Mary Wine - Improper Seduction

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

Chapter Five

So this was passion.

It was as much a torment as it was delightful.

Bridget tried to hold her head steady while covering the space between the trees and the wagon. She couldn’t recall being so ill at ease before, not even when she was younger and first placed in a position of authority over the household. Tonight, it felt as if every man watching her could tell that her nipples were hard behind her stays. Her cheeks colored because she was very sure that Curan knew it.

She certainly understood that he was the one causing her such upset.

Passion …

Hot and thick, moving through her veins like strong cider. The sort that her mother had insisted she sample so that she would know how potent it was, just as her mother had brought Marie to show her the power passion might yield over a man. At the moment Bridget found herself longing for that final lesson Marie had promised her.

Curan seemed very willing to instruct her; that was as clear as a summer day. To be honest, she was enjoying his tutoring. Watching Marie and Tomas had not been nearly as enjoyable as having Curan’s hand on her thigh.

What did it feel like to be touched on more sensitive parts of her body?

She was sure her blush was burning bright enough to illuminate her shame now, but the men around her only looked away when their gazes connected with her. It was a reflex, something they did without thinking because they turned their attention to any motion near them. Once they realized it was their lord’s bride, their eyes shifted. That was true respect for the man they followed. She reached the wagon and climbed in, only pausing on the tailgate to unlace her boots lest she track dirt into her bed. The evening air was chilly on her stocking-clad feet, and she scooted into the back of the wagon where she might pull her toes up into the folds of her clothing.

Someone had laid out one of the rolls of bedding. Considering that ninety percent of the men making the trip to northern England would be passing the night on the hard ground, the fact that any of them had even taken time to see to her comforts was an extreme luxury.

“Beg pardon, lady.”

Bridget looked back at the foot of the wagon to see one of Curan’s officers. She recalled his face from those who had stood nearest him when he had first arrived. This was the man who had moved her mother. He had light blue eyes that seemed to make his gaze sharper.

“We downed a few deer today, and your mother had her kitchens bake bread for us as well.”

He stretched out his arm and placed a large wooden bowl as close to her as his arm length allowed. Even covered with a linen cloth, the rich aroma of roasted meat teased her nose.

“Thank you.”

“I am Synclair, first in command. You may look to me when Lord Ryppon is not present; he has charged me with your welfare, lady.”

“I see.”

Synclair inclined his head but did not lower his gaze. There was a firm confidence in him that reminded her of Curan, but it did not send a jolt down her spine. This man was just as hardened, just as polished in his skills, but there was nothing drawing her closer to him.

At least it would appear that she was not wanton. Or only when it came to Curan, it seemed. A curse with a blessing attached, now there was a paradox if ever she had heard one.

“You should eat, lady.”

Her thoughts had distracted her yet again. “Yes, I shall.”

She reached for the bowl and had to force herself to do so calmly. Her belly rumbled low and long, berating her for losing sight of how hungry she was. The night would seem endless if she neglected to fill her stomach.

Synclair watched her silently. His armor breastplate was missing, but a gold knight’s chain sat proudly over his shoulders. It was a symbol of his years in service, and the intense focus of his eyes on her felt misplaced because every other man had spent the day looking away from her. This knight appeared to take the matter of her not eating as more important than the need to allow her privacy. That spoke of command and grooming to rise in rank. Unless she judged incorrectly, this knight was one whom Curan relied upon to help command his men. One of his captains, his helmet would have feathers that proclaimed his rank. He was one that she would have to watch if she planned to escape.

“It is not necessary for you or Lord Ryppon to give so much attention to my eating habits.”

She found it difficult to consider taking even one bite while being scrutinized so closely.

“The pair of you are treating me like a prized mare. I am not some child who must be monitored.”

Surprise registered on Synclair’s face, but he remained firmly in place for another long moment, clearly considering her words against those of his lord’s.

“Yet you are prized, lady. The border land is an uncertain place. Attention must be paid to ensure your safe arrival at Amber Hill.” His gaze shifted to the wagon cover that was tied securely in place along the sides of the wagon now. “It is not my intention or Lord Ryppon’s to see your modesty bruised.”

But keeping a close eye on her would be their way, no matter her feeling on the matter. Bridget saw that truth clearly illuminated in his eyes. A firm, unwavering set to his expression confirmed his opinion of her position as his responsibility. Her mother’s words returned.

“Trust no one with a sword …”

Wise advice, indeed. Synclair did not move until she uncovered the meal he had brought. The way he watched her definitely bruised her pride. She felt the sting of this hurt even after the knight inclined his head and left her to eat in privacy. Escaping would not prove simple. She resisted thinking that it might be impossible. She resisted thinking that she would prefer it to be impossible.

Then she truly would be free to enjoy what delights Curan promised her.

She scoffed at her own ideas. The man had more threatened her with those pleasures of the flesh than promised her them. She recalled very plainly the look in his eyes and the feeling of his hand tugging her skirt up. Firm purpose, coupled with the same passion she felt burning her as well. A passion that removed any conscious choice in the matter because her body had already decided to yield.

She had to remain firm; to falter would see her ruined. No matter how much Curan desired her body, the man had contracted her for the connections and dowry that came from her father. If her sire cut her off without a shilling for disobeying his command to marry Lord Oswald, she would be less fortunate than a whore, for she would have nothing for the favors she gave to Curan.

Not only would she have nothing at all, but possibly a child in her belly. Her best option was to beg to remain as his leman when he took another wife who brought him everything he desired from marriage.

She stopped eating before finishing the portion given to her, her grim thoughts killing her appetite. When had life become so dim? Truthfully, she had been spoiled. Never had there been such a lack of hope in her life. Now there was only the very difficult task of somehow escaping the diligence of Synclair and Curan, before attempting to cross the border into Scotland while avoiding any Scots who might decide to slit her throat simply because she was English.

These thoughts were quite dark indeed, crowding her mind and giving her little peace throughout the night. She huddled beneath the bedding and woke several times, keenly aware of the howl of the wind. It sounded colder and lonelier than she could ever recall. The only mercy came when the camp began to stir at the very first hint of dawn. But the day was gray; the thick clouds massing above them were black with the promise of rain.