Improper Seduction (11 page)

Bridget truly tried to temper her thoughts and recall that appearing docile would serve her intentions best, but when Synclair or Curan did not appear at the rear of the wagon and the team continued to struggle, she lost the resolve to not challenge Curan’s authority publicly. Sliding to the edge of the wagon, she made sure her shoes were tied well before jumping to the ground. Her feet instantly became cold, but she turned and stepped out of the way of the mud being flung by the wagon’s wheels.

Horses snorted and jostled at her appearance, making the knights riding them struggle to control them. More than one annoyed glance was shot at her, but the grumbling was kept low. The felted wool of her surcoat absorbed the rain quickly, making it necessary to grip the front and hold it up to avoid tripping. The clouds were pressing down on them, creeping along the sides of the hills to promise her a long day of chilling rain.

“Get back into the wagon.”

Curan was angry with her. A side glance showed her an expression that was tight and inflexible. He held the reins of his stallion in one gloved hand while the other rested on top of his thigh in a hard fist.

“You will stay where I place you, madam.”

“I will walk, for I shall not add to the burden of the team pulling that heavy wagon. My legs work as well as any man marching under your command.”

“You have the concept of being under my command quite correct.” His words were still hard and edged with anger, but he shut his mouth before finishing. His gaze rose to the wagon and the way it sank into the mud. His lips turned white from
being pressed tighter, but his eyes were full of displeasure over her questioning of his will.

“I suppose I should admire the fact that you are wise enough to notice need around you. That is a good trait in a wife. Yet I do not favor your manner of acting on your impulses when it places you in jeopardy.”

“There is no danger here, only mud.”

His gaze settled on her, and one of his dark eyebrows lifted. In a smooth motion he slid from the saddle to land next to her. She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the water reaching her skin. He fell into step alongside her easily, while maintaining a firm grip on his stallion’s bridle. Another shiver went down her spine as she noticed just how much taller he was—her eyes were not even level with his shoulder. He tucked his chin to angle his face so that their eyes might meet.

“Be assured that there is plenty of danger on this road, Bridget. The Scots cross the border now that word has reached their ears that the king is nearing his final days.” He broke away and scanned the horizon. “Do you not wonder why I am being given permission to maintain such a large number of men?” He looked back at her. “I am being charged with maintaining the border. The Barras clan resides on the other side of the land that I call mine. Their clan laird would pay a large reward for you if someone were brave enough to attempt to snatch you away.”

“Are you saying you wanted to hide me inside that wagon?”

“Exactly. A ploy that has been rendered useless by your impulsive action.”

His tone attempted to condemn her as a foolish girl who should know enough to trust in the men around her, but Bridget held her chin level.

“Anyone intent on stealing me would already know that I
travel with you. A wagon cover would not blind them to my presence, which makes it ridiculous to burden the horses with my weight when I am able-bodied.”

He swept her from head to toe with a quick, yet efficient look.

“A simple boast to make when you have not yet spent hours in the rain.”

Her pride flared up, chasing the chill from her. “An easy enough matter to prove as well, Lord Ryppon, since I see no castle in front of me to announce the end of this journey.”

His attention was on her once more, and she shot a hard look straight into his eyes. A flicker of male enjoyment lit then, drawing a soft sound from her. Men made no sense. In one breath he demanded obedience, and yet he appeared to enjoy it when she refused his will.

No sense at all.

A soft chuckle teased her into returning her attention to his face. His lips were curved up now, smug male enjoyment making his expression far less imposing.

“You ruffle too easily, Bridget.”

He rolled her name, lingering over it as his gaze dropped to her lips.

“I wonder how well you shall rise to my suggestions when we are alone. Although I confess to looking forward to your rise in passion quite a bit.”

She jerked her attention away from him and set her sights on the road in front of her. “An unimportant question when we are where we are.” She cared not if she sounded surly; the man was being obnoxious.

“I find the topic drives away the chill, leaving me quite warm.”

She found herself agreeing.

In spite of wanting to shun him, she turned to fix him with
a narrow look. “Begone if all you want to do is toy with me. I have not practiced the art as much as you clearly have.”

