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.”