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.
