Bridget felt the blood freeze in her veins. She stared at May and knew that she was gaping at the woman but couldn’t seem to correct herself. The housekeeper looked flustered, wringing her apron between nervous fingers.

“Of course, Lady Justina is a widow, which does not make it respectable, but she isn’t an adulteress at least.” The housekeeper seemed exasperated and at a loss as to what to say further. She sighed before reaching out to pat Bridget on the shoulder.

“I am sure Lord Ryppon will make it clear that you are mistress here.”

But nothing further than that, and she had no one to blame save herself if he sought out another woman’s bed. It was entirely possible that Curan had sent for Justina. Cold and bitter, the truth stuck in Bridget’s throat. The sound of the gate being raised sent a chill down her back. She rubbed her hands along her arms as she felt her skin growing colder.

You could go to his bed …

She could and then what? Discover herself chasing the man as his mistress was now doing? Doomed to be gossiped about even as she hoped for shelter in that same house?

That was the plight her mother was attempting to save her from.

“May, go and tell everyone else to begin their supper without Lord Ryppon. It appears he has a guest to attend to.”

The housekeeper offered a slight curtsy before moving away. She looked relieved to do so, for it was an awkward moment. Bridget breathed a sigh of relief, too. She needed no one witnessing how unhappy she was.

She shouldn’t be.

And still her heart ached. It was there, in her chest, an agony that refused to listen to logic. There was no denying the fact that she was jealous. She wouldn’t be the first bride who shared her home with her husband’s leman.

She was quite sure, however, that she would be the most unhappy out of the three of them.

Supper no longer interested her. The light was fading rapidly and the hallways becoming dark corridors that looked more friendly to specters than the living. Bridget moved toward the wide double doors she had entered the first tower through and watched Curan stride across the cobblestones of the inner yard toward the arriving party. Lady Justina pushed back her cloak’s hood to reveal a face that was quite pretty. Her hair was the lightest blond and her teeth even when she smiled.

Bridget was too far away to hear what they said, but Lady Justina’s features remained radiant. She never frowned or even lost the curve of her lips. She reached out and laid a familiar hand on Curan’s forearm without a care for any stares directed at her. Instead the lady kept her eyes on the man in front of her, just as intently as Marie had done with Tomas.

Bridget turned her back. She did not have the right to watch, not if she intended to leave. Drawing in a stiff breath, she went searching for the supper hall. There would be no escaping without food in her belly. Even if her appetite had vanished, she needed to be practical.

Practical … dutiful … she hated the world and all of its rules. Yet most of all she hated the fact that Curan was welcoming another woman that held the dear, so very dear, option of choosing whom she would lay with.

May bustled about the chamber where she had taken Bridget after supper was finished.

“Of course, we didn’t think to ready a separate chamber for you, seeing as how you are so newly wed, but I run a good house, and everything you need for the night should be here.”

It was a good-size room with a solid door and even two windows that had glass set into them. May pulled large sheets off the bed and handed them to two maids who stood nearby. If there was any dust, Bridget couldn’t see it in the candlelit room. May was clearly not lax in making sure that the maids were cleaning all the rooms assigned to them. More than one lord had returned to a tower that was ankle deep in dirt with a staff that was fat on the coin he had paid them to maintain his home while he was away.

“The bed is strung tight. You’ll sleep well.” May turned back the covers and cast a knowing look at her. “Sleep you’ll be needing come next week, my lady.”

There were a pair of stifled giggles from the maids.

“Thank you. I will attend to my prayers before retiring.”

The maids took their leave, eager to be finished with their duties for the night. May hesitated, the housekeeper clearly expecting Bridget to want help disrobing.

“I am very accustomed to putting myself to bed, May.”

May lowered herself, but there was still firm determination in her gaze. “As mistress, there will be many changes in your life.”

“Yes, well, they may wait until I take my place.”

The housekeeper nodded. “A pleasant night to you, mistress.”

May had a light touch, for Bridget never heard the door close. She sighed with relief as she looked around the chamber to ensure that she was alone. Hiding the fact that she was not having her monthly courses was going to take diligence on her part. The staff were loyal to the lord, for certain.

“That isn’t the bed I wanted to see you in.”

She jerked the covers up to her chin as Curan’s voice cut through the darkness. Gooseflesh rippled down her limbs as she strained to see him in the dark. She didn’t hear him, but his shape materialized from the night anyway. The bed shook as he sat on the side of it.

“Why … why are you here?” It would be far too simple to have her lie discovered.

He blew out a hard breath while watching her.

“Is it not a poor groom who fails to toast his bride on the first night they begin their life together?”

