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 pulled open by one of the knights standing outside. A little sigh of relief passed her lips when she saw her mother standing there.

“Good. You are awake.” Jane entered the room and turned to make sure the door closed completely behind her.

“I did not sleep long.”

Her mother came closer and took her by the hand. She led her to the far side of the chamber in front of the window.

“There is nothing I can do to stop Lord Ryppon from taking you.” Her mother scanned the men below. “In truth, I am not sure I should.”

“What do you mean?”

Her mother was pale. There was fear in her eyes Bridget could not recall seeing before, except for the brief time her brother had been ill and the physician suspected smallpox.

“Lord Ryppon claims there is a plot to gather evidence against the queen and that your father is helping those who would see her brought low.”

Bridget felt her own face drain of color. Her mother’s hands tightened around hers. Men made decisions that too often had terrible effects on the women in their families. If her father or brother became entangled in a scheme against the queen, the entire family would be stained. Their lands possibly forfeit. She and her mother would become beggars at the tables of their relatives.

“Lord Ryppon claims that the king is dying.”

That at least made sense. No one dared say Henry Tudor was dying. There were men who would try to gain the king’s favor by delivering anyone foolish enough to say such a thing out loud as a possible treason plotter.

That did not keep many from thinking that the king’s days were drawing to an end. Times were turbulent indeed. Henry’s only son was a boy too young to rule. That fact would plunge England into dark days filled with regents and noble families struggling for power. Marriage was a common way of uniting those powerful names, yet if the king discovered the vultures gathering to feast on what he left behind, Bridget doubted there would be any mercy in him. No man liked to admit his own mortality, and Henry Tudor would be no different.

“I cannot go to London.”

It didn’t matter if it was a disobedience against her father. Bridget felt her stomach clench at the mere idea of riding into the swirling plots circling the king. Only a fool sought such a fate, or a woman who was greedy for power. She had lived this long without it. Marie’s words rose from her memory.

Bridget stared at her mother. “I will not go there, Mother.” Her voice was edged with respect but full of determination.

“I do not believe that Lord Ryppon intends to allow you any choice on where you go, Bridget.”

That brought her a measure of relief. Her mother read it off her face.

“That does not mean you should celebrate your marriage, Bridget.”

Frustration filled her. “What is it you suggest I do, Mother? He has every right and an army to enforce his will.”

Her mother nodded. “I know. Yet I fear for you if you go to his bed. Your father has powerful friends. To lie with Lord Ryppon is an insult to Lord Oswald now that your father has given the man his word on a match between you.”

“Mother—”

“Forgive me, Bridget; I know I am making no sense.” Jane cast a look behind her to ensure they were still alone. “You should allow Lord Ryppon to take you north.”

Excitement flickered in her belly. Bridget looked down to conceal the unexpected response from her mother. But Jane cupped her chin and lifted it.

“Your cousin Alice is married to a Scot. Their land borders Lord Ryppon’s.”

“Of course, that is why father arranged this match.”

Her mother sighed. “Well, one of the reasons, Daughter. There are others, but it appears that your father feels those reasons have diminished compared to the gains he might secure with Lord Oswald.”

“You want me to seek Alice for sanctuary?” The idea sounded absurd, but she could think of nothing else her mother might be suggesting. Yet she had not seen Alice since they were children, and Scotland was not a place for an English noblewoman to venture into without a great deal of thought. As well as prayer.

Jane’s face lit with satisfaction. “Yes.” She pressed a small bag into Bridget’s hands. It was heavy with coin. “Use this gold to bribe Lord Ryppon’s men once you are on his land. Go by night, and your cousin will give you shelter. I will write to her today so that she expects you. Make sure you only bribe someone without a sword. If a man carries a sword with Sir Curan, I doubt his loyalty is for sale.”

Bridget looked at the small purse; it reminded her of a serpent because it would indeed give her the means to escape Curan. The memory of his kiss rose thick and hot from her mind.

A heavy knock made them both jump. It was loud enough to echo off the far wall of the chamber. Only a man’s fist made such volume of noise.

“Well now. Up with you, Bridget.” Her mother offered her a smile that she knew was false. It was the expression she used when hiding her true feelings behind a lady’s manners. Bridget responded with a similar one. Genuine approval brightened her mother’s eyes. Bridget savored the moment and tried not to think that it might be the last time she saw such.

“Lord Ryppon has called for you, Lady Bridget.”

