Her temper did not save her this time. How could she be angry when in truth she was behaving shamefully? The maid always cried foul when a man trifled with her while intending to leave her.

Was she not committing the very same transgression? Taking her ease with Curan, touching him and sharing her kisses with him all the while thinking that she would leave.

Harsh and laden with guilt, her thoughts cut into her for the rest of the day. She found it hard to focus on the housekeeper May and her introductions to Amber Hill. Bridget found that her resolve to resist Curan had dwindled. Her heart ached, which confounded her the most, that small glimpse into his relaxed nature having snared her tender emotions. Hidden inside him was a heart she could love, tempting her beyond everything else to stay and disobey her mother.

Yet to what end?

Amber Hill was truly a remarkable castle. Three main towers rose up from the border land. The stone was solid and sturdy, while inside the roof of the great hall was supported with timber covered with slate tiles. There were no damp corridors. Whoever had drawn the plans for the towers knew his art well. Windows were placed to capture the most light possible, even on such an early spring day. From the third floor the hills of Scotland were visible as well as the patches of snow that dotted them. Alice lived far over the rise, her husband performing a similar duty to his overlord that Curan would for England. Both of them helping to secure the border.

A curtain wall surrounded the towers, but every inch of the yard was covered in cobblestone. Curan clearly had his financial affairs in good order to be able to afford such a fine fortress. Many border holdings were little more than mud piles that boasted well-armed knights.

“My lady?”

Bridget jumped. “Forgive me, I was lost in thought.”

May inclined her head, but her eyes held a knowing look that such a demure action could not conceal.

“There is no hurry.”

Bridget drew herself up straight. “Spring is upon us. No one will have time for a lack-wit trying to run things.”

“It is not so upon us that you may not take a small amount of time to celebrate being a bride before the duties of mistress take you away.”

“Yes, well, my mother raised me to be diligent to my chores.”

The housekeeper looked like she wanted to argue, but Bridget did not give her time.

“Show me where the spices are kept.”

May turned and walked down the hallway without a comment. There was no escaping the unspoken words lurking in the woman’s eyes, however. Bridget followed her and forced herself to take note of the portions of herbs and spices stored in the still room. Rows and rows of stores kept Bridget’s thoughts centered on the task at hand. She didn’t dwell on the fact that she needed to gather such knowledge only if she intended to remain at Amber Hill. She had to appear as though she were, so she remained in the still room for hours. The shadows grew long across the floor before May spoke again.

“My lord.”

She lowered herself and stopped opening locked drawers.

“Supper is on the table. You should have told my bride.”

May offered him a smile. “I have had too many days of idleness when supper was the only thing for me to spend my time on. It has been a delight to assist the mistress with getting to know Amber Hill.”

She dropped another curtsy to Bridget before leaving the still room.

“I didn’t mean to keep her from her meal.”

Curan was fully dressed now, but her memory recalled him vividly in naught but his shirt. His doublet was good English wool and lacked any trim. He hadn’t dispensed with his boots, either—they were still pulled up above his knees—but the leather was cleaned and recently oiled. They suited him, and she decided that he would most likely never wear the smaller slippers that were fashionable for gentlemen of the court.

“The cook hoists the blue flag when she is beginning to serve.” He walked across the still room and pointed out one of the windows. A flag was fluttering in the evening breeze. The horizon was scarlet and gold, the sun sinking below the mountains.

“You will learn to look for it near sunset.”

He reached into the window and pulled the shutters in. The thick wood covers blocked out the light, casting the still room into semidarkness. The dimness sent a tingle across her skin because her memory of what Curan did to her in the night was a passionate one. He grasped her hand and she jumped, far too aware of every touch he laid on her.

He clicked his tongue at her in reprimand.

“I do believe this might be the longest week of my life, waiting for your courses to be finished.” His face was cast into shadow and his voice was dark and husky while his hand clasped her warmly. His thumb found the center of her palm and rubbed it gently.

“Week?”

“Aye. I have come to understand that is the longest that a woman’s courses might last.” His thumb sent shivers down her spine and drew her nipples tight. “But some are shorter …”

He leaned down and placed a kiss against her lips. “Dare I hope you will come to me sooner … Bridget?”

