Mary Wine - Improper Seduction

“I agree that I do not understand you well.” The bed shook when he laid her upon it. He pushed the thick coverlet over and leaned far into the bed.

“Yet that is a matter we shall discuss once the sun has risen.”

The bed shook once more as he left it. Tears pricked her eyes in spite of how ridiculous it was to feel lonely. She was not some child who needed cuddling. She listened to his feet making contact with the floor and forced herself to pull the coverlet across her body. When it touched her bare skin, she recalled that her chemise was lying on the floor somewhere. With a sound of frustration, she pushed the coverlet back off and sat up.

“Be still, Bridget, you sleep with me.”

“With you?”

The bed shook once more as he placed a knee upon it. He reached out and gently pressed her down onto her back with a single hand. Another quick motion and he pulled the edge of the coverlet over her once again.

“Your hearing is excellent.”

The light from the window didn’t reach all the way to the bed, and the curtains kept most of it out, but Curan was still outside the bed and she watched him lean over to prop his sword against the wall directly beside the bed. As soon as he finished, he rolled over to take the place beside her, lying on his back and stretching his feet out toward the footboard.

“Morning will come soon enough.”

He hooked an arm beneath her and pulled her alongside him. Bridget put her hands out to stop herself from colliding with him but might as well have saved herself the effort. He folded her into his embrace, even raising one of his knees between her legs to keep her near him. She ended up draped along his side, with one of his arms curled around her waist and the hand resting on her hip, while his opposite hand pressed her head down onto his shoulder.

She wiggled, uncertain how to respond. He sighed and pulled the coverlet over them both. She was suddenly so tired, but also keenly aware of how her body adjusted to lie comfortably against his. As though nature had designed the genders to lie just so after passion was satisfied.

Such a tempting idea …

Her body liked it well enough. Satisfaction was like the glow of fire coals on a winter night. Her body was basking in it. Curan shifted, his hand smoothing along her waist and hip.

“I need my chemise.”

“I disagree.” His hand wandered up to cup a breast. “You are not cold, and I enjoy the feel of you against me. I have marched an army across a border to feel you against me, Bridget, so be still.”

His fingers landed on top of her lips, sealing her next comment behind them. What was the use in arguing? The man was impossible when it came to changing his mind. She was too tired to attempt to coax him into agreeing with her anyway. Her body relaxed and demanded rest.

Curan did not sleep as quickly as his bride did. Yet that was not a burden. He listened to the way her breathing softened and felt her body become relaxed against his. He was in awe, his fingers lightly skimming over her skin just to test if she were real. Bridget had lived in his dreams for a thousand nights. Three years of thinking of this moment when they would at last be together. He did not begrudge his king his service, but he would be a liar if he did not admit to longing to lay his head down in his own bed with his family sharing the same roof.

Yet his bride was not content by his side. That tormented him. He remained awake, savoring the way she clung to him, for once the sun rose he would have to renew his struggle to keep her.

Chapter Eleven

Bridget jerked awake but discovered that she could not move. She was held in an iron embrace against Curan’s body. The window shutters were still wide open, and dawn was casting its first pink stain across the horizon.

A shuffle on the floor drew her attention to the one curtain that was still open.

“Sweet mercy …”

Her voice was a mere whisper, and the men standing in the chamber all averted their eyes. Synclair kept his gaze directly on Curan’s face, somehow managing to not look at her lying on his lord’s shoulder.

Curan suddenly released her and sat up. He tucked the coverlet behind him as he moved, shielding her nude body from his men.

“The proof you seek is on the table.”

The men all turned and moved almost in the same moment Curan spoke.

“Proof?”

Curan stepped into his pants that he must have brought alongside the bed last night, and pulled them up before looking back at her. His expression was cast in stone once again, making her wonder just who had slept with her so tenderly all night long.

“The stain will not be on this sheet.”

Stain … Her face turned scarlet and she cupped her hands over her cheeks, but couldn’t stop her gaze from darting over to the table. Synclair held Curan’s shirt up to the morning light. In the golden glow, the creamy linen was marked very clearly with a dark stain of dried blood.

“Fly it.”

Synclair wasted no time. His boots tapped against the floor as he walked toward the open shutter. He thrust the soiled shirt out into the morning light and a cheer rose from the yard below. Bells began to ring along the walls and even from the chapel.

Curan walked over to where Bridget’s chemise lay on the floor. Reaching down, he plucked it up and returned to the bed while his men became absorbed with looking out the window.

Her face burned hotter, if such a thing were possible, but there was no mercy in his dark eyes, not even a shred. Instead there was hard determination glittering back at her. He laid the chemise down where he had slept.

“We have ground to cover, Bridget. Synclair will wait for you with his back turned.”

Curan slid the bed curtain closed, and she heard his men walking back across the solar. Yet his warning rang, clear in her head. There would be no trust given to her.

With a sigh, she picked up the chemise and lifted it above her head. She had no right to expect anything else, but still it hurt to know she had a guard waiting upon her. She suddenly detested her father. Never once had she questioned his will, because she had been taught her entire life to be obedient to her sire, but today she felt her temper rise clear and bright against the man who could not seem to settle her future. Where was her reward for being a dutiful daughter?

Where was the lover you felt tenderly holding you in the darkest hours of the morning?

“Mistress? Are ye ready to rise?”

Bridget sighed. Reaching for the curtain, she pushed it aside and let the light chase away the last of her dreams. Illusions were for the night, after all, and the sun had risen now. Just as she had known it would. Her mother had warned her, and yet she had done all that she could to follow her mother’s advice.

A maid lowered herself before holding up her long stays.

“There’s too many eyes on ye, and that is for sure. Best to get dressed before we tend to yer hair, if ye don’t mind me saying so.”

Bridget slid her arm into the strap of the corset. “You’re correct.” Even if nothing else seemed to be right.

Her body ached, reminding her that Curan had done exactly what he wished, and there was no undoing of that now. She was his woman, even if her father might yet argue that she was not his wife. The maid was quick, and her gown settled into place before the sun had completely risen. There was little to do with her hair, save brush it until it was neat and then braid it. Tears prickled her eyes, because she would have enjoyed spending time lingering in naught save her chemise. The freedom was quite addictive as was the tender nature of her husband. She feared that she would not meet that side of him again.

“Lady Ryppon? Are you ready?”