The knights who had been guarding her door stepped into the chamber. Distaste for invading her personal room flickered in their eyes, but they did not retreat. Instead they halted a few paces into the room, leaving a space between them for her to pass.

“I will get your surcoat.” Jane turned to retrieve the garment from where Bridget had laid it across the foot of her bed. Tears stung Bridget’s eyes, and she turned to hide her moment of weakness from Curan’s men.

Grabbing her gloves, she pushed her right hand into one while blinking away her melancholy. When she finished, her composure was firm once more. Her mother held out the surcoat and helped ease the heavy wool garment up onto her shoulders.

“Remember what I have told you, Bridget, and all will be well.”

To the knights, her mother’s words were innocent. Both of them stood unalarmed and relieved to see her making ready to depart.

“I shall, Mother.”

Jane cupped her cheeks. “And do not forget your lessons.”

Bridget felt her cheeks color, but her confidence swelled, too. A naughty little smile replaced the polished proper one. Her mother returned it.

“I shall, Mother. Indeed, I shall.”

The man was insufferable.

Bridget stared at the inside of the wagon cover and allowed her lips to curl into a snarl.

A wagon. The man had her loaded and transferred like a sack of grain. It was an insult. There were horses aplenty, and yet she sat on the floor of a wagon bed. A bit of guilt pricked her. In truth, someone had gone to trouble on her behalf. A thick wool blanket was folded and placed beneath her. Two large bedding rolls were pushed against the sides to form a corner that was soft. They kept her from knocking her elbows against the hard sides while she was jostled about.

The cover was stretched over a rounded frame of poles. No one could see in unless she opened the corner near her. The sound of horses and men filled her ears. Bridget could hear the plates that made up their armor hitting against each other with every step of their mounts, swords clanging against belts, and the creak of the wagons. Even if she weren’t alone, the noise level was too high to compete with. There was little to do. She left the cover in place for the first hour, not trusting her discipline to witness the last sight of her home. It was better not to dwell.

Yet that left her battling with her temper. She adored riding, the wind chilling her cheeks and the feel of the powerful animal beneath her. Sitting in a wagon was dull and turning her stomach queasy. Even when she looked out, she could not see forward. A cloth sat near her with bread and cheese. It was good fare for traveling, but her belly protested. She sipped at the wine, but even that brought another threatening heave from her stomach.

Well, she did not need very much strength under the circumstances. A few missed meals would not be so difficult to bear. Once she reached Amber Hill that would change. She would need all her strength and more to cross the border into Scotland.

Should she?

The question occupied her thoughts for hours. The times were so perilous. A woman was nothing without her family. Wedding against her father’s wishes would not be wise. Such disobedience might even have an effect on her mother. After all, it was her mother’s duty to raise the children to respect the master of the house.

Bridget felt her throat tighten. Indeed, she could see that Curan would not be a man who would shoulder anything that was not to his liking, either.

She sighed and flipped the wagon cover up to look out. The line of wagons appeared endless, as did the number of men. Her mind had been set on the realities of becoming a wife, but she had never expected to feel so out of place when she departed with her groom. The movement of the wagon cover drew instant attention. These men were fresh from hostile soil, and they looked at her the moment her face was in sight. Their attention left her just as quickly, clearly making it known that they considered her their master’s possession, his personal property.

Was it respect? She honestly doubted. Still, the manner in which they looked away suggested that they were granting her an honor by not imposing on her modesty. That was chivalrous, something spoken of in legends.

Curan didn’t call a halt until the sun was almost gone. Light was meager, and his men hurried to build fires. Bridget gratefully scooted toward the end of the wagon. Her dress and surcoat bunched up beneath her, making it a frustrating journey.

But the need for a bit of privacy was far too pressing. She made it to the end and gratefully let her feet dangle over the edge. After the entire day her muscles were sore and reluctant to work. The moment she stood up, pain shot up her legs. She forced herself forward a few steps, searching the hordes of men clustered around her.

They did their best to ignore her, which suited her needs. Grasping a handful of her heavy surcoat, she climbed the steep incline away from the road. Amazement rippled through her mind when no one shouted at her.

Gaining relief from both her body’s needs had never pleased her so much, but once she finished she noticed that she was also free of the constant presence of being watched. Her shoulders were tense, muscles aching. With no one about, she lifted her arms and made wide circles with them to ease the strain. A little sound of delight passed her lips.

