by Mary Wine
She clasped her hands together once more. “Of course. You are correct. Yet I still do not understand what you want here.”
“I came for Bridget. She is my bride, and I plan to protect what is mine, even if her father is intent on placing her in the center of this plot.” He lowered his tone. “I will not allow anyone to do that.”
The woman didn’t argue further. She considered him with eyes that were full of distrust. Curan understood that. Chancellor Wriothesley and his compatriots were plotting a very dangerous thing. Personally, he felt they were fools. The king was dying even if no one dared say it. Soon England would have a boy on its throne, and the man favored to become regent was in love with Catherine Parr. Any man who plotted against her risked a great deal more than his own life. His family and estates might become forfeit. The chancellor knew that and was trying to tie as many men to the scheme as possible. Lord Oswald would be bought with Bridget. The man was old noble blood with many connections, his only weakness a liking for young girls in his bed.
He had made a mistake in casting his eye on what Curan believed was his. The Earl of Pemshire had repaid him well in making him wise of the plot. He would allow no man to take Bridget from him. Only duty had done that so far.
Yet his time was done, at least in France. Henry Tudor had made his last campaign. The next few years would be unsettled times for England. Holding his border lands against Scottish invasion was his new duty.
“I would bid farewell to my daughter.”
Jane’s voice was smooth now. She offered him a curtsy before leaving the room. Curan watched her go. Suspicion ate at him. He allowed it to burn in his gut for a time. He was still alive due to heeding his instincts. But even if he did not trust the lady, he could not decide what she might do that would cause him worry. He had the church’s blessing and Bridget’s father’s seal on the parchment agreeing to his marriage. Jane was one woman against his entire army. Instructing her daughter to hate him was the worst she might do.
But the kiss he’d shared with Bridget was all he needed to dispel any worry about that. His bride was not cold toward him. His cock stirred behind his britches. He was likewise anything but unmoved by her. If he had kissed her that way three years ago, he would have found a way to consummate their union sooner.
He walked to the doorway and looked at the pink fingers of dawn cutting through the night. Soon enough he would have her. The trunks drew his attention. They intensified his need to take to the road and gain the high ground before those plotting men in London knew what he was about.
Her sweet kiss only made him more anxious. But it was something he allowed himself to enjoy. Once they departed he would have to focus on the protection of his men and bride. Nothing was certain in these days. He planned to keep his mind on the matter of making it home, not on what delights awaited him once he arrived with his bride.
For the next few minutes while he watched the horizon surrender to the sun, however, he indulged himself in allowing his thoughts to dwell on the moment when Bridget would surrender to him.
Chapter Four
Curan was a confident commander.
Bridget watched him from her second-floor room. Dawn was turning the sky pink. Even before what she would call daylight, his men were rising. The few tents they had erected were being disassembled in the meager light.
A knock at her door startled her. Whoever it was did not wait for her to respond, either. The door was pulled open by one of the knights standing outside. A little sigh of relief passed her lips when she saw her mother standing there.
“Good. You are awake.” Jane entered the room and turned to make sure the door closed completely behind her.
“I did not sleep long.”
Her mother came closer and took her by the hand. She led her to the far side of the chamber in front of the window.
“There is nothing I can do to stop Lord Ryppon from taking you.” Her mother scanned the men below. “In truth, I am not sure I should.”
“What do you mean?”
Her mother was pale. There was fear in her eyes Bridget could not recall seeing before, except for the brief time her brother had been ill and the physician suspected smallpox.
“Lord Ryppon claims there is a plot to gather evidence against the queen and that your father is helping those who would see her brought low.”
Bridget felt her own face drain of color. Her mother’s hands tightened around hers. Men made decisions that too often had terrible effects on the women in their families. If her father or brother became entangled in a scheme against the queen, the entire family would be stained. Their lands possibly forfeit. She and her mother would become beggars at the tables of their relatives.
“Lord Ryppon claims that the king is dying.”
That at least made sense. No one dared say Henry Tudor was dying. There were men who would try to gain the king’s favor by delivering anyone foolish enough to say such a thing out loud as a possible treason plotter.
That did not keep many from thinking that the king’s days were drawing to an end. Times were turbulent indeed. Henry’s only son was a boy too young to rule. That fact would plunge England into dark days filled with regents and noble families struggling for power. Marriage was a common way of uniting those powerful names, yet if the king discovered the vultures gathering to feast on what he left behind, Bridget doubted there would be any mercy in him. No man liked to admit his own mortality, and Henry Tudor would be no different.
“I cannot go to London.”
It didn’t matter if it was a disobedience against her father. Bridget felt her stomach clench at the mere idea of riding into the swirling plots circling the king. Only a fool sought such a fate, or a woman who was greedy for power. She had lived this long without it. Marie’s words rose from her memory.
Bridget stared at her mother. “I will not go there, Mother.” Her voice was edged with respect but full of determination.
“I do not believe that Lord Ryppon intends to allow you any choice on where you go, Bridget.”
That brought her a measure of relief. Her mother read it off her face.
