By the Sword (15 page)

"You bring me news of Leslie's army?” Charles’ eyes were alight with anticipation of good news.

The man rose to his feet. “I do, Your Majesty. They are defeated."

Lord Wilmot broke the dreadful silence that followed this news. “Defeated?” he croaked. “How can this be? Leslie had the English troops cornered."

"Cromwell attacked at night. He took the Scots by surprise. It was done in no time,” the man concluded miserably.

All eyes in the room turned to the King to gauge his reaction. The Scots had been defeated. Their great army, the fetter by which they held their young King, had been destroyed in one bold, unpredicted move.

Charles Stuart threw back his head and laughed.

Barton, Yorkshire

March, 1651

William set the letter he had been reading down on the table beside him. He laced his fingers over his ample stomach and regarded his sister-in-law thoughtfully.

"So, lass, the old man's dead."

Kate turned a strained face towards him. “You know what it means, don't you?"

"Aye. I've eyes in my head, I can read between the lines right enough. The old man's named Thomas as his heir. Where does that leave your Jonathan?"

Kate smiled bitterly. “I wish you wouldn't call him ‘my Jonathan'. It makes it sound like I own him, which I don't.
My
Jonathan is an outlaw in this country, William. He knew the old man's intentions.” She sighed heavily. “I really wish it could have been some other way, William."

"Well if it's my advice you are after, Kate—” William tapped a second letter that lay beside Nell's missive on the table “—ye're better off without the place. If what yon lawyer says, the whole estate's in financial ruin."

Privately Kate acknowledged the absolute correctness of William's assessment.

She bit her lip and sighed. “There are people involved. People I care about."

"They're not your responsibility, Kate,” interposed Suzanne tartly.

"Aye. Leave ‘em to make their own way in't world,” agreed William. “The Lord alone knows they've been precious little help to you and yours over the years."

Suzanne, more perceptive than her husband, leaned towards her sister and said gently, “You have to leave your heart out of this, Kate. You cannot take responsibility for Jonathan Thornton's life, no matter how much you love him."

"Aye, Suzanne's right,” William said. “He's a good lad but if he's not prepared to make his peace and settle down, that's his look out."

"It wasn't Jonathan I was thinking of!” Kate said sharply.

She stood up and walked over to the window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass. The snow had gone at last and there was the faintest breath of spring in the air. Suzanne joined her, putting her arms around her sister.

"Don't leave us, Kate. Particularly not now,” she said.

Kate turned to her sister, seeing the dark circles under her eyes and the lines of strain at her sister's mouth. Robert was dying. The doctor had given him only days to live and Suzanne needed her sister as desperately as anyone at Seven Ways. She smiled and squeezed her sister's hand.

From behind her William spoke up again. “Apart from naught else, lass, you've done a grand job of running the Ashley land. But an estate like Seven Ways ... well, that's a man's job, Kate."

Kate stiffened and shook off her sister's hand as she turned on her brother-in-law. “Queen Elizabeth reigned England for forty years, William. I am sure I, a mere woman, am equal to managing an estate. Even one like Seven Ways."

Suzanne glared at her husband. “Kate,” she said anxiously. “Have you considered, Tom? You would be taking him away from all that he knows."

Kate picked up her lawyer's letter. “You are right to suggest this should be a business decision with Tom's best interests in heart. But if I were to sell Seven Ways now, I would never recover its full worth.” She looked up at them both. “You cannot seriously tell me that it is in Tom's interests to squander his inheritance in such a manner."

Suzanne and William looked at each other helplessly

"All right,” said Suzanne. “Keep Seven Ways but put a steward in to manage it. There is no need for you to go there."

Kate nodded. “I have considered that,” she acknowledged.

"What have you told Tom?” Suzanne asked.

"I have told him Sir Francis is dead. Nothing more,” Kate replied. Her voice softened and almost broke. “You know as well as I that now is not a good time."

As Robert's health failed, Tom spent every waking moment with him and had to be prised away from Robert's bedside at night so that both children could rest. Tom could not accept—he never had been able to—that his dearest friend, who was as close to him as any brother could possibly be, lacked his own robust good health and would not recover. Tom would have given his own life to prevent what was coming.

