Read Improper Seduction Online
Authors: Mary Wine
“Bridget? I could not believe it when I heard you were
here.” Her father began speaking without looking at who else was in the room, his attention focused on her. He pegged Curan with a hard glare that she recalled very well from her childhood. It was the look that declared her father’s extreme displeasure.
“Lord Ryppon, I thought you were taking my daughter to the border land. I disagree with her being anywhere near court and its games. I believed that we had an agreement, else I would never have given my blessing to the match with you.”
“I believe Curan did indeed take your daughter to the border, Lord Connolly.”
Her father jumped, his coat jerking around as his gaze took in the king. But he didn’t perform any lavish reverence. Instead of sinking into some exaggeration of a respectful lowering of his head before his monarch, her father offered his king a dignified dipping of his head before straightening.
His hair was more silver than she recalled, and his face bore more lines from worry. Unlike Oswald and Wriothesley, her father wore good English wool. His half coat was cut in the same fashion and set with a rolled-back collar that served to keep the wind from chilling him instead of displaying costly and rare fur. There was nothing presumptuous about her sire, only neatness and order. Hanging over his shoulders was his knight’s chain, every link shiny and free of tarnish. On his left hand was a single ring, his signet ring, the mark of his nobility.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but your court is not the place I wanted my daughter.”
It was a bold thing to say to the king, many would say foolish, for Henry was rumored to enjoy his entertainments. Her father didn’t make excuses for his words; he simply finished speaking and remained silent while his king considered him.
“My court is full of schemes and vultures waiting for me to die.” Henry sighed and looked at her for a long moment. “I
value your father’s straightforwardness a great deal, and for that I apologize because it has kept him from his family.”
Her father merely lifted his own gray eyebrows in the face of his king’s bluntness. “Or it is possible they are waiting for me to die, sire. All the more reason for me to be alarmed to know my daughter is here. Forgive me, but she is my only daughter and I would have her live a wholesome life. Far away from this nest of gossip and insinuation. Your Majesty’s own daughters bear that burden, and it makes my heart ache to see their faces marked with worry so young in life.”
“They do wear the yoke of gossip, yet Catherine is determined to see me learn who my daughters are.” Henry Tudor rose, gritting his teeth as he did so. But his expression remained unchanged, the pain held behind a stern exterior. “I believe my wife is correct. The Princesses Mary and Elizabeth should know more of their father, and there is little enough time for that.”
The king looked at her father. “Which is why I need you to remain and offer me clear counsel when the schemes begin to swirl around them both.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
The king turned to look at her and Curan. His gaze lowered to the grip Curan maintained on her wrist, pausing there for a long moment while something flickered in his eyes, like a ghost of a love long past. He looked younger for a moment, more alive, but it was fleeting and vanished before Henry Tudor raised his attention back to their faces.
“You have my leave yet again, Curan, and my thanks for your service at my side. I treasure the memory of you riding beside me. Tell your sons about it someday. I have told mine. Edward enjoys my tales full well.”
“The honor was mine, Your Grace.”
The king paused in front of her, a hint of a sparkle in his eye. “And you have tickled my envy. If I were a younger man, I might have to challenge Curan for you.”
Henry Tudor actually winked at her before making his way down the hallway. His guards followed him, and the grooms that had brought the chair in took it up and fell into step behind the king. She heard him limping and winced for the glimmer that she had witnessed in his eyes.
Her father only waited until the king was halfway down the corridor before turning around to peg Curan with a hard glare once more.
“Why did you bring my daughter here?”
With the king gone, her father’s tone returned to being sharp. Outrage edged his words, and despite the clear advantage Curan had in size over him, her father boldly faced him without flinching.
Her husband was clearly fighting for control because he spoke through his clenched teeth. “Why did you send for her to attend you at court and wed another if you did not want her here?”
Curan pushed her behind him and stood nose to nose with her father.
“I did nothing of the sort. This is the last place that I wanted Bridget. The men here have become villains when it comes to virgins.”
Bridget pushed her way between them, which was no easy task considering how intent each man was on making the other see his way. It was her father who stepped back to allow her to separate them.
“A letter arrived from you, Father, instructing Mother to send me to you here at court because …”
Her words failed her because having so recently escaped his hold, the very name Oswald felt dirty on her tongue.
