by Mary Wine
She laughed at him. There was no stopping the rise of amusement; not even the hard glint in his eyes was able to warn her sufficiently enough to remain silent.
“Ah, and yet you are so practiced in the art of, as you said … ruffling me. Where have you practiced such skills?” Bridget leaned closer so that her next words would not carry. “Perhaps with a courtesan?”
“How better to make sure I understand how to keep you satisfied in my bed, Bridget, than to take lessons from a woman who might instruct me on the very intimate details of her body?”
“That is—” Words failed her as she felt her face burn scarlet. He leaned even closer until she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes on his but stared at his mouth instead.
His kiss was intoxicating …
“My solemn promise to you.”
A moment later he remounted his stallion. Settling atop the huge animal, Curan resumed the role of commander. She clearly saw the change, actually felt it. The man who had been verbally sparring with her now hid behind the polished exterior of his command.
The transformation was complete, except a slight flicker of heat in his eyes. Deep in those dark eyes was a flame that promised he was not finished toying with her. In sooth, the man appeared to consider her his favorite plaything.
“We shall make Amber Hill sometime tomorrow.”
There was a finality in his tone that sent a shaft of fear through her heart. She cast her attention forward and heard him make a sound of frustration before the stallion moved away.
Tomorrow.
So close and unavoidable. It felt as if someone had their hands locked around her neck, squeezing and tightening their grip until she couldn’t breathe. That idea persisted the rest of the day. With nothing but rain and mud to look at, her thoughts churned like the swollen rivers they crossed. It grew colder the farther north they traveled, but it wasn’t the location she dreaded. It was the groom who intended to claim her on the morrow who was the source of her concern.
Crawling into the wagon at dusk, she gratefully took shelter in it. Curan’s men sought out the trees, pulling the lower branches down to drape oilcloth over to form crude tents. The blanket of leaves that had fallen beneath those trees last fall gave the men a drier place to pass the night. They scraped aside the moist top layer, and soon there was the scent of smoke in the air. She did not have a fire, but the wagon was by far drier than anything else. Bridget pulled her shoes off and even stripped off her stockings because they were soaked. One of her trunks was sitting near, and she was able to open it slightly. The cover prevented her from raising the lid very far, so she reached in to pull what she might from inside. A chemise came out first, and then a light dressing gown. While she wouldn’t have normally considered wearing so little while surrounded by an army, the night was cooling down rapidly. Getting out of her wet dress was imperative before she caught a chill. Reaching up, she untied the flap that would cover the back of the wagon and act as a curtain to give her privacy.
Removing her dress proved difficult. Her fingers fumbled the hooks, and the knot in her laces stuck tight. She couldn’t help but notice the difference between the practice disrobing she had performed for Marie and the struggling efforts she had to use to strip the wet garment from her. She shivered when her bare skin was exposed. A quick look at the tail of the wagon showed her that the curtain was still in place. Tugging on her wet chemise, she pulled the wet fabric over her head. She used the linen cloth that had covered her supper last evening to dry off as best as possible. Her teeth started to chatter, and she clamped her jaw tight to keep them still. Even lightweight clothing that was dry would be welcome. Besides, she could use the bedding to provide the additional warmth she craved.
“Lady?”
Synclair’s voice came through the curtain, sending Bridget beneath the blankets before she even had the dressing gown tied.
“You may lift the flap.”
Pulling the covers up to her chin, she watched the knight use one hand to open the flap. He still wore his helmet for the protection it might provide him.
“It is cold fare, but I found you a bit of wine to cut the chill.”
“I am grateful, but you need not pamper me, sir.”
“You are not alone. Lord Ryppon has opened the stores to ease the aches this rain brings.”
So Curan was a generous lord. Somehow she found that bit of information heartwarming. Synclair pushed a wooden tray toward her. A wineskin was sitting in it, too.
“Good evening, lady.”
