Morning broke, but it was hardly noticeable. Dim light was the only thing the dawn offered. The rain had stopped, but the clouds massing directly above rumbled with thunder, making the horses irritable.

Everyone walked, including the knights, to avoid being thrown from the saddle by the powerful horses. They held on tightly to their mounts and led them up the road while lightning began to flicker. The only saving grace was the fact that it was not night. It was much harder to soothe a stallion during the dark hours.

Bridget’s first sight of Amber Hill was dreary, to say the least. The stone fortress rose up from the landscape, almost the same color as the black and gray storm clouds. The clap of thunder only seemed to add to the foreboding nature of the moment. Three towers were built near each other. A wide curtain wall connected them, and they reached up into the clouds to provide good sight over the Scottish border. Bridget shivered, certain she could hear the voices of generations past who had met their death along this disputed strip of land.

Her gaze shifted to the man who intended to take up the post of guarding this plot of English soil. Curan was back in the saddle, his powerful thighs gripping the stallion with confidence. No hint of unease marred his expression; in fact, the man looked smugly pleased while drinking in the sight of his home. His attention shifted to her, and a deeper shudder shot down her spine. Thunder cracked above them, and she had to fight the urge to make the sign of the cross over herself.

For certain she had never felt so threatened before. It was not fear of pain that sent that sensation rippling down her back; it was the memory of just how needy he had made her while wrapped in the dark cloak of night.

“We’ll be dry soon, Lady Ryppon.”

Synclair sounded glad even if he remained the image of a properly dutiful knight to his lord. Still, there was no disguising the note of relief in his voice. When Bridget glanced at him, she saw that pleasure flickering in his eyes.

“Forgive me, lady, I should have begun by telling you that Amber Hill is the fortress ahead of us.”

“I recognized that from the looks on the faces about me.”

His elation faded a bit, lines appearing beneath the edge of his helmet. “Returning home is normally a time of rejoicing.”

“Of course.”

He did not care for her lack of enthusiasm. His expression became tight, his lips pressing into a hard line.

“You will come to think of it as your home. Soon would be best.” He paused for a moment, clearly attempting to soften his comment since he was addressing a woman instead of a man. Obviously the knight had spent far more time in the company of men and found the task difficult. “In time you will adjust.”

“Of course.”

She did not care that she was repeating herself. The fortress standing so coldly in front of her resembled more of a prison, not an unusual thought considering that an army surrounded her, and the choice to enter was not resting in her hands. She might have been a stolen heiress instead of a negotiated bride. Someone watching would never know the difference.

She wasn’t sure if she wasn’t both, considering that her father had made the match.

She sighed, chastising herself for her thoughts. Railing against the way the world was would bring her no gain. Besides, she liked Curan well and good, and that was a solid truth. He was no old man who wanted young flesh, and he was no coward who paid others to fight in his place. He was absolutely everything that she should be thankful for in a husband. This acknowledgment made it doubly hard to recall why she had to stick to her course and deny him.

Synclair gave her the briefest of nods to accept her response before he mounted his horse and rode toward his commander. They made quite a pair, both men embodying the image of strength.

Her mood turned surly. It was not the rain or the fact that her toes felt swollen from being wet for two days. What needled her was the way the sight of Curan instantly revived the memory of what he had done to her last night. Her cheeks turned hot with a blush and her nipples began to tighten just from the thought of it. But what truly turned her mood dark was the fact that she recalled just how much she had wanted everything he had carried out.

There was no choice, not even control, Marie’s example seeming so impossible to reproduce within herself. The courtesan had always appeared in command, but Curan reduced Bridget to a weak and needy creature after nothing more than a few kisses.

But such hot kisses …

A soft growl made it past her lips. Amber Hill rose higher in front of her, darkening her mood further. She was torn between duty to her father and desire for Curan. Never once had she thought to be in such a dilemma. Only daughters who were foolish enough to get carried away in romantic verses full of love found themselves struggling to follow their fathers’ dictates when the time to become a wife was at hand.