The bed rocked and he was gone, but she still felt his presence in the room. A spark brightened the room and then another as he struck a flint stone. A single candle began to cast its golden light over him a moment later. It was quite magical, the way that single source of light softened him. He appeared very gallant, and she stared in awe at the relaxed expression on his face.

But he frowned when he looked back at her.

“I did not imagine you sleeping in any chamber save my own.”

“This chamber is very nice.”

He reached for a small bottle that rested on the table. She did not recall it being there earlier, so he must have brought it with him. He lifted the bottle and tipped it until fluid poured out of it and into a small silver goblet. The light sparkled off the pouring liquid, and she smelled the strong scent of strong drink filling the room.

Wine. French wine—an expensive item. The aroma of it teased her nose while he filled a second goblet.

“My chamber is nicer and will be even more so when you are sleeping in it with me. I did not marry to endure a cold bed.”

He left the bottle and the candle on the table. The bed itself was far enough from the table to be cast into semidarkness. It set a romantic mood she had only read about in poetry.

Yet this was very real.

The bed rocked again when he sat down, confirming that she was not lost in any girlish fantasy. Her cheeks heated when she noticed his gaze aimed at her with no hint of wavering.

“If I had not been distracted, I would have had May take you to my chamber in spite of your courses.”

“What?”

She nearly fumbled the goblet, spilling the wine onto the sheets. Curan merely offered her a firm look while holding the stem of the goblet steady until she recovered and grasped it solidly.

“I do not mean to have us sleeping in separate chambers.”

He lifted his own goblet to his lips but watched her over the rim of the glass. He was judging her once more, reading her face for clues as to her thoughts.

“Most noble unions do not share a chamber, my lord.”

He lowered his goblet and frowned at her. “We are in private, Bridget.”

She took a sip from her own wine to cover her indecision. To allow his name to slip across her lips seemed so intimate. This action opened the door to other, even deeper intimacies that were dancing through her mind. Never once had she spoken with a man while in a bed, and she was having difficulty recalling exactly why she needed to keep him away.

Her body held no reservations about welcoming him closer. “I will have to have more time to become accustomed to addressing you in a familiar manner.”

“Hmmm.” He took another sip from his wine but lost a great deal of his judgmental expression. “I suppose that is to be commended. Your lack of comfort in the company of a man.”

He reached out and laid a hand on top of her knee. “I will enjoy giving you ample opportunity to become at ease in my company.”

She jumped, the wine sloshing up toward the rim of the goblet. A quick motion from her wrist rotated the cup enough to avoid staining the sheets. Curan chuckled, rich male amusement filling the chamber while he took another sip from the goblet.

“That is, if I survive this week.” He stroked her knee and up over her thigh as hunger began to flicker in his eyes. “I confess that the temptation is driving me insane.”

His gaze settled on her lips, and the sensitive skin tingled, warming beneath the attention of those dark orbs. She wanted to taste his kiss, wanted to have it combine with the sweet taste of the French wine …

“You should go … now.” Bridget looked away and drained the remaining wine in one, long swallow. The sweet elixir burned a path down her throat and pooled in her belly like liquid fire, but it was nothing compared to the need licking at her.

The hand resting on her thigh squeezed. “I want to stay …”

Her body liked that response. Excitement flared up, burning away at her resolve to refuse to celebrate their union. Once she had lain with him, Lord Oswald would reject her.

She liked the sound of his words, full well, and the firm grip on her thigh told her that Curan enjoyed it, too. She lifted her face to make eye contact. She felt it right down to her toes. His dark stare was piercing and consuming, making it impossible to ignore how much she wanted exactly what he craved, too.

He growled and pushed up to his feet. His lips pressed into a hard line while his grip around the silver wine chalice threatened to destroy its delicate shape.

“You are being more logical than I am, and yet I am not sorry I came to this chamber tonight.” He moved over to the table and refilled his goblet. This time he tossed the wine into his mouth, draining the liquid in two quick swallows. He paused for a long moment before leaning over to blow out the candle.

She instantly felt alone, yet watched. A shiver raced along her back as she strained to hear his steps in the dark room. Instead she felt his fingers sliding along her hot cheek.

“You tempt me beyond measure, Bridget, yet that is nothing to lament.”

He pressed a warm, wine-flavored kiss against her lips that she eagerly returned. But he pulled away, leaving her with only the sound of his breathing to know that he still remained near.

“Are you quite certain you will not take your place beside me in my bed tonight?”

Her fingers gripped the bedding. “There is no doubt.”

No doubt that her parents had forbidden her this man.