His voice was soft, too soft. He was testing her. Tension knotted in her belly, and she squeezed her hand tightly against his to still his teasing thumb.

“I must be sure that I am clean …”

“Ah … of course.”

Silken and smooth, his voice didn’t betray anything, but she could feel him circling her like a hunter looking for the weakest spot on his prey.

“That is nothing to question me over, my lord. It is—”

“We are alone, Bridget.”

His voice rose, and she clearly heard its sharp expectation. He pulled her closer by their joined hands, twisting their forearms to bring her nearer.

“You shall use my name when we are in private.”

It was the command in his tone that tempted her to do as he said, but it was the flicker of need in his eyes. Lurking in the dark pools was something she had difficulty defining, but her heart seemed to understand. A desire to know you were treasured. It was hidden behind the stiff expression of the warrior, shoved down behind the mask he wore when being dutiful to every part of his life.

She knew that burden, too, always hearing the lingering echo of what was expected of her.

“As you say, Curan.”

He didn’t respond for a long moment, remaining frozen, but her heart accelerated and she became aware of each one of his fingers wrapped around her own. He suddenly drew in a deep breath.

“I suppose I must learn to ask you for what I wish in private.” He placed a soft kiss against her hand before allowing their hands to lower between them.

“We should attend supper. I suspect the clergy will refuse to bless the meal until you and I appear.”

The look in his eyes told her he could care less about the meal awaiting them. But the guilt that had assaulted her earlier resumed its tearing at her.

“We should not keep others from eating.”

“I suppose you are correct. You will have to teach me the appropriate manners for a household. I believe they are different from commanding an army.”

Bridget smiled and then laughed. There was no holding back her amusement. They were closer to the door now, and the fading daylight illuminated Curan’s expression. Back was that easy expression that he used with his sister. Her lips rose higher and parted to show her teeth.

“You do not smile enough, Bridget.”

“I do not? I do not believe I have seen a single one gracing your lips.” At least not one that wasn’t mocking.

He shrugged, his powerful shoulders relaxed but still looking so strong. He pulled her out into the hallway.

“A commander needs to be focused on what is happening around him, not finding things to make him smile.”

He maintained his grasp on her hand, a grasp that seemed such an intimate thing. Her mother had held her hand, but this was vastly different.

“I suppose that is what makes you so competent in your position.”

He titled his head and studied her from a sidelong glance. “Yet it does not please you, does it, Bridget?”

She tried to pull her hand from his. The smile faded but only for a moment before his lips curved back up and his fingers gently massaged her hand.

“You are too tense. Our arrangement is three years old. I find it odd that you are still so ill at ease with me.”

“I have not been in your company these three years. Thinking about something is different than doing it.”

He nodded, but suspicion glittered in his eyes. Bridget pulled on her hand again but gained nothing. Frustration made her temper heat.

“I have been in the company of only my mother as well. If you wanted a wife who was used to being in the company of men, perhaps a court lady would have been a better choice for your wife.”

He stopped and turned to face her. But the man did not remain still. He released her hand and reached for her face. She tried to command herself to remain firmly rooted in the face of his imposing stature but failed miserably. Her feet retreated before her mind was able to order them to stand in place. She bumped into the wall and hissed with frustration.

“I am such a ninny …” The words slipped out.

Curan laughed. Only it wasn’t the sort of amusement heard when the players were performing well. This was a deep rumble of male enjoyment. He pressed his hands flat against the wall on either side of her body, caging her with his muscular limbs while his body faced her.

“I see the correctness of what you say, Bridget. You are not resisting our union, merely skittish now that the moment is here.”

“Horses are skittish, sir!”

His eyes narrowed as he angled his head down to look at her. Her muscles were twitching with awareness now, her skin warming and becoming sensitive once more. His eyes focused on her mouth, and the tender skin of her lips actually tingled. She licked her lower lip before realizing that he was watching her mouth so intently. His smile melted away as his mouth became a hard line of hunger.