“My apologies for not allowing you a break to stretch.”

She jumped and spun around too quickly. Her surcoat and dress kept going even though she tried to stand facing her company. The motion of the fabric pulled her out of her steps. She stumbled twice before catching herself. Heat stung her cheeks as she looked straight at the amusement decorating Curan’s lips. Lifting her chin, she offered him a smooth expression.

“I assure you I am fit and able to endure, sir.”

The grin melted off his lips. Still a good ten feet down the embankment, Curan had one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. His fingers were curled around it, not draped in some casual display. His gaze cut away from her to sweep the area behind her briefly.

“You shall not endure long without eating, Bridget. Did you decide not to partake of what was given to you because I neglected to allow you some privacy to attend to your body’s needs?”

“No.” She answered too quickly.

One dark eyebrow rose. He took several steps toward her, his longer legs covering far more distance than her small steps did. Strange how she was aware of that. Her eyes were drawn to the way his body moved, powerful, almost mesmerizing.

He stopped a single pace from her. “The fare was not to your liking?”

“It was very well.” To say otherwise would be childish.

“Then explain why you did not eat.”

The man was clearly accustomed to being in command. He wasn’t asking; it was a command and one she was expected to quickly obey. Her eyes narrowed with annoyance.

“I should think that you would not care for a wife who complains.” Gripping the front of her surcoat, she took a step away from him and back toward the men she could hear just beyond the trees that shielded them.

Curan caught her upper arm. It was quick and the grip solid. A gasp escaped her before she mustered the discipline to contain her reactions. The ease he felt in touching her was unsettling. Years had passed since even her mother had been so quick to reach for her. Odd that she had not noticed the lack of human contact until Curan placed his hand on her. A tiny flicker of pleasure filled his eyes.

“What I prefer is a wife who answers me plainly when I ask her a question, Bridget.”

He was using her name on purpose, as a sort of demonstration of his claim on her. Determination flickered in his eyes, and her chin rose in response.

“Are you so set against our union that you intend to try to force me into returning you home out of pity because you will not eat? It takes a long time to weaken from hunger, lady. Longer than you think.”

“I thought no such thing.”

The grip on her arm tightened. “I am glad to hear you say so.” He held her steady and closed the remaining distance between them. With him so close, she had to tilt her head back to maintain contact with his eyes. What she witnessed in their dark centers sent a ripple of awareness down her body. Determination, hard and unwavering, stared back at her.

She pulled against his hold. It was an impulse—her body simply tried to escape without any thought. The attempt was a waste of effort. His hand remained firmly in place, and she heard a small sound of frustration from him.

“One meal is hardly cause for an interrogation. Release me and I shall sup as I intended to do.”

His forehead furrowed. “As you intended?”

“Quite so.” Now her voice was firm, her chin steady as she glared at him. “You are making far too much of such a simple matter.”

“Only because you seem so intent on denying me the truth of the matter. I see no reason why you cannot answer me directly.”

He released her, frustration darkening his features. The action surprised her, yet also threatened to shake her composure as well. She was far too aware of how warm his touch had been, too knowing of the fact that he chose to release her and that she was not strong enough to force her will upon him.

Or was she? Marie’s words suddenly rose to mind. Challenging Curan’s strength with her “strength” was unwise. Drawing a slow breath, she pushed her pride aside and sweetened her voice. She forced a soft smile onto her lips and lowered her eyelashes so that her eyes were partly veiled.

“It is only a trifle. What is a bit of bread and cheese when I have done little the entire day? For certain there are more important matters for your attention.”

He hooked his hands into his belt, his lips pressing into a hard line. “Do not try to placate me, Bridget. It was two meals missed, for you never broke your fast this morning.”

Stubborn man, so determined to have his way, but his keen observance of her was unnerving. This attention felt so intimate. Drawing a deep breath, Bridget continued smiling at him. His eyebrows lowered; the hands gripping his belt turned white.

“As you will. The wagon sways, sir. I have not been to sea since I was a girl, but I found the sensation quite similar. It was not so great a burden that I felt the need to delay the progress of your entire army by telling you that it unsettled my stomach.”

Surprise crossed his features at the simple honesty of her response.

“I am quite hungry now, I do assure you.” With another soft flutter of her eyelashes, she turned and resumed walking down the hill. It was a bold move, but she kept her chin level and her pace even. Marie had been confident and smooth. Still, Bridget felt his eyes on her.