She heard him sigh, a soft sound that betrayed his disappointment. It wasn’t arrogant or demanding such as she expected from him. But it cut her deeper than any words he had spoken.

“Until dawn, sweet Bridget.”

Until I discover a way to leave you … or cast my fortune to the wind and embrace what I really long for …

Such was a tantalizing idea … rich with the promise of pleasure and even affection.

She heard the door softly open and close behind him. The scent of candle wax drifted into the bed curtains, making her eyes burn with unshed tears for what was not to be.

“So, you’re the bride Curan spent so much effort contracting.”

Bridget turned in surprise but more so for the way her temper flared. Before she even turned around she knew who was in the chamber now. A small lantern hung from the woman’s gloved fingers, casting a welcoming glow through its costly glass sides.

Lady Justina was even lovelier up close. Her complexion was flawless and her eyes the blue of a summer day. Her lips looked like new spring berries, and she knew how to carry herself well. She looked down her nose, clearly judging Bridget.

“Yes, I am.”

Justina blew out a little snort. “You needn’t take such a tone, Bridget. After all, I have traveled a great distance to assist you.”

“What do you mean?”

Justina sighed. “Your father was most concerned when he heard that Lord Ryppon had left court with his full contingent of men. He made no secret of the fact that he intended to claim you on his way north. Since you had not arrived yet at court, your father feared that you might be caught before you could obey his summons.”

So her mother was correct. Her father had changed his mind about her match with Curan. The walls suddenly felt thicker and even more impossible to escape, while her need to do exactly that grew.

“I fail to understand what manner of help you bring me.” Bridget lifted her hands to indicate the walls around them both. “You are as much a prisoner as I, now that the gate is lowered for the night.”

Justina’s eyebrows rose slightly. She pressed her hand against the door to make sure it was closed before moving closer. Her voice lowered when she spoke once again.

“I know Amber Hill. There are two escape routes built into the walls in case of the castle being overrun. Your father sent me here to make sure you do not celebrate your wedding. Lord Oswald is not a man to disappoint. Thank God you sent Curan away even if you had to lie to do so.”

Bridget felt her gaze lower for being caught. “How did you know I wasn’t suffering my courses?”

“You did not ask the housekeeper for more linen. She will report such a suspicious thing by tomorrow, for Curan is her lord.”

Bridget snorted with frustration. “I am not accustomed to being dishonest.”

She slapped at the bedding but suddenly looked up at Justina.

“Did you say escape routes? Ones that would lead outside the curtain wall?” She should have considered such. A border castle would be exactly the place for such a consideration to be built into it, under the strictest of silences, of course.

“Yes. I left most of my escort outside the walls where the passage leads. They will take you across the border to your cousin Alice and then on to a Scottish port where a ship will take you south. You must not try to ride for London. Curan will run you down on the road. His men can travel much faster than you.”

“Of course they can.”

Justina was correct about the housekeeper, too. By tomorrow, she would not be able to hide that she was very fit indeed to take her place in Curan’s bed. Her father was wise to send Justina, and yet she felt tears burning her eyes. Bitterness filled her mouth as she looked around the chamber and stared at the bottle of wine left on the table.

“There is no time for you to sleep. You must go now while Curan is engaged with his officers. They will meet for only a half hour; they do so every night before he seeks his own bed, and I do suggest that you slip out while he is busy. The man has a keen sense and does not leave the running of his men to others. He walks the walls himself. Besides, I do not hesitate to think he will return here once again. He is drawn to you.”

As you are to him.

Justina pulled Bridget’s surcoat from where it hung near the fire. “Come.”

There was an urgency that cut through her grief. Bridget rose from the bed and began dressing. Justina helped with hands that were quite steady despite the tone of her voice and the way she kept looking at the chamber door.

“I will distract the guards at the escape gate while you slip through. Head south by the moonlight and your father’s men will be there to help you.”

All too simple.

Bridget lifted the lid of her trunk and pulled the small bag of coin from it her mother had given her. At least she need not fear who would be taking her to Alice. Her father’s men would be trustworthy.

Justina took the two plump pillows at the head of the bed and stuffed them beneath the coverlet. She pushed at the lumps they made until they looked like a person curled up in sleep. She lifted one pane of glass in the lantern and pinched out the candle. The chamber became dark, but Bridget heard the woman walking across the wooden floor.

“Come on, your eyes will adjust. We dare not risk a light to draw attention to us.”

Justina opened the door a mere sliver and looked out into the hallway.

“Synclair has the same keen senses Curan does. The man is always appearing when you do not expect him to. I had hoped that Curan would give him his leave to return to his holding, but I saw him on the walls.”

