gave way, and the weight of her breasts tugged the lace through the eyelets.

“You need not become cross, my lord. I am simply attempting to make certain that I understand your will.”

“I find myself very pleased with your compliance, Bridget.”

His fingers tightened on his belt but only for a moment. He grasped the end of the belt and tugged it so that the metal tongue that secured it loosened. With a practiced hand, he caught the entire belt and sword, lifting it up to place it on the table that was near the door. He reached up and unbuttoned the first few buttons that held his simple doublet closed. The sight of his shirt drew a memory of the previous night vividly to her mind. She cast her attention down as it planted ideas in her mind of how much she might enjoy being stripped again while he was with her.

He uttered her name in a husky tone that renewed her blush. His lips began to curve. “Dare I hope to be more pleased by your actions?”

She turned her back upon him instead. The lace holding her stays took only a few quick motions to pull loose. The garment instantly fell away from her body. A little sigh of relief rose from her throat as her chemise was allowed to float gently around her natural shape.

A pair of hands cupped her breasts in the next moment. Curan curled around her, leaning over her while his hands began massaging her breasts. Excitement twisted her belly, flooding her with hungry need.

“Perhaps a better question might be, may I hope to please you, sweet Bridget?”

Rapture flowed from his hands into her, the tender globes of her breasts rejoicing in their freedom and the soothing motions of his hands. He chuckled when she did nothing more than lean back to allow him to continue. Her body rejected any course of action that involved interrupting the delightful motion of his hands.

“I should have paid that courtesan, for she did me a favor in agreeing to instruct you.”

He pressed a kiss against her neck and then released her. A whimper rose from her throat as she turned to see where he was. The expression on his face was fascinating to her. There had not been enough light last night to see him clearly. Now, the candles spread their yellow glow over him, giving her an unobstructed view of the hunger dancing in his eyes.

“For she taught you confidence, and that is something that should never be mistaken for a challenge to my authority. Too many fathers demand timidity from their daughters.”

“I never expected a man to understand that.”

“There are many things that you and I still have to learn about one another.” His eyes traveled down her length, pausing on the junction of her thighs. “I have a few ideas on where to begin our study.”

She was tempted to bend beneath the demand that was flickering in his eyes. Her fingers worried the fabric of her chemise, and feeling the fabric between her fingers offered her a path to regaining dominance.

Grasping the fabric, she drew it up her body, baring her knees and thighs, and farther up until the fabric slipped over her head.

“Perfectly done.” His lips pressed into that hard line once again. “Perhaps too well done.”

She lifted one shoulder. “What was that you just said about not caring for timidity?”

He scoffed at her, but amusement danced in his dark eyes.

“Touché, my sweet.”

His hands moved to his britches. He made much faster work of opening the front of the garment, but she was no less captivated. It was a truth that she found his body pleasing to behold. His gaze remained on her the entire time, however, those dark eyes judging her response and possibly her nerve. His pants ended up being thrown away from him with no regard to where they landed.

The heat from the fire bathed her bare skin in warmth, but there was fire flickering in her belly. Knowing what his cock felt like deep inside her seemed to have removed all hesitation from her flesh. Passion sprang to life instantly and without any quibbling from her thoughts. Her nipples drew into hard points, and his gaze dropped down her body to linger on the two jewels. His face became a mask of hunger, and he pulled his shirt up and off with a motion that produced a soft tearing sound.

She did not get the chance to look at him. Curan closed the distance between them too quickly, his hands cupping her face before he claimed her mouth with a hard kiss. His lips demanded a response, and she did not deny him, could not deny him, for she was starving for his touch. Her mouth opened when his tongue teased her lower lip. The organ thrust deep into her mouth, tangling with her own in a dance that sent anticipation through her passage. Her hand reached for him, stroking over his hip and across his lean belly until she found his erect cock. Her fingers curled around the pole, delighting in the smooth skin.

He lifted his head but stood still while her hand stroked his length.

“You are more content in this marriage than you believe, Bridget.”

He released her face and scooped her up in his arms. She gasped at the ease with which he took her complete weight. There was no hint of strain on his face, only a very clear look of victory.

“Passion for the flesh is not something to offer praise for.”

“I disagree.”

He walked to the bed and laid her in the center of it. Satisfaction flickered in his eyes.

“Passion is something that is too often faked by courtesans, and much too often lacking in noble marriage beds.” He cupped one breast as his body stretched out beside hers. “And I intend to show you just how much hotter it may become.”

He leaned down to capture one puckered nipple between his lips. His fingers curled around the soft mound of her breast, raising the nipple up in offering. His mouth eagerly feasted upon the delicate tip, sucking it deeper into his mouth. She had never dreamed that a man’s mouth might be so hot. She twisted and arched while pleasure flowed down her body. His free hand smoothed over her chest and down across her belly until he touched the soft curls that crowned her mons.

“I believe it is time to show you how much I enjoyed your sweet lips around my cock last night.”

