Improper Seduction

by Mary Wine

  “As I treasured your sure hand directing my affairs while I was away in France.”

  Chancellor Wriothesley’s lips rose into the smallest of smiles before he departed, taking more of the guards away. The ones who remained were the personal escort of the king.

  “He has a keen wit and runs the country better than anyone else I have given the authority to.” The king slid a glance over to Curan. “Removing him would not be my first choice. Edward is too young to rule.”

  This utterance was the closest the king had ever come to admitting his time was growing short. But the signs were there. The pallor of his skin was more yellow than Curan recalled, and his eyes bore dark circles beneath them.

  “It is not my choice, either, sire. Since it appears that my bride has managed to send them both looking for another, I suppose I shall have to be content with the outcome, if not the means.”

  Henry smiled. “You don’t care for that, do you, Curan?”

  “No, I do not. She is mine to shelter.”

  The King tilted his head to one side. “I would normally agree with you, but there is something about that fit she just threw that makes me believe you may have discovered your match in female form. That girl has fire in her belly and a sharp wit. It would have been messy sorting out your claim against Wriothesley. The man will remain once I am gone. Your bride is wiser than you to realize that it is better he thinks her a spoilt brat and nothing he can make use of.”

  “I still don’t like it, sire.”

  “Neither would I, except for the outcome, of course.”

  Curan growled, low and deep, and gained a chuckle from the king he had ridden with for years.

  Henry Tudor cast a look at the bedchamber door. “I believe I would have a closer look at your bride, Lord Ryppon.”

  Lord Oswald’s words came clearly through the door. Bridget froze in mid-wail when she heard the man rejecting her.

  Rejection had never, ever been so sweet. She would cherish it for the rest of her life.

  She blew out a long sigh but froze when she noticed the maids staring at her. Their eyes narrowed, but the elder of the two pointed a finger at the younger and lifted another finger to her lips. She moved closer to Bridget and plucked at her sleeve, mimicking the actions of dressing.

  “We’ll keep your secret, miss. I’ll see to Agnes there. No one is hated more than Lord Oswald, but we all do his bidding else suffer for it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Your husband is a fine man and right easy on the eyes. If I had one half as good to take care of me, I’d leave this palace in the flutter of my eyelashes. But the good ones want a girl with a dowry because they’ve a mind for setting up a good future and all.”

  Bridget heard the lament in the girl’s voice. She met the maid’s eyes and recognized that they were very much the same, only fate had been kinder to Bridget in giving her a man that she loved to fight for.

  “Spying for the chancellor is the only way to keep our positions, and without them, we shall never earn enough silver to marry. We’re both on our own.”

  Bridget suddenly recalled the money her mother had given her to bribe Curan’s men. Moving over to her trunk, she lifted the lid and dug it out of the shoe that she had stuffed it into.

  “If you will keep your word to me, I shall give you what you desire so that you may leave this place.”

  Bridget held out two gold angels. The women’s eyes widened because each one of the coins represented over a year’s wages.

  “Do you mean it, lady? A gold angel for naught but our word on the matter?”

  “I do. No one should suffer this life without the chance to love.” Bridget pressed the money into each of their hands. “Go and make sure you choose a man for his values, not his handsome face.”

  “You truly do not belong here, Lady Ryppon. You’re a fine, decent soul. A true lady, not like the others who demand respect they do not earn.”

  Bridget could not agree more. For all the finery that surrounded her, all she could see was the plotting and scheming. Amber Hill beckoned to her like a clean-flowing river that was not fouled by too many people living near its shores. The door pushed inward, and Curan looked at the two maids.

  “Leave us.”

  His gaze was hard and leveled straight at her. Bridget returned it while the maids offered them curtsies and fled the room.

  Curan closed the distance between them, his footfalls silent. He reached out to tap her chin with a single finger of reprimand. She saw his thoughts turning in his eyes, but he shook his head.

  “The king awaits you.”

  Her eyes widened. “The king is still here?”

  “Henry Tudor heard every word, my sweet Bridget.”

  Bridget felt herself go pale. Her mother would be shamed, her father humiliated. Her brothers would never be able to show their faces at court again.

  She was still not sorry. Not if it meant she might go back to Amber Hill with her husband.

  “I will not keep him waiting.”

  She walked into the outer chamber that still had the tub and water lying in puddles on the floor. The length of toweling was lying trampled among it all, and there sat the king of England. His royal guards stood at attention around him, while his head turned to her the moment she appeared. He lifted one hand that was crowded with large rings.

  “Come here, Lady Ryppon.”

  Curan squeezed one side of her bottom from behind the door where the king could not see his actions. She jumped forward, certain her cheeks would blister from the blush heating them.

  “Your Majesty.” She sunk into a low reverence before completing the journey to stand in front of him.

  “Straighten up, I would have a good look at you.” Henry Tudor might be sitting down, but the man sounded as though he was mounted on a horse in command of an army. There was no weakness in his tone, no hint of him thinking that his will might be refused.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Bridget stood up and stared back at him with the same courage that had prompted her to behave so shamefully. The king’s stare was brilliant, almost cutting into her, but she refused to duck her chin. For some reason, she needed to hold her chin steady, to prove that she was worthy of being called Lady Ryppon.

  “Strength is always best matched with strength, Curan.” Henry Tudor nodded. “I believe she has enough to give you the family you long for and not bore you to death throughout the seasons.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  There was the sound of hurried steps on the hallway, and the guards watching over the king tightened their hands on their long pikes. A hand knocked on the door, pounding on it without stopping.

  “Open up! I must speak with you immediately, Lord Ryppon!” Even muffled through the heavy planks of the door, Bridget knew her father’s voice.

  “Father? My father knows I am here already?”

  “Gossip moves far too quickly through these corridors, Lady Ryppon. Personally, I find it disgusting.”

  The king flicked his hand at the door, and one of his men opened it instantly. Bridget gasped when her father was revealed, but Curan made a low sound under his breath and grasped her wrist possessively. The strength he used startled her because he had always handled her with control. This was an iron hold, one that betrayed just how unhappy her husband was to see her father.

  “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.”