Curan suffered no such difficulty; his voice cracked like a whip.
“To send her to court to wed Lord Oswald.” Rage edged each word, but her father looked angrier after hearing them, if such a thing were possible. Rage drew him up straighter, and he shook with it.
“What manner of trickery is this?” He pointed at Curan. “I keep my word, sir. Never once have I been a man of deception, even if I serve at this court. The match was sealed and blessed. I do not break such promises, and I am stunned to discover you think that I might do so without the application of the rack to force me into false words.”
Curan shook his head. “I arrived to discover her trunks packed and your wife telling me that I would have to seek you in London because you had arranged another match for your daughter.”
“I never wrote such a letter, would not have written such a letter.” Her father remained steadfast in his position. The difficulty was that Curan was just as determined. Tension was twisting tighter and tighter, promising to snap at any moment. They were the two men she loved the most in her life; she had to discover a solution. There had to be an explanation.
“The letter had your seal upon it, Father.” Bridget wanted both of them to be right, but that was not possible. “I watched Mother break it with my own eyes.”
Her father reached up and clamped his hands around the turned-back front of his half coat. His fingers dug into the wool while he appeared to contemplate the situation. His face suddenly became sad, as though he had just heard that a friend had died unexpectedly.
“There is only one man who might have written that letter and convinced my captain to have it delivered unto my wife.” He drew in a deep breath and let it go. “Even so, it is my fault. I shall not deny the blame, Lord Ryppon, for my family is my first duty. There is no excuse for such a lapse. Thank the Lord God for his intercession in this matter.”
Curan lost his condemning expression. He hooked his hands into his belt and studied Lord Connolly. The muscle that had been twitching along the side of his jaw eased.
“You suspect your secretary?”
“There can be no other culprit. He is the only man who might ever dispatch my captain onto the road. He is also the only man I have ever given my signet ring to while I bathed.” Her father shook his head, more sadness entering his eyes. But he drew himself up stiffly. “I owe you a great deal, Lord Ryppon, and am glad to see you are every inch of the man I thought you to be when I selected your offer for my daughter.”
Her father reached out and stroked her cheek, a smile brightening his features. Bridget felt herself returning it because no one made her heart warm as her sire did.
Except Curan.
“I know that there is a great fascination with sons, yet I will tell you that I cherish my daughter. God only blessed me with one, but he has graciously allowed me to watch her grow into womanhood. It is a gift that I thank him for each day.”
Her father looked back at Curan.
“I would never allow her here at court, even when she asked me to bring her when she was too young to know what she was saying. This place steals the sparkle from the eyes of the innocent and true of heart. Wriothesley knows that and hoped that I might not suspect that any rumors of her arrival
were true.” He faltered, his voice becoming hard and angry once more. “That I would not have investigated those rumors until it was too late. I am happy to say that the chancellor does not know me as well as he believes.”
“Your daughter sent him off with a fit that will likely be legend before supper is served.”
“She did?”
Her father looked at her with new respect.
“Why, Bridget, that is perfect. Wriothesley can save face and you may depart without worry that he will bother you ever again. How brilliant you are, my girl, and how unselfish to sacrifice your own reputation.”
“I threw a fit, Father. Your daughter will be known as a brat. I shamed you and Mother.”
“But you will be away from here with no one’s ego offended. That is no easy task, my girl. I battle such every day. It was brilliant, I say—brilliant.”
She couldn’t help but smile; her father’s praise meant too much to her. It always had.
Lord Connolly drew himself up. “Now do as you promised me, Lord Ryppon, and take my daughter north.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was by far the most docile tone of voice Bridget had ever heard pass her husband’s lips. Curan offered her father a reverence that he truly meant. She witnessed the respect shining in his dark eyes.
“Good-bye, Father. You must come to Amber Hill and see me.”
“I shall come soon, Daughter.” Her father shared a look with Curan.
“Too soon and yet not soon enough. Now please excuse me, I must attend to a difficult matter.”
Lord Connolly turned and left, his posture stiff, but he
rubbed his signet ring and took to the distance in front of him with a determined speed.
“I am relieved.” Her husband reached out and curled his hand around her, pulling her close with a sigh. “Greatly so. For I like your father.”
“I love him.”
