Raising her chin, Bridget stared into Curan’s eyes.

“I suppose there is little point in testing my strength against yours.”

Surprise flickered across his eyes, but suspicion remained. Lifting one hand, Bridget reminded herself to move slowly. Her heart began beating faster, and her senses became keener. She heard a pop when she undid the hook that held her over-partlet closed. Thrusting a finger into the opening, she traced her own collarbone while drawing the wool garment aside to reveal her skin.

“Is this what you wanted, my lord?”

She drew the over-partlet off her shoulders completely and walked toward another table that was near the fireplace built into the wall near a huge set of windows.

“I would prefer your promise and the removal of your gown.”

She offered him a raised eyebrow.

“You sound greedy. If I gave you my word, I would expect to keep my dress.” She forced her words to pass her lips slowly. Curan seemed willing to wait for each one as well. His eyes followed her every motion, no matter how small. She gently unbuttoned one cuff and then separated the fabric before shifting her attention to the matching one.

“I believe you shall have to choose. My word …” She trailed her finger along the newly exposed skin of her wrist. “Or my dress …”

He swallowed roughly.

The little response made her confidence swell. Heat began licking along her skin as she moved her hands to the hooks that held her bodice closed. The first gave way with a pop, and the next one, too.

“It’s rather chilly …”

She turned her back but peeked over her shoulder at Curan. His lips were pressed into a hard line, but another little pop told him that a third hook had been released.

“The fire feels quite nice against my skin.”

“You are toying with me.”

Another pop, and the shoulders of her dress began to sag down her shoulders.

“Such a critical thing to say, especially considering my very perfect compliance with your demand, my lord.”

She rolled the title and turned to display her half-open dress. Her corset was in plain sight, and his attention settled on the top of it, where her exposed breasts swelled up. Her fingers released the last two hooks, and she turned back to face the fire before allowing the dress to begin falling down her body. The garment caught on her hips, and she smoothed her hands down the length of her stays until she reached it.

“That courtesan taught you her tricks.”

The dress slumped to the floor, and she stepped out of it. Turning back around, she toyed with the end of the lace that held her corset tightly closed.

“Is there something wrong with my actions? You did tell me to disrobe. Am I doing a poor job of it? Shall I try again?” She bent her knees and lowered her body so that she could grasp the pooled dress.

“Leave it.” He blew out a stiff breath in response.

She straightened and pulled on the tie holding her corset closed. The cord gave way, and the weight of her breasts tugged the lace through the eyelets.

“You need not become cross, my lord. I am simply attempting to make certain that I understand your will.”

“I find myself very pleased with your compliance, Bridget.”

His fingers tightened on his belt but only for a moment. He grasped the end of the belt and tugged it so that the metal tongue that secured it loosened. With a practiced hand, he caught the entire belt and sword, lifting it up to place it on the table that was near the door. He reached up and unbuttoned the first few buttons that held his simple doublet closed. The sight of his shirt drew a memory of the previous night vividly to her mind. She cast her attention down as it planted ideas in her mind of how much she might enjoy being stripped again while he was with her.

He uttered her name in a husky tone that renewed her blush. His lips began to curve. “Dare I hope to be more pleased by your actions?”

She turned her back upon him instead. The lace holding her stays took only a few quick motions to pull loose. The garment instantly fell away from her body. A little sigh of relief rose from her throat as her chemise was allowed to float gently around her natural shape.

A pair of hands cupped her breasts in the next moment. Curan curled around her, leaning over her while his hands began massaging her breasts. Excitement twisted her belly, flooding her with hungry need.

“Perhaps a better question might be, may I hope to please you, sweet Bridget?”

Rapture flowed from his hands into her, the tender globes of her breasts rejoicing in their freedom and the soothing motions of his hands. He chuckled when she did nothing more than lean back to allow him to continue. Her body rejected any course of action that involved interrupting the delightful motion of his hands.

“I should have paid that courtesan, for she did me a favor in agreeing to instruct you.”

