Court of Traitors (Bridget Manning #2) by V.E. Lynne Read Free Book Online Page B

subject, and a true wife, and not out of any personal inclination to return to this place. As for your vile insinuations, Sir Nicholas, I am faithful to my husband: I do not climb into anyone’s bed. I am well aware of who the queen is, and I have no intention of upsetting anything. I am here solely to support Sir Richard. If I had my own choice, I would never come near the court again. But a wife is at the beck and call of her husband and not the other way around.”
     
     
     
    Sir Richard re-joined them and handed the stony-faced Carew and the self-conscious Exeter and Neville their cups of wine. Carew drank his down in one gulp, offered a curt thank you, and stalked off, followed more sedately by Neville. Exeter took his time and farewelled them with greater courtesy, as well as a few words of friendly advice. “It is good to see you, de Brett, but I feel I must counsel you to be careful at court. You will find it much changed and not for the better. His Majesty enjoys the company of varlets and lowborn men—he surrounds himself with them—and those of us who are descended from the old families are pushed aside. The worst of these rogues is Thomas Cromwell,” he hissed. “He rules all here, and the king does nothing without his advice. He is now Lord Privy Seal, as well as the Vicar General, and is nothing more than the son of a shearman, who was known as the most dishonest man in London! It would be amusing were it not the truth.”
    Sir Richard assured him he would exercise all due caution and Exeter seemed pleased with that. He shook his hand and walked away. Once he was gone, Sir Richard turned on her. “What happened with Carew?” he demanded. “Did you have words with him? His expression was thunderous when I returned. I hardly knew whether he would drink the wine or throw it at me! I certainly hope you did not quarrel with him, because we cannot afford to alienate anybody at court. Not if we are to rise.”
     
    “Maybe so, husband, however . . .” Bridget started, but she never completed her reply. A man in green-and-white livery entered the hall and made straight for them. He performed a very slight bow and addressed himself to Sir Richard.
    “Sir, His Majesty the King requires the atten dance of yourself and your wife in his privy chamber. If you would care to accompany me, sir, madam, I shall lead you there directly.”
     
    Sir Richard’s face lit up, and he wasted no time in following the messenger out of the hall. Bridget trailed unwillingly behind them with Carew Exeter and Neville watching her intently as she walked out the door.
     
     
     
    Upon arrival in the privy chamber, they found only a small group of courtiers in attendance. The king was engaged in a game of cards, but he sprang to his feet as soon as they crossed the threshold and ushered them in himself, like a genial landlord welcoming guests into his humble abode. Of course, it was very far from humble, and Bridget could not help but gawp in wonder at the luxuriousness of the king’s apartments. The rooms were brightly lit by rows and rows of fat, white candles that blazed from countless sconces and candelabrum, illuminating the rich, jewel-like tapestries that hung weightily from the walls. The floor was inlaid with Tudor roses and the initials “H&J” loomed out at Bridget from every surface, their straight, confidently drawn lines reminding her, as if she needed it, of the new order of things.
     
    The king, at his leisure, was less sumptuously dressed than earlier in the day, though only slightly. He had discarded his scarlet-and-gold gown for a ruby-red doublet encrusted with hundreds of tiny pearls set off by a single, luminous pearl that sat in the middle of his velvet cap. “Come, come,” he cried, “do not be shy!” He motioned them forward, and they walked a little nervously toward him. Bridget executed a deep curtsey, from which the king ordered her briskly to rise. “No need for that, madam. I have had enough