Kate looked from her sister to her husband. “I did not wish to concern either of you with my problems.” She managed a weak smile. “I will pray and I am sure God will show me the way to resolve these difficulties."

"Aye well. You've more faith in him than I,” William said pragmatically.

Robert died peacefully early in the evening of the following day. Tom stood by the bed with his cousins, dry-eyed while they wept. His grief went too deep for tears.

They laid the small coffin to rest in the cold ground of the little church at Barton where Kate's own Richard and his parents lay. It was a surprisingly mild March day, with the faintest breath of wind from the moors Robert had so loved. There being nothing more Kate could do for her sister, she returned home with Tom riding silently beside her.

For two days Tom sat in the parlour, working at his books or staring out of the window as if he expected Robert to come riding up on his fat, little pony. It frightened Kate that she could not reach him. If she tried to hold him, he went stiff and turned away. She watched him in pain, not so much for Robert, who was beyond pain, but for this silent, suffering child of hers.

"It's not natural,” Ellen remarked to Kate as another half-touched plate of food was set aside. “The lad'll fade away himself if he keeps this up."

The mild weather did not last. It broke in a fierce storm, lashing the trees and subjugating the impudent heads of the new bulbs. Kate lay in her bed, listening to the beating of the rain on the windows and thinking, as she often did, of Jonathan. The nagging ache of loneliness was as painful as a physical hurt.

She turned over as a sudden cold draught blew through the door and Tom climbed into her bed, putting his cold feet against her. She took him into her arms and held him close as she had done when he was a baby.

"Surely not frightened of the storm?” she asked softly.

He shook his head. “Mother,” he said, his voice muffled against her body. “I want to go away from here. I want to go to Seven Ways."

Kate hid her surprise. “Why?"

There was a long pause, then slowly at first, the tears began. “I won't miss Robert so much if I go away.” The tears came in full flood now. “And I do—I miss him so much, Mother."

Tears starting in her own eyes, Kate stroked the dark head. “Running away is not the answer, Tom,” she said. “The pain does get better and soon you won't miss him so much. It just takes a little time."

"It didn't when Father died,” Tom said, with a perception that made Kate's heart miss a beat. “I used to hear you crying at night when I was in bed.” He paused. “You don't cry any more. Not for Father."

She held him closer as the last of his tears resolved into hiccups.

Tom said quietly with a great, shuddering sigh. “I miss Jonathan too."

Kate had no platitudes for that pain. She felt it too keenly herself. “Do you really want to go to Seven Ways, Tom?"

She stroked the boy's hair and the hiccupping subsided.

"Yes,” he said softly.

"Well we can talk about in the morning."

She sensed from the long, slow, even breaths that Tom finally slept but Kate lay awake staring into the unrelenting blackness of her bed canopy. The wakeful minutes dragged by, turning into long hours. The wind tore at the house, loosening a shutter. Kate listened to it swing loose and bang against the wall for a long time before she reluctantly tore herself from the warm bed to secure it.

As she reached out into the dark, wild night to draw the shutter back, she thought she saw movement on the road. She looked again and saw a dark horse with a rider crouched low across against the rain turn off the road, through the open gates into her own courtyard. She closed her eyes and drew a quick breath.

Not stopping to put on shoes or a cloak, Kate ran down the stairs and out into the night, heedless of the rain and the cold. The heavily cloaked rider had dismounted from the soaked horse that stood with its sides heaving and its head drooping with exhaustion.

"Jonathan!"

The rider turned sharply and Kate was in his arms, entwined in his embrace. “It's you? It's really you? You're not some phantom of the night?” she found herself babbling.

"Kate! You're soaked.” Jonathan said at last.

Oblivious to the white shift that clung to her like a second skin, Kate wound her arms around his neck, afraid that if she let go he would vanish into the night.

"I don't care!” she heard herself cry.

A light appeared in the stable and Dickon, half-dressed and bleary-eyed, peered out of the door. His jaw dropped open in surprise.

"Dickon. See to the horse.” Jonathan handed over the reins and turned to Kate. “Now, you foolish wench, I'll not be responsible for you dying of lung fever. Inside, now!"