Resentment boiled inside her for the position in which she found herself. She had been obedient. Even if the church would berate her for thinking harshly against her father, she still did. She desired Curan only because her father had made it possible for her to.

That is not so. You would have desired him no matter what …

She snorted again, annoyed by her own thoughts.

“I assure you, in spite of its exterior, Amber Hill is a modern building.”

Bridget jumped, startled by Curan’s deep voice. The man seemed to have materialized directly out of her musings.

“I do not doubt such.”

He frowned at her tone. “You would prefer a crumbling castle complete with a moat half full of century-old sewage?”

“What I would prefer—” Something gleamed in his eyes, and she shut her mouth. The man was baiting her.

One dark eyebrow rose. “Yes, my lady?”

He rolled the word “my,” giving the word more emphasis, and that pushed her demeanor over the edge into angry. It had been so long since she had allowed herself to be so unpolished that the burning emotions stunned her.

“Finish what you began saying, Bridget.”

Now he turned her name into a warning that further agitated her.

“I shall not.” She lifted her chin and shot him a full look of fury. It took him by surprise, his expression breaking the unreadable mask he so often wore when verbally sparring with her. She gained a glimpse at his true thoughts and the frustration lurking there. She found a measure of calm in the sight of that frustration because she felt just as unsure.

He reached down and plucked her right off the road like some Scottish marauder. A sound of rage got past her lips before she smothered it, drawing the attention of the men around them, and the guards jerked their eyes to Bridget and Curan while reaching for their swords, proving that the two days of rain had not stolen any of their sharpness.

They looked away even faster once they saw her lying across their lord’s thighs.

“Let me up!”

Bridget didn’t soften her words and did not care if Curan took offense. The man was insufferable. Since his saddle didn’t allow for her to roll toward the neck of the stallion, she ended up curled around his body with her legs flopping on one side of the horse and her head and arms on the other. Her wet skirts stuck to her ankles and calves, snapping with the motion of the animal.

She heard him make a sound that resembled a chuckle too closely for her comfort. She was past behaving the way everyone expected of her. Far past it. Planting her hands on his thigh she pushed her body up without concern for the fact that she just might end up in a heap for her efforts.

Curan did not take exception to her actions. Instead the man hooked her about the waist and lifted her up above the saddle, so that he might lower her bottom onto the saddle in front of him. She ended up sitting upright and riding sidesaddle with his hard body flush against hers. Her cheeks heated again, and that heat licked down her skin, touching all the places his hands and lips had the previous night.

“Are you more pleased now, Bridget?”

His tone was disgruntled, but it suited her mood well enough.

“Pleased that you haul me off the ground in front of your men like a whore?”

“More like a reluctant bride.” One of his arms was holding her in place against him, and it tightened with his words. “I treat you as your surly behavior deserves. Yet I wonder why you want to avoid my touch by using such comparisons. It sounds as though you wish to keep yourself from my touch completely.”

His eyes flickered with frustration, but shame made her lower her eyes. He was correct. She was using barbed words to attempt to place distance between them. Obedience to her father did not make her behavior less disgraceful. She heard him sigh.

“You are my wife. Your father has given his blessing to our match. Be at ease.”

“Not according to my father’s last letter home. Can you not see that I must question our union?”

His nostrils actually flared with anger, his gaze becoming so sharp it felt as if it might cut straight into her mind. But his lips curved in a sensual fashion, sending a pleasant shiver over her born from the memory of how they felt latched onto her nipple.

“And what of last night, sweet Bridget? Are you not my wife because of the way you let me taste your tender breasts and stroke your slit?”

His voice deepened until it was brassy and husky such as it had been in the dark. He leaned down close to her ear, and she felt his warm breath against her skin.

“You clung to me, and I felt you shiver when my hand gave you pleasure.”

I have …

Her body shivered, and he chuckled as he felt it. Along the side of her body that was flush against his, she felt the unmistakable rise of his erection.

“Only after you pressed your suit. It was not your bed I snuck into.”

He frowned but took a moment to raise his gaze to scan the horizon. His attention lingered on the fortress growing larger and more impressive with each jolt of the horse’s hooves. The hand resting over her belly tightened.

