Improper Seduction

by Mary Wine

  “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, su
rprising 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.