One dark eyebrow rose. It was subtle and yet so very telling, coming from such a strong man. Bridget placed her hands on his chest and smoothed them up and over the hard ridges that delighted her so.
“As I love you, my lord.”
He frowned at her.
“Do not be cross with me, Curan. I would gladly suffer more humiliation to remain your wife.”
“I will shelter you, Bridget.”
“I am looking forward to it. Yet why is it that you believe a woman should not have to stand up for her husband? It was but one fit that maintained the ego of the man who was set to give me to his hound. One temper tantrum to keep you from having to risk everything you have earned.”
“I would have risked it and more to keep you by my side.” Her husband suddenly lost his stern expression and grinned. “It was quite a fit, sweet Bridget.”
“I love you and care not what others say about me. Let them gossip.”
“You may not love me so greatly when I confess that I cannot stomach the idea of passing the night beneath this roof. I would rather sleep on the road, in stinking mud.”
Relief washed through her, sweeping away the tension and fear that seemed to have been her constant companions. A smile lifted the side of her lips, and she lowered her hands until she might grasp one of his.
“I’ll race you down the hallway …”
He laughed. Full volume that drew curious looks from those they passed. Bridget led the way, but only until they reached the yard. Curan surged past her then, showing her the way to the portion of the stable where their horses were kept. If anyone thought their departure in the late afternoon was odd, they both gave them no time to voice such thoughts. Curan’s men were eager for the road, too, saddling their mounts in quick motions before swinging up into the saddle.
Bridget watched her husband, proud of the way he sat so confidently in command. The crowd lingering in the yard parted when they headed for the gate. Bridget dug her heels into her mare, sending the animal up beside her husband so that they passed out of the curtain wall together.
May they remain so forever.
“Stop it, Curan. I told you, not tonight. I am freezing.”
Her husband grumbled but nuzzled against her neck again. “And I am trying to warm you, wife.”
They lay on the ground, beneath the limbs of an old oak tree. A tarp was tossed across the limbs to provide them shelter, but it did little to cut the chill of the night. Curan suddenly pulled her tighter against his body, inhaling deeply next to her skin.
“I fear to sleep, fear that I will open my eyes to discover that you have never told me you love me.”
His voice was husky and low, as though the darkness gave him the opportunity to say such words, words that no commander might say while his men watched.
“I will tell you again at sunrise and every hour after, if you will look at me with love in your eyes while I declare myself and my love unto you, Curan.”
His warm hand slipped along the side of her cheek as he
rose up above her. In spite of the darkness, she saw the faint glitter in his eyes that she had come to cherish so dearly.
“You have my solemn promise, Bridget, along with the promise that I will march an army after you every time I must for I will not live without you. You hold my heart, and I must have it near.” He lowered his head until she felt his breath against her lips. “Have you near, my love.”
He pressed a soft kiss against her mouth, but it traveled straight to her heart, sealing them together. The night was suddenly much warmer, the heat coming from within.
From her heart.
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“M
an up, for God’s sake, and drop the damn thing.”
“We’re not sending in nude shots,” Roan replied with an even smile, as the chants and taunts escalated. “So I don’t understand the need to take things to such an extreme—”
“The contest rules state, very clearly, that they’re looking for provocative,” Tessa responded, sounding every bit like a person who’d also been forced into a task she’d rather not have taken on—which she had been.
Sadly, that fact had not brought them closer.
She shifted to another camera she’d mounted on another tripod, he supposed so the angle of the sun was more to her liking. “Okay, lean back against the stone wall, prop one leg, rest that … sword thing of yours—”
“‘Tis a claymore. Belonged to the McAuleys for four centuries. Victorious in battle, ‘tis an icon of our clan.” And heavy as all hell to hoist about.
“Lovely. Prop your icon in front of you, then. I’m fairly certain it will hide what needs hiding.”
His eyebrows lifted at that, but rather than take offense, he merely grinned. “I wouldnae be so certain of it, lassie. We’re a clan known for the size of our … swords.”
“Yippee,” she shot back, clearly unimpressed. “So, drop the plaid, position your … sword, and let’s get on with it. It’s the
illusion of baring it all we’re going for here. I’ll make sure to preserve your fragile modesty.”
She was no fun. No fun ‘tall.
