and he was no coward who paid others to fight in his place. He was absolutely everything that she should be thankful for in a husband. This acknowledgment made it doubly hard to recall why she had to stick to her course and deny him.
Synclair gave her the briefest of nods to accept her response before he mounted his horse and rode toward his commander. They made quite a pair, both men embodying the image of strength.
Her mood turned surly. It was not the rain or the fact that her toes felt swollen from being wet for two days. What needled her was the way the sight of Curan instantly revived the memory of what he had done to her last night. Her cheeks turned hot with a blush and her nipples began to tighten just from the thought of it. But what truly turned her mood dark was the fact that she recalled just how much she had wanted everything he had carried out.
There was no choice, not even control, Marie’s example seeming so impossible to reproduce within herself. The courtesan had always appeared in command, but Curan reduced Bridget to a weak and needy creature after nothing more than a few kisses.
But such hot kisses …
A soft growl made it past her lips. Amber Hill rose higher in front of her, darkening her mood further. She was torn between duty to her father and desire for Curan. Never once had she thought to be in such a dilemma. Only daughters who were foolish enough to get carried away in romantic verses full of love found themselves struggling to follow their fathers’ dictates when the time to become a wife was at hand.
Resentment boiled inside her for the position in which she found herself. She had been obedient. Even if the church would berate her for thinking harshly against her father, she still did. She desired Curan only because her father had made it possible for her to.
She snorted again, annoyed by her own thoughts.
“I assure you, in spite of its exterior, Amber Hill is a modern building.”
Bridget jumped, startled by Curan’s deep voice. The man seemed to have materialized directly out of her musings.
“I do not doubt such.”
He frowned at her tone. “You would prefer a crumbling castle complete with a moat half full of century-old sewage?”
“What I would prefer—” Something gleamed in his eyes, and she shut her mouth. The man was baiting her.
One dark eyebrow rose. “Yes, my lady?”
He rolled the word “my,” giving the word more emphasis, and that pushed her demeanor over the edge into angry. It had been so long since she had allowed herself to be so unpolished that the burning emotions stunned her.
“Finish what you began saying, Bridget.”
Now he turned her name into a warning that further agitated her.
“I shall not.” She lifted her chin and shot him a full look of fury. It took him by surprise, his expression breaking the unreadable mask he so often wore when verbally sparring with her. She gained a glimpse at his true thoughts and the frustration lurking there. She found a measure of calm in the sight of that frustration because she felt just as unsure.
He reached down and plucked her right off the road like some Scottish marauder. A sound of rage got past her lips before she smothered it, drawing the attention of the men around them, and the guards jerked their eyes to Bridget and Curan while reaching for their swords, proving that the two days of rain had not stolen any of their sharpness.
They looked away even faster once they saw her lying across their lord’s thighs.
“Let me up!”
Bridget didn’t soften her words and did not care if Curan took offense. The man was insufferable. Since his saddle didn’t allow for her to roll toward the neck of the stallion, she ended up curled around his body with her legs flopping on one side of the horse and her head and arms on the other. Her wet skirts stuck to her ankles and calves, snapping with the motion of the animal.
She heard him make a sound that resembled a chuckle too closely for her comfort. She was past behaving the way everyone expected of her. Far past it. Planting her hands on his thigh she pushed her body up without concern for the fact that she just might end up in a heap for her efforts.
Curan did not take exception to her actions. Instead the man hooked her about the waist and lifted her up above the saddle, so that he might lower her bottom onto the saddle in front of him. She ended up sitting upright and riding sidesaddle with his hard body flush against hers. Her cheeks heated again, and that heat licked down her skin, touching all the places his hands and lips had the previous night.
“Are you more pleased now, Bridget?”
His tone was disgruntled, but it suited her mood well enough.
“Pleased that you haul me off the ground in front of your men like a whore?”
“More like a reluctant bride.” One of his arms was holding her in place against him, and it tightened with his words. “I treat you as your surly behavior deserves. Yet I wonder why you want to avoid my touch by using such comparisons. It sounds as though you wish to keep yourself from my touch completely.”
His eyes flickered with frustration, but shame made her lower her eyes. He was correct. She was using barbed words to attempt to place distance between them. Obedience to her father did not make her behavior less disgraceful. She heard him sigh.
“You are my wife. Your father has given his blessing to our match. Be at ease.”