He pressed a kiss against her neck and then released her. A whimper rose from her throat as she turned to see where he was. The expression on his face was fascinating to her. There had not been enough light last night to see him clearly. Now, the candles spread their yellow glow over him, giving her an unobstructed view of the hunger dancing in his eyes.

“For she taught you confidence, and that is something that should never be mistaken for a challenge to my authority. Too many fathers demand timidity from their daughters.”

“I never expected a man to understand that.”

“There are many things that you and I still have to learn about one another.” His eyes traveled down her length, pausing on the junction of her thighs. “I have a few ideas on where to begin our study.”

She was tempted to bend beneath the demand that was flickering in his eyes. Her fingers worried the fabric of her chemise, and feeling the fabric between her fingers offered her a path to regaining dominance.

Grasping the fabric, she drew it up her body, baring her knees and thighs, and farther up until the fabric slipped over her head.

“Perfectly done.” His lips pressed into that hard line once again. “Perhaps too well done.”

She lifted one shoulder. “What was that you just said about not caring for timidity?”

He scoffed at her, but amusement danced in his dark eyes.

“Touché, my sweet.”

His hands moved to his britches. He made much faster work of opening the front of the garment, but she was no less captivated. It was a truth that she found his body pleasing to behold. His gaze remained on her the entire time, however, those dark eyes judging her response and possibly her nerve. His pants ended up being thrown away from him with no regard to where they landed.

The heat from the fire bathed her bare skin in warmth, but there was fire flickering in her belly. Knowing what his cock felt like deep inside her seemed to have removed all hesitation from her flesh. Passion sprang to life instantly and without any quibbling from her thoughts. Her nipples drew into hard points, and his gaze dropped down her body to linger on the two jewels. His face became a mask of hunger, and he pulled his shirt up and off with a motion that produced a soft tearing sound.

She did not get the chance to look at him. Curan closed the distance between them too quickly, his hands cupping her face before he claimed her mouth with a hard kiss. His lips demanded a response, and she did not deny him, could not deny him, for she was starving for his touch. Her mouth opened when his tongue teased her lower lip. The organ thrust deep into her mouth, tangling with her own in a dance that sent anticipation through her passage. Her hand reached for him, stroking over his hip and across his lean belly until she found his erect cock. Her fingers curled around the pole, delighting in the smooth skin.

He lifted his head but stood still while her hand stroked his length.

“You are more content in this marriage than you believe, Bridget.”

He released her face and scooped her up in his arms. She gasped at the ease with which he took her complete weight. There was no hint of strain on his face, only a very clear look of victory.

“Passion for the flesh is not something to offer praise for.”

“I disagree.”

He walked to the bed and laid her in the center of it. Satisfaction flickered in his eyes.

“Passion is something that is too often faked by courtesans, and much too often lacking in noble marriage beds.” He cupped one breast as his body stretched out beside hers. “And I intend to show you just how much hotter it may become.”

He leaned down to capture one puckered nipple between his lips. His fingers curled around the soft mound of her breast, raising the nipple up in offering. His mouth eagerly feasted upon the delicate tip, sucking it deeper into his mouth. She had never dreamed that a man’s mouth might be so hot. She twisted and arched while pleasure flowed down her body. His free hand smoothed over her chest and down across her belly until he touched the soft curls that crowned her mons.

“I believe it is time to show you how much I enjoyed your sweet lips around my cock last night.”

His words didn’t make sense, and her mind wasn’t very interested in focusing in order to understand. Bridget was much more interested in his hand resting so softly just above her slit. Hidden between the folds of her sex, her clitoris begged for attention.

“By returning the favor.”

Curan’s voice dipped down until it was nothing but a dark promise. She shivered, her mind offering up an idea that was intoxicating with its imagery.

“Men do not do such things …”

One dark brow rose to mock her. “Why not, sweet wife? Because Marie did not mention it? I will tell you why she did not.” He gently toyed with the curls his fingers were resting on, before his fingertips gently penetrated the moist folds of her sex.

“Men pay a courtesan and expect service for their coin, not to give service in return. You are my wife, and pleasuring you is a challenge that I do not intend to ignore.”