The knight offered her a quick nod before the flap fell back into place and she was left in privacy.
She was being kept in luxury and felt a surge of guilt for the dry wagon bed at her disposal. Her intention to flee made her unworthy of such comforts, for they were being provided to her because she was the mistress.
In the bowl, her fingers found little droplets of water clinging to the bread and beading on top of the thick slice of cheese. Feeling the little drops of water made her realize that she was dry for the first time since leaving the wagon that morning. While it was still cold, the air lacked the bite of winter ice, making her count her blessings that they were not traveling in the dead of winter. Having anything to eat was welcome; even simple fare would be filling and a comfort to enjoy. The wine truly did chase the chill from her nose, warming her cheeks, while the bedding helped relieve the bite of cold from her feet. Her legs ached from pulling her feet out of the mud all day long. A throbbing pain bit between her shoulder blades from the weight of her soaked surcoat hanging on her shoulders. She shied away from thinking about getting back into her wet clothing at dawn. Better to enjoy the warm, dry bed, even if it was hard against her back. She slipped into sleep but found dark eyes watching her there.
Eyes that flickered with passion while they came nearer. She felt his hands on her, first only a single brush of fingertips and then his entire hand stroking her until she yearned for his possession. She twisted away but couldn’t escape her own passion. It slithered across her skin, giving her no reprieve until she threw herself out of the bed she lay in.
She hit a hard body and opened her eyes to stare into pitch blackness.
“What troubles you, Bridget?”
“Curan?”
“Aye. No one else would dare approach your bed. Even if you did cry out.”
His voice was husky and edged with concern. There was also a hint of tenderness she did not expect from the imposing man. Her hands pressed flat against his hard chest while she tried to decide if her nightmare was over or simply beginning.
“What are you doing here?”
The arms around her shifted, moving her so that she was once again lying on the bedding that was unrolled inside the wagon. Curan was beside her, propped on his side, but his larger body dwarfed hers, and she was keenly aware of it.
“As I said, you cried out. Softly, yet ‘twas enough to carry past the wagon cover.”
He stroked a hand over one side of her cheek, sending a shiver down her chest and across her breasts.
“I am well.”
She wasn’t, but keeping her voice lower disguised that fact. A soft grunt brushed her ear before she felt the press of his lips against her temple.
“You are not.”
One large hand pressed down in the center of her chest, directly over her heart. There was no hiding the frantic pace of it, but it was the feeling of having his fingers so close to her nipples that sent her rolling away from him. She was keenly aware of how simple it would be for him to touch one of those soft tips. It was almost as if she longed for it.
“I am, and know myself better than you do.” She tried to sit up and push him away from her. She needed some space between them for her mind to begin functioning once more.
He snorted softly and pressed her back down.
“I know that you enjoy my touch.” His words were edged with frustration now. “So lie still, Bridget, and do not act as if you do not like my hand upon you. No one sees
us, and there is no other way to begin my education of you, for you are correct—I do not know you well enough at all.”
“You said you would wait until we reached your holding.”
“To possess you, yes, I would wait until we have a bed beneath us. A maiden deserves such respect from her groom. That does not mean I will not begin the process of learning more about you before then.”
He found her mouth in the darkness, claiming her lips with a hard kiss. She was suddenly aware of how thin the dressing gown was and how exposed her natural shape was to his hand. Strangely, his kiss was perfect coupled with the darkness encasing them, as though she had never truly understood what the night was made for. The dark hours were crafted for veiling lovers, the lack of light allowing her to feel every touch more deeply. Without her sight, her skin was aware of each touch, each stroke. She noticed what his skin smelled like and detected the scent of rainwater clinging to his hair. So many little details suddenly grabbed her attention. She turned her head and drew in a deeper breath that brought the scent of new spring grass with it. She could smell the faint traces of bread that clung to his fingers where he held her head in position for his kiss. But most of all, she noticed how warm his lips were against hers, the way they slid across the tender surface, producing a friction that was sweetly enjoyable. His weight was even pleasing. Part of her enjoyed knowing that he had her pressed down for his pleasure. Hidden deep within her own thoughts was some unexpected longing to feel him completely on top of her.
