By the Sword (12 page)

"What about Robert?"

"He plays sometimes, but he's not very good and it's not much fun to keep beating him all the time. Sam and Phillip play with me sometimes too, but they're away at school."

"Sam and Phillip?"

"Robert's brothers. There's Joseph too, but he'd rather go hunting."

"How many cousins do you have?"

Tom stopped to consider for a moment. “Six, counting the baby,” he said.

That explained Suzanne Rowe's matronly figure and bossy ways, Jonathan thought to himself.

"Where's Rupert?"

Tom pulled a face. “Mother said he had to stay in the stable until he is older,” he said. He looked up at Jonathan and his eyes sparkled. “But I'll smuggle him into the house when she's not looking."

Jonathan suppressed a smile. The more he had to do with the boy, the more he saw himself as a lad.

They played in silence for several moves. Jonathan moved Tom's king into check.

Tom frowned as he contemplated his next move. “Jonathan...” he began.

"Tom?"

"Are you married?” the boy asked.

"No,” Jonathan said.

"Ever?"

"Not ever."

"So you don't have any children?"

"No,” Jonathan replied. “You're asking a lot of questions, Tom, you need to concentrate."

"I was just wondering,” Tom said in a tone that was far too casual.

"Wondering, why?"

Two innocent hazel eyes met his own. “No reason,” he said.

Suzanne and her family waited for their guests in the great hall of the pleasant manor house. Jonathan took in the handsome carved mantle that dominated the room, and the table set with the best linen. The Rowes did well with the wool trade.

He took Suzanne's hand and kissed it with all the grace of the most accomplished court gallant.

"Mistress Rowe,” he said. “You look charming. The colour of that gown is perfection."

To Kate's amusement, she saw her sister blush slightly, wilting under the full force of the Thornton charm.

"Sir Jonathan, you're welcome to Barton Hall. Indeed it's a pleasure to see you so much recovered,” she said.

"A tribute to your patient care,” he replied.

"Jonathan, I'm not sure if you remember my husband, William?” Suzanne turned to the portly, good-natured man by her side.

"Sir Jonathan, it's a pleasure to have you with us. Looking a damn sight better than when last we met.” William declared and, without thinking, clapped Jonathan heartily on the left shoulder.

Jonathan subsided on to the nearest chair, biting his tongue against the profanity that sprang to his lips. It took a few minutes to recover while William, apologising profusely, produced a glass of the best brandy Jonathan had tasted for a long time.

It was hard not to like the bluff, cheerful Yorkshireman, and once Jonathan's good humour had recovered, the rest of the family was introduced. The eldest son, Phillip, a sturdy young man of about twenty, was a carbon copy of his father. Sam and Joseph, it was explained, were absent at school. Then there were Amy, Janet and the baby, Elizabeth.

Tom had told him that Robert had been ill. The boy sat by the fireplace, his thin face pale and drawn. Thomas sat on a stool at his feet, playing with the ears of one of the several large dogs sprawled in front of the hearth.

Jonathan crouched down beside the boy's chair. “So, Robert. What's this? I thought I'd not seen you in the past week. Are you better?"

Robert smiled, a wan little smile. “I'm much better. I wanted to see you tonight."

"What's this?” Jonathan reached behind the boy's ear and produced a shiny groat. He dropped into the hand of the astonished boy. The other children laughed and clapped.

"Do another one,” Janet demanded.

Jonathan smiled and produced another groat. He held it in the palm of his hand for all the children to see then closed his fingers over it.

"Now.” He addressed Janet. “You must tap my hand three times and say the magic words."

"What magic words?"

Jonathan's eyes widened. “You don't know any magic words?” Janet shook her head, her eyes round with concern. “Well, try saying ‘tush, hush by the fairy's ear, make my coin disappear'."

Solemnly Janet complied with the instructions. When she had completed the task, Jonathan uncurled his fingers. A collective sigh went up from the children as his palm was revealed to be empty.

"Where'd it go?” Janet wailed.

"Why here, pretty maid.” Jonathan put his hand up to her head and produced the coin from behind her ear.

Suzanne took his arm as they sat down for the meal. “You have a very fine way with children.” She gave him the direct, impish look so familiar in Kate, except Suzanne's eyes were brown. “Do you, by chance, have any of your own?"