She made the bottom of the rise, and the sounds of men talking grew. The horses were quiet now, the animals eagerly chomping on their feed. Smoke teased her nose, coupled with the scent of roasting meat. That smell drew a rumble from her belly, loud and long, betraying just how empty her stomach was. Now that she thought about it, she had not supped the night before, either. The scent of food actually made her quiver. Her pace quickened; the desire to make it through the last screen of trees became intense. Was there truly fresh meat? Her belly grumbled once again.

“We need more practice on how to deal with one another, Bridget.”

Curan spoke next to her ear. She felt his breath, warm against her skin, and shivered. He caught her once again, this time sliding a solid arm around her waist to stop her. He plucked her out of her steps and pulled her against his larger frame.

“I, for one, am most curious to discover just how well your confidence holds up when there is nothing to prevent us from being completely intimate.”

He stood flush against her back, his body hard and large behind her. Every little sensation intensified because she could not see him. The idea of him was far more powerful than the man she saw when facing him. Gooseflesh raced across her skin, and she couldn’t quite decide what to do with her hands. Her fingers released the fabric of her dress and sought out the hard arm holding her in place. But without gloves, her fingertips seemed more receptive. She felt his body heat through his clothing, and her hand abandoned his arm.

A soft chuckle shook his chest, and she recalled it from when she had bathed him. A moment later his fingertips gently stroked the bare skin of her neck.

“Uncertain, Bridget?”

Though his voice was teasing, the inference of his comment annoyed her. There was no thinking through her actions; she was too agitated by the proximity of his body. She jerked against his hold, her hand clawing at the arm imprisoning her.

“Of course I am. What think you? That I have been free with men?”

Her efforts to free herself were wasted. Too much strength rested in him, yet he controlled it, his embrace remaining solid without hurting her.

He stroked her neck again. She was keenly aware of each fingertip. Her own skin, sensitive to his lightest touch, bloomed with warmth under his touch. The chill of the evening quickly became soothing as her body heated.

“I wonder about what you have been doing with a courtesan.”

He spoke the words softly, but there was no mistaking the sharp edge to his tone. Bridget froze, standing still in his embrace.

“My mother told you about Marie’s lessons?”

He grunted, which was no true answer. A moment later she was free. She could still hear his men on the other side of the trees, but she was too curious to know the answer to her question, so she turned to look at Curan.

“Lessons? What sort of a mother has her daughter tutored by a courtesan?”

His tone implied that he disapproved, yet his expression remained unreadable.

“Why didn’t you ask my mother that question?”

His eyes brightened with his temper. “If I had known of it while still beneath her roof, I would have.” Thick determination edged each word. “My men found your teacher on the road, intent on spending another day instructing you.”

“Didn’t you ask Marie that question, my lord?”

His expression tightened. “She refused to speak upon the matter. So I ask you, Bridget. What manner of lessons were you taking from her hand?”

Even Marie’s soft instructions to stroke men’s egos didn’t keep Bridget calm. Her annoyance burned bright. Her neck was still warm and tingling where he’d stroked her, driving home how well he knew a woman’s body. Yet he was displeased that she might know a thing or two about how to touch him.

The arrogance of it all.

“Frank ones, sir. So that I would not find myself quivering like a ninny when my groom removes his nightshirt. Somehow I doubt that you are unaware of what I look like beneath my stays, and yet you stand there displeased by the notion that my mother made sure that I was ready to take my position as wife with confidence instead of dread. If that displeases you, set me back on the road home. I am sure you can find some bride who will sniffle like a frightened child, since that appears to be what men think they desire from marriage.”

His unreadable mask transformed into an incredulous expression. “You play the docile lady well, yet I see it is not your true nature.”

“If you do not wish to hear me speak plainly, do not address me in private. Be assured that I know how to appear meek so that the egos of my male relatives are not bruised while others watch.”

His lips curved up into a grin that was anything but comforting. Instead the expression sent a shiver down Bridget’s spine.

“Yet in private is the only true place for us to discuss what a courtesan taught you.” His eyes narrowed. “Show me.”

Bridget plucked at her skirt nervously. He was playful once more, but she couldn’t miss the warning bell ringing in the back of her mind. “I do not know what you mean.”

One of his eyebrows rose. “Show me what manner of instruction prompted you to stroke my cock.”