“It shall be my bed you lay in tonight.”

Hard certainty coated each word. Her temper resumed its fury as she became bone-weary of being considered his property. May the rest of the world be cursed, she did not care if it was the way her entire life was structured, she was sick of being a man’s chattel. Her mother’s lessons on poise and being clever suddenly became quite useful. Men did not know as much as they thought … at least not about women.

“I must disappoint you, my lord.” Her voice was smooth and devoid of anything that might be considered anger. “My monthly courses are due. I cannot possibly assume my position in your bed tonight.”

He growled at her, the arm lying around her contracting. Bridget raised an innocent look to him and actually enjoyed the appearance of frustration in his eyes. Let the man taste what it was like to be told what would be instead of informing her what he desired. A taste of humility would do him good.

“And why did you wait until now to tell me this?”

“You have given me little enough time to share conversation with you that allowed for personal topics.”

He ground his teeth. She could see the muscles along his jawline drawing tight. “You have had ample opportunity to mention something of that importance, madam.”

Bridget lowered her eyelids. She suddenly understood exactly what Marie had meant about her power over a man only being effective while he hungered for her. The hard cock pressing against her hip transmitted exactly how much appetite Curan had for her at that moment. Confidence filled her, and she lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug.

“I am not accustomed to sharing intimate details with anyone. It has even been years since I told my own mother when my courses were upon me. It is a private thing.”

“Not between husband and wife, it is not.”

He sucked in a hard breath, and she heard it whistle through his clenched teeth. “It is not something that I choose the time of. Why do you think that it is the duty of the mother of the bride to set the date of wedding celebrations? An experienced woman knows what details to confirm with her daughter.”

She raised her eyelids and stared him straight in the eye. Indecision flickered in his, but she did not lower her lashes and give him the opportunity to question her honesty.

“Are you positive, madam?”

She shoved her guilt down deep so that it couldn’t reach her expression and foil her plan. “It is not something any woman mistakes.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse. His body jerked, and he dug his heels into the side of the stallion. The horse quickened his speed, eagerly trying to cover the remaining distance to Amber Hill.

“You should place me back on my feet.”

His arm remained firmly in place around her.

“I believe I have heard enough of what you would have me do with you this day, my lady.” He gestured at his fortress. “I intend to have you seen sitting on my saddle when we ride beneath the gate.” Rich possessiveness coated his words. “At least that will leave no doubt as to whom you belong to among the inhabitants of my holding.”

She smothered a snort. But not quite enough. A chuckle rumbled through his wide chest, raising her ire.

“Still so determined to avoid taking your place, Bridget?” He leaned close to her ear once more. “I thought I proved my worth quite well last night. However, I shall be most happy to persevere and apply my full attention to the task of keeping you satisfied.”

She did not doubt him, and that sent another chill down her back, but it was followed by a flood of heat that touched off a yearning that chewed on her thoughts.

Staying sounded more enticing than ever. Her mental debate took far too much of her energy, leaving her almost relieved to see the gate growing closer. It was so tempting to simply surrender and allow Curan his way.

She still heard the warning in her mother’s voice, however, echoing inside her head and refusing to allow her to relinquish her misgivings.

Time was something she needed. Time in which to flee to her cousin Alice before she consummated a union that might just enrage her father. There was also the growing concern that Chancellor Wriothesley might seek retaliation against Curan for taking her. If the king truly was dying, Curan’s friendship with him would not protect him or her if she chose to celebrate their union.

So she would not, even if he could not see the wisdom in agreeing with her.

Disappointment raked its sharp claws across her heart. The pain was shocking, drawing a shudder from her. The arm around her tightened, the hard muscles securing her tighter against Curan. The first of his men reached the arched opening in the curtain wall.

“Welcome to Amber Hill, my lady.”

There was no missing the deadly edge to his words. Coupled with the imposing stone walls, despair closed around her like the thick clouds pressing down on them. But there was something else. A longing to have fate simply lift the burden from her by making it impossible to avoid being claimed completely by the lord holding her so securely against him.

