Mary Wine - Improper Seduction

“That bastard Wriothesley has your son.” Rage darkened Synclair’s face. The knight drew himself up stiffly. “You should have asked for my assistance.”

Justina shook her head. “There is nothing to do save obey. He is the Lord Chancellor, named by the king to remain in control even after the king’s death. Bridget has been promised to his compatriot. You cannot keep her.”

“I will have her back, Justina, make no mistake about that. The church will support my claim. Bridget is my wife.”

“To what end? Wriothesley will strip you of everything if you attempt to reclaim her. You will have nothing left if you resist. The church will offer you nothing save confirmation of your marriage, yet where will you live? How will you feed your children? What will become of them when they are grown and labeled with the stain of your disobedience to those in power? The king is dying now.”

Curan snorted. “That is my concern.” His voice softened. “I would have thought you would have more faith in my ability to defend what is mine.”

“Against the future that includes the chancellor ruling in all but name because Edward is a child? Trusting in that is foolish, and you are the one who needs to adjust your thinking. No one will call you Lord Ryppon if you persist in defying the will of the chancellor.”

Curan moved closer but stopped and looked at Synclair. “Leave us. Prepare the men to ride.”

The knight did not like the order, and his face showed his displeasure, but he turned and left after a barely noticeable inclining of his head. Curan waited until his footfalls had faded.

“Did Wriothesley order you to my bed?”

There was no hint of emotion in his voice, but Justina saw it lurking in his eyes. Just a mere flicker of injured feelings. Of course she had known that he did not harbor more than gentle affection for her, but that did not seem to change how he felt about her deceiving him. Anger she was accustomed to; this was something far different.

“It was the first time I did not feel like a whore since my husband died.”

He sighed, a soft male sound of frustration.

“I never suspected you.” He shook his head. “I believed I seduced you away from Synclair.”

Justina raised her chin. “Of course you did. My circumstances do not allow me to fail at the tasks demanded of me.”

Curan’s features hardened. “Then you will understand that I feel the same way about Bridget. Tell me where she rides to and trust that I will not allow your son to suffer.”

She couldn’t see the towers of Amber Hill at dawn. Bridget turned to look behind her, but the travelers were already too far north. Sometime during the night they passed a crumbling section of Roman wall that had been raised to keep the Celtic tribes out of Britain. Now the hills of the highlands rose in the distance. Before dawn chased the night away, she had been certain she heard the wailing of all the men who had died fighting over the ground she rode across.

In spite of having a king, Scotland was still divided. Clan lairds maintained the loyalty of their men even above the king. James the Fifth had his hands full with keeping his isle lords from stealing his crown, and while his attention was on them, the lairds often raided one another. Her cousin Alice had been terrified when her father negotiated a match for her on the other side of the border. But it had been done to help maintain peace, for Alice had only a single brother who was fifteen years her junior. Her father had needed his neighboring Scot to stay on his side of the border.

And now Bridget would be sent to Lord Oswald for a similar purpose—a pawn to be used to a father’s best advantage.

She sighed and tightened her grip on the reins of her mount. Captain Brume and his men were silent, their eyes moving constantly. They wore only chain mail, instead of armor, to better blend in. Without armor, from a distance they might be mistaken for Scots if you didn’t look at their pants too closely. The English cut their britches differently than the Scots made their trews.

“Up there, my lady.” Captain Brume pointed at the horizon. A single round tower was materializing as the sun burned some of the clouds away. Relief rang through his voice, and his men urged their horses faster. He turned to look at her.

“We’ll be sheltered soon, mistress. With something to ease our empty bellies, I’ll wager. Kin is kin, no matter what side of the border it lives on.”

“Indeed, Captain Brume, I believe you are correct.”

She gave the expected reply. One that she pushed past her reluctance, ordering herself to recall that she must make the best of her coming marriage. Just as all daughters were expected to do. She cradled her feelings for Curan deep inside her heart, where no one might view them. There was no further point in attempting to ignore the affection. It was like an infection, just as she had always been warned such tender feelings were. Now that these feelings had taken root, she was at their mercy.

They drew closer to the tower, and they heard the gate closing with the harsh grinding of the metal chains. The Scottish captain looked down on them while his men pulled their bows tight with arrows in the notches and aimed at them.

“We seek shelter for the Mistress Newbury, cousin to your Lady Alice, come with a letter from her father seeking shelter,” Captain Brume called out to the Scots while they waited.

“You’ll have to be proving that, English, and do nae expect it to be a simple matter. These walls were built to keep you English out.”

“I’ve a letter that the Lady Alice will know is true.”

The Scots lowered a bucket in which Captain Brume was instructed to place the letter. Time seemed to stop while they waited, unknowing if they would be denied entrance and struck down where they waited. But the chains suddenly groaned, and the thick gate inched upward. When it had risen completely, they faced over a hundred steel-edged pikes aimed at them while the archers maintained their posts above them. On the far end of the yard, Alice squinted as she tried to recognize Bridget. She suddenly nodded, and a shrill whistle went out across the men threatening them.

“Come in, English, and don’t be making any fast motions.”

Captain Brume muttered something under his breath as he eased his mount forward. Bridget followed, feeling the stares of the Scots upon her.

“Bridget? Oh, Bridget, it is so wonderful to see you.”

Alice waved from where she stood at the base of the entrance to the tower. The gate groaned behind them, lowering once more.

“Come in, Bridget, it is going to storm.”

There was nothing else to do, and her cousin was correct, the clouds were turning dark. A brisk wind had whipped up, cutting through the wool of her surcoat. Her cousin wore a Scottish dress complete with arisaid pinned over her shoulder. It was hard to see the girl who had spent many years with her sharing her tutors before being sent north to the match her father had arranged for her.

“Go on, mistress. All will be right now.” Captain Brume was out of the saddle and reaching up to offer her a hand with relief shimmering in his eyes. “We’ll take shelter here for the night and head out at first light.”

Until then she would hide behind the walls of a Scottish tower. Bridget took slow steps toward her kin, the muscles of her legs protesting. Alice smiled warmly at her, continuing to wave her forward. Clutched tightly in Alice’s other hand was the letter Captain Brume had placed in the bucket. The wax seal was broken, but Alice held it against her chest as though she cherished it. There was no missing the sparkle in her eyes.

“You must come inside with me, dear cousin. I am so glad you have come to me.”