“That does not mean you should celebrate your marriage, Bridget.”
Frustration filled her. “What is it you suggest I do, Mother? He has every right and an army to enforce his will.”
Her mother nodded. “I know. Yet I fear for you if you go to his bed. Your father has powerful friends. To lie with Lord Ryppon is an insult to Lord Oswald now that your father has given the man his word on a match between you.”
“Mother—”
“Forgive me, Bridget; I know I am making no sense.” Jane cast a look behind her to ensure they were still alone. “You should allow Lord Ryppon to take you north.”
Excitement flickered in her belly. Bridget looked down to conceal the unexpected response from her mother. But Jane cupped her chin and lifted it.
“Your cousin Alice is married to a Scot. Their land borders Lord Ryppon’s.”
“Of course, that is why father arranged this match.”
Her mother sighed. “Well, one of the reasons, Daughter. There are others, but it appears that your father feels those reasons have diminished compared to the gains he might secure with Lord Oswald.”
“You want me to seek Alice for sanctuary?” The idea sounded absurd, but she could think of nothing else her mother might be suggesting. Yet she had not seen Alice since they were children, and Scotland was not a place for an English noblewoman to venture into without a great deal of thought. As well as prayer.
Jane’s face lit with satisfaction. “Yes.” She pressed a small bag into Bridget’s hands. It was heavy with coin. “Use this gold to bribe Lord Ryppon’s men once you are on his land. Go by night, and your cousin will give you shelter. I will write to her today so that she expects you. Make sure you only bribe someone without a sword. If a man carries a sword with Sir Curan, I doubt his loyalty is for sale.”
Bridget looked at the small purse; it reminde
d her of a serpent because it would indeed give her the means to escape Curan. The memory of his kiss rose thick and hot from her mind.
A heavy knock made them both jump. It was loud enough to echo off the far wall of the chamber. Only a man’s fist made such volume of noise.
“Well now. Up with you, Bridget.” Her mother offered her a smile that she knew was false. It was the expression she used when hiding her true feelings behind a lady’s manners. Bridget responded with a similar one. Genuine approval brightened her mother’s eyes. Bridget savored the moment and tried not to think that it might be the last time she saw such.
“Lord Ryppon has called for you, Lady Bridget.”
The knights who had been guarding her door stepped into the chamber. Distaste for invading her personal room flickered in their eyes, but they did not retreat. Instead they halted a few paces into the room, leaving a space between them for her to pass.
“I will get your surcoat.” Jane turned to retrieve the garment from where Bridget had laid it across the foot of her bed. Tears stung Bridget’s eyes, and she turned to hide her moment of weakness from Curan’s men.
Grabbing her gloves, she pushed her right hand into one while blinking away her melancholy. When she finished, her composure was firm once more. Her mother held out the surcoat and helped ease the heavy wool garment up onto her shoulders.
“Remember what I have told you, Bridget, and all will be well.”
To the knights, her mother’s words were innocent. Both of them stood unalarmed and relieved to see her making ready to depart.
“I shall, Mother.”
Jane cupped her cheeks. “And do not forget your lessons.”
Bridget felt her cheeks color, but her confidence swelled, too. A naughty little smile replaced the polished proper one. Her mother returned it.
“I shall, Mother. Indeed, I shall.”
The man was insufferable.
Bridget stared at the inside of the wagon cover and allowed her lips to curl into a snarl.
A wagon. The man had her loaded and transferred like a sack of grain. It was an insult. There were horses aplenty, and yet she sat on the floor of a wagon bed. A bit of guilt pricked her. In truth, someone had gone to trouble on her behalf. A thick wool blanket was folded and placed beneath her. Two large bedding rolls were pushed against the sides to form a corner that was soft. They kept her from knocking her elbows against the hard sides while she was jostled about.
The cover was stretched over a rounded frame of poles. No one could see in unless she opened the corner near her. The sound of horses and men filled her ears. Bridget could hear the plates that made up their armor hitting against each other with every step of their mounts, swords clanging against belts, and the creak of the wagons. Even if she weren’t alone, the noise level was too high to compete with. There was little to do. She left the cover in place for the first hour, not trusting her discipline to witness the last sight of her home. It was better not to dwell.
Yet that left her battling with her temper. She adored riding, the wind chilling her cheeks and the feel of the powerful animal beneath her. Sitting in a wagon was dull and turning her stomach queasy. Even when she looked out, she could not see forward. A cloth sat near her with bread and cheese. It was good fare for traveling, but her belly protested. She sipped at the wine, but even that brought another threatening heave from her stomach.
Well, she did not need very much strength under the circumstances. A few missed meals would not be so difficult to bear. Once she reached Amber Hill that would change. She would need all her strength and more to cross the border into Scotland.
Should she?
The question occupied her thoughts for hours. The times were so perilous. A woman was nothing without her family. Wedding against her father’s wishes would not be wise. Such disobedience might even have an effect on her mother. After all, it was her mother’s duty to raise the children to respect the master of the house.
