Mary Wine - Improper Seduction

But the leader of the horde drew her attention. His lower face was covered by a scarf, the fabric tied around his neck to keep the dust from the road out of his mouth and nose. Every man behind him wore the same. Chain-mail hoods flattened their hair, the low edges hiding their eyebrows. It was a frightening sight—men ready for war and riding in perfect harmony with their mounts.

The leader held up a gloved hand, halting the men who followed him. They pulled up on their reins with powerful motions of their hands, their thighs gripping the saddles. The leader’s hard gaze swept the front of the house completely, his keen stare missing not a single soul. His dark eyes returned to hers. A shiver shot down her back. Her breath froze in her chest, and she was sure her heart almost paused.

Curan.

She knew his eyes, but the man of her dreams paled compared to what sat facing her. This man was far more imposing than she recalled. Maybe it was due to the fact that they had only met under very controlled circumstances. Standing on the ground and tipping her head up to look at him, the man appeared impossibly large. Some sort of blending of legend and flesh that she had trouble believing was real. He reached up and pulled the scarf away from his face to reveal a hard jaw that was dark with a hint of whiskers, telling her that he had been in the saddle for many hours without stopping to attend to his vanity. Yet his eyes were keen and sharp and staring directly into her own.

“Mistress Newbury, I greet you.”

His voice dispelled any further ideas of him being unreal. That deep tone burst into her head and jerked her into a shaky breath. His dark eyes cut into hers with an intensity that sent fire down her back.

“Sweet Christ …”

Her mother’s voice was startling. Bridget turned to look at her mother and then wished that she had not. Jane’s eyes were wide and filled with a fear Bridget had never seen before. Not even when they had received word that the plague was on the move again two summers past.

“Take yourself upstairs, Bridget.”

Her mother didn’t wait for her to comply. She reached for her arm and pulled her toward the open doors. “This moment.” Her mother’s voice rose with her distress.

“Delay that.”

Curan’s voice rang out loud and clear, the men behind him angling their heads to get a clear look at what was happening. His horse tossed its head in the wake of its master’s order, almost as if the huge war stallion was agreeing with the man who sat astride him. A sure pull on the reins stilled the animal before Curan swung a leg over its hindquarters and dismounted.

“Go.” Jane gave her another push and stepped in front of her.

“I said delay that command, Lady Connolly.” Several other men dismounted and fell into step with their lord. Curan closed the distance between them very quickly. But Bridget didn’t truly have a choice. A half turn of her head showed her several knights behind her. Curan was a man of action. He’d sent part of his force over the ridge to surround them.

“I have come to collect my bride. It is time she stands and meets me as she will be expected to do once we are settled on my lands.”

Jane drew in a stiff breath. “I am pleased to see you have fared well since our last meeting.”

It was a polite statement, devoid of true emotion.

“As I am delighted to see you both in good health.”

Those dark eyes cut to hers again. This time he was close enough for Bridget to see something flickering in them. Men were still riding up to the house, their numbers continuing to grow until there must be three hundred of them. Wagons and carts made up a large portion of the back of the ranks. There were even cannons being pulled by thick-legged oxen. This was the entirety of Sir Curan’s force. It was more than impressive, the sheer numbers of them filling the green in front of their estate home. Men dismounted and went toward the wagons to begin pulling tents from them. There were orders being issued by the lower-ranking officers while Sir Curan and his higher staff remained near her.

Suspicion clouded his eyes. Her mother drew another stiff breath.

“You are, of course, most welcome to pass the night.”

“You are too kind, lady.” Curan’s tone was anything but pleased. He looked at her mother and back to Bridget.

“Yet, on the morrow you will have to seek my husband at court.”

A frown appeared on Curan’s face. The man had never smiled, his lips an unemotional line. Now they turned down and he hooked his hands into his wide sword belt.

“My negotiations with your husband were completed three years past.”

“Yet—”

“Yet what, lady?” Curan took a step forward. Jane stumbled back into Bridget, drawing a sound of disgust from him. His frown deepened, but he retreated a step to allow her mother space.

“Explain your timidity, lady. What causes you fright? I have come to claim my bride as agreed upon. You have had plenty of time to become accustomed to the idea.”

Her mother didn’t seem to have the courage to tell him. Bridget discovered that she couldn’t tolerate waiting any longer. She stepped up beside her mother.

“My father sent for me three days past. He has ordered me to court and marriage with another.”

Those dark eyes returned to her. A hint of approval lasted only a moment before his temper flared bright.

“We have already been blessed by your husband.” His face reflected his anger, and he reached for her. Jane stepped between them.

“As I said, Sir Curan, you shall have to take issue with my husband.”

He stopped his hand in mid-air. He took his eyes off her mother for a brief moment. A quick flick of his hand, and her mother gasped when she was moved to the side by one of the men behind her. It was the boldest of actions, but one that Bridget decided suited him. This man would be polite only so long as he was gaining what he desired.

“I am ennobled, lady, and here to claim the bride sworn to me by law and church. Do not place yourself between what is mine and me again. Or I shall have you removed, permanently.”

His men shifted, and Bridget moved in front of her mother.

“If you do consider yourself my husband, you should have more respect for your mother by marriage.” Bridget wasn’t sure where the urge to argue with him came from, only that she could not resist it.

An incredulous look appeared on Curan’s face. Obviously the man was not accustomed to being questioned.

He bit back his first response, his gaze raking her from head to foot. “If she wishes to be respected in that manner, she will have to dispense with this notion that you are going to London and not my holdings, Bridget.”

He spoke her Christian name very purposely, as if a public declaration of ownership. One that blew more air on the flames of her temper. Her first name was an intimate thing. Meant to be used by her parents, her immediate church clergy, and a husband behind the closed door of their chamber. Even her brothers did not use it unless they were in private.

“We are bound to respect the wishes of my father. That is not disrespectful.”

“And what of the vows you took on your knees beside me, madam? Where is the respect for the promises you made to me?” He stepped closer, seeming to grow larger, but she did not care. Her chin lifted to keep their gazes locked.

“What man would have a wife who disobeyed her father before she was wed?”

That flicker of approval entered his eyes once more. His frown smoothed out as something that might almost be considered a hint of a grin appeared on his face.

“Not I. You are correct to think such.” His voice was rich with warning now.

“Then you will understand my mother’s request that you take your argument to my father in London. It is the only honorable thing we might say unto you. To obey you means to disobey my father, something you agree would displease you. So there is nothing to do except advise you to ride for London.”