His words were intended to prod her into making a hasty confession. Bridget felt her face heat. She pressed her lips into a hard line as her hands fisted in the fabric of her surcoat. A memory of Marie and her steady poise rose to mingle with her temper. She rubbed her fingers against the wool fabric of her dress to distract her from her rising emotions. She needed her poise now, more than ever before, for this man was deadly accurate in the barbs he cast.

Bridget drew a slow breath before answering him. “Since it vexed you so, I will refrain from doing such again.”

Her words did more damage than any slap from her hand might have. For a moment his eyes were filled with yearning and disappointment. Yet he recovered quickly, a soft snarl coming from him.

“On the contrary, madam. I am looking forward to giving you ample opportunity to perfect your skill.” His face darkened, hunger drawing his expression tight. Had she truly affected him so? Part of her enjoyed thinking such. His dark eyes suddenly glittered.

“Be careful, Bridget. Look at me like that and you will not arrive at Amber Hill a virgin.”

There was thick promise in his tone, but also hunger. A soft laugh spilled out of her mouth. “Your mood appears to change rather abruptly, my lord. I find myself confused as to your will.”

“My will? My will remains unchanged.” He scanned her from head to toe, missing nothing. “I intend to take you home and to my bed.”

He was trying to shock her. Or perhaps test her was a better way to consider it. Challenge was etched into his features, and it drew a response from her pride.

“Ah, but I believe I am now unsure how you prefer me to behave once you have placed me where you will, since you appear unhappy about my dealing with Marie. Hmm … I suppose I can remain still and quiet.”

His lips curved up again. “Not unless you have the strength of Diana, you won’t.”

There was a smug confidence in his voice that taunted her, but it also reminded her of the look in Marie’s eyes. Bridget recalled the sultry confidence that had surrounded the woman when she was sharing intimacies with Tomas. Curan seemed to understand it, too, and the reason was plain—the man was no virgin. Bridget found herself battling envy.

“What do you mean?”

His lips parted to show her even teeth. It was a roguish smile and one that transformed his face into a handsome vision. Curan clicked his tongue in reprimand.

“What is this, Bridget? Playacting? Do you really expect me to believe that a courtesan neglected to divulge the knowledge of just how much pleasure a woman can experience?” He stepped closer, and she tipped her head back to keep their gazes locked. Something dark in his eyes beckoned to her, hinting of that final lesson Marie had promised her.

“I promise you, as my wife, I intend to make sure you experience as much delight as possible.”

Her mouth was suddenly dry, but she wanted to know what he meant, if it was that same thing Marie had promised to teach her but never got the opportunity.

“She said it would be better if I allowed myself to enjoy your touch …”

Her words trailed off into a whisper because her lungs were having trouble keeping up with the racing of her heart. Bridget looked away in order to sort her thoughts, but a large hand cupped her chin and brought her eyes back to his. Her cheeks burned at the probing intensity of his gaze, his dark eyes seeming to sear right into her thoughts.

“But she didn’t demonstrate any of those touches?”

Alarm raced through Bridget, and she jerked her head out of his grasp. “You mean upon me, with her own hands?” Revulsion flooded her, and she shook her head.

His arm captured her once more, sliding across her back to secure her against him.

“I am pleased to see that look on your face.”

Confusion needled her, and she spoke before thinking about how unwise her words might be. “Do you mean to say that she might have touched me?”

“Exactly as I have done, madam.” His arm held her steady when she would have jerked away. “Some women enjoy it. Even prefer it to a man’s touch.” His eyes flickered with hard resolve. “I wonder if you do.”

“She did not touch me. Save for a hand beneath my chin once. I did not enjoy it as I do your—”

She shut her jaw so fast her teeth clicked together. Embarrassment heated her cheeks, but what made her belly tighten was the flicker of heat in Curan’s dark eyes.

“Stop toying with me.” She was ashamed of how close her tone was to begging but could do nothing to change it. Her entire body was twisting and tightening with needs she was losing the ability to control. His eyebrows lowered.

“I do not mean to be unkind, Bridget. Yet I am as drawn to you as you are to me.”

He lifted her and moved her back until she felt the thick trunk of a tree pressing into her back. His huge frame held her against it while one of his knees boldly pressed between her thighs. His free hand smoothed down her body, over the curve of her hip and onto her thigh to grip it and pull it up.