“The other guys did it,” she added, resting folded hands on top of the camera. “In fact,” she went on, without even the merest hint of a smile or dry amusement, “they seemed quite happy to accommodate me.”
He couldn’t imagine any man wanting to bare his privates for Miss Vandergriff’s pleasure. Not if he wanted to keep them intact, at any rate.
He was a bit thrown off by his complete inability to charm her. He charmed everyone. It was what he did. He admittedly enjoyed, quite unabashedly, being one of the clan favorites because of his affable, jovial nature. As far as he was concerned, the world would be a much better place if folks could get in touch with their happy parts, and stay there.
He didn’t know much about her, but from what little time they’d spent together that afternoon, he didn’t think Tessa Vandergriff had any happy parts. However, the reason behind her being rather happiness-challenged wasn’t his mystery to solve. She’d been on the island for less than a week. Her stay on Kinloch was as a guest, and therefore temporary. Thank the Lord.
The island faced its fair share of ongoing trials and tribulations, and had the constant challenge of sustaining a fragile economic resource. Despite that, he’d always considered both the McAuley and MacLeod clans as being cheerful, welcoming hosts. But they had enough to deal with without adopting a surly recalcitrant into their midst.
“Well,” he said, smiling broadly the more her scowl deepened. “‘Tis true, the single men of this island have little enough to choose from.” The crowd took a collective breath at that, but his attention was fully on her. Gripping the claymore
in one fist, he leaned against the stacked stone wall, well aware of the tableau created by the twin peaks that framed the MacLeod fortress, each of them towering behind him. He braced his legs, folded his arms across his bare chest, sword blade aloft … and looked her straight in the eye as he let a slow, knowing grin slide across his face. “Me, I’m no’ so desperate as all that.”
That got a collective gasp from the crowd. But rather than elicit so much as a snarl from Miss Vandergriff, or perhaps goading her so far as to pack up and walk away—which he’d have admittedly deserved—his words had a rather shocking effect. She smiled. Fully. He hadn’t thought her face capable of arranging itself in such a manner. And so broadly, with such stunning gleam. He was further damned to discover it did things to his own happy parts that she had no business affecting.
“No worries,” she stated, further captivating him with the transformative brilliance of her knowing smile. She gave him a sizzling once-over before easily meeting his eyes again. “You’re not my type.”
That was not how those things usually went for him. He felt … frisked. “Then I’m certain you can be objective enough to find an angle that shows off all my best parts without requiring a blatant, uninspired pose. I understand from Kira that you’re considered to be quite good with that equipment.”
The chanting of the crowd shifted to a few whistles as the tension between photographer and subject grew to encompass even them.
“Given your reluctance to play show-and-tell, I’d hazard to guess I’m better with mine than you are with yours,” she replied easily, but the spark remained in her eyes.
Goading him.
“Why don’t you be the judge?” Holding her gaze in exclusive
focus, the crowd long since forgotten, he pushed away from the wall and, with sword in one hand, slowly unwrapped his kilt with the other.
He took far more pleasure than was absolutely necessary from watching her throat work as he unashamedly revealed thighs and ass. He wasn’t particularly vain or egotistical, but he was well aware that a lifetime spent climbing all over the island had done its duty where his physical shape was concerned, as it had for most of the islanders. They were a hardy lot.
The crowd gasped as he held the fistful of unwrapped plaid in front of him, dangling precariously from one hand, just on the verge of—
“That’s it!” Tessa all but leapt behind the camera, and an instant later, the shutter started whirring. Less than thirty seconds later, she straightened and pushed her wayward curls out of her face, her no-nonsense business face back. “Got it. Good! We’re all done here.” She started dismantling her equipment. “You can go ahead and get dressed,” she said dismissively, not even looking at him.
He held on to the plaid—and his pride—and tried not to look as annoyed as he felt. The shoot was blessedly over. That was all that mattered. No point in being irritated that he’d just been played by a pro.
She glanced up, the smile gone as she dismantled her second tripod with the casual grace of someone so used to the routine and rhythm of it, she didn’t have to think about it. “I’ll let you know when I get the shots developed.”
He supposed he should be thankful she hadn’t publicly gloated over her smooth manipulation of him. Except he wasn’t feeling particularly gracious at the moment.