Justina opened the door slowly to ensure that the iron hinges remained silent. With a wave of her gloved hand, she motioned Bridget out of the chamber. There were few candles burning in the hallways, and that suited her mood. Bridget cringed when they came close to one, the orange and scarlet light illuminating her and Justina and casting their shadows onto the stone walls. Tension tightened across her shoulders, and her mouth went dry. She wasn’t sure if she feared being discovered or succeeding in her flight. It would be so simple to fail. Even Curan’s anger would be easier to bear than the cold separation from him forever.

Justina had not lied to her. The woman knew her way through Amber Hill very well. Envy rose in Bridget because it proved that the housekeeper had not lied when she told her that Justina had been intimate with Curan.

Justina knows her way about Curan’s flesh, when you are to be denied such a pleasure …

Her jealousy returned to mix with the tension that filled her. Never had she felt so unhappy.

“There, do you see them standing near the wall with no light? The gate will allow you to move away from the curtain wall without being seen from on top of it. There is a small tunnel cut through the earth on the other side. Very clever roofing has been placed there with soil and rocks placed on it to cancel it. Once I have the guards’ attention, slip through and move quickly.”

“What will you do if Curan discovers me missing too soon?”

Justina drew in a stiff breath. “I will go to him as soon as you are away.”

Bridget felt her blood freeze. Justina stared straight back at her, a knowledge in her eyes that was devastating. Justina reached out and gripped her upper arms, shaking her.

“You must go, Bridget, just as I must help you escape. Neither of us dare disappoint Chancellor Wriothesley. The man holds terrible power, and he uses it. Do not be foolish enough to think there is any mercy in him. I assure you, there is not.”

For just a moment, Justina lost her composure. Her eyes became pools of yearning, and her lips took on a pinched look. Bridget felt pity for the woman, for though not many years separated them, Justina seemed much older.

“Don’t move until both guards are occupied with me.”

Justina shook off her melancholy and restored her sweet expression. She squared her shoulders and pushed her cloak open to reveal a low-cut dress. The swells of her breasts were in clear sight. She didn’t flinch or cower but walked down toward the guards with a sure confidence that reminded Bridget of Marie. There was a clang of metal against metal as the guards moved, and their armor shifted quickly with the motion.

A soft chuckle came from Justina.

“Do forgive me, good sirs. I was simply taking some of the night air and meant no harm. It is a lovely night. I confess that I enjoy the dark hours more than I should.”

Justina’s voice was soft and husky. She appeared to float on delicate steps, the moonlight glimmering off the creamy swells of her breasts. She leaned forward, just the correct amount to display her charms, and the guards became her disciples. Both men moved toward her, and she fluttered her eyelashes while twirling back a few paces. Her cloak and skirts spun up, giving the men a tantalizing glimpse of her ankles and calves. Her laughter floated upward.

“The moon is so large. I simply cannot help but long for May day. I want to dance and sing and enjoy the spring.”

She began singing a catchy tune while grasping the hands of one guard and leading him around and around in dance. His comrade was eager for a chance to touch her as well, and crowded closer, taking him even farther away from the post the pair had been assigned to watch.

Just as Marie had shown you with Tomas …

Bridget shivered as she ducked through the gate. The tunnel leading through the thick curtain wall was pitch-black. The air within it was dank and stale. Thankfully there was no mud beneath her feet because even rain didn’t make it past the first few feet. The ground was dusty and dry, so hard beneath her shoes because it had not seen the elements since construction of the wall. High above her head were men diligently guarding the castle, but she slipped beneath their boots as easily as a ghost.

Panic tried to steal her courage, but she resisted its icy grip. Pushing herself forward even as the stone walls felt like they were stretching out longer, Bridget kept her feet moving. She had to rely on herself and her family. Curan wasn’t her family, not yet. Her heart ached for how close she had been to having the man to husband. There was no doubt that she would prefer him to Lord Oswald.

She pushed onward until her eyes detected a faint glow of starlight. The brightness grew more enticing as she hurried to reach the end of the tunnel. She hesitated at the exit. The trees and plants grew thickly around the tunnel end. Gooseflesh rippled down her limbs as she searched the darkness.

“Mistress Newbury?”

It was a mere whisper, but Bridget flinched. Tension held her body so tight, the sound felt as loud as thunder. The impulse to edge backward toward the protection of the castle lord was strong.

A shadow emerged from the darkness. The moonlight cast its glow on the blue and green colors of her father’s retainers’ uniforms.