“I find myself battling the urge to bind you to me.” He spoke through his teeth, his control clearly stretched thin. He pulled her thigh up until it rested against his hip, allowing his leg to press firmly against her sex. The fabric of her dress was no shield. At least not one up to the task of protecting her from the rush of pleasure that assaulted her.

You could couple in more positions than just on your back …

The position he held her in was enough to allow him to penetrate her right now, and she felt the night air brush her ankle as he began to tug her skirt up.

“Curan …”

“Yes, Bridget?” Her skirt rose higher, that cool air teasing her knee. She clamped down on the panic trying to flood her. It would be better to know what he intended; then she would not shiver while she waited to discover his will. Yet that did not mean she would simply bow to his command. She flattened her hands on his chest and listened to the soft snort that passed his lips in response to her touch.

“What do you want of me?” Her voice was firmer, and that gave her satisfaction. “Is it your intention to shame me in front of your men by lifting my skirts like a doxy?”

His hand fisted in the fabric of her gown. She could feel how tightly he gripped it, and her chin rose with defiance.

His face was becoming harder to see as night wrapped around them. In a way, the darkness deepened the mood gripping her, making it even harder to ignore the need pulsing through her. Though the night made it much simpler to surrender, her pride refused to remain silent.

“If you choose to challenge me, Bridget, be very sure that I will take up the gauntlet.” He pulled her gown up farther.

“I did not cast out any challenge, sir.”

His hand found the back of her thigh, skin against skin, and she gasped as hot sensation shot up her leg.

“Ah, but I disagree, sweet Bridget. Your very demeanor challenges me to claim you.” He smoothed his hand along the back of her thigh, sending little waves of enjoyment through her skin. Her breath felt almost too heavy in her lungs, and she labored to exhale.

“So the fact that I am not simpering like a foolish chit makes it correct for you to treat me disrespectfully?”

His face was hidden half in shadow, but she still noticed the tensing around his mouth as her words impacted him. His hand froze on her thigh, granting her a reprieve from the delight his touch inflicted on her.

“You are my wife. Touching you is my right; there is no disrespect.”

“Indeed, my lord? With my skirt hiked above my knees and my thighs on display to any of your men who cares to watch?”

She felt his fingers tightening on her thigh, but they relaxed almost as soon as she felt the tensing.

“None of my men would dare.”

“Or would they simply not admit that they were enjoying the sight, my lord? By the time you were ready to protect my modesty, they would likely have slipped away.”

Her words were bold, dangerously so, because now she was casting a challenge. Maybe it was the darkness, or the overwhelming need he provoked that made her want to allow him to do what he pleased with her…. Whatever it was, there was no tempering her words.

The hand on her thigh left, and her skirt fell back down to cover her legs.

“You are correct, Bridget. You are not a girl, but more of a woman. One that knows full well how to tease a man.”

His tone told her that was not a compliment. His breath was raspy, and he didn’t move away, but remained with his body pressing her tightly against the tree. There was a look in his eyes, one that told her he wanted her to feel his strength, know that it was greater than her own.

A shiver of what she now knew to be arousal skittered down her back, because she did indeed enjoy his embrace. He was her opposite, hardness opposed to her softness, and the contrast was alluring.

“I will look forward to a full rendering of your studies once we are encased in the privacy of my chambers at Amber Hill.”

His mouth captured hers in the dark, his lips boldly taking a hard kiss from her. But the shocking thing was how much she enjoyed the way he commanded her mouth, his lips pressing hers until they opened and he could thrust his tongue inside her mouth. The invasion drew an insane need to press her body against his. She didn’t want to be his prisoner; she craved something different. Her hands slid up and over the hard muscles of his chest until she found the top of his shoulders where her fingers might curl around and hold him. She tilted her head to the side so that their mouths might fit more completely against one another. A low growl rumbled through his chest before he cupped the back of her neck.

“Meet me, Bridget. Give me your tongue.”

Yes …

That was the only thought her mind seemed able to hold. Her mouth opened for his kiss, and she sent her tongue toward his, stroking along its surface. Another growl came from him, and he pressed her tighter against him. She could feel the hard outline of his cock against her belly, and it tore her away from the pleasure of the kiss. His hand left her head, smoothing along the column of her throat and down to boldly stroke the swell of her breast. Excitement made her shiver, and her nipple begged for his fingers to travel lower so that she might feel what it was like to have his hand on them.

You yearn for it so much …

She retreated, letting her body fall back against the tree instead of pressing so feverishly up against his, the force of her desire shocking her. Watching Tomas and Marie had not prepared her for how her body was demanding she allow Curan to claim her.

