Mary Wine - Improper Seduction

“We’ll have to be talking about it once we reach me home. I’ve a yearning to tuck ye behind the very sturdy walls of Barras castle.”

The stallion he rode tossed its head, eager to be on its way. Gordon clamped hard thighs about the animal and remained solidly in place atop it. He was the picture of strength, but she didn’t feel any heat licking across her skin.

Not as she did when she watched Curan …

Men mounted all around them, and the gate was raised. Bridget cast one look back to see Alice watching her, but her husband stood one step in front of her, his hands propped on his hips and his face in a set expression that told her not to expect any leniency from him.

From the side of the stable, her father’s men appeared, every one of them stripped of their chain mail and swords. Their horses were strung together with thick rope to keep them from having command over the animals.

“I’ll be getting a bit of silver from your father, too. Just no in trade for you.”

“You sound like a Viking raider.”

Gordon reached up and tugged on a curling lock of his blond hair. “Of course I do, lass. Don’t ye ken that we Scots are Norse blooded?”

He sent his fist into the air, and the mass of horses and men made for the open gate. Her horse followed without any guidance from her. They raced out of the yard and into the rocky hills that made up the border land. Gordon had a good sixty men riding with him, over half of them remaining outside the keep. They joined their laird now, their plaids bouncing with the motion of riding. The sun was warm on her face and the wind just brisk enough to keep her from becoming too warm. There was a certain spark of life in the moment, a sense of freedom that made her want to smile. The men kept her surrounded while they headed overland. Within an hour a fortress came into sight. This one put Alice’s home to shame. It rose up into the sunlight as proud as Amber Hill. But she felt a touch of sadness for the fact that Curan was not there waiting for her.

Thinking of the man killed her enjoyment of the ride. She took a sidelong glance at Laird Barras, and in spite of his well-muscled body she did not feel any passion for him, only a slight annoyance for the arrogance he seemed to radiate.

Well, that was what she could expect from tender feelings. Dissatisfaction forever because she had been foolish enough to allow her passion to rise for Curan. She looked down toward England with a longing that sent a shaft of pain through her heart.

“Ye’ve no given me any time to press my suit, Mistress Newbury. Do me the favor of no looking so forlorn.”

She snapped her head about to discover Gordon watching her. He wasn’t mocking her now, but there was a deep consideration flickering in his eyes that warned her to be careful how much of her true feelings she allowed him to see. He was a man who would make the most of an opportunity.

“Ye’ll find me home quite comfortable, I assure ye.”

“Please do not think it is my nature to argue over every point, but I disagree with you.”

“Because Ryppon isnae inside? Dinna worry too much on that account, lass. I expect the man soon enough.”

Confusion crowded her thoughts. “What do you mean? I have no such confidence, nor have I given you any reason to believe he would chase me. I ran away from him and the vow I made to wed him. It is an insult that he does not have to suffer. He can easily find a more obedient bride.”

Gordon shrugged. “Well now, if the man doesna show his face soon, I’ll just have to marry ye myself.”

He offered her one of his grins again before kneeing his stallion and moving ahead to the front of his men. They cheered as he took his place among them, and the pace increased. They embodied the legend that she had so often heard about Scots. There was a wildness about them that was balanced by their homage to their laird and the plaids they wore that gave them enough order to not become lawless bandits.

That did not mean she wanted to marry their leader. In fact, the idea of wedding anyone save Curan sent a twist of nausea through her. She tried to remember her duty, but the attempt failed. Her passion was rapidly taking her past the discipline instilled by her mother. The longing to return to Curan was gaining ground inside her, becoming hotter and more uncontrollable.

But that was assuming a great deal. The man would be unlikely to welcome back any bride who had fled from him. His pride was most likely wounded too greatly for her to resume her role. There was also Lord Oswald to think about. Bridget suddenly felt tired. More weary than ever as Gordon’s men sent up a cheer and their leader took them through the open gate of his fortress. The castle was built of solid stone, and that fit her mood.

Cold and dead … exactly as she felt.

She wasn’t placed in a cell, or even in a chamber with a door that might be barred to keep her prisoner. Instead, Bridget discovered herself following two burly Scots through a maze of hallways and staircases. They kept her going in circles until she blew out a frustrated snarl and stopped, refusing to take another step.

“Enough of this game. I am confused. The only way I can think of to make it back into the yard is by slipping out a window. Are you satisfied?” They watched her from brooding expressions that didn’t give her a hint as to their thinking. Bridget shrugged.

“Well then, I have thought that the gossip I have heard concerning just how lazy Scottish men are was false. However, if you have naught better to do than lead me through hallways, I must rethink my opinion on that matter.”

“This way.”

The words were spoken with a great deal of irritation, but at least they led her to a destination instead of another set of hallways. This was an older portion of the castle, and the room she was in did not have doors. Of course, that was most likely the reason she was placed there. Candles burned in the center of the large round room, but the light did not allow her to see what was beyond the arched doorways. It was a solar, simply one floor built across the expanse of the keep. She was in one of the four that she had seen rising up to form Barras Castle. Arches surrounded her, helping to hold up the floor above her. In spite of the bed and furnishings that were present, she doubted that the solar was used very often. If it were, walls would have been built to create hallways, but such was more of a newer construction technique. This keep was just as it had been fifty years ago when it was expected that the surrounding villagers might need to take shelter inside it during a siege.

Having the dark arches ringing her was worse than any door. She felt placed on display. The candles illuminated her while the Scots withdrew behind the arches. She heard them walking sometimes and, as the day wore on, listened to them being relieved and replaced by others. There was no way to tell how many guards she had or where they were.

Nevertheless, that was not what weighed heavily on her mind. She walked over to one of the windows and leaned out. Greeting her were a hint of green on the hills and a little nip of chill blowing down from the north. She was too high to consider leaving the keep by the window, which left her with nothing to do but look down toward England, where Curan was most likely drawing up an offer for another bride.

Her heart ached, and there was no comfort to be found in knowing that she had done as instructed by her parents. A maid brought her food, but Bridget had little appetite. So she left it where the girl placed it. The day grew long with nothing but her own thoughts to keep her company. Always there had been work to occupy her hands. She suddenly did not understand how anyone might endure being lazy; it was quite irritating to have nothing to do. Bridget discovered herself pacing simply to have something to occupy herself with. Yet the true torment was the fact that her idle mind had naught to do save think about Curan.