“It is Captain Brume, mistress. Sent by your father so that you would know his will.”

Brume. One of the oldest captains in her father’s guard. She had grown up knowing the man. He drew close enough for her to see his long beard. In the poor light, his face remained a mystery, but the soft whistle he blew was something she recalled very well.

“Come away now, mistress. We don’t want to be discovered. There is a ship waiting for you up the coast of Scotland. We’ve a fair bit of land to cover.”

More shapes moved in the night. Bridget felt her heart freeze as cold as the patches of snow on the hills of Scotland. To be sure, she was away now, the night providing the perfect cover again.

Only this time, it was helping to ensure that she would never see Curan again.

Time was often so cruel.

It twisted like a dull knife into the mind, while a person waited for punishment to begin. Justina did not sleep, could not have closed her eyes if Chancellor Wriothesley had ordered her to. All she would have done was pretend to do as bid. Her lips twisted into a bitter line. Always she pretended. There was only one thing that was real in her life, and that was the thing that she played her role to protect.

Her son.

She allowed herself to think of his face when he smiled. Brandon was six now and his mind inquiring about everything. Every letter he sent was clearer, his spelling and command of the quill becoming more practiced. She smiled at the memory but felt it shatter when steps sounded outside her chamber. Sure and hard, they announced the arrival of one of Curan’s men. There was no knock upon the door; it swung in, telling her that her guilt was already known by her former lover.

“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.

“Come in, English, and don’t be making any fast motions.”

Captain Brume muttered something under his breath as he eased his mount forward. Bridget followed, feeling the stares of the Scots upon her.

“Bridget? Oh, Bridget, it is so wonderful to see you.”

Alice waved from where she stood at the base of the entrance to the tower. The gate groaned behind them, lowering once more.

“Come in, Bridget, it is going to storm.”

There was nothing else to do, and her cousin was correct, the clouds were turning dark. A brisk wind had whipped up, cutting through the wool of her surcoat. Her cousin wore a Scottish dress complete with arisaid pinned over her shoulder. It was hard to see the girl who had spent many years with her sharing her tutors before being sent north to the match her father had arranged for her.

“Go on, mistress. All will be right now.” Captain Brume was out of the saddle and reaching up to offer her a hand with relief shimmering in his eyes. “We’ll take shelter here for the night and head out at first light.”

Until then she would hide behind the walls of a Scottish tower. Bridget took slow steps toward her kin, the muscles of her legs protesting. Alice smiled warmly at her, continuing to wave her forward. Clutched tightly in Alice’s other hand was the letter Captain Brume had placed in the bucket. The wax seal was broken, but Alice held it against her chest as though she cherished it. There was no missing the sparkle in her eyes.

“You must come inside with me, dear cousin. I am so glad you have come to me.”

Alice reached out and clamped a strong hold on to her wrist. She pulled hard, surprising Bridget.

“I thank you, cousin, for your hospitality.”

“You must be hungry. Come … come. We will eat. Inside now.”

Alice pulled her inside and toward a set of stairs that rose to the upper floors of the tower. There was the loud sound of the doors shutting behind her that drew a startled sound from her lips.

“It’s going to storm, Bridget. We need to shut out the rain, you know. Here in Scotland it rains like heaven’s fury.”

“Yes, of course.” But two burly Scots took up position on either side of the front door, and she doubted that they were needed to hold it shut against nature’s fury. Suspicion clouded her mind, but there was little to do about it.

She would have to trust in her kin.

The day became a long string of hours in which everyone she met smiled and welcomed her. The night-long ride made it harder and harder to think every action through. She was longing for a bed well before Alice showed her to a chamber, which was high in the tower up too many stairs to count. But there was a fireplace and coals already blanketed with ashes to help keep her warm. She collapsed into the bed while Alice watched.

“Rest easy, cousin. You are very secure on Barras land.”

“Thank you, cousin … Alice.”

Her words slurred and her eyelids fluttered shut. Every muscle felt limp and lacking strength. It was strange and odd. She had been tired before, but not felt so drained of strength. Suspicion began to grow in her thoughts, but she slipped into slumber unable to act upon her mind’s musing. In her dreams, Curan stood just beyond her reach. She strained toward him, desperately needing to touch him. Just a brush of her fingertip would satisfy her, but no matter how much she tried to make such a connection, she failed. Bitter defeat filled her, sweeping her away into a nightmare where she was tormented by the thought of him lying with another bride. Tears wet her cheeks as she fought against the bedding, trying to fight her way free of the chains holding her. She turned her face up to see him riding away with another bride clinging to him.

In her dreams, her heart broke.