The grin melted until his lips were a hard line once more. “Good.”

His tone was hard and edged with possession. He held her gaze for a long moment, and she felt the heat ripple across her skin in spite of the chilling rain. “I find the idea of you flirting with other men very displeasing.”

She laughed at him. There was no stopping the rise of amusement; not even the hard glint in his eyes was able to warn her sufficiently enough to remain silent.

“Ah, and yet you are so practiced in the art of, as you said … ruffling me. Where have you practiced such skills?” Bridget leaned closer so that her next words would not carry. “Perhaps with a courtesan?”

“How better to make sure I understand how to keep you satisfied in my bed, Bridget, than to take lessons from a woman who might instruct me on the very intimate details of her body?”

“That is—” Words failed her as she felt her face burn scarlet. He leaned even closer until she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes on his but stared at his mouth instead.

His kiss was intoxicating …

“My solemn promise to you.”

A moment later he remounted his stallion. Settling atop the huge animal, Curan resumed the role of commander. She clearly saw the change, actually felt it. The man who had been verbally sparring with her now hid behind the polished exterior of his command.

The transformation was complete, except a slight flicker of heat in his eyes. Deep in those dark eyes was a flame that promised he was not finished toying with her. In sooth, the man appeared to consider her his favorite plaything.

“We shall make Amber Hill sometime tomorrow.”

There was a finality in his tone that sent a shaft of fear through her heart. She cast her attention forward and heard him make a sound of frustration before the stallion moved away.

Tomorrow.

So close and unavoidable. It felt as if someone had their hands locked around her neck, squeezing and tightening their grip until she couldn’t breathe. That idea persisted the rest of the day. With nothing but rain and mud to look at, her thoughts churned like the swollen rivers they crossed. It grew colder the farther north they traveled, but it wasn’t the location she dreaded. It was the groom who intended to claim her on the morrow who was the source of her concern.

Crawling into the wagon at dusk, she gratefully took shelter in it. Curan’s men sought out the trees, pulling the lower branches down to drape oilcloth over to form crude tents. The blanket of leaves that had fallen beneath those trees last fall gave the men a drier place to pass the night. They scraped aside the moist top layer, and soon there was the scent of smoke in the air. She did not have a fire, but the wagon was by far drier than anything else. Bridget pulled her shoes off and even stripped off her stockings because they were soaked. One of her trunks was sitting near, and she was able to open it slightly. The cover prevented her from raising the lid very far, so she reached in to pull what she might from inside. A chemise came out first, and then a light dressing gown. While she wouldn’t have normally considered wearing so little while surrounded by an army, the night was cooling down rapidly. Getting out of her wet dress was imperative before she caught a chill. Reaching up, she untied the flap that would cover the back of the wagon and act as a curtain to give her privacy.

Removing her dress proved difficult. Her fingers fumbled
the hooks, and the knot in her laces stuck tight. She couldn’t help but notice the difference between the practice disrobing she had performed for Marie and the struggling efforts she had to use to strip the wet garment from her. She shivered when her bare skin was exposed. A quick look at the tail of the wagon showed her that the curtain was still in place. Tugging on her wet chemise, she pulled the wet fabric over her head. She used the linen cloth that had covered her supper last evening to dry off as best as possible. Her teeth started to chatter, and she clamped her jaw tight to keep them still. Even lightweight clothing that was dry would be welcome. Besides, she could use the bedding to provide the additional warmth she craved.

“Lady?”

Synclair’s voice came through the curtain, sending Bridget beneath the blankets before she even had the dressing gown tied.

“You may lift the flap.”

Pulling the covers up to her chin, she watched the knight use one hand to open the flap. He still wore his helmet for the protection it might provide him.

“It is cold fare, but I found you a bit of wine to cut the chill.”

“I am grateful, but you need not pamper me, sir.”

“You are not alone. Lord Ryppon has opened the stores to ease the aches this rain brings.”

So Curan was a generous lord. Somehow she found that bit of information heartwarming. Synclair pushed a wooden tray toward her. A wineskin was sitting in it, too.

“Good evening, lady.”

