Mary Wine - Improper Seduction

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?”