“I doubted that ye’d come inside me home for the conversation I’m interested in having with ye.”

“You are correct on that account, Barras.” Curan frowned and gave a flick of his wrist. His men halted where they were behind Gordon, but the Scot merely grinned and gave a toss of his head to indicate his own men behind Curan. There were a few curses muttered around them, but Gordon and Curan maintained a steady lock of their gazes, each man recognizing the cunning of the other.

“I’ve been wanting a meeting with ye, Ryppon, and hearing that your bride had snuck onto me land was a bit too much of a temptation to ignore the opportunity that capturing her would afford me. I’m out here to show ye that conversation is what I’m seeking, no spilt blood.”

Curan snorted. “I’ve come for Bridget and nothing else until I have her.”

“I set the lass up in one of me towers with the hope that ye wouldnae be far behind her.” Gordon smirked. “I wouldnae hesitate if I were wearing yer boots.”

“She is my wife, Barras, so return her now if you have a sense of honor.”

“Well now, the way I hear it, the wedding has nae been celebrated. That makes her yer bride, and those can be stolen, my friend. Even among honorable men.”

Curan growled and stepped closer to Gordon so that his words wouldn’t drift.

“Name your price, Scot, and do it quickly before my mood turns too dark. Stealing my bride, is not in your best interest. Not if you want me to remain friendly.” He was itching to lay the man low just for the fact that he had Bridget, but that wouldn’t get him through the walls she was hidden behind. Uncertainty always remained in battle, and having his bride mixed up in that enraged him.

Gordon abandoned his teasing. “Ye don’t take teasing too well, Ryppon, so it’s a good thing ye are no Scottish. Let’s sit for a moment. I’ve business to talk with ye, and it’s a truth that I’ve been thinking on it for some time. I’ve nae intention of keeping the lass, only of using her to bring ye up here so that we can talk face-to-face.”

“I’m not going into your castle, if that is what you mean by sitting down with you, Barras.”

“Ye won’t?” He chuckled, gaining a raised eyebrow from Curan. “Well now, I suppose ‘tis a good thing that I figured on that already.”

“There is nothing good about this entire situation.”

“Now is that any way to talk when I’ve gone to so much trouble to set a welcome out for ye?”

Gordon waved some of his men forward. They actually deposited chairs and struck light to a quickly gathered fire before setting out a bottle of wine on a small end table that one of them set down with a grunt of relief. They had hauled all of it across the hillside, lending weight to the fact that the Scot clearly did have something of importance weighing on his mind.

“I’m impressed, Barras.”

Gordon shrugged before untying his sword scabbard and handing it to his captain. His teeth were clenched tight while he did it, and Curan felt his own jaw tightening while he forced himself to give his own sword over to Synclair. It was the only honorable thing to do. He took a seat and watched Gordon pour a measure of the wine into a wooden goblet, then take a large swallow out of while keeping his eyes on Curan. With a soft grunt, he poured another measure into a second goblet and offered it to him. Curan took it and lifted it to his lips, once more bound by honor to not insinuate that the man was trying to poison him when the man had tasted it in front of him.

Gordon sat back in his chair. “We were born enemies, you and I, but it doesna have to remain that way. Times are changing. You English will have a new king soon.”

“I’ve been riding with my current king, Barras, and will not have his name insulted.”

“I’m merely mentioning that the way of gaining fortunes is changing. Conquering land is no longer the only way to riches.”

Curan paused, thinking about what the man had ordered his men to haul several miles in order to have a conversation with him. “What do you have in mind?”

Gordon swirled the remaining wine around the inside of his goblet. “To start with, you have a port and I’ve got goods that will fetch a far better price if I can load them onto a ship, instead of taking that cargo across land by cart. I want to strike a bargain that will keep yer port busy and my goods moving towards markets that are hungry enough for them to pay a decent amount. Between us, we can modernize and provide a brighter future for both our people.”

Curan narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t need to imprison my bride to talk trade with me, Barras. I’m beginning the process of settling down and am thinking along the same lines.”

“I didna need to stop her from running away to the ship her father sent for her, either, but I thought it might make a fine gesture of goodwill between us if I tucked her away in me tower to wait for ye. It seems to me that her father is doing a fine job of confusing the lass with all of his mind-changing on just who she’s going to be wife to.” Gordon offered him a cocky smile. “Why, give me a few days, and I do believe I can convince her that her father has settled on me as the man she’s supposed to marry.”

“You’ve already noticed that I don’t tolerate teasing well, Barras.” Curan watched the man shrug. “But you make a good point. Her father is making a mess of this matter. Be very sure I will hold him to the bargain he struck with me. Bridget is my wife, and I’ll challenge any man who tries to interfere with that union.”

Gordon lifted his goblet while he considered his next words. “I find it very interesting the way her father is spending so much coin on getting her back to London. Mind ye, having seen the lass, I can see the value in her. She’s a sweet little bit if ever there was one.”

Curan growled, earning him a snicker from Gordon.

“Relax, Ryppon. I’ve different taste than ye when it comes to women.”

“Is that so?”

The Scot pegged him with a hard glare. “It is. I want to offer for yer sister. I’ve seen her riding along the ridge like a Spartan when she thinks no one is wise to what she is about. I admit that I have a taste for spirited lasses. Yer sister is untamed.”

