impulses that all centered on having him pleasure her, the hard body pressing down on her adding to the moment and increasing the frantic need pulsing through her.
“Submission can be sweet. So sweet because it feeds what you crave.”
He kissed her hard and with a demand that she struggled against but found her will bending to accept. His finger moved faster, applying more pressure, and it became impossible to remain still. Her hips strained up toward his hand, her thighs grasping his forearm now out of the need to keep that hand exactly where it was. Her thighs burned because she strained up so strongly, but that only added to the pulsing sensation gripping her. It all centered under his finger. Her passage begged to be filled, but her clitoris became white-hot a moment before pleasure squeezed her in a grasp so tight it felt as if she were shattering under the pressure. Delight raced through her, burning along her muscles and limbs without missing a single inch of her body. She cried out into their kiss, his lips smothering the sounds. Time ceased to exist. She found herself suspended in that moment, with pleasure glowing in her belly like a flame. There was no thinking, only feeling.
“And that, my sweet wife, is the reason for submission. The pleasure my touch can give you.”
She lay willingly on her back now. Every muscle in her body feeling lax and limp. Exhaustion clouded her thinking while delight still warmed her passage and clitoris. He trailed his hand up to rest over her womb, gently massaging the quivering muscles. Her hand still lay near his cock, and her fingers brushed against it, telling her that he was still hard and unsatisfied.
He shifted away from her touch, a snort brushing past her lips.
“We shall sleep beneath my roof tomorrow night and I shall be happy to allow you to stroke my cock as much as you like … wife.”
“But—”
He growled, the sound full of impatience.
“There is nothing further to say, Bridget, unless you wish to discuss exactly what delights we shall share tomorrow. I, for one, am dwelling on the idea of you clasping your thighs about my hips as you just did to my forearm.”
He was being blunt on purpose in an attempt to intimidate her. It was strange how she noticed it. Her body was basking in a glow of contentment, but her wits had returned. He tucked the bedding back around her, and the wagon rocked as he left it. When he lifted the flap, enough light illuminated him to show her the rigid set of his face. She suddenly understood what Marie had meant when she spoke of power over a man when he was hungry.
Curan was hungry for her. Yet he had pleasured her and left unsatisfied. She tried to dwell on that fact, but slumber stole her away, her body happily slipping into its restful embrace now that her passion had been fed.
Morning broke, but it was hardly noticeable. Dim light was the only thing the dawn offered. The rain had stopped, but the clouds massing directly above rumbled with thunder, making the horses irritable.
Everyone walked, including the knights, to avoid being thrown from the saddle by the powerful horses. They held on tightly to their mounts and led them up the road while lightning began to flicker. The only saving grace was the fact that it was not night. It was much harder to soothe a stallion during the dark hours.
Bridget’s first sight of Amber Hill was dreary, to say the least. The stone fortress rose up from the landscape, almost the same color as the black and gray storm clouds. The clap of thunder only seemed to add to the foreboding nature of the moment. Three towers were built near each other. A wide curtain wall connected them, and they reached up into the clouds to provide good sight over the Scottish border. Bridget shivered, certain she could hear the voices of generations past who had met their death along this disputed strip of land.
Her gaze shifted to the man who intended to take up the post of guarding this plot of English soil. Curan was back in the saddle, his powerful thighs gripping the stallion with confidence. No hint of unease marred his expression; in fact, the man looked smugly pleased while drinking in the sight of his home. His attention shifted to her, and a deeper shudder shot down her spine. Thunder cracked above them, and she had to fight the urge to make the sign of the cross over herself.
For certain she had never felt so threatened before. It was not fear of pain that sent that sensation rippling down her back; it was the memory of just how needy he had made her while wrapped in the dark cloak of night.
“We’ll be dry soon, Lady Ryppon.”
Synclair sounded glad even if he remained the image of a properly dutiful knight to his lord. Still, there was no disguising the note of relief in his voice. When Bridget glanced at him, she saw that pleasure flickering in his eyes.
“Forgive me, lady, I should have begun by telling you that Amber Hill is the fortress ahead of us.”
“I recognized that from the looks on the faces about me.”
His elation faded a bit, lines appearing beneath the edge of his helmet. “Returning home is normally a time of rejoicing.”
“Of course.”
He did not care for her lack of enthusiasm. His expression became tight, his lips pressing into a hard line.
“You will come to think of it as your home. Soon would be best.” He paused for a moment, clearly attempting to soften his comment since he was addressing a woman instead of a man. Obviously the knight had spent far more time in the company of men and found the task difficult. “In time you will adjust.”
“Of course.”
She did not care that she was repeating herself. The fortress standing so coldly in front of her resembled more of a prison, not an unusual thought considering that an army surrounded her, and the choice to enter was not resting in her hands. She might have been a stolen heiress instead of a negotiated bride. Someone watching would never know the difference.
She wasn’t sure if she wasn’t both, considering that her father had made the match.
She sighed, chastising herself for her thoughts. Railing against the way the world was would bring her no gain. Besides, she liked Curan well and good, and that was a solid truth. He was no old man who wanted young flesh,