“But men cannot—”

She drew a stiff breath as his fingers found her clitoris. Pleasure shot through her so fast she could not complete her thought. Her heart suddenly pumped harder, feeling as though it was going to bruise against her ribs.

“Cannot suck? I assure you they can, if they want to hear their wife moaning in pleasure.” His finger rubbed over her clitoris, giving her no chance to form any retort. She was trapped by her own flesh’s desire to give over completely to his touch, his command.

“And I do.”

That dark promise returned to his voice. Her dropping eyelids opened wide to stare at his face. The promise was not just in his voice, it shimmered in the dark center of his eyes, sending a twist of anticipation through her.

“It must be wrong to … to …”

“Place my mouth on your slit while I tongue you?” He leaned down over her, trapping her on her back with his larger body. “The only thing wrong is the fact that we are talking when I should be letting action speak for me.”

The breath froze in her chest, and she bit into her lower lip, suspended between shock and excitement. Curan took advantage of her shock, sliding quickly down the bed and pressing her thighs wide to allow for his shoulders to rest between them. His finger left her sex and helped to pull her folds wide.

“Curan, you cannot.”

“I assure you I can.”

Bridget felt his breath hitting the wet skin of her open sex, sending a ripple of need through her passage that was so intense her hands clawed at the bedding beneath her. She twisted, but he placed a hand on her belly, pinning her hips with ease.

His tongue gently touched her spread flesh, and she jerked; the feeling was too intense to endure.

“Curan, I cannot suffer this.”

He didn’t answer her or grant her any reprieve. His tongue lapped her from the opening to her passage to the top of her slit where her clitoris throbbed. Her spine arched, her head leaning back as her eyes closed. Too much sensation came from where he was gently flicking his tongue over her flesh, slowly, little laps that made her think insanity was soon to claim her. There was no possible way to endure such abundance of pleasure without her mind snapping.

“Stop. Or I fear I will go mad.”

“Exactly what I hope for, Bridget. To hear you wailing in your pleasure-induced delirium.”

He returned to her spread body, this time fashioning his lips around her clitoris. Pleasure burned up her passage to twist and pull at her insides. He sucked hard on the little nub, applying his tongue to it as well. The delight was too intense. Her mind stopped commanding her. Instead her body twisted and pulsed, her hips lifting up to press harder against his mouth while her cries bounced off the chamber walls. There was no fending off the explosion of pleasure that tore through her. It bit into her belly while she clawed at the sheeting and cried out.

She forgot to breathe and ended up grateful for the bed supporting her. Her chest rose and fell at an alarming rate while her heart felt as if it was intent on hammering a hole through her chest. But none of that truly made much impact on her, for her body was still shivering in the glow of delight. This feeling sent little waves along her limbs while satisfaction bathed her clitoris.

“Exactly what I was hoping to hear from you, wife.”

Curan’s voice was edged with hard need. Bridget opened her eyes to discover him looking at her from between her spread thighs. His eyes practically glowed with his need. He was gently smoothing his hand along the tender flesh of her inner thigh. It was the perfect companion to the satisfaction that was slowly receding in her belly, but he moved his hand to her sex and thrust one thick finger up into her passage, rekindling her passion in an instant. This hunger was deeper and harder. The touch of his mouth against her clitoris wouldn’t satisfy the craving, and she knew that now. She hadn’t realized the difference the night he invaded the wagon and fingered her. Tonight her passage eagerly tried to grasp that finger, begging to be filled. She wasn’t completely satisfied and would remain unsatisfied until his hard cock consumed her once more.

Sitting up, she cupped the sides of his head and kissed him. Her own scent clung to his lips, but that did not deter her. She pressed a hungry kiss against his mouth, pushing him back onto his knees while she rose onto her own to keep their lips together. His hands reached for her hips, cupping each one in a strong grasp that pulled her up until the head of his erection brushed against her opening.

He lowered her onto his cock, the hard flesh easily penetrating her wetness. She was startled by the position and lifted her lips away from his.

“Did your tutor not tell you that there are many positions for lovemaking?”

She made a little sound of enjoyment as he pressed her all the way down. Her passage ached just a tiny amount as it was once again stretched by his hard flesh.

