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.”