Page 3 of His Forsaken Bride

“You flatter me. This is only the first draft.”

His secretary continued to stare at him wide eyed.

“After you left, I summoned an army of imps using the dark arts and they wrote it for me,” said Oswald dryly.

Bryce visibly started and color flooded his cheeks. “I don’t listen to gossip, my lord,” he said hastily.

Oswald smiled. He could tell from the color draining from Bryce’s cheeks that it wasn’t a particularly nice smile. He stopped smiling abruptly and his secretary looked relieved. “Well,” said Oswald briskly. “And what have you for me this morning?”

Bryce lifted the first letter from the pile. “Lady Portstanley wrote to her daughter in the Western Isles this week.”

“And?”

Bryce cleared his throat. “There’s a rather unflattering description of the King’s character in it.”

Oswald’s eyebrows shot up. “Indeed? Treasonous?” he asked sharply.

“N-no, I don’t think-“

“Bryce,” said Oswald softly. “We are not concerned with unflattering descriptions. I need you to be able to pick up patterns, if anything sounds odd or unnatural – as though someone might be writing in code.”

“And all letters to the Northern barons,” Bryce reminded him.

“That is merely a matter of routine,” said Oswald with a shrug. Suddenly he felt badly in need of some light relief. “Incidentally, what did Lady Portstanley say about the King?”

Bryce’s color bloomed again. “Erm…” He held the letter up as he read aloud, “Wymer is nothing but a buffoon with a crown, a disgrace to his standard. His golden lion is a lazy braggart. His lioness is ten times as fierce as he’ll ever be.”

Oswald tapped his pen against his desk surface.

Bryce fidgeted in his seat. “It’s sort of coded,” he said miserably. “She equates King Wymer to a lion and therefore the lioness refers to Queen Armenal.”

“True,” conceded Oswald. “But she names Wymer, and the metaphor is an obvious one. The golden lion is the King’s standard as everyone knows. Post that one,” he said curtly. “She’s not telling her daughter anything she doesn’t already know.”

Bryce looked shocked and Oswald realized, suppressing a sigh that Bryce would have to go. Edwards, his predecessor had been so satisfactory until he had started blabbing state secrets to his mistress. Unfortunately she had also been in the employ of a foreign minister. “How do you feel about women, Bryce?” he asked on impulse.

“They cannot be depended on, my lord,” said Bryce primly folding his hands in his lap. “Their souls have a lot less substance. Their judgment is untrustworthy. Their characters, weak.”

“Indeed? I should like to hear you share your views with Lady Portstanley. I believe she would have plenty to say to you on the subject.”

Bryce went pale. He loosened the neck of his tunic which seemed suddenly to have grown rather tight. “Lady Portstanley is a lady of strong opinion,” he said nervously.

Well, that was one way of putting it. “Anything else?” asked Oswald pinching the bridge of his nose. He had sat up most of the night and Bryce’s company wasn’t exactly stimulating.

“A letter here from your sister-in-law, the Duchess of Cadwallader.”

“You opened it?” asked Oswald, fixing his eyes on him.

“O-of course not,” Bryce looked shocked. “I merely recognized her husband’s seal – the leopard. The Cadwallader leopard.”

Oswald relaxed. He held his hand out for Linnet’s missive and then dropped it unopened into his top drawer. He would read it later at his leisure. He already knew the contents. His brother’s warm regards, a few charming stories about his nieces and nephew and then some veiled hints about him settling down with a wife. Ever since his father’s death three months ago, Linnet had been like a dog with a bone. Probably because the old Baron had died clutching her hand and apparently spouting remorse about the fact his son and heir had never married. Linnet was sweet and Oswald was fond of her, but he had no place in his life for a bride. He had absolutely nothing to offer to one.

“There was one other thing,” said Bryce unhappily.

Oswald dragged himself away from thoughts of his family. He would not see Mason or Linnet for a good while now. “And, that is?” he asked.

“Viscount Bardulf is waiting in the outer chamber to speak to you.”

Oswald’s eyebrows snapped together. What the devil did he want? He sighed, massaging his temples. “Send him in.” Well, that was all he needed!