His words didn’t make sense, and her mind wasn’t very interested in focusing in order to understand. Bridget was much more interested in his hand resting so softly just above her slit. Hidden between the folds of her sex, her clitoris begged for attention.

“By returning the favor.”

Curan’s voice dipped down until it was nothing but a dark promise. She shivered, her mind offering up an idea that was intoxicating with its imagery.

“Men do not do such things …”

One dark brow rose to mock her. “Why not, sweet wife? Because Marie did not mention it? I will tell you why she did not.” He gently toyed with the curls his fingers were resting on, before his fingertips gently penetrated the moist folds of her sex.

“Men pay a courtesan and expect service for their coin, not to give service in return. You are my wife, and pleasuring you is a challenge that I do not intend to ignore.”

“But men cannot—”

She drew a stiff breath as his fingers found her clitoris. Pleasure shot through her so fast she could not complete her thought. Her heart suddenly pumped harder, feeling as though it was going to bruise against her ribs.

“Cannot suck? I assure you they can, if they want to hear their wife moaning in pleasure.” His finger rubbed over her clitoris, giving her no chance to form any retort. She was trapped by her own flesh’s desire to give over completely to his touch, his command.

“And I do.”

That dark promise returned to his voice. Her dropping eyelids opened wide to stare at his face. The promise was not just in his voice, it shimmered in the dark center of his eyes, sending a twist of anticipation through her.

“It must be wrong to … to …”

“Place my mouth on your slit while I tongue you?” He leaned down over her, trapping her on her back with his larger body. “The only thing wrong is the fact that we are talking when I should be letting action speak for me.”

The breath froze in her chest, and she bit into her lower lip, suspended between shock and excitement. Curan took advantage of her shock, sliding quickly down the bed and pressing her thighs wide to allow for his shoulders to rest between them. His finger left her sex and helped to pull her folds wide.

“Curan, you cannot.”

“I assure you I can.”

Bridget felt his breath hitting the wet skin of her open sex, sending a ripple of need through her passage that was so intense her hands clawed at the bedding beneath her. She twisted, but he placed a hand on her belly, pinning her hips with ease.

His tongue gently touched her spread flesh, and she jerked; the feeling was too intense to endure.

“Curan, I cannot suffer this.”

He didn’t answer her or grant her any reprieve. His tongue lapped her from the opening to her passage to the top of her slit where her clitoris throbbed. Her spine arched, her head leaning back as her eyes closed. Too much sensation came from where he was gently flicking his tongue over her flesh, slowly, little laps that made her think insanity was soon to claim her. There was no possible way to endure such abundance of pleasure without her mind snapping.

“Stop. Or I fear I will go mad.”

“Exactly what I hope for, Bridget. To hear you wailing in your pleasure-induced delirium.”

He returned to her spread body, this time fashioning his lips around her clitoris. Pleasure burned up her passage to twist and pull at her insides. He sucked hard on the little nub, applying his tongue to it as well. The delight was too intense. Her mind stopped commanding her. Instead her body twisted and pulsed, her hips lifting up to press harder against his mouth while her cries bounced off the chamber walls. There was no fending off the explosion of pleasure that tore through her. It bit into her belly while she clawed at the sheeting and cried out.

She forgot to breathe and ended up grateful for the bed supporting her. Her chest rose and fell at an alarming rate while her heart felt as if it was intent on hammering a hole through her chest. But none of that truly made much impact on her, for her body was still shivering in the glow of delight. This feeling sent little waves along her limbs while satisfaction bathed her clitoris.

“Exactly what I was hoping to hear from you, wife.”

Curan’s voice was edged with hard need. Bridget opened her eyes to discover him looking at her from between her spread thighs. His eyes practically glowed with his need. He was gently smoothing his hand along the tender flesh of her inner thigh. It was the perfect companion to the satisfaction that was slowly receding in her belly, but he moved his hand to her sex and thrust one thick finger up into her passage, rekindling her passion in an instant. This hunger was deeper and harder. The touch of his mouth against her clitoris wouldn’t satisfy the craving, and she knew that now. She hadn’t realized the difference the night he invaded the wagon and fingered her. Tonight her passage eagerly tried to grasp that finger, begging to be filled. She wasn’t completely satisfied and would remain unsatisfied until his hard cock consumed her once more.

Sitting up, she cupped the sides of his head and kissed him. Her own scent clung to his lips, but that did not deter her. She pressed a hungry kiss against his mouth, pushing him back onto his knees while she rose onto her own to keep their lips together. His hands reached for her hips, cupping each one in a strong grasp that pulled her up until the head of his erection brushed against her opening.

He lowered her onto his cock, the hard flesh easily penetrating her wetness. She was startled by the position and lifted her lips away from his.

“Did your tutor not tell you that there are many positions for lovemaking?”

She made a little sound of enjoyment as he pressed her all the way down. Her passage ached just a tiny amount as it was once again stretched by his hard flesh.

“I watched her ride like this.”

“You watched them doing this?” He growled his question, jealousy evident in his eyes.