The knight offered her a quick nod before the flap fell back into place and she was left in privacy.

She was being kept in luxury and felt a surge of guilt for the dry wagon bed at her disposal. Her intention to flee made her
unworthy of such comforts, for they were being provided to her because she was the mistress.

In the bowl, her fingers found little droplets of water clinging to the bread and beading on top of the thick slice of cheese. Feeling the little drops of water made her realize that she was dry for the first time since leaving the wagon that morning. While it was still cold, the air lacked the bite of winter ice, making her count her blessings that they were not traveling in the dead of winter. Having anything to eat was welcome; even simple fare would be filling and a comfort to enjoy. The wine truly did chase the chill from her nose, warming her cheeks, while the bedding helped relieve the bite of cold from her feet. Her legs ached from pulling her feet out of the mud all day long. A throbbing pain bit between her shoulder blades from the weight of her soaked surcoat hanging on her shoulders. She shied away from thinking about getting back into her wet clothing at dawn. Better to enjoy the warm, dry bed, even if it was hard against her back. She slipped into sleep but found dark eyes watching her there.

Eyes that flickered with passion while they came nearer. She felt his hands on her, first only a single brush of fingertips and then his entire hand stroking her until she yearned for his possession. She twisted away but couldn’t escape her own passion. It slithered across her skin, giving her no reprieve until she threw herself out of the bed she lay in.

She hit a hard body and opened her eyes to stare into pitch blackness.

“What troubles you, Bridget?”

“Curan?”

“Aye. No one else would dare approach your bed. Even if you did cry out.”

His voice was husky and edged with concern. There was also a hint of tenderness she did not expect from the imposing
man. Her hands pressed flat against his hard chest while she tried to decide if her nightmare was over or simply beginning.

“What are you doing here?”

The arms around her shifted, moving her so that she was once again lying on the bedding that was unrolled inside the wagon. Curan was beside her, propped on his side, but his larger body dwarfed hers, and she was keenly aware of it.

“As I said, you cried out. Softly, yet ‘twas enough to carry past the wagon cover.”

He stroked a hand over one side of her cheek, sending a shiver down her chest and across her breasts.

“I am well.”

She wasn’t, but keeping her voice lower disguised that fact. A soft grunt brushed her ear before she felt the press of his lips against her temple.

“You are not.”

One large hand pressed down in the center of her chest, directly over her heart. There was no hiding the frantic pace of it, but it was the feeling of having his fingers so close to her nipples that sent her rolling away from him. She was keenly aware of how simple it would be for him to touch one of those soft tips. It was almost as if she longed for it.

“I am, and know myself better than you do.” She tried to sit up and push him away from her. She needed some space between them for her mind to begin functioning once more.

He snorted softly and pressed her back down.

“I know that you enjoy my touch.” His words were edged with frustration now. “So lie still, Bridget, and do not act as if you do not like my hand upon you. No one sees us, and there is no other way to begin my education of you, for you are correct—I do not know you well enough at all.”

“You said you would wait until we reached your holding.”

“To possess you, yes, I would wait until we have a bed beneath us. A maiden deserves such respect from her groom. That does not mean I will not begin the process of learning more about you before then.”

He found her mouth in the darkness, claiming her lips with a hard kiss. She was suddenly aware of how thin the dressing gown was and how exposed her natural shape was to his hand. Strangely, his kiss was perfect coupled with the darkness encasing them, as though she had never truly understood what the night was made for. The dark hours were crafted for veiling lovers, the lack of light allowing her to feel every touch more deeply. Without her sight, her skin was aware of each touch, each stroke. She noticed what his skin smelled like and detected the scent of rainwater clinging to his hair. So many little details suddenly grabbed her attention. She turned her head and drew in a deeper breath that brought the scent of new spring grass with it. She could smell the faint traces of bread that clung to his fingers where he held her head in position for his kiss. But most of all, she noticed how warm his lips were against hers, the way they slid across the tender surface, producing a friction that was sweetly enjoyable. His weight was even pleasing. Part of her enjoyed knowing that he had her pressed down for his pleasure. Hidden deep within her own thoughts was some unexpected longing to feel him completely on top of her.