By the Sword (31 page)

"And you,” she said, “you're a soldier too, just as capable of doing the acts of which you were accused?"

He looked her in the eye. “Kate, I was young and I was arrogant but I pride myself on being a professional soldier. I have never raised a hand against a woman or a child and, to my knowledge, no man under my command has ever done so."

And lived to tell the tale
, he may have added, but chose not to.

She looked up at him, trying in the dark to read the unfathomable depths of his eyes. She touched his face, gently tracing the line of his cheekbone, searching for the ghosts in his eyes; the frail figure of his beloved Mary, the young cornet and the four other soldiers who had died for that illicit love, and linking them all the spectre of Stephen Prescott.

All his words to Giles forgotten, he pulled her gently off the chair and she knelt on the hearth opposite him.

He took her in his arms and held her close, almost crushing her. “Kate, Kate,” he whispered into her disordered hair. “I love you, Kate. You're everything to me and even if I am gone tomorrow, that will not change."

She whispered his name, her body melting in his embrace. Gently and with infinite tenderness they kissed, obliterating the dreadful memories of the last few weeks. They knelt together for a long time in silence, just holding each other.

Jonathan closed his eyes, smelling the familiar scent of rosemary that was so intrinsically a part of this woman he loved so much. He looked down at her, smoothing the unruly hair from her face.

"Kate, would you marry me?” he whispered.

She looked up at him and smiled, warmly and tenderly. Gently she laid her hand on his face. “Yes, my dearest love, I will marry you but only when you can stand beside me a free man.” Her voice sounded calm and clear, more like the Kate of old.

She felt him stiffen and sensed the sudden desolation he felt.

Quietly, she answered for him, “You're thinking that may never be?” Kate sat back against her chair, wrapping her arms around her knees and looking at him. A spark of her old self returned to her face. “It's not a woman's fancy, Jon. There is nothing I want more in this world than to call myself your wife, but one thing the past weeks have taught me is that I am more use to you and your family untrammelled by the Thornton name."

He leaned back against the other chair, running his fingers through his hair in frustration as he acknowledged that she was right.

"Jon, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

He shook his head. “No, my dearest girl, you've just brought home a rather painful reality. I've always been so sure of myself and the rightness of the cause I fought for but I've had plenty of time to think in the past weeks. God alone knows how tired I am of fighting and running. I don't want to see out my days in penury in some garret in Amsterdam or Paris in the name of a cause I can do nothing more for!” He shook his head. “Now, Kate, I don't know what to do."

"Make your peace with Parliament?” Kate ventured.

He looked at her and sadly shook his head. “My death warrant is signed, I'm told. For me there will be no peace with Parliament. I'm sorry, Kate. I've no choice. I must go back to France and bide my time."

"Take me with you,” Kate said in a small voice.

Jonathan felt a stab of pain at the poignant echo of Mary Woolnough's words.

"Oh, sweetheart. Would you leave Tom and your home and your family to follow me? Spend your life wondering where your next meal is coming from or where you will sleep the night? Dearest, that would kill our love surer than anything that has come between us before.” He took her hands and turned them over, kissing the palms. “I will untie this hellish knot that is my life. Will you wait for me, Kate?” He looked up at her.

She met his gaze. “There is, there will never be anyone else, Jonathan,” she said quietly. “Even if you find me stiff with rheumatics, making clothes for my grandchildren, I'll be waiting for you."

He smiled at the thought. “Picture us, my dearest, hobbling down the aisle together, exchanging recipes for rheumatic ointments at the altar."

They had to laugh; the reality of their situation had become too painful to contemplate.

The old steward, Joseph, coughed discreetly. The two people by the window in the library sprang apart, and the old servant suppressed a smile. After all the fuss and bother of the past few weeks it was good to see a little happiness. He had always had a special affection for Jonathan, whom he had seen grow from a baby, and it gladdened him to see that the boy had at last found someone to suit him.

"Mistress Ashley, there's a person asking to see you,” Joseph said.

"A person?” asked Kate. “A male or female person?"

"A female person,” replied Joseph with a look of barely concealed distaste.

