Improper Seduction Bundle with In the Warrior's Bed, Bedding the Enemy, & In Bed with A Stranger

by Mary Wine

Genres: Historical Fiction; Medieval Romance; Scottish & Highlander

Synopsis

Improper Seduction Lord Curan Ramsden is home from war, and eager to claim his betrothed. And he arrives just in time–his bride's father has summoned her to London, to wed another man. But Bridget's father promised her to Curan, and Curan means to have her. Especially now that he sees the luscious young woman she has blossomed into. He'll just have to convince Bridget, somehow, that her heart is more important than her duty... Bridget Newbury has always done her duty–to her parents, to the church, to the man they selected as her betrothed. She knows what could happen if she disobeys her father. The king has put nobler women to death for lesser trespasses. But she was promised to Curan first, and his kisses are very tempting... In the Warrior's Bed Cullen McJames will not have his honor sullied, certainly not by his clan's nemesis Laird Erik McQuade. So when McQuade tells the Court of Scotland that Cullen has stolen his daughter's virtue, Cullen steals the daughter instead. Since his brother wed a fetching lass, Cullen's been thinking he too needs a wife. A marriage could end the constant war between the clans. And looking on Bronwyn McQuade but once has put her in his dreams for a week... But Bronwyn won't go quietly. She won't be punished for what she did not do. Nor is she eager to live among the resentful veterans of McQuade wars. And however brave and beautiful a man Cullen may be, he has much to learn about a woman's fighting spirit. But as Bronwyn will discover, he has much to teach her as well... Bedding the Enemy Laird Keir McQuade is a newcomer to his title, and has much work before him to restore the McQuade honor. Finding a wife is an excellent start. He's duty-bound to go to court and swear homage to his king anyway, a perfect opportunity–were not court women trussed in stupid fashions and corrupted with false mannerisms. Of course, not every lady hides behind a powdered face... Helena Knyvett may be a daughter of the aristocracy, but in truth she is little but a pawn in her brother's ploys for power. Her smallest acts of defiance carry a heavy price. But one honorable man among a crowd of dandies could give her all she needs to change her fortunes–and set her free... Among the ruthless ambitions of England's powerful, love at first sight is a dangerous game. But the treachery, scandal, and treason that follow can unleash as much passion as it does adventure... In Bed with A Stranger Brodick McJames is an earl in name only. To secure his clan's future he needs an English wife. Mary Stanford, daughter of the Earl of Warwickshire, will suit perfectly. He's never met her, but what matter? She'll grace his bed eventually, and once she bears his child he need see her no more. Anne Copper looks just like her noble half-sister, but she was born illegitimate, and can never forget it. The best she can hope for is to stay a serving girl in her own father's house. But when Lady Mary finds herself betrothed to a Scot, it seems there's a use for Anne after all... The woman who arrives in Alcaon is not what Brodick expects, and the passion that grows between them promises far more than a marriage of convenience. When fate draws two together, it may take more than a noblewoman's plot to part them...

Release date: January 1, 2011

Publisher: Kensington

Print pages: 966

Sample

Lincolnshire, March 1546

Her mother was nervous.

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

“Good morrow, Mother.”

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

“Good, you are here.”

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

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

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

“I have word from your father.”

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

“A marriage has been arranged for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were young and obedient to your father.”

“It was only three years ago.”

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

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

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

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

“He is widowed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve heard of such women before.”

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

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

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

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

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

“The subject of seduction.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now you try.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good. Now you try it.”

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

And produce heirs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe too much so.

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

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

Marie kept her word.

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

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

Jane scoffed. “That is a fact.”

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

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

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

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

“Cunning?”

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

“Will these lessons displease my husband?”

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

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

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

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

“Stay here and be silent.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope so, this was a long ride.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Confidence is the key to enchanting a man …”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think so?”

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

“I came to touch, not watch.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bitch.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck me.” Tomas sounded impatient.

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

Marie drew a stiff breath and lifted her head.

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

“I am glad to hear you say so.”

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

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

“You may come out now.”

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

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

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

“I will return tomorrow for your final lesson.”

What more is there?

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

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

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

Yet now she packed for a journey to court.

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

Now they would go to Lord Oswald.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, mistress.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Curan.

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

“Mistress Newbury, I greet you.”

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

“Sweet Christ …”

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

“Take yourself upstairs, Bridget.”

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

“Delay that.”

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

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

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

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

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

It was a polite statement, devoid of true emotion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yet—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet I wonder if he would still enjoy being Frenched …

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

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

“Save your pleading, madam.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He is very busy with serving the king.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But my father—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you want to lie with him …

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

Was that arousal?

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

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

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

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

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

“I am going below to bathe.”

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

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

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

“Who has come to help me?”

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

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

She didn’t have to remain.

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

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

“Unless you are too timid, Bridget.”

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

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

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

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

“Is that another warning I should heed?”

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

“It is not.”

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

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

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

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

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

Soon enough …

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

“I enjoy your hands on me, Bridget.”

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

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

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

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

The touch of his lips against them.

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

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

“Now my hair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do not know what you mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were being insulting, my lord.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have made your point, Bridget.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is not the custom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We are not completely wed.”

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

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

“You should not say such things.”

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

“I enjoyed it.”

Three words had never sounded so enticing before.

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

He turned with his shirt still untied.

“Finish dressing me, Bridget.”

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

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

“As you will.”

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

But he wanted to wash her back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was by far the most confusing thing.

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

His bride was a distraction.

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

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

Jane did not lower her eyes.

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

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

“I am aware of that.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I should have said marriage.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A wise rule to keep.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would bid farewell to my daughter.”

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

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

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

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

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

Curan was a confident commander.

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

A knock at her door startled her. Whoever it was did not wait for her to respond, either. The door was pul. . .