“It was the best way to learn since actually trying my own hand was not permitted.”

“You are correct about that, madam. I would not have permitted another man to touch you.”

His hands tightened on her hips, confirming his jealousy, but she found it tender. Clasping her thighs on either side of his hips, she lifted herself up, rising off his cock and then lowering herself back down until she felt the entire length lodged tight inside her again.

“I learned that the woman can ride, not simply wait.”

He growled, but it was a sound rich with male enjoyment. “I begin to find my judgment softening.”

She rose once again and then began a steady motion of up-and-down strokes that sent rekindled desire through her. “I rather enjoy you being rigid with me.”

He chuckled through gritted teeth while his hands began to help lift her up and push her back down. “You have that effect upon me.”

A soft blush colored her cheeks, and he made a low sound beneath his breath.

“Your blush is touching, Bridget. Does it surprise you to know that we might tease about intimacies?”

“It does.”

Yet it was becoming much harder to concentrate on words. Her heart was racing again, and she wanted to move faster. She pressed herself down with more force and heard him growl softly with appreciation. Her thighs clasped him tighter, and still she wanted to be closer.

“I am done with teasing and waiting. I want you beneath me, taking my seed.”

He growled and pushed her back onto the bed without pulling out of her body. His chest pressed her down, but he clamped his hands on her wrists and pulled her arms above her head, stretching her body out while his hips began to pound against her.

The union was wild, and pleasure swiftly built under the hard strokes. The bed shook, but that only added to the fury of the emotions swirling deep inside her. She wanted to be thrown into the center of that storm, wanted to let it whip her flesh with its strength. Her hips rose to capture more of his hard flesh, her body straining against the hold he had on it as she tried to get closer to him.

She didn’t need to; he came to her, riding her with lightning-fast thrusts that drove deep into her. Pleasure broke like a thunderstorm, the deluge drenching her in seconds. The flood rained down over every inch of her skin, and she laughed with delight, marveling at the amount of sensation her body could feel. Her lover pumped his hot seed deep inside her while his chest labored just as hard as hers. He lay on top of her for long moments, when the only thing that she could hear was the sound of his breathing and the beat of both their hearts.

Her body was limp and content with the glow of satisfaction, her eyelids drooping as sleep lulled her away. Curan rolled over and pulled her along his side. She nuzzled against his shoulder, wondering in her fuzzy mind just how she had ever slept alone without his warm body to cling to.

It was the most perfect moment of her life.

Curan slept deeply. But his hand remained curled around her hip, keeping her against him. Bridget moved slowly to avoid disturbing him. The bed was like a sanctuary, a place devoid of all of the worries that had plagued her. Here there was only the way that he held onto her, even while he slept. Tenderness filled her heart, and she did not resist its sweetness.

The fire crackled; the large log that had been burning when Curan brought her into the room split in half to expose the red-hot coals it had been reduced to. But one large chunk rolled too far over in the hearth for her liking. Fire was always a danger and one that must be given attention.

Easing herself out of the bed, she moved slowly to avoid waking Curan. The floor was cold, but there was a thick rug set down near the hearth. Sinking down onto her knees, she used a thick iron poker to push the glowing log back where its heat might be enjoyed but not cause worry.

The room was still very much a mystery to her. The hearth was large and had a good chimney that drew the smoke up and out of the room. Large glass-pane windows ran along one side of the room, and a long table with several chairs occupied one wall. Her trunks were pushed off to one corner, and Curan’s own baggage was there as well. The more important items were stacked very precisely on the table. Things like his writing desk and his secretary’s box. The candles had burned down and died while they slept, but her eyes were adjusted, and the ruby glow from the coals made it possible to see.

A stack of parchments was there, too, and it drew her attention. The parchments lacked any sort of wax seals or ornate ribbons that might have indicated their importance as papers a commander needed to carry. Parchments that would have confirmed Curan’s authority with the king’s seal or something of that nature.

Instead these were folded, and the small wax that had once sealed them long since fallen away. In the dim light it was difficult to identify the papers, but something drew her interest. She stepped closer and lifted a hand to her lips to smother a gasp when she recognized her own pen strokes on the outside of one.

They were her letters to Curan, the ones she had written once they took the blessing on their union. Once a month, without fail, she had penned a letter to him and sent them off when the chance permitted. Sometimes that meant that two or three months passed before someone stopped at their country estate who might carry letters to London so they might be sent on to France.

She looked at the stack, and every one was there. The folds along the edges were worn, showing that the paper had been opened and refolded many, many times. The very fact that the stack was placed with his desk and secretary’s box was proof that he had held her letters in the highest regard. She was stunned down to her core. Never had she suspected that she meant so much to him. Suddenly, she saw all of his determination to see her brought to Amber Hill in a new light. Instead of possessive, she realized that he treasured her, her … not simply the union he had negotiated with her father. The letters would have meant little to him if his heart was not touched by them.

“Reading them kept me sane, when the campaign felt endless.”