“I watched her ride like this.”

“You watched them doing this?” He growled his question, jealousy evident in his eyes.

“It was the best way to learn since actually trying my own hand was not permitted.”

“You are correct about that, madam. I would not have permitted another man to touch you.”

His hands tightened on her hips, confirming his jealousy, but she found it tender. Clasping her thighs on either side of his hips, she lifted herself up, rising off his cock and then lowering herself back down until she felt the entire length lodged tight inside her again.

“I learned that the woman can ride, not simply wait.”

He growled, but it was a sound rich with male enjoyment. “I begin to find my judgment softening.”

She rose once again and then began a steady motion of up-and-down strokes that sent rekindled desire through her. “I rather enjoy you being rigid with me.”

He chuckled through gritted teeth while his hands began to help lift her up and push her back down. “You have that effect upon me.”

A soft blush colored her cheeks, and he made a low sound beneath his breath.

“Your blush is touching, Bridget. Does it surprise you to know that we might tease about intimacies?”

“It does.”

Yet it was becoming much harder to concentrate on words. Her heart was racing again, and she wanted to move faster. She pressed herself down with more force and heard him growl softly with appreciation. Her thighs clasped him tighter, and still she wanted to be closer.

“I am done with teasing and waiting. I want you beneath me, taking my seed.”

He growled and pushed her back onto the bed without pulling out of her body. His chest pressed her down, but he clamped his hands on her wrists and pulled her arms above her head, stretching her body out while his hips began to pound against her.

The union was wild, and pleasure swiftly built under the hard strokes. The bed shook, but that only added to the fury of the emotions swirling deep inside her. She wanted to be thrown into the center of that storm, wanted to let it whip her flesh with its strength. Her hips rose to capture more of his hard flesh, her body straining against the hold he had on it as she tried to get closer to him.

She didn’t need to; he came to her, riding her with lightning-fast thrusts that drove deep into her. Pleasure broke like a thunderstorm, the deluge drenching her in seconds. The flood rained down over every inch of her skin, and she laughed with delight, marveling at the amount of sensation her body could feel. Her lover pumped his hot seed deep inside her while his chest labored just as hard as hers. He lay on top of her for long moments, when the only thing that she could hear was the sound of his breathing and the beat of both their hearts.

Her body was limp and content with the glow of satisfaction, her eyelids drooping as sleep lulled her away. Curan rolled over and pulled her along his side. She nuzzled against his shoulder, wondering in her fuzzy mind just how she had ever slept alone without his warm body to cling to.

It was the most perfect moment of her life.

Curan slept deeply. But his hand remained curled around her hip, keeping her against him. Bridget moved slowly to avoid disturbing him. The bed was like a sanctuary, a place devoid of all of the worries that had plagued her. Here there was only the way that he held onto her, even while he slept. Tenderness filled her heart, and she did not resist its sweetness.

The fire crackled; the large log that had been burning when Curan brought her into the room split in half to expose the red-hot coals it had been reduced to. But one large chunk rolled too far over in the hearth for her liking. Fire was always a danger and one that must be given attention.

Easing herself out of the bed, she moved slowly to avoid waking Curan. The floor was cold, but there was a thick rug set down near the hearth. Sinking down onto her knees, she used a thick iron poker to push the glowing log back where its heat might be enjoyed but not cause worry.

The room was still very much a mystery to her. The hearth was large and had a good chimney that drew the smoke up and out of the room. Large glass-pane windows ran along one side of the room, and a long table with several chairs occupied one wall. Her trunks were pushed off to one corner, and Curan’s own baggage was there as well. The more important items were stacked very precisely on the table. Things like his writing desk and his secretary’s box. The candles had burned down and died while they slept, but her eyes were adjusted, and the ruby glow from the coals made it possible to see.

A stack of parchments was there, too, and it drew her attention. The parchments lacked any sort of wax seals or ornate ribbons that might have indicated their importance as papers a commander needed to carry. Parchments that would have confirmed Curan’s authority with the king’s seal or something of that nature.