“My father would have run you through for making that offer.” Curan felt his tension ebbing. The Scot was the one who looked stressed now, and that suited him quite well, but there was also a part of him that had empathy for the man. He knew well what it was like to long for a woman and only one woman, while no other would do.

“Well now, you see why I wouldnae ignore the chance to get ye onto my land so that I could place the matter in front of ye. I want a bright future, not more fuel for hatred that has claimed too many lives as it is. But I’m wanting yer sister for my wife, and it’s getting a wee bit hard no to snatch her off the back of that horse she is so fond of riding across the very edge of me land.”

Curan took a swallow from his goblet. It gave him a moment to consider the man sitting in front of him. The Scot had an excellent point; they didn’t need to be enemies, and trade was what would make his own land profitable. A marriage between their families would forge a solid union, but he would have to admit to the fact that he held different opinions than many men in his own society when it came to dealing with his female relations.

“My sister is no witless girl. I know very well how often she rides. You would have discovered it a harder task to steal her than you think, but you are correct about her nature. If I caged Jemma, she would have strangled on the chain or found a way to escape. Allowing her to think she slips away from her escort is a compromise I make to her spirit. As such, I will not contract her to any man that she is not willing to wed.”

“Is that a fact?” Gordon’s fingers tightened around his goblet.

“It is also a fact that I would not be opposed to you courting Jemma.” Curan watched his words sink in. “Providing we were doing good business together. I think a match would be favorable to both of us. If you can charm your way into Jemma’s heart, that is.”

Barras flashed him a cocky grin at the challenge. Most men would have taken exception to that look, but Curan recognized that it was quite possibly exactly what his sister needed. Jemma would never behave meekly, thanks to his father’s reluctance to have her disciplined when she was a girl. He had lavished indulgence upon her, allowing her to grow into a woman who was firm in her opinions. Women who spoke their minds were not faring well in England, thanks to the king’s own pride. Any marriage to an English lord would most likely end with Jemma being broken when the man’s ego suffered. The Scot in front of him was a different matter. He found Jemma’s wildness attractive, giving Curan hope that she would be happy.

Curan stood. Men jerked to attention behind him, but he made no further moves toward his host except to extend his hand to the man.

“My hand and word upon the matter, Barras. You may court my sister.”

The Scot was on his own feet in a blink of the eye. He grinned while he grasped hands with him.

“Let me fill yer cup again, Ryppon. It seems ye have a wedding to celebrate.”

Curan felt his fingers tighten around the Scot’s hand. All amusement left his face.

“Show me to my bride.”


Chapter Ten




Bridget didn’t sleep well. She felt too many eyes upon her to relax. The bed in the solar was encased in heavy curtains to ensure privacy, but she awoke several times when she heard the guard near the arches changing. She heard only the brushing of leather against wooden floor, but her eyes opened and every muscle tightened. Darkness engulfed the room, but there was a single glow of light, as if someone had opened the shutters that covered the windows.

Pushing back one of the bed curtains, she stood and saw that the shutters were indeed opened wide. The night air blew in, ruffling her chemise and chilling her legs. Loneliness seemed to go hand in hand with the darkness. Nevertheless, the beckoning moonlight saw her striding to the window, the silver glint bathing her while the night breeze lifted her unbound hair.

Lovers meet in the moonlight …

Heat moved over her skin, licking across the sensitive flesh while Curan’s face filled her thoughts. She felt him so keenly, it was as though the man was in the room with her. Noise from beneath the window made her frown. Moving forward she looked down and gasped.

Horses and men were filling the inner yard. Many of them lying down next to their horses to sleep while they had the chance.

“I brought my entire army to fetch you back.”

Bridget didn’t gasp, she didn’t make any sound at all, because it felt as if Curan had materialized straight out of her longing for him.

“Does that please you, Bridget? To see that I will place my men in harm’s way to possess you?”

“No.”

He was half shadow, standing near the wall where only a spattering of moonlight touched him. She felt him more than saw him. Strength radiated from him, making her more aware of how chilly the night air was and how warm his skin would feel against her own.

He struck a flint stone, and the spark was brilliant. It gave birth to the flicker of a candle, the yellow flame bathing him in light. He lacked the mail shirt that he so often wore and stood only clothed in a shirt and pants. She sighed, too full of joy to hold the sound inside her. One of his dark eyebrows rose.

“Are you pleased to see me, Bridget? You will have to forgive me for doubting such.” His gaze slipped down her body, the candle flame turning her chemise transparent. Hunger drew his features tight.

“I am pleased to see you, yet that is not a good thing. It is a sign of how weak I am.” She moved away from the window and the candle, suddenly recalling the guards who had watched her most of the day. “I am far too happy to allow you to take the burden of obeying my father away.”

Curan made a low sound of frustration. “Do not begin trying to twist my thinking. We have received the church’s blessing three years past. It is done.”

“You know that is not so.” Bridget turned in the dark, her chemise flaring away from her body. “Do not think that because I am a woman raised in the country that I do not hear of the number of divorces. Women who knelt in front of the altar, too, yet find themselves cast out without a single silver piece. You shall suffer along with me if we celebrate this union. No one disobeys the chancellor. It is time for you to accept reason in this matter.”

The candle flame died in a quick pinch, robbing her of her sight. Bridget didn’t hear him, but she felt him closing the distance between them. In spite of every reason, she was still keenly aware of him, still yearning for one more touch to savor before she had to live without it.