The Bladesmith

by Melinda Hammond

  THE BLADESMITH

  Melinda Hammond

  Copyright 2017 by Melinda Hammond

  First Published Spring 2018 as A Bride for the Bladesmith

  in Intrigues & Heartbreaks, Regency Romantics box set

  All rights reserved.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

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  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the author. Nor be otherwise circulated in any form other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This work is a work of fiction. The characters and incidents are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any real person or incident is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Melinda Hammond 2017

  Cover design by Jane Dixon-Smith

  The Bladesmith

  by

  Melinda Hammond

  A tale of high adventure in the turbulent days of the Jacobite Rebellion

  1745: John Steel takes a consignment of swords to Warenford Keep on the wild Northumberland coast. He suspects that the swords are destined for the rebel army of Charles Edward Stuart, but matters are complicated by his growing attraction to Katherine Ellingham, daughter of a known Jacobite and betrothed to the powerful Lord Warenford.

  With Carlisle in the hands of the Jacobites, and government troops patrolling Northumberland, John makes a desperate bid to retrieve the swords from the Keep before his family is implicated in the uprising, but can he succeed, and protect Katherine and her family at the same time?

  CHAPTER ONE

  The road leading down to Shotley Bridge was in the full glare of the westering sun and before starting the descent, the rider halted and settled his tricorne hat a little lower over his eyes. Feeling the rein slacken, the chestnut roan side-stepped playfully and snorted, ears up.

  'Come up, Dorcas. You've heard that sound before, old girl.'

  The rider leaned forward to pat the mare's glossy neck, smiling to himself as he listened to the rhythmic thud, thud of the trip hammers that worked ceaselessly in the valley below, driven by the steady flow of the River Derwent. From the high ground, trees hid the buildings from his view, but he could see the smoke curling up from the high chimneys of the crucibles and he felt again the tingle of excitement as he thought of the age-old process being carried out.

  With a word he urged the mare onwards, allowing her to pick her own way along the stony cart track that wound down into the trees. An old man sitting in the doorway of his cottage touched his forelock. Although the traveller's brown cloth coat and breeches were common enough in the country, the glossy top-boots declared the gentleman, as did the white silk waistcoat that could be glimpsed occasionally as he shifted in the saddle, and the glint of the silver-handled quizzing glass swinging gently from a ribbon around his neck. The rider acknowledged the greeting with a nod as he continued on his way down towards the river. As he descended, the trees disappeared and he was in a landscape dominated by grey stone and red brick, the colours dulled by the smoky haze that hung in the air, carrying the faint acrid smell from the foundries. Wagons plied between the buildings, and a cacophony of sounds assailed his ears as he approached the mill: the thud of the hammers, the hiss of the great bellows overlaid with the sound of rushing water and the clarion ring of steel.

  The rider did not stop at the mill but urged his mount on through the valley towards the smithy further along the riverbank. It was a low, square building with large double-doors thrown wide. Inside he could see a single figure, a large man in a leather waistcoat, his huge arms bare and glistening from the heat from the forge. He was intent on his work and did not hear the rider approach nor did he see him dismount and step closer. He pulled a long piece of steel from the red-hot coals and proceeded to taper it, his right arm lifting the hammer and bringing it down upon the steel in a tireless motion, flipping the metal over and over to work each side evenly until suddenly the cooling blade shattered, pieces clattering off the anvil and onto the earth floor.

  'Hell and damnation!'

  The rider grinned. 'Curse your own folly, Wolfgang. It was not hot enough, and you were too rough with it.'

  The big man swung round. 'John, by God! We didn't expect you until the morrow.' He cast aside the hammer and came to greet the rider, gripping his hands within his own giant paws. 'Well, little brother, how goes it with you?'

  'Well, Wolf, thank you.' He nodded at the fragments of steel scattered about the smithy. 'Am I disturbing you?'

  'No, no. Just a new design I wanted to try before putting it to the mill. It will wait a little longer. But I did not expect you so soon.'

  'I decided to ride. Matthew follows on with the baggage coach. That's why I am here before-times, even if it is a damned dusty route.'

  'Aye,' said Wolf with a quizzical lift of his eyebrows. 'Quite the fine gentleman now, eh?'

  'Not too fine to visit my brother when he summons me.' returned John equably. 'What is it, Wolf, Grandfather? Or perhaps one of your family is ill?'

  'No, no, the wife and children are in excellent health and the old man's well enough. Let's go over to the house and we can talk.'

  Wolf accompanied his brother away from the river bank and past a row of stone cottages towards a large, substantial new house set on a slight rise at the end of the road, where the smoke from the foundries and mills was less dense. As the two brothers walked together, the likeness between them was apparent: both were fair and tall but Wolf, the eldest, was much broader, his arms and body developed by years of working steel. Wolfgang's movements were slow and deliberate, he walked with a rolling gait while John moved with a lithe grace that set the skirts of his frock-coat swinging gently. The two faces also showed differences. John's was a lean, thoughtful countenance with a strong jaw-line that indicated a stubborn streak not evident in Wolf's cherubic features.

