“Lady Justina.”

Synclair’s voice was grave, but Justina expected such. She turned to look at the knight and stared at the harsh accusation being aimed at her. The sun had risen, and she’d heard the bells begin ringing across the walls. Bridget was well and truly away now, and Curan was no fool.

“Lord Ryppon would have words with you.”

Synclair was not alone. More knights waited in the hallway, their expressions grave. Justina sighed and moved toward the escort awaiting her. They fell into step around her, reminding her all too clearly of the way Queen Catherine Howard had been escorted to the boat that took her to the tower after running down the palace hallways to beg her husband for mercy. In spite of that event being many years in the past, Justina recalled it clearly. She had been there, in the palace to watch it, of which Chancellor Wriothesley reminded her often.

He threatened her with the same fate if she dared to disobey him.

But she would not have betrayed Curan for him, hadn’t taken the man as her lover because she was ordered to, either. She had been drawn to the man the first time he cut into her with his dark eyes.

Today, those eyes were filled with hard displeasure. His hands were hooked into his belt, the fingers white from gripping it so tightly.

He glared at her, harsh reprimand etched into his features. “Where is my bride?”

Each word made her flinch. His men surrounded her, and she lifted her chin. There was power in his stare, but she refused to crumple. Maybe it was because she had been intimate with him, she didn’t know, but there was still a trust deep inside her that refused to believe that he would harm her.

There was no other man alive she felt such a thing for.

He snorted but flicked his fingers, and she heard his guards retreating. Only Synclair remained, his eyes burning into her back.

“Do not force me to break you, Justina. It would grieve me.”

Yet he would do it. Justina saw that truth reflected on his face. She shivered, feeling the last of her tender emotions for him dying.

Good. She didn’t want to even like any man. It was much better that way.

“Tell me where she heads and who sent you to assist her. I do not wish to raise my hand against you, but I will not order any man to do it, either. You know the only way out of this fortress. I trusted you with that knowledge. Curse you, Justina, for using that against me.” He stepped toward her, and Synclair appeared in front of her, too.

“I am already cursed, you need not apply more to me.” Fury edged her words, and both men looked stunned by her outburst.

“I am cursed with this beauty that prompts men to possess me like a fine bit of jewelry, all the while trying to use me against their enemies.”

“I never treated you as such.” Curan shook with his anger but kept his hands on his belt. “Yet I never deceived you with false promises, either. What have you done with my bride?”

The truth of his words undid her. Tears fell from her eyes for the friend she was losing in him. “I have restored her to her father’s men, as I was sent to do. They waited outside the walls for her. One of her father’s captains, he had a letter with the baron’s seal upon it.”

Curan looked stunned for only a moment before his face became a mask of rage, but it was Synclair who cupped her chin and turned her to face the flames of anger brightening his eyes.

“Are you mad to involve yourself with that bastard Wriothesley?”

Justina shook off his hold and stepped away, snarling fiercely. Synclair reached for her again, his expression furious.

“Hold.”

Even Curan’s voice wasn’t enough to stop Synclair before the knight had advanced another few paces. He drew himself up with a great deal of effort and turned to look at his lord, his body quivering with rage.

Curan stared back at him. “Think upon it, Synclair. There is only one thing that drives a woman to these lengths, and it is not affection for me.”

Synclair cursed. It was a vicious grouping of words that made Justina’s eyes widen, in spite of her sordid life.

“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.