of office was tied carefully in place at each shoulder so that the medallion with St. George slaying the dragon hung directly over his heart. The man aimed a narrow-eyed look at Curan, raking over him and even stopping at his cock for a moment.
Curan didn’t flinch. He stood tall and straight, refusing to be intimidated.
“Good afternoon, my Lord Chancellor. You will have to pardon my lack of clothing. We are very newly arrived and newly wed. You must be Lord Oswald.”
“I shall not pardon it. The girl is not yours.”
It was Lord Oswald who fired the accusation at Curan, but the chancellor sent his hand cutting through the air to silence the man. He shut his mouth instantly, sickening her. What a dog. He was everything Curan was not. A sniveling coward who waited for scraps to be tossed to him by his master. The man sported a soft, round belly that further confirmed just how much he liked to pamper himself.
“Not mine? Bridget is very much mine, sir. We took the church’s blessing three years ago. Henry was there.”
Curan sounded mocking and arrogant. More than one of the guards’ lips twitched in response. The guards held their position, yet it was clear that they did not respect the men they were escorting. Curan reached behind him and patted Bridget’s bottom. She gasped at the boldness of the action.
“Had you arrived a few moments earlier, you would have witnessed exactly how much she is mine.” Curan stepped over to where his pants were and pulled them on, still without any outward sign that he was embarrassed to be seen nude. “But your informants had yet to leave, hadn’t they? I believe they remained until we finished, so I will trust that they told you that Bridget is, in fact, very much my wife.” Curan aimed a look at the two maids who were now lingering behind Lord Oswald.
Lord Oswald turned red. He pressed his lips together and sputtered. “You had no right to touch her.”
Curan shrugged into his shirt. “I could not disagree more, gentlemen. I had the blessing of the church and the seal from her father’s ring to confirm that I had every right to plant my seed in her belly.”
Bridget gasped again, the blunt comments shocking her. Curan turned and offered her only a softened look before he pointed to the bedchamber.
“Perhaps you should see if those maids know how to do anything save carry information.” He shrugged, clearly uncaring. “At least change your dress, wife. It is wet.”
Bridget lowered herself before quitting the room. She discovered that her legs were shaking by the time she made it to the bedchamber. There was a snap from her husband’s fingers, and she heard the maids following her. For all of Curan’s valor, the chancellor was a powerful man.
“Make way for the king!”
More footfalls echoed around the outer chamber. Bridget peeked out of the open door and felt her eyes go wide. Henry Tudor arrived wearing a coat that was far richer than the chancellor’s. He was a large man who limped a little. Everyone lowered themselves, and his escort placed a chair behind him when he stopped.
“My leg pains me these days.” He sounded gruff and frustrated by the toll age was extracting on his body, but sank down into the chair, stretching his leg out with a soft intake of breath to betray how painful it was.
“Hurry, miss, they will be calling for you shortly.”
The two maids pulled her away from the door, reaching for her wet dress with quick hands.
That was exactly what she dreaded. Tension twisted through her, but she was not afraid. Suddenly, she felt determination rising up inside her so strongly she understood why her husband was willing to behave so lowly and fondle her bottom in front of others. The reason was, when dealing with men of low quality, you had to make your argument in a fashion they would understand. Chancellor Wriothesley was a man driven by his own greed for power. He would never hear any argument that pitted honor against gaining what he desired.
Which was her. The chancellor would give her to his dog like a scrap of meat, happily doing so because he had taken the scrap from someone else and need not give his hound anything of his own.
It sickened her.
Lord Oswald began sputtering in the outer room, and the maids increased their speed.
“You’d best hurry, mistress. Lord Oswald does not like to be kept waiting, and he is sure to be cross with you for having known another man before him.”
“He’ll likely strike you, but better keep your chin steady if you want to earn his forgiveness.”
“He won’t want me now.”
The maids both froze, but it was the look of pity in their eyes that convinced her that they knew of what they spoke.
“He will, and he will punish you for not coming to him a virgin.”
The maids kept their voices low, to be heard only in the bedchamber. Their familiarity with Lord Oswald’s expectations set Bridget’s spine straight.
There would be no simpering to that hound, and maybe she needed to follow her husband’s example and fight the man in the manner that he would understand. She cast a glance behind her at the door that was still slightly open. Just a finger width, yet ‘twas enough for her needs.
“Ah! You clumsy fool! You pinched me. Awhhh …”
Bridget raised her voice just enough so that it would filter past the door.
“Look at my skin! It is pink! And it hurts! You must be the worst maids in all of Whitehall Palace!”
She added a few more wails that gained her wide-eyed looks from the maids. But she felt no pity for them.