Intrigued, Kate told Jonathan to wait in the library and swept into the lower parlour. A formidable female person of ample proportions with fading red hair stood in the middle of floor, clutching a large bundle and shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. Seeing Kate, she sank into a wobbly and inelegant curtsy.

"My lady,” she said.

Kate sighed. She had given up correcting the mode of address. “What can I do for you?” she asked.

Kate heard the door behind her open and the woman's eyes flicked from Kate to the library door. A broad smile lit up the plump face.

"Well, bless me!” she exclaimed as Jonathan entered the room. “You didn't get very far did you?"

"Who's this?” Kate turned to Jonathan.

"This,” said Jonathan, “is a very old and dear friend, Sally Bramble of the Black Cross Inn in Bromsgrove."

Sal dumped her bundle on the table with a sigh of relief. “There you are,” she said, adding, “I hardly expected to be delivering them to you personally."

Jonathan undid the string that bound his crumpled cloak. It seemed an eternity since he had left the persona of Colonel Thornton on Sal's kitchen floor. Everything was there: clothes, his boots, his pistols and his sword. He picked the sword up and started to draw it when he remembered it would not have been cleaned since the battle and quickly sheathed it again.

"Your horse is outside,” Sal said. “Had the devil of a job explaining why we had such a fine stallion in our stable."

"Thank you Sal—for everything,” Jonathan said with heartfelt gratitude.

Kate, recognizing in Sal a true heart however dubious her connection to Jonathan might be, took a step towards the woman. “If there is ever anything we can do for you..."

Sal smiled. “Thank you, my lady. I'll remember that."

Kate dispatched Sal to the kitchen, and Jonathan took Kate's hand and led her out into the courtyard. In the urgency of the flight from Worcester, he had paid scant attention to the horse that had carried him so well. It had simply been the closest to hand when he had needed it. Jonathan ran a hand over the horse's glossy black coat. Sal had looked after the animal well.

"Jonathan! Whose horse is that?” Kate exclaimed. “He looks fit for the King himself,” She turned to him, her eyes shining. “This may be the answer to a prayer. Do you suppose we could start breeding horses again? We have the mares."

He nodded and looked at her. “Do you know anything about breeding horses, Kate?"

She laughed. “Not a thing, Jonathan, but Jacob and I have discussed it and he seemed to think it was a way of restoring some of our fortune."

He took her in his arms. “Well you're going to have to learn, aren't you, dear girl,” he said as he kissed her.

A tug on Jonathan's sleeve interrupted them. With the dissipation of the tension in the house, Tom's usual good humour had returned and he smiled cheekily at his mother and cousin.

"What do you think of the latest addition to the stable, Tom?” Jonathan laid an affectionate arm across the boy's shoulder.

Tom cast a critical eye over the horse. “What's his name?” he asked.

Jonathan shrugged. “I've no idea. What should we call him, do you think?"

"Black Boy,” said Tom decisively.

"Why Black Boy?” asked Kate with a smile.

"Because that's what they call the King, don't they?” said Tom. “And he helped save the King's life."

Leaving the newly christened Black Boy in the appreciative hands of the stable boy and Tom, Kate and Jonathan turned back towards the house with their arms around each other.

Kate woke to the gentle touch of lips on her forehead. She opened her eyes and looked up at the man she loved. He smiled down at her and bent his head to kiss her.

"Good morning, Mistress Ashley,” he whispered.

"Good morning, Sir Jonathan.” She smiled sleepily. “What are you looking at?"

"You,” he said, “I want to remember you like this."

Memory jolted her into the present and she felt the pricking of tears behind her eyes. “Today...” she said, unable to complete the sentence. Today he was leaving her.

"Shhh.” He kissed her again.

She reached up and her arms circled his neck, pulling him down towards her. Their bodies joined as one, moving in perfect harmony with each other as they took the time to savour these last few precious minutes.

Even when they were both spent, they clung to each other as if relinquishing the bond between them would mark the irretrievable separation that had to occur. Kate pulled him closer to her. So many words crowded her mind but they would all remain unsaid. Everything they had to say to each other passed silently between them.