It became impossible not to reach for him, her hands longing to seek out the warmth of his chest. Each fingertip ultra-aware of the moment when they made contact with him, first one and then another until her hands were resting lightly against him.
Bridget shivered, and he pressed her lips wide for a deeper kiss. The tip of his tongue slipped gently over her lower lip in a slow motion that sent ripples of sensation through her. He was tasting her, lingering over her lips like fine French wine. Her confidence swelled as she felt the power of her own attractiveness. Her jaw relaxed, allowing him to penetrate her mouth with a slow thrust of his tongue. It wasn’t the bold invasion she expected from him, but that did not mean it was soft. Steady and sure, he stroked her tongue with his until she mimicked his motion, kissing him back.
“Sweet Bridget, I must thank you for having mercy and giving me an excuse to join you. I confess I’ve been discarding reason after reason to come in here since you lowered the flap and shut me out.”
“I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
A low chuckle drifted over her. In the dark she felt it as much as she heard it. His fingers threaded into her hair, slipping through the strands to rest against her scalp and cradle her head. He turned her face up to his, but all she saw was a shadow. Her sight failed her, but her other senses were keenly aware of him. She could feel his warmth and smell his clean male scent. It sent her heart racing once more, as if she had fallen back into her dream and his arms.
“Yet you enjoy having me here as well.” His hand trailed down to rest over her heart once more. He tapped against her chest in time with the frantic tempo her heart was keeping. “The proof is plain. Besides, you should be happy that you have snared my attention.”
“Why? Because you believe that all women thirst for male admirers?”
He chuckled again, and his opposite hand moved, sliding gently over the soft mound of her breast. She shucked in a harsh breath, her body attempting to roll away from the sheer abundance of sensation that touch produced. But he denied her any escape, his body leaning over hers and the hand cradling her head keeping her firmly in place while his hand gently fingered her breast. Soft strokes made the breath freeze in her lungs.
“I think it is time I demonstrated just how much you may expect to enjoy being admired by me, Bridget.”
“You shouldn’t—”
“I disagree wholeheartedly.”
And he wasn’t going to continue to debate the issue, either. His fingers circled her breast, sending ripples of delight through the soft flesh. With naught but two thin layers of linen between his fingers and her skin, she felt the heat from his hand scorching her. A soft sound made it past her lips, but she honestly didn’t know if it was born of distress or delight. She felt suspended between the two emotions, but her body was rapidly losing the will to protest. She wanted to arch up and offer her breast to his grasp, to his will.
“I believe I made a grave error in leaving our union uncelebrated. The knowledge of how close I came to losing you sticks to my thoughts like tar. I find myself jealous of even the idea of another having you.”
His voice turned husky and deep, drawing her closer to him to ensure that she heard each word. She felt his breath against her cheek, and his hand closed gently around her breast. A soft sound came from her that she didn’t recognize as her own. The night air was no longer chilly, Curan’s body warming her until she was hot. Her racing heart warming her more completely than a summer day.
“Perhaps it was best, though, else I might never have been able to complete my duty knowing how sweet you sound with my hand upon you. Knowing how soft your flesh was might have turned me traitor to my king’s will just so that I might lie with you again.”
His hand moved away from her breast, and disappointment surged through her. A tiny groan came from her, but it became a gasp when he slid his hand beneath the neckline of her chemise. Delight raced across her skin, startling her with its intensity. Excitement twisted through her belly so tight she jerked with it. He controlled her easily, moving with her as though he understood what his touch was doing to her.
“You shouldn’t—”
“It would be a sin against the flesh nature gifted us with not to show you what delights await you as my wife.”
