Court of Traitors (Bridget Manning #2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

un-mourned. For the king, it must have been like staring into the face of a ghost. Perhaps that was why, beneath his awkward unease, there was another emotion fighting to get out. Longing? Regret? Guilt? Whatever its proper name, it flickered across his face like lightning and was gone, as though the king had closed the door on a particular compartment of his mind and turned the lock. Bridget could almost hear the bolt shoot home.
     
    The king determinedly rearranged his expression, smiled at Bridget, and put his arm about Sir Richard’s shoulders. He led him away in an almost paternal fashion, even though he was the younger man. The king steered him toward another group of courtiers where another set of introductions were gone through. Cromwell and Will followed dutifully behind, leaving Bridget to stand on her own. The Seymour contingent, having lost the attention of the king, regarded her with displeasure, Jane especially so, and made it plain they did not desire her to approach. The rest all busied themselves with other matters and other people, and Bridget wondered if she would spend the rest of the day as nothing more than an ornament. It did not take long, however, before an invitation came and, when it did, it was from the most unexpected quarter—the Lady Mary.
     
    The king’s daughter beckoned, and Bridget moved forward, her feet unsteady. The Lady Mary was a short woman, very slender, with coppery hair and a washed-out, almost pained cast to her features. Bridget thought she must be about twenty years of age, but she looked much older, doubtless the result of the years of upheaval and despair she had endured after the king had left her mother and cut her golden childhood so brutally short. Happily for her, she had a place at court again but only as a disinherited, discarded princess, one no longer in line for her father’s throne. Bridget thought of Anne’s daughter, Elizabeth, who was in the same situation as her half-sister. She wondered where Elizabeth was, where the king had banished her to. Somewhere far from his sight, it was a sure bet.
     
    The Lady Mary greeted her with a fleeting smile. Bridget returned it, more keenly, and sank into a curtsey. “Ah, so you are aware of who I am then, Lady de Brett, even though we have never met one another. I also know you, firstly by reputation and then the Marchioness of Exeter here further informed me of your history.” The dark woman standing next to her, who had sallow skin but kind blue eyes, nodded in agreement.
    “ You are the former Bridget Manning,” the Lady Mary continued. “You were maid of honour to the Boleyn witch. You do realise that she was the woman who took my father the king from my mother. She destroyed my mother. But then she herself suffered the most for her actions, did she not? I hear you were actually the one who picked her head out of the bloody straw once the swordsman had done his work. I need not inform you then of how badly she suffered. You are already painfully aware.”
     
    “No, Your Grace, I do not need any reminding,” Bridget responded softly. Lady Exeter, a woman she had only ever seen from afar at court, looked embarrassed at Mary’s words. Bridget wanted to reassure her that there was no need, but before she could do so, a spasm of pain assailed her temples and she rubbed a hand across it. She could feel the onset of a headache, and beads of sweat sprang up along her hairline. Mary’s look of triumph faded as she saw Bridget’s reaction and a ripple of sympathy crossed her face.
    “ You get them too? Headaches,” the Lady Mary said. Bridget nodded. “They are the bane of my life. Come and sit with us.” The Lady Mary led Bridget and Lady Exeter to a trio of chairs set against the far wall of the chamber. “I find that sitting quietly is all that can soothe an aching head. We will say no more about the events of last year. None of it was your doing; she was a sorceress. By the Grace of God, the woman is dead