He picked her up as if she weighed no more than a child and carried her into the house. In the kitchen, Jonathan stoked up the fire while Kate wrapped herself in a blanket and tried to dry her hair that hung in damp rat's tails around her face. Her eyes did not move from him, even as he raided the larder for the last of the rabbit pie and a mug of ale.

"God's death, how I've craved some decent food,” Jonathan announced as he bit into the pie.

"I can't believe you're here! I'm going to wake in a minute and find it is all a dream.” Kate pulled her feet up on to the settle and hugged her knees, her happiness radiating from her.

Jonathan smiled. “A fleeting visit only, Kate. I must be gone tomorrow."

The happiness faded from her face. “So soon?"

He nodded. “I should not even be here now."

"What now?"

He shrugged. “Escaping Scotland for a few days on the King's business."

She knew better than to ask him more.

Jonathan brushed the last of the crumbs from his damp jacket. “What news is there here, Kate? Have you heard anything from Seven Ways?"

"Nell writes often,” she said.

"How is Grandfather?"

Kate stared at him He didn't know; how could he know?

"Sir Francis died six weeks ago.” She added, “I'm sorry, Jonathan."

His face betrayed no emotion. He looked away, staring thoughtfully at the glowing coals of the fire. “So there are decisions to be made. Or have you already decided, Kate?"

"No,” she admitted. “I've made no decisions. My nephew Robert also died barely a week ago and that is a greater grief for me, than the death of an old man I hardly knew."

"Robert is dead?"

The grief he had not shown for his grandfather was written on his face. “Tom?"

Kate felt her eyes fill with tears, as they did whenever she thought of Robert. “Tom is heartbroken.” She wiped her eyes and smiled bravely. “Enough of this dismal talk. How are you? Is the shoulder knit?"

"Oh, I'm fine. The shoulder will do."

"And Scotland?"

Jonathan rolled his eyes heavenward. “Scotland is unspeakable. The Scots have dealt very ill with the King."

"And you?"

"And all of us, or those of us who have refused the Solemn Oath and Covenant. I am not the most God-fearing of men, Kate, but to take that Oath defies everything I have ever believed in. The King must have done it with his fingers crossed behind his back."

"We heard there was a battle. Were you there?"

"No. Thank the Lord. I only arrived in Perth on the day the King received the news."

He stood up, stretching like a cat, easing his stiffening muscles. “Kate, I've been on the road all day and I'm exhausted. At this moment I want nothing more than to fall into a warm bed, preferably with you in my arms."

Kate smiled and felt herself blush as he raised a quizzical eyebrow at her. “Tom is in my bed. Will you settle for a cold bed in the guest chamber?"

"As long as you are there as well, I could sleep on the floor."

With their arms around each other they climbed the stairs to the familiar room. The bed was made up but icy cold and they were both still damp from the rain. They curled into each other's arms as naturally as if they had been made to suit.

"How I have missed you,” Jonathan whispered.

Kate stroked his damp hair. “And I you. Jonathan...?"

"Hmm?” he whispered sleepily.

"Jonathan. I need to know ... I mean I don't really mind ... I would understand."

"What are you talking about?"

"Other women?” she said in a small, tight voice.

He knew in the dark that she could not see his face and neither could he see hers.

He pulled her closer. “Why do you ask?"

She sighed. “Nell says Giles is unfaithful."

"Regularly,” agreed Jonathan. “Kate, how little you understand men. A man may love a woman to the ends of the earth, and the act of taking another woman to his bed will not alter that. For some men, it is no different from eating, or sleeping. It is need of the moment that has nothing to do with his heart, and that is how it is with Giles.” He felt her stiffen and laid a finger on her lips. “I'm not Giles. Did you ever doubt Richard's fidelity?"

"No."

"Then why doubt me?"

"I know your reputation."

"And you should also know I have only ever
loved
one other woman in my entire life, Kate. She is many years in the grave and while I have not been a monk, I have never told a woman that I loved her ... until you.” He kissed her gently. “Kate, you have my word that I have I have lived a life as chaste as that of a priest. Indeed my less charitable comrades in arms have remarked upon my apparent lack of interest in the fairer sex on many an occasion in the last few months."