Jonathan kissed her hair and with an obvious effort pulled away from her embrace.

"Dearest,” he said, “it's time. I must be away."

She nodded in bleak agreement. Protest would be pointless. He had to go and she had to let him depart. Another farewell; too many farewells.

He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, and she knelt up behind him, wrapping her arms around his well-muscled shoulders, nuzzling his ear.

"Kate!” he protested. “I have to get dressed.” He grabbed one of her hands and put it to his lips. “Who would ever guess you were such a wanton!” he said, extricating himself from her arms.

She lay back on the bed and watched him dress, trying, as he had done, to hold this memory of him.

"Where will you go?” she asked at last.

He paused in lacing his shirt. “London,” he said, “and from there, the Hague. I will send word as soon as I reach safety."

She nodded and sat up, pulling her night rail on.

"What about you?” he asked.

"As soon as Giles can travel, we will go north to Barton for the winter,” she said. “Suzanne is with child again and I would like to be with her."

"With child again?” Jonathan shook his head. “I swear William must only have to hang his hat up!"

Kate's hand moved involuntarily to her own flat stomach, and she bit her lip, wondering if the last few days with her lover may have left her with child. While the thought filled her with dread, a small part of her cried out to have his child, to hold a part of him with her always.

She dismissed the thought and summoned Ellen to help with her dressing before the family gathered in the courtyard to see Jonathan on his way. Giles, leaning heavily on a stick, stood beside Nell, holding Nan by the hand, and Kate, rigidly holding herself together for the sake of the others and the servants who gathered in the doorway.

Jonathan gathered up the reins of David Ashley's chestnut. In exchange for Amber, Kate had told him to sell the horse in London. It would give him sufficient money for a fare to the continent and a start to life as an exile.

"Where's Tom?” Jonathan asked.

"Wait for me!” Tom shot into the courtyard, clutching a filthy rag in his equally filthy hand.

Kate looked at her son with distaste. “What do you have there, Tom?"

Reverently Tom unwrapped the rag and held up the Order of St. George that the King had given him on the night of the battle.

"Jonathan, can you give this back to the King?” Tom asked.

Jonathan took the precious George from the boy. He shook his head. “No. I think Giles should take it,” he said.

"Why would it be any safer with me?” Giles enquired.

Jonathan shook his head. “I just think it would be."

He met his friend's eyes and Giles nodded. Only Giles knew that Jonathan's route to London involved a detour that could well present a risk of capture.

"Do you really have to go?” Tom asked Jonathan.

Jonathan nodded. “I do, Tom. You know that."

Tom grimaced. “What will you do? Will you fight for Prince Rupert again?"

Jonathan pulled a face. “I think not. When last I heard, the noble Prince had taken to the sea as commander of the King's navy, and I have no great desire to join Rupert on his aquatic adventures!"

"You will write and tell us
your
adventures, though?” Tom moved beside his mother and suffered her to put an arm around his shoulders.

"Of course.” Jonathan swung up into the saddle. He had assumed his John Miller persona and wore a plain grey, woollen jacket and breeches beneath a dark cloak, his much-battered hat on his head. He carried Jacob Howell's short, serviceable sword, a pistol and sufficient books to cover his alias.

Kate moved beside him and he bent from the saddle to kiss her, a chaste public kiss on the cheek.

"God speed!” Nell said and lifted her hand.

Jonathan took one last look around the courtyard, at the house, his sister, his friend, the servants and the woman he loved, before putting his heels to the horse and riding out beneath the gatehouse without a backward glance.

The last time Jonathan had seen Oxford, it had been the King's headquarters and the streets had thronged with soldiers and courtiers. It would take more than six years to obliterate the massive earthworks and other evidence of the important role the city had played during the war but at least, superficially, it seemed to have returned to its peaceful role as a place of learning.

The thought that he may have a child yet living had played continually on Jonathan's mind until it had become a familiar tune. He'd not told Kate, reasoning that she had troubles enough already without assuming any vicarious responsibility for his child. Only Giles had been apprised of his intentions and had tried to dissuade him from this venture.