That surely would bring disaster to them both, and her heart protested. Casting a last look at the hills rising up behind the thick stone walls, she set her thoughts on her cousin Alice.

She would go there soon. She had to.

The household was turned out in full force. The staff must have seen the riders approaching a good hour past because the inner courtyard was filled with servants. Bridget didn’t know where to look first. Amber Hill was quite a surprise. The inner yard was covered in stone. Neatly laid cobblestones and mortar filled in the space between the curtain wall and the towers. It was very modern and very expensive. Not many families spent the money to cover the inner yard, but it kept the mud from being tracked near the doorways and into the towers.

“Your staff awaits, my lady.”

“They await you.”

But they were staring at her and the way their lord had her clamped against his body. Maybe three hundred years ago, brides had arrived in such a manner, but today it was rather misplaced.

Curan didn’t appear to think so. The man looked quite pleased with himself, pulling up on his reins and keeping her securely in front of him while he turned to look at his men filling the courtyard behind them. He didn’t dismount until the last of them was through the gate.

“True enough.” His keen gaze returned to hers, and she stared at the heat smoldering there. By the look in his eyes no one would know that the man was sitting in the chill of an early spring storm.

“And I eagerly await being able to finish the task of bringing you to my home.”

“I am here.”

Bridget tried to slip from the saddle, but Curan held her in place with that strength that fascinated her. Feeling it was by far more enticing than just tracing the bulges of his shoulder muscles. Her belly twisted with excitement, and she wriggled away from him, but he didn’t allow her any space to avoid his embrace.

“Not yet, you are not.” He cupped her chin now that a younger boy had arrived to grasp the bridle of the stallion. His eyes focused on hers, cutting through all the reasons she had to leave him, and finding the answering flare of passion that flickered inside her in spite of her logical needs to leave him.

“My task will not be complete until I place you in my bed.”

She shivered, hot need licking across her skin. Her cheeks turned scarlet because she was certain every person watching them knew exactly what Curan was saying to her, no matter how low his voice was.

“Stop it. Someone might hear.”

He lifted one eyebrow, mocking her attempts to remain proper.

Bridget frowned at him but couldn’t quite stop herself from enjoying the fact that he found her attractive. She suddenly understood why women enjoyed flirting at court; it did stroke the ego quite well. “You are acting like a boy with a new toy.”

“Exactly what I intend, Bridget.” His eyes narrowed, and a hungry curve transformed his lips momentarily. “To play intimately with you as often as possible.”

Her eyes widened, but he released her and resumed his commanding stature.

“Yet such will be done in the privacy of our chamber, as befitting the mistress of my holding, because you are correct. I place too much of our relationship on display.”

He grasped her forearm and lowered her to the ground. Somehow the stallion seemed a lot taller as she was slipping over and down its velvety side. But Curan held her steady, his strength amazing her.

Her feet touched the cobblestones, and he swung his leg over the horse’s neck in a swift motion. She only had time to back up two paces before he was standing beside her. He captured her hand and kept her beside him as the stallion was led away, to leave them facing the assembled staff. Bridget lifted her chin. She was not unaccustomed to being alongside her mother when she addressed the servants, but Curan had a much larger household.

“What shall be done here is you and I making a united entrance into our home.”

There was a note of relief in his voice that surprised her. He was watching her face, and one eyebrow rose in response.

“Can you not believe that I am happy to be home, Bridget? I have been gone many years.”

At his words, she felt guilty because she had been laying her head in a safe and secure home while he was out serving his king—a duty that his wife would share the fruits of but none of the sufferings.

“Forgive me, my lord. You are correct. It must be delightful to be returned home.”

His eyes moved over her face, lingering on her features while everyone waited on them. Curan didn’t allow that fact to hurry him. He reached out and offered her his hand, with the palm up for her to lay her own in.

“It is very pleasing to bring you to Amber Hill, Bridget. I have spent many hours longing for this moment.”

Shame colored her cheeks for the promise her mother had extracted from her. She raised her hand and placed it against his. For just a moment, happiness surrounded them both. Tenderness shone from his eyes, and it touched her heart.