Instead these were folded, and the small wax that had once sealed them long since fallen away. In the dim light it was difficult to identify the papers, but something drew her interest. She stepped closer and lifted a hand to her lips to smother a gasp when she recognized her own pen strokes on the outside of one.

They were her letters to Curan, the ones she had written once they took the blessing on their union. Once a month, without fail, she had penned a letter to him and sent them off when the chance permitted. Sometimes that meant that two or three months passed before someone stopped at their country estate who might carry letters to London so they might be sent on to France.

She looked at the stack, and every one was there. The folds along the edges were worn, showing that the paper had been opened and refolded many, many times. The very fact that the stack was placed with his desk and secretary’s box was proof that he had held her letters in the highest regard. She was stunned down to her core. Never had she suspected that she meant so much to him. Suddenly, she saw all of his determination to see her brought to Amber Hill in a new light. Instead of possessive, she realized that he treasured her, her … not simply the union he had negotiated with her father. The letters would have meant little to him if his heart was not touched by them.

“Reading them kept me sane, when the campaign felt endless.”

She gasped again and shook her head. “But there is nothing in those letters save the simple words of a girl.”

Her husband merely lifted his eyebrow in response. “Each one was more valuable to me than gold.”

He hadn’t pulled anything from the bed to cover himself, appearing perfectly at ease in nothing save his skin and the glow from the coals. He offered her a rare smile, but the look in his eyes was very serious.

“I cherished them. Every word, every sentence. Reading them took me to where you were and where I longed to be. You took me away from the war that was pinching out lives for nothing more than greed. It was my duty to be there, yet I needed your letters to keep me from deserting.”

She reached for the stack, running her finger over frayed edges and even a few places where the parchment had cracked because it had been opened and closed so many times. They looked a decade old instead of merely three years. Her eyes filled with tears, for no man faked such longing. It was the sort of thing that words alone might never convey. Right there in the ragged edges was proof that his heart longed for her.

“I learned to love you through those letters, Bridget.”

“But you rarely wrote me back … Love me? You cannot mean such a thing. We are still strangers … having spent little time in one another’s company …”

He took the stack, and his face transformed into an expression of pure enjoyment, his fingers cradling the letters in a loving manner. This tenderness touched her because there were no words to describe it; only the sight was powerful enough to impart just how much he truly did value her letters.

“I marched my army into Scotland after you. That is my way of showing devotion.” He sighed. “It is a truth that I feared you would find my attempts at wooing you lacking. I am a man of action, not rhyming couplets. Yet the thought of buying verse from some poet to send to you made me jealous. I wrote each letter with my own hand. That was the best I could do.”

Many a noble knight paid for some other man to write his love letters. She realized instantly that she would far rather read the few, short ones he had sent her than any polished one bought like a beet in the market. The very fact that he had penned his letters himself sent tenderness through her. If she were naught but a mare to breed his children upon, he would have paid the poet and never considered the matter again.

“Action is not your only way of showing devotion.” She reached out and stroked the top of the letter bundle. Her heart was suddenly filled with joy. It sent her lips up into a broad smile. Love … she had so feared it and yet she had discovered that it felt wonderful.

“You prove it in many other ways, Curan.”

Too many wonderful ways to deny. The chamber suddenly became a place of comfort and solace. A place she did not want to leave no matter what judgment was cast onto her name.

“I promise that I will never willingly leave you again, husband.”

His face became serious, his keen stare cutting into hers, but she stood steady, without flinching, for she had never been more sincere.

“I swear it, Curan.”

He sat the bundle down and swept her off her feet a moment later, cradling her against his chest, his arms threatening to crush her with the amount of strength he used.

“I still want to keep you nude and locked in my chamber. But as a reward.”

He settled her in the bed once more, and she pressed her lower lip out in a pout.

“You seem to not understand how to respond to the gift of my promise to you. Locking me up is not a reward, my lord.” He pressed her back, clamping his hands around her wrists and stretching her arms above her head while his body settled on top of hers.

“And you, sweet Bridget, seem to not understand that I intend to be locked in here with you. With nothing to do save show you how very devoted I can be.”

“Ah …” She purred softly and gained a soft growl from him. “Now that is an altogether different proposal.”