Bridget felt her throat tighten. Indeed, she could see that Curan would not be a man who would shoulder anything that was not to his liking, either.
She sighed and flipped the wagon cover up to look out. The line of wagons appeared endless, as did the number of men. Her mind had been set on the realities of becoming a wife, but she had never expected to feel so out of place when she departed with her groom. The movement of the wagon cover drew instant attention. These men were fresh from hostile soil, and they looked at her the moment her face was in sight. Their attention left her just as quickly, clearly making it known that they considered her their master’s possession, his personal property.
Was it respect? She honestly doubted. Still, the manner in which they looked away suggested that they were granting her an honor by not imposing on her modesty. That was chivalrous, something spoken of in legends.
Curan didn’t call a halt until the sun was almost gone. Light was meager, and his men hurried to build fires. Bridget gratefully scooted toward the end of the wagon. Her dress and surcoat bunched up beneath her, making it a frustrating journey.
But the need for a bit of privacy was far too pressing. She made it to the end and gratefully let her feet dangle over the edge. After the entire day her muscles were sore and reluctant to work. The moment she stood up, pain shot up her legs. She forced herself forward a few steps, searching the hordes of men clustered around her.
They did their best to ignore her, which suited her needs. Grasping a handful of her heavy surcoat, she climbed the steep incline away from the road. Amazement rippled through her mind when no one shouted at her.
Gaining relief from both her body’s needs had never pleased her so much, but once she finished she noticed that she was also free of the constant presence of being watched. Her shoulders were tense, muscles aching. With no one about, she lifted her arms and made wide circles with them to ease the strain. A little sound of delight passed her lips.
“My apologies for not allowing you a break to stretch.”
She jumped and spun around too quickly. Her surcoat and dress kept going even though she tried to stand facing her company. The motion of the fabric pulled her out of her steps. She stumbled twice before catching herself. Heat stung her cheeks as she looked straight at the amusement decorating Curan’s lips. Lifting her chin, she offered him a smooth expression.
“I assure you I am fit and able to endure, sir.”
The grin melted off his lips. Still a good ten feet down the embankment, Curan had one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. His fingers were curled around it, not draped in some casual display. His gaze cut away from her to sweep the area behind her briefly.
“You shall not endure long without eating, Bridget. Did you decide not to partake of what was given to you because I neglected to allow you some privacy to attend to your body’s needs?”
“No.” She answered too quickly.
One dark eyebrow rose. He took several steps toward her, his longer legs covering far more distance than her small steps did. Strange how she was aware of that. Her eyes were drawn to the way his body moved, powerful, almost mesmerizing.
He stopped a single pace from her. “The fare was not to your liking?”
“It was very well.” To say otherwise would be childish.
“Then explain why you did not eat.”
The man was clearly accustomed to being in command. He wasn’t asking; it was a command and one she was expected to quickly obey. Her eyes narrowed with annoyance.
“I should think that you would not care for a wife who complains.” Gripping the front of her surcoat, she took a step away from him and back toward the men she could hear just beyond the trees that shielded them.
Curan caught her upper arm. It was quick and the grip solid. A gasp escaped her before she mustered the discipline to contain her reactions. The ease he felt in touching her was unsettling. Years had passed since even her mother had been so quick to reach for her. Odd that she had not noticed the lack of human contact until Curan placed his
hand on her. A tiny flicker of pleasure filled his eyes.
“What I prefer is a wife who answers me plainly when I ask her a question, Bridget.”
He was using her name on purpose, as a sort of demonstration of his claim on her. Determination flickered in his eyes, and her chin rose in response.
“Are you so set against our union that you intend to try to force me into returning you home out of pity because you will not eat? It takes a long time to weaken from hunger, lady. Longer than you think.”
“I thought no such thing.”
The grip on her arm tightened. “I am glad to hear you say so.” He held her steady and closed the remaining distance between them. With him so close, she had to tilt her head back to maintain contact with his eyes. What she witnessed in their dark centers sent a ripple of awareness down her body. Determination, hard and unwavering, stared back at her.
She pulled against his hold. It was an impulse—her body simply tried to escape without any thought. The attempt was a waste of effort. His hand remained firmly in place, and she heard a small sound of frustration from him.
“One meal is hardly cause for an interrogation. Release me and I shall sup as I intended to do.”
His forehead furrowed. “As you intended?”
“Quite so.” Now her voice was firm, her chin steady as she glared at him. “You are making far too much of such a simple matter.”
“Only because you seem so intent on denying me the truth of the matter. I see no reason why you cannot answer me directly.”
He released her, frustration darkening his features. The action surprised her, yet also threatened to shake her composure as well. She was far too aware of how warm his touch had been, too knowing of the fact that he chose to release her and that she was not strong enough to force her will upon him.
Or was she? Marie’s words suddenly rose to mind. Challenging Curan’s strength with her “strength” was unwise. Drawing a slow breath, she pushed her pride aside and sweetened her voice. She forced a soft smile onto her lips and lowered her eyelashes so that her eyes were partly veiled.