"I have been cursed by neither wife nor child,” Jonathan replied with a smile that he knew was not echoed by his eyes.

"Dear me,” Suzanne responded. “Cursed?"

"My life has not lent itself to such commitments of home and hearth,” Jonathan said.

"Well that, sir, is your loss,” William said. “Home and hearth, wife and bairns. Nothing like it, in my opinion. Come, Sir Jonathan, take a seat. We have one of the finest cooks in the county and I do believe there is beef on the menu. Suzanne is of the opinion you need feeding up and I have to agree with her. Too thin, man, too thin!” William slapped his own, rather portly belly.

It was a rowdy, joyful meal quite unlike the painfully formal occasions Jonathan remembered enduring as a boy. The walk from the manor had given him an appetite and the table groaned with food. For a penniless exile who lived a very hand-to-mouth existence during the best of times, it was probably more food than Jonathan had seen in the last year. Little wonder William considered him thin.

The afternoon wore on and the darkness closed in. It had been agreed that the visitors would spend the night, a decision for which Jonathan was profoundly grateful. With the combined effects of the brandy and William's excellent wine, he seriously doubted if he could have staggered beyond the front door.

The children were harried off to bed and Suzanne and Kate left the men to their pipes in front of the fireplace. William propped his feet on one of the dogs, who shifted slightly but did not complain, and gave a great sigh of contentment.

"Have some more brandy, lad.” He refilled Jonathan's glass. “Eh, you've got a bit of colour, now. That's grand to see. Have you a mind to share a pipe of tobacco?"

Tobacco being a luxury Jonathan rarely indulged in, he lit his pipe and drew in, deeply and thankfully, savouring the indulgence. William did likewise and they sat in companionable, masculine silence for a while before William took the pipe from his mouth.

"They're grand lasses, both of them,” he said. “Young Kate's a worry though,” William continued, without waiting for Jonathan to respond. “Too set in her ways. A lass like that should not spend her life fretting away over a husband six years in his grave. Don't you agree, lad?"

Jonathan spluttered an incoherent response on the unaccustomed tobacco smoke.

"Young Richard were a nice lad, but he were too interested in books. Could never get him out with the hounds. Do you hunt, lad?"

"I used to, years ago, before the war of course,” Jonathan said, grateful for the turn in the conversation away from Kate.

"Good hunting down your way?” William inquired.

Jonathan shook his head. “Not any more. The forests have been cleared for wood and the wildlife decimated."

"Aye, much the same round here,” agreed William regretfully. “I suppose you've naught much time for my sort?"

"What sort is that?” inquired Jonathan, thinking his words sounded a little slurred.

"Those of us who had naught to do with fighting,” said William.

"You had your reasons, I suppose,” Jonathan mused, holding out his glass gratefully as William slopped more brandy in to it.

"Aye and I was right glad I'd no sons old enough to fight. Old David Ashley, he tried to get me to come along with him but I have a gammy leg, from a hunting accident ye know.” He took another sip of his brandy. “I'll not hide it from you, lad. Parliament had my money when they asked.” He looked across at Jonathan. “I thought I should tell you, just so's you know how I stand."

Jonathan shook his head. “I like to think I'm a better judge of a man than that, Rowe."

William took a deep drag on his pipe. “David Ashley never did get over young Richard's death.” He scrutinised Jonathan with brandy-bleared eyes. “Aye, you've quite a bit of the look of him about you, for all he was as fair as ye're dark."

William stretched his legs out, disturbing the dogs, one of which gave an indignant woof before settling into a new position. “Now that's a fine grey mare you have. My man brought her in from York for ye. She's in my stable."

"I'm grateful, Rowe. Indeed for everything you've done for me."

William took the pipe from his mouth. “I've done it for Kate,” he said. “She seems to have become a might attached to ye and I'd have hated for her to mourn another man."

"What do you mean?” Jonathan suddenly felt cold and sober.

"I mean, lad, that the heart's not always summat that can be governed by the head. She, and ye, will deny to my face that there's aught between you, but I'm no fool, lad. All I'm saying is don't ye dare break her heart or ye'll have me to answer for."

