by Mary Wine
“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 s
ide 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.
