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.”
So simple and yet so devastating to what she truly wanted. Bridget bit her own lip to keep her lament private. She was disappointed, very much so. Perhaps too much so.
One dark eyebrow lifted. His chain-mail hood still covered his hair, but that single brow lifted mockingly.
“I understand how you might think that is the way things should be. However, our union was blessed by an archbishop. It is sealed. There is no point in further discussion. You are my bride, and I am here to celebrate our wedding.” His lips became a small smile. “Bridget.”
He raised a hand, and his men swept inside the house. She and her mother went because the alternative was to be run into by the larger men. They worked together, leaving neither she nor her mother any space to dart around them. Of course that was no true option, not with his men making camp on the lawn. Smoke was rising above campfires now, confirming that they intended to remain through the night.
Bridget stepped into the entry hall and turned her gaze back to Curan. For all her dreaming of him, the man was a stranger, a hardened knight who did not resemble the fables written in her books.
And he considered her his. Heat touched her cheeks as she considered how close she might be to discovering what it felt like to do all the things Marie had shown her. Of course she did not think this man would need very much enticement to enter her bed.
She shook her head. Such ideas were misplaced under the circumstances. Wedding against her father’s wishes would spell disaster. There were not even convents in England any longer for her to be banished to once her sire hunted her down.
“You need to see reason, Sir Curan.” Bridget tried to moderate her voice. It proved a difficult task with her temper so hot. She was not normally given to such high emotions but could not seem to cool the flames.
“Save your pleading, madam.”
His voice was stone hard, his attention on the three trunks waiting by the door. He looked up at her mother first.
“Be very sure that I shall have correspondence with your husband upon this betrayal of my trust.”
Jane straightened her back. “These are uncertain times, Sir Curan. It may be that my husband was ordered to arrange a new match by the king himself.”
Two of the knights behind Curan seemed to consider that amusing. Their lips twitched up, and one even cleared his throat to avoid laughing out loud.
“In that case, you shall be relieved to know that I came from Henry’s side just two days past with his expressed good wishes on my union.” He shifted his attention to her for a moment. “And it is Lord Ryppon now. A barony bestowed on me for service well tendered.”
“Congratulations, my Lord Ryppon.” He watched her intently, but she did not shift from her position. “It is unfortunate you were unable to meet with my father while in London. Surely that would have been most fortuitous.”
He stepped toward her. One hand rose into the air. There was a scuff of booted feet against the stone floor and a soft exclamation from her mother. But Curan’s men swept her from the room in a smooth motion in response to their leader’s command. For the first time she felt icy anxiety grip her. Bridget refused to label it fear. She would not cower.
He took a quick look over his shoulder to ensure that they were alone.
“Your father managed to be sealed behind closed doors each time I attempted to converse with him.”
“He is very busy with serving the king.”
“Or Chancellor Wriothesley.” Suspicion edged his tone. His dark eyes cut into hers. He took another step toward her. It brought him within arm’s length. For some reason she was keenly aware of how simple it might be for him to touch her. Lift that large hand and stroke the fingers across her cheek as he had in the past. It seemed so very long ago right then.
“What I wish to know, madam, is what means these trunks?”
His question sliced through her distracted thoughts. She stepped away from him, drawing a disapproving look from him.