“Enough, Curan. We have agreed that this is not the place to …” Her voice was too husky, shocking her further, so she shut her lips while her hands gripped the rough bark of the tree behind her.

He allowed her retreat, but only a few inches. Her breath came in pants, but his was labored, too.

“I see that your tutoring did not include true kissing, even if you were shown what to expect.”

He drew in a deep breath and stepped back. “We will wait until we reach Amber Hill.”

Each word sounded as though it were forced through his teeth. But she understood why. Her entire body was pulsing with needs so great they were rapidly transforming into demands. She fisted her fingers in her skirts while fighting off the urge to reach for him once more.

She longed to, actually craved having their skin meet again. The urge to shed her dress and press against him pounded through her so loud and hard it drove almost every other thought from her mind.

“These … feelings. They cannot be right.”

Her words were a mere whisper, a vain attempt to regain some measure of control over the weakness that seemed to have taken command of her flesh. How did one kiss destroy so many years of practice and instruction on proper behavior?

Curan snorted. “I see why the courtesan was on her way to you again.” He reached out and clasped her wrist to draw her slowly away from the tree. With a turn he began leading her down the remaining distance to where his men were camped.

“She hadn’t finished your lessons.” He stopped just short of breaking through the trees and cupped her chin in a warm hand once again. To her starving senses, the contact was jarring and she shivered.

“I will look forward to introducing you to the pleasure intimacies can produce in a woman when her partner takes the time to make sure she is satisfied.”

Satisfied …

Curan was as far from that as possible. He stopped when they broke through the tree line and allowed his bride to leave his side. He had to hook his hands into his belt to keep from taking her back up into the night for enough privacy to relieve the ache in his cock.

Yet he did not suffer passion’s burn alone. That bit of knowledge drew a stiff breath from him while he watched Bridget make her way back toward the wagon she’d traveled in. Her step was hurried and her hips not nearly as steady now. Her poise was deserting her in the face of the flames licking her body.

It was astounding—the way they were attracted to each other. How had he missed it three years ago? He had chosen her for many reasons, always understanding that celebrating his union would be another duty required of him. Something stirred inside him, and he realized he was happy for the first time in a very long time. There weren’t many possibilities for personal happiness while earning his spurs of knighthood, or in the service that was required of him after he became a knight. The years since he’d left his father’s house to begin training stretched out in a cold trail of completed tasks. For sure, he had been proud the day he received his knighthood and likewise during the times he had ridden in the midst of other lords who respected him for what he had proven on the field of battle.

The feeling settled in his chest, and he stood still to enjoy it. Bridget climbed easily into the wagon in spite of her dress and bulky surcoat. He was rather grateful for the over-garment that hid her form from his gaze. It would seem his self-discipline was inadequate to the task of resisting her.

There was a confidence in her he admired. Truth was he had no patience for helplessness even if he had spent many hours tempering his judgment to expect his bride to need some coddling. His lips curled up. Somehow he doubted his bride would enjoy hearing his thoughts. She was stubborn, a trait he didn’t find at all repulsive. After all, he was not some polished gentleman of court. Amber Hill did not need a lady who was despondent over being denied the court atmosphere. They would not live without comforts, but there would be work aplenty for his new wife to see to.

Yet he wondered if she would be happy. He had little taste for dealing with those who could not adjust to the way things were. Too many times he’d seen noble sons sent off to earn the respect of their king by riding with him, only to hear them whine about everything that wasn’t up to their standards. Spoiled. There was no other word to place upon them.

Well, his bride was neither a child nor spoiled. He allowed the grin to remain on his face as he walked farther into camp. It was a fine day in spite of the circumstances that had almost seen him having to fight for his rights as Bridget’s groom. He would have fought for her, and the devil take whichever man thought to claim her away from him. Maybe the throbbing cock in his britches was a result of the years he had carried the image of her face in his dreams. On countless nights he had closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy the vision of her face, the way she moved or the shy manner with which she had sneaked glances at him. Now that he thought about it, the happiness warming his heart wasn’t very surprising at all. He had considered her his for three long years, enjoyed her in his dreams, and taken his only leisure while thinking of her.

They would both be happy. Her brazen kiss was proof of that. Stoking her passion would be the perfect place to begin demonstrating just how content she would be as his wife.

It was a situation he was eager to begin showing her.