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?
“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?”
Synclair used her title, and it snapped her back into the moment. Lady Ryppon, indeed. It was a mark of respect from the knight and not one used lightly.
“Yes.”
He crossed the solar and retrieved the shirt that was still flying from the window ledge. Bridget turned her back on it and headed toward the stairs. She heard Synclair hurrying to catch up to her and had to force her distaste down for being guarded. Raging against injustice had never changed it, and she knew that well. Her mother had sent for Marie just to show her a way around the imperfect world in which she lived.
She paused at the top of the stairs that led down into the courtyard in front of Laird Barras’s fortress. Yesterday’s long journey to the solar made her want to snarl for seeing the truth that she had in fact been taken on a merry parade designed to confuse her. Inside the stone walls, it had worked very well. She had never guessed that the exit was so near to where she was being kept.
It was a well-kept place, giving no credit to the rumors she had heard of Scots who wallowed in muck. There were no mounds of droppings or foul odors, either. The yard was not covered in cobblestone, such as Amber Hill, but the dirt was well packed and bore marks from being swept.
“Good morning to ye, Lady Ryppon. I trust the bed met with yer approval.”
Gordon Dwyre was a cocksure man, and no doubt about it. The Scot flashed her a bright smile that was followed by a bold wink. “Ye know, I’m quite taken aback by the fact that I did nae get to kiss the bride. A shame that is, considering ye passed the night beneath me own roof.”
“Find your own bride to kiss.”
There was a note in Curan’s voice that suggested he was jesting with the Scottish laird. There was no hint of playfulness on his face, however. He sat on top of his stallion looking every inch the commander. His armor was in place once more, even gauntlets covering his fingers.
Laird Barras shrugged. “From yer lips unto God’s ears. Go in peace, neighbor.”
A mare was led up to the base of the stairs. Clearly the animal was for her, for it was fitted with a sidesaddle to enable her to keep her skirts over her ankles. The courtyard was suddenly filled with the sound of armor plates hitting against each other as Curan’s men mounted. Horses snorted and danced with eager anticipation. Synclair offered her his hand to mount.
So now she was gifted with a horse?
The mare was soft brown and looked healthy. Keeping her chin level, Bridget gained the saddle with all the grace her mother had ensured she had. Bridget discovered herself grateful for lessons she had been forced to repeat over and over until she polished her skills, because today there were more than a hundred stares being directed at her. They were silent but judging looks that weighed her worth through her actions.
Taking the reins, she adjusted her skirts so that they were properly placed. There was only one set of eyes she