She lost track of what she was trying to forbid him to do as his hand cupped her breast. Skin against skin, it flooded her with pleasure. It seemed as if she were finally experiencing what her breasts had been created for. With them contained behind stiffly boned stays for years, she had never realized how much the mounds of flesh might feel.
“Disagreeing with you is becoming an enjoyable thing, sweet Bridget.” His thumb glided across the hard peak of her nipple, wringing another gasp from her. “I believe it is time to crush this desire you have to tell me no so often. Maybe you doubt my ability to make my bed a place you will eagerly look forward to sharing.”
“You mustn’t say things like that. What would the church say?”
He pinched her nipple, the harder touch shocking her with how much she enjoyed the sensation. She pushed against his chest, but it was more reaction than a desire to be free. Curan didn’t move; he remained solid and hard beside her, resting most of his weight on one elbow. His fingers remained closed about the hard point of her nipple, gently rolling the woman’s tip.
“I have followed their teachings and taken you as my wife. I expect the church to bid me well and leave me to enjoy my bride, in every manner I desire or you do.”
“Your words are far from humble and quite lustful.”
He grunted and tightened his hand on her breast. “You begin to know me better, Bridget. A task I believe we shall delve into deeper.”
His hand left her breast, and this time he grasped the tie that held her dressing robe closed. With a sharp jerk it opened, and he grasped the edge of her chemise to pull it down and bare her chest. She felt the brush of the night air against her hard nipple a mere moment before he leaned over her and captured the puckered tip between his lips.
Another cry crossed her open lips, but she was not intent on escape. Her body arched, offering her breast to his mouth. Sweet delight flowed from that point of contact, his mouth hotter than anything she might have imagined. His hand moved from cradling her head to the center of her back, where he lifted her to him so that he could suck more strongly on her nipple. The pleasure bit into her, sharp and hard, racing through her flesh to the spot hidden in the folds of her sex. A throbbing began there that sp
read to her sheath. It became a needy ache that made her twist, because remaining still was impossible.
She wanted to touch him, spread her hands over him just as boldly as she had witnessed Marie doing. There was no forcing herself to do it. She reached for the hard shoulders that her attention had rested on so frequently and muttered with enjoyment as her fingertips glided over the hard ridges.
His knee dropped over her thigh, locking one of her legs in place. He teased the hard top of her nipple with his tongue, lashing it with soft motions that set her heart racing faster. Her blood felt as though it were on fire, and she didn’t truly protest when he tugged her chemise up to bare her thighs. The cool air was a relief and so freeing, she shuddered. Her eyes opened, and she realized how overwhelmed she was. She wanted more than that, craved the same level of involvement she had seen Marie taking.
Curan released her nipple, and the night air turned it cold where her skin was wet. Slipping her hands up to his face, she held him cupped in her hands and lifted her head up to press a kiss against his mouth. He shook slightly, surprised by her boldness, and that filled her with confidence. She held on to him and pressed a firm kiss to his lips. He didn’t take command of it, only allowed her to push his lips apart so that she might deepen the kiss. His hand cupped her breast lightly, tenderly, before slipping down her body to her belly, where it rested.
Sensation twisted beneath that hand. An insane sort of excitement made her kiss him harder. Curan abandoned his relaxed demeanor, his lips meeting hers with equal passion while his hand ventured lower to where his knee kept her thighs slightly parted.
She gasped, and it broke their kiss. Knowing what happened between a man and woman did not completely prepare her for the first touch on the top of her mons. The throbbing increased, and she was suddenly aware of her passage being empty.
His cock would fill you …
It was a wicked thought, but her mind was filled with the memory of the way Marie had so confidently lowered her body onto Tomas’s hard flesh. Curan was watching her, trying to gauge her mood, but her expression was hidden in the dark. He kept his hand on her mons, as sure and steady as he did everything else. There was no retreat in this man, only steady, onward progress that would win the day.