“Too many hours.”

He spoke beneath his breath, almost as though the words slipped out in defiance of his strict composure. He pressed his lips into a hard line and turned her to face his staff.

But her thoughts remained on his words for a moment. The tone of his voice intrigued her. He always appeared so strong that it was very humanizing to discover something so basic as a longing for home in him. This trait was also endearing in a manner that confounded her. She knew full well that the man desired her flesh, but those few words hinted at him needing her for something else entirely.

Something such as affection.

That opened up her heart, and it sent a sense of vulnerability through her. She felt exposed and in danger of having her heart broken by the man.

The thought was ludicrous. No sane person allowed themselves to fall into romantic love. It brought nothing but insanity. For someone in her position, romance would bring only misery. She had to cast the memory out of her thoughts and resist the urge to dwell on them.

Lined up in front of the main entrance to the largest tower were more than a dozen maids, all of them wearing matching livery of blue wool with topaz edging. Their hair was covered with linen caps, and there wasn’t a rumpled apron in sight. On the opposite side of the path leading to the tower was an equal number of male servants. Their doublets were buttoned to their collars, and every pair of boots was clean and reflecting the sun.

“May I present Bridget Newbury, my bride and your mistress?”

Every single head lowered. Bridget felt her resolve waver before the staff finished offering her their respect. Curan did not have to say she was their mistress. His bride, for certain, but most noble brides did not gain such public displays of respect until they had performed at least a few of their expected intimate duties. That tenderness returned to assault her heart, and this time it proved impossible not to notice how much the man was giving her.

And recall in vivid detail the fact that she had lied to avoid the duties that went with the position Curan was publicly announcing her in.

Shame wrapped around her as thick as tar. It felt impossible to keep her chin level with dishonesty dragging her down. Curan began leading her down between the waiting lines of his staff. A great deal of tension showed as they looked on their lord and new lady.

The head housekeeper stood at the base of the stairs, a large ring of keys hanging over her clean apron. The thick keys were a badge of her status and fit into locks that secured the more costly items, such as silver plate ware and spices.

“Welcome home, my lord.”

She curtsied and kept her gaze lowered, but her lips were pressed into a hard line. Bridget felt empathy for the woman. Who knew what mood Curan might be in when he returned after so long away? His staff likely expected the worst, to be demoted from their positions because they displeased a lord whom they had no clue how to serve because he might have changed during his absence.

But you know how to please him …

Her memory erupted with the recollection of Marie sucking Tomas. The man had looked pleased, all right. But could she truly bring Curan to such a state? Shifting her gaze to him, she worried her lower lip when she noticed how much larger and hardened he was.

But there was a part of her that rose to the challenge of it. Oh, stop it!

Such curiosity would land her in trouble if she did not stem such ideas. She had to recall all of the logical reasons why she could not celebrate her union with Curan. Her growing passion for the man would lead her to ruin if she was not disciplined enough to ignore her weak flesh.

“This is May, head of the house. I will leave you in her care while I attend to making sure Amber Hill is secure. A task I will be happy to see done so that I may focus on welcoming you personally.” Curan’s voice dipped down into that brassy tone that seemed to melt through her resolve to think of their union in only logical ways. When she raised her eyes to meet his, she found a look of satisfaction on his face, but it lacked the arrogance that normally irritated her. Instead she was fascinated and humbled by the sight of a man who looked very happy to be home.

She could discover herself growing affection for this side of his personality. It would be so simple, so very completing …

Bridget realized that he was still staring at her.

“Yes … thank you, my lord.” Her own curtsy was shaky.

“So, you are finally home. I’ll die of your strict nature for certain.”

Curan cleared his throat and glanced up the stairs. Bridget did as well and felt her jaw drop. One of the most beautiful girls she had ever set eyes on stood there. She was slender and petite and everything poets wrote about. Her skin was creamy and fair, her hair a perfect complement in lightest brown that was almost blond. She watched them with honey-brown eyes that sparkled with mischief.

“This ill-spoken girl is my sister Jemma.”

