Mary Wine - Improper Seduction

Soothe the male ego … Marie had clearly known what she was talking about.

A moment later he was gone in a swirl of plaid wool. Bridget suddenly felt chilled, as though she stood on the edge of a cliff just waiting to see if her balance would fail. The image was well founded for the future looked bleak.

Would Curan come for her?

Doubt was cruel, and it sliced into her fragile hope. Gordon might believe she was smitten by Curan, but that did not mean Curan would shoulder the blow she had dealt him in fleeing. Which left her standing on the cliff, looking at the fall that would not kill her, but instead leave her suffering from her broken heart for too many years to endure.

“Synclair, you must not do this.” Justina tried to dig her feet into the floor, but her shoes slid easily across the stone surface.

The knight offered her no mercy. His hand was clamped about her forearm, pulling her along in spite of her resistance. He suddenly snorted and released her. Relief swept through her, but it was short-lived, for the man boldly swept her off her feet, cradling her against his chest. It shocked her because Synclair had always acted the perfect gallant, never ignoring chivalry. Holding her against his body was a direct violation of those ancient codes.

“Synclair—”

“Enough, lady. I shall do as bid by Lord Ryppon and gladly so. Cease your protests for they gain you nothing.”

Doing so allowed her to notice how much she liked his embrace. Justina tried to wiggle out of it, but the knight was far stronger than she. He carried her the last few steps to the top room in the tower and angled her through the narrow doorway. Maids were busy pulling sheets off the furniture and placing candles in the holders.

“Out. All of you.”

Synclair’s normally controlled tone was strained. The staff scurried to obey him, their steps fading down the stairs quickly. He released her legs, allowing her to stand, but he maintained a solid arm about her waist, binding her against his hard body. He had never been so forward with her. Always the knight had maintained tight control over the urges she had seen plainly in his eyes. It had always been possible to push him away when she felt her emotions rising.

She could not trust any man.

But it was so difficult to recall her reasons to maintain that vow with him so close. He gently stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, allowing her to inhale the scent of his skin. A shudder shook her as a breath got stuck in her throat. Her eyes slid closed because there was so much sensation, she didn’t need to see, only to feel. She was suddenly so weak that she could not resist taking comfort in the moment. Only for a few beats of her heart.

A soft kiss landed on her mouth, startling her. It was brief, because Synclair allowed her to jump away from him, his arm releasing her when she tore herself from his embrace. Lifting her eyelids, she discovered him watching her from eyes that were dark and full of desire. Yet he hadn’t taken a deep kiss from her, hadn’t used his greater strength to impose his will on her. Hadn’t acted on that hunger blazing so clearly in his eyes.

Disappointment clawed through her, surprising her with how intense was her own longing for him. She could not afford such reactions. Her circumstances did not allow such feminine weaknesses; she must prevent him from thinking kindly of her because she could not resist him. Lifting a hand, she laid it across his cheek in reprimand. The slap made a harsh sound in the silence.

“Blackguard.”

He drew in a sharp breath, a muscle along the side of his jaw beginning to twitch, but his hands remained at his sides.

“I must attend my lord, but I swear unto you, Justina. I shall return to you and you shall confess every detail of how they threaten you.”

He turned to leave and pulled the heavy door shut behind him. She heard a bar being lowered into place and the grinding of a lock being set.

“Don’t bother! Do you hear me? I care not if I ever set eyes upon you again. You are nothing to me. Nothing. I prefer my circumstances, sirrah!”

He heard her. Justina willed herself to believe that. There was no future with him. She would never be allowed to follow her feelings, never. Worse still, any gallant knight who took up the cause of lending his good name to her would find his honor stained by her soiled reputation. She was a whore. A highborn one, but a woman who used her body to survive nonetheless. Her father had sold her first, and then her husband. Widowhood had not freed her as she had hoped. Instead, the man in charge of her son’s inheritance directed her misdeeds. Her sin gained her the sweetest fruit, however, for it kept her child where he belonged.

Tears filled her eyes, and for once she allowed them to drop down her cheeks. Her prison room was as much sanctuary as cell for she could weep now. Weep for the child she ached to hold and for the knight that she would deny.

Gordon Dwyre knew his land well. He’d ridden it by moonlight and by pitch-blackness, too. He knew what the birds sounded like when there were men hidden in the shadows. He left his sword in the scabbard strapped to his back, in spite of the fact that it tested his discipline. His fingers itched to yank it free, and his palm craved contact with the solid pommel.

But that wasnae what he was about tonight, and he needed to remember that fact. Some battles weren’t fought using the steel of a man’s sword. Sometimes, a man needed to apply his wits if he wanted to win the prize he had his eye on.

He could smell the men on the breeze, and it was a sure bet that Ryppon would notice he was on the prowl, too. His muscles tensed, his skin itching with foreboding as he moved forward a few more inches.

“You are either brave beyond measure or a fool to venture outside your walls.”

Curan’s voice was whisper soft. A second later, he stepped into view so that the meager moonlight washed over him. “Maybe you’re both.”

Gordon straightened up and ignored the impulse to draw his sword. His neighbor was fighting the same urge, but the English baron managed to keep his sword hanging from his hip while he gripped his belt. Tension drew both their features tight. One false move and there would be a bloodbath around them both.

Gordon drew in a deep breath and made sure he stood completely still.

“I doubted that ye’d come inside me home for the conversation I’m interested in having with ye.”

“You are correct on that account, Barras.” Curan frowned and gave a flick of his wrist. His men halted where they were behind Gordon, but the Scot merely grinned and gave a toss of his head to indicate his own men behind Curan. There were a few curses muttered around them, but Gordon and Curan maintained a steady lock of their gazes, each man recognizing the cunning of the other.

“I’ve been wanting a meeting with ye, Ryppon, and hearing that your bride had snuck onto me land was a bit too much of a temptation to ignore the opportunity that capturing her would afford me. I’m out here to show ye that conversation is what I’m seeking, no spilt blood.”

Curan snorted. “I’ve come for Bridget and nothing else until I have her.”

“I set the lass up in one of me towers with the hope that ye wouldnae be far behind her.” Gordon smirked. “I wouldnae hesitate if I were wearing yer boots.”

“She is my wife, Barras, so return her now if you have a sense of honor.”

“Well now, the way I hear it, the wedding has nae been celebrated. That makes her yer bride, and those can be stolen, my friend. Even among honorable men.”

Curan growled and stepped closer to Gordon so that his words wouldn’t drift.

“Name your price, Scot, and do it quickly before my mood turns too dark. Stealing my bride, is not in your best interest. Not if you want me to remain friendly.” He was itching to lay the man low just for the fact that he had Bridget, but that wouldn’t get him through the walls she was hidden behind. Uncertainty always remained in battle, and having his bride mixed up in that enraged him.