His eyebrow arched. “One that you are interested in entertaining, perhaps?”

“If you promise to be entertaining, I am definitely interested.”

Someone pounded on the chamber door at dawn.

“Begone!”

Bridget smothered a giggle because her husband sounded gruff, but there was a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. He shot a glare at the door and pulled the bedding up around them to cover their bare bodies. His cock was hard against her thigh, and she raised her knee so that her leg brushed along it.

“I could become used to awakening at first light if you are in this bed with me, wife.”

He nuzzled against her, his lips pressing a warm kiss against her throat. He captured one breast and gently thumbed the nipple until it hardened. The pounding began once more.

“I said, begone!” He roared loud enough to wake the stable grooms.

The door opened in spite of his order, and a male voice clearing his throat caused her husband’s grip to flex against her breast. He muttered something against her neck before turning over to face his man. He yanked the bedding up to his shoulders so that she was covered.

“My apologies, my lord, yet I must speak with you.”

“Nay, you do not.” Curan rolled over, giving his back to Synclair. He trapped her leg so that she could not toy with him any further, but his hand returned to cup her breast and toy with the nipple again. Little waves of enjoyment began to ripple down her body, and her face heated to know that Synclair knew what his lord was about.

“We are observing the French custom of a honeymoon. Tell someone to bring us some honey mead on your way out, and tell everyone to leave us behind a closed door for the rest of the month.”

Synclair did not appear put off by his lord’s gruffness. The knight boldly entered the chamber, his face a mask of fury.

“Forgive me, Lord Ryppon, but you are requested below.”

Curan stroked her belly instead, his fingers sending little ripples of delight across her bare skin. She pushed at his hand, humiliation making her squirm.

“I am occupied, Synclair. I have given you the authority to act however you see fit. Use it to deal with whatever is below.”

A soft sound came from the knight, and Bridget peeked over Curan’s shoulder at him. Something flickered in Synclair’s eyes that looked like triumph, but he canceled it quickly, his lips pressing back into a hard line. He drew in a deep breath.

“We have messengers from court arrived.”

The hand teasing her belly froze, and she felt her husband’s body tensing.

“You have been summoned to Whitehall along with Mistress Newbury.”

Her husband rolled over and tucked the sheeting across her body in one swift motion. Synclair extended a parchment that Curan sat up and snatched from his hand. The bottom was fixed with a wax seal bearing the rampant lion of the king. But what sent ice through her veins was the clear ink spelling out her maiden name. The parchment crushed inside her husband’s fist.

“Ready my men.”

Curan spoke in a deadly whisper. His eyes glittered with outrage. Synclair did not hesitate but turned almost before his lord finished giving him his instructions. Her husband cupped her chin.

“I am sorry if you love your father, Bridget, for I believe I may have to kill him.”

Curan meant his words. Bridget saw the rage burning in his eyes throughout the day. She did not get the chance to try to reason with him. His men were obedient, but it was clear that they did not care for the order to set out onto the road so soon again.

They did it nonetheless and with less argument than she might have expected. Reluctance tugged on her as well, the sight of her mare being led around to the front steps of Amber Hill making her frown. Several aches suddenly complained loudly, making her grit her teeth in order to gain the saddle. They took to the road without conversation, the expressions of the men around her grim.

Bridget felt the weight of judgment pressing down on her. She could not say that she had not been warned. Could not argue that she had not known fully what to expect if she celebrated her union with Curan.

Yet she would not have it undone.

That truth burned in her heart. She loved Curan and could not obey her father any longer. Childhood was past now, but that did not give her comfort. Along with her newfound maturity came the knowledge that she might have to protect the man she loved from ruining himself. Curan deserved that from her. Her thoughts remained dark as the road stretched out in front of them. Curan took no wagons this time, only his mounted men. They covered the distance much faster without the infantry and archers.

All that much faster to take her where she did not want to go. Curan’s face reflected a similar sentiment, but he remained firm in the saddle, intent on answering the summons from his king. Witnessing how true he was to his honor only deepened her need to protect him. Love demanded no less.