Jemma performed a perfect curtsy, but her lips remained in a smile that made light of her respectful gesture.

“And my dearest brother Curan keeps me secluded here to avoid having my behavior shame the family at court.”

Curan climbed the steps and stood towering over his sister. Bridget marveled at the size difference. Curan caught her staring.

“We have different mothers.”

“I am much younger.” Jemma shot Bridget a smile with her comment. “Which accounts for my brother’s lack of understanding of me. The old rarely comprehend the young.”

“I understand too well the court and what such a pretty face would gain there.”

Jemma waved a hand in the air. “Well yes, and there is that bit of fact. Yet I am not as dim-witted as those other noble girls. Sweet words do not lead me so easily.”

“Gossip is all that is needed to ruin a person at court,” said Curan. “I was glad to turn my back on it.”

Jemma’s smile grew larger. “You mean to say that you were eager to claim your bride.”

Curan shook his head. “Enough out of you, Jemma. We are soaked, and I do not wish my bride to think she has a shrew of a relative to tolerate along with learning to be a wife.”

“Compared to you, I am an angel.”

“A truth if ever I have heard one.” Bridget spoke before thinking. Jemma’s teasing nature reminded her very much of Marie and what the courtesan had tried to teach her.

Curan lifted an eyebrow at her. “I was hoping you might set a fine example for my sister on the virtue of marrying.”

Jemma scoffed at her brother. “Only if God has managed to create a man who is not boring, and able to gain your agreement to court me. I have abandoned hope of such a coincidence ever happening in my lifetime.”

She reached out and caught Bridget’s hand. “Come out of the rain. My brother seems to have forgotten that you were going to bathe.” She smiled widely once more. “Another trait of the old.”

Curan snorted, but his sister paid him no mind. She tugged on Bridget’s hand and led her away, but Bridget felt his eyes on her. Peeking back over her shoulder, she allowed her eyes to narrow with passion. It took no playacting on her part, for her body truly did desire him. His expression instantly transformed from the stern one he wore so often. Surprise covered his features, but it faded quickly into a mask of dark passion. He’d looked like that last night, she was sure of it. A shiver raced down her spine, touching off ripples of recalled sensation all along her body. She felt it travel over her skin, up and over the mounds of her breasts until her nipples tingled as they recalled exactly how hot his lips were. It did not stop there but slipped lower, across her belly and into the folds of flesh that covered her clitoris. A soft throbbing began there, a hunger that whimpered for satisfaction.

She must deny that urge. Turning her head back around, she focused her thoughts on absorbing the path that Jemma took her on. She would need to memorize how to escape when the moment presented itself. Her flesh wailed against that thought, but her heart also lamented it. She wanted to stay and learn more about the part of Curan that was happy to be home. In truth, she longed to share that feeling with him.

Yet she must not, for both their sakes. The world was an unforgiving place, full of men who would not give mercy. Her mother was correct; she must not celebrate her wedding because Curan’s honor would not allow him to see the logic in obeying her father’s letter. He was a knight, and in all honesty, part of what softened her heart to him was his unfaltering sense of honor. Without it, he would be weaker. That left the task of protecting him to her.

She would, as much out of duty to her sire as a gift to Curan.

She refused to think too long about why she felt that way. A week ago there was nothing in her head save duty and logic. The reason simply was, she wanted to celebrate her wedding and not because Curan insisted that she do so.

She wanted him. Passionately and with a growing need that threatened to consume the only part of her that was hers alone: her heart. She couldn’t allow him to claim that, couldn’t trust in a future that was riddled with uncertainty. He would discard her if ordered to by the king’s advisors. No knight would refuse his king.

So she would flee over the border to the sanctuary of her cousin Alice. If she could escape. There was a part of her that warmed to the challenge. The sounds of Curan’s men filtered into the hallway, confirming that it would be no simple task to slip past them. The only thing that would make it possible was their arrogance. None of them, including their lord, considered her anything but a prize they had claimed. Such pride would be the key to outwitting them, exactly as Marie had said. Stroke their egos and claim what she wanted. Wise advice indeed.