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.”
The king looked at her father. “Which is why I need you to remain and offer me clear counsel when the schemes begin to swirl around them both.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
The king turned to look at her and Curan. His gaze lowered to the grip Curan maintained on her wrist, pausing there for a long moment while something flickered in his eyes, like a ghost of a love long past. He looked younger for a moment, more alive, but it was fleeting and vanished before Henry Tudor raised his attention back to their faces.
“You have my leave yet again, Curan, and my thanks for your service at my side. I treasure the memory of you riding beside me. Tell your sons about it someday. I have told mine. Edward enjoys my tales full well.”
“The honor was mine, Your Grace.”
The king paused in front of her, a hint of a sparkle in his eye. “And you have tickled my envy. If I were a younger man, I might have to challenge Curan for you.”
Henry Tudor actually winked at her before making his way down the hallway. His guards followed him, and the grooms that had brought the chair in took it up and fell into step behind the king. She heard him limping and winced for the glimmer that she had witnessed in his eyes.
Her father only waited until the king was halfway down the corridor before turning around to peg Curan with a hard glare once more.
“Why did you bring my daughter here?”
With the king gone, her father’s tone returned to being sharp. Outrage edged his words, and despite the clear advantage Curan had in size over him, her father boldly faced him without flinching.
Her husband was clearly fighting for control because he spoke through his clenched teeth. “Why did you send for her to attend you at court and wed another if you did not want her here?”
Curan pushed her behind him and stood nose to nose with her father.
“I did nothing of the sort. This is the last place that I wanted Bridget. The men here have become villains when it comes to virgins.”
Bridget pushed her way between them, which was no easy task considering how intent each man was on making the other see his way. It was her father who stepped back to allow her to separate them.
“A letter arrived from you, Father, instructing Mother to send me to you here at court because …”