Jonathan tapped the pipe on the heel on his shoe. “I ... I will be gone soon,” he said. “She'll forget me."

"Aye, and my name's Oliver Cromwell,” William scoffed. “I'll say no more on't subject. Here lad, your glass is empty..."

They talked amiably about hunting, hounds and horses and the brandy bottle slowly emptied as the night drifted by. Only when Jonathan came to stand did he realise he was totally inebriated. He staggered slightly and caught the back of the chair. William, similarly affected but a little more steady on his feet, caught him.

"Time we were abed,” he grumbled. “There'll be hell to pay if I fall asleep during Parson's sermon tomorrow."

"Sermons!” sympathised Jonathan, throwing his good arm companionably across William's shoulders. “Do you suppose God has to listen to sermons? The bloody Scots are good for an interminable sermon. Then they think they have the monopoly on God."

"Aye, well, perhaps they do,” William remarked, staggering slightly under Jonathan's weight.

"I think,” Jonathan philosophised drunkenly, “that God has a better sense of humour than the Scots give him credit for."

They staggered and lurched across the hall and up the stairs. William deposited his guest on his bed and mumbled goodnight. Jonathan could hear him pitching down the corridor singing brokenly. He lay flat on his back, looking up at the bed hangings that pitched and swayed like a boat, for some time until he decided he really should get undressed. Sober and single-handed, the fastenings on David Ashley's old-fashioned jacket were difficult; drunk, they were impossible. He swore and decided he better find someone to help him.

He tried the door catch of the room opposite and stumbled into the chamber, tripping on a carpet. He cursed and tried to make out the bed in the dim light. He heard the rattle of bed hangings, and to his relief, Kate's voice in the dark.

"Jonathan!” she scolded. “What are you doing?"

He put his finger on his lips. “Shh! You'll wake the whole house."

He staggered towards her and sat down with a bump on the edge of her bed. “It's all right, Kate. I am not after your virtue. I can't get out of this damned doublet."

She gave a splutter of laughter.

"What's so funny?” he demanded.

"You are,” she replied.

"I'm not funny!” he said indignantly. “Normally I am a very serious drunk."

"Well, I am glad it will not be my head on your shoulders in the morning. Come here."

He edged over towards her. She knelt up on the bed and skilfully undid the fastenings. She helped him out of the doublet and undid the shirt.

"Thank you,” he said. “You did that very well. Christ, my shoulder hurts."

"Don't blaspheme,” Kate said primly. “You don't get any sympathy from me. To smell you, I suspect you have drunk enough brandy to deaden the pain for a week."

"Don't be such a Puritan,” he said archly. “By the way, I like your brother-in-law. He has excellent brandy."

He looked across at her, just making out her features in the dim light. Suddenly sober, he reached out to touch her face. She did not draw back.

"You're very beautiful,” he said. “Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Many times,” Kate replied. “I am not without suitors, you know."

"Really? Is there someone special?"

He held his breath in the pause before she replied. “No,” she said. “Now go to bed."

"Yes, bed,” he said, looking doubtfully towards the door. “I don't think I can make it."

"Well, you are not staying here. My reputation is probably in tatters as it is."

Kate slipped off the bed and hauled him to his feet. Putting his good arm across her shoulders, they staggered back to his own bedchamber. She pulled off his boots and rolled him still half dressed under the covers. Jonathan heard the door close behind her and lay for a moment while the world spun dizzily around him.

"Kate! Kate Ashley, I love you,” he whispered to the dark.

Suzanne smiled maliciously when Jonathan eventually made an appearance the following morning.

"You and my husband make a fine pair,” she remarked.

Kate looked up from her book as Jonathan collapsed into a chair by the window.

"You should both be ashamed of yourselves,” Suzanne continued. “On the Lord's day as well!"

William managed a weak grimace of indignation. “Yon lad didn't have to endure Parson's sermon this morning."

"Did I miss much?” asked Jonathan with a sideways glance at his fellow sufferer.

A grunt was all the reply he got. William sat in his a large chair, his hands folded across his stomach and his eyes firmly closed. Jonathan closed his eyes as well and let the warmth of the sun wash over him.

Kate set down her book. “Suzanne, I think I should take Jonathan for a walk. He seems in need of fresh air,” she said.