  When they reached the house, Wolf led the way through the hall to a small sitting room.

  'Grossvater - we have a visitor. John is here.'

  An old man was sitting beside the empty fireplace, a clay pipe clenched between his yellowed teeth. He moved his head as Wolf spoke, and fixed John with a bright stare.

  'Is it thee, Johannes?'

  John stepped forward and knelt beside the old man's chair. 'Yes, sir. How do you go on?'

  'Ach, I live, my boy, I live. I could do more, an Wolfgang would let me.'

  Wolf was busy fetching a bottle and glasses from a cupboard.

  'You have done your toiling, Grandfather. You picked up the business again when Father and Mother were taken by the fever, and kept it running until such time as I came of age, but now 'tis time to let others work, while you advise us.'

  'Advise you!' Peter Stahl removed his pipe from his mouth and spat into the empty grate. 'Would you listen if I did?'

  Wolf grinned. 'Probably not. But let's not waste John's precious time with this. I've no doubt your rich relations in Durham want you back with them as soon as possible.'

  John shrugged. 'My aunt sends her good wishes to you, Grandfather. And she asked me to give her regards to you, Wolf, and Maria and the children. As to returning to Durham, there is no call on my time.'

  The old
man waved his pipe at him. 'And what does your aunt have planned for you, Johannes?'

  'Planned for me, sir? Why nothing. They took me in and educated me for my mother's sake, I think.'

  'And settled a fortune on you!'

  John was quick to hear the bitter note in his brother's voice and he shook his head.

  'An independence, rather. Having made me a gentleman and raised me above my station, they could do little else.'

  'There's no shame in being a smith,' retorted Wolf.

  'None indeed,' smiled John. 'If circumstances had been otherwise I think I should have been very happy to be just that. As it is, here I am at six-and-twenty, an idle, educated fellow who is fit for …. nothing.' He spoke lightly, but his grandfather was not deceived.

  'Ach, you will find your way, my boy, in time. And if all else fails, you can come back and work for your brother. You would make a good bladesmith, Johannes.'

  Wolfgang nodded. 'Aye, whatever else I may say of you, little brother, you have always shown a gift for working the steel.'

  John shrugged and lifted his glass towards the old man.

  'If I do, then it is inherited, sir.'

  Wolfgang refilled the glasses.

  'Well sit down, John, sit down. Maria can play the great lady in the rest of the house but we stand on no ceremony in this room. Grandfather would prefer to have us sit with him in our dusty clothes than not.'

  The three men sat in companionable silence for a few moments, savouring the wine. At length John broke the silence.

  'Well, brother, are you going to tell me why you summoned me here?'

  Wolfgang scowled. 'Does there need to be a reason to invite my own brother to his family home?'

  'Aye, when it is the first time in ten years that you have done so!'

  'With your regular visits, it has never before been necessary.'

  'So what makes it necessary now?'

  Wolfgang reached for the bottle again. 'I need you to make a journey for me, little brother. To deliver a consignment of swords promised for the end of the month.'

  'How big a consignment?'

  'Four gross.'

  'So many?' John pursed his lips, considering. 'A simple enough task,' he said at last. 'Of course I will do it for you, but is that all you want of me? Why cannot your own men take them?'

  'They are needed here.'

  'Wolf is right,' nodded his grandfather. 'He has secured a large government contract. Have you heard the news that the Pretender is in Scotland?' The old man spat again into the empty grate. 'In London they have decided it is time to re-arm. We are to supply cuttos and hangars for the navy, and army long-swords.'

  John sipped at his wine. 'A little late to be re-arming, if the Stuart has already landed.'

  'That is in part how I secured the contract. They need arms urgently, and I can supply them.'

  'Impressive Wolf.'

  'Aye, they want the first batch by November, but it means every skilled man is needed here. Yet the finished consignment must be delivered. I can spare half a dozen men, but they have so little sense I could not rely on them finding their way to Gateshead, let alone Sleaton. Except for old Sealy, of course, but he cannot read or reckon. I need someone I can trust to conduct this business.'

  'Sleaton, you said?'

  'Aye, 'tis but a few miles from Alnwick.'

  'And who is your customer?'

  'Lord Warenford.'

  John looked thoughtful. 'I do not recognise the name. What do you know of him?'

  'Only that he pays well. Half the sum in advance. But you see that I need to fulfil his order, and with this new government contract – '

  'You do not need to persuade me, brother. I have already said I shall go, and I shall take Matthew with me.'

  Wolfgang sat back, his round features breaking into a huge smile.

  'Good! And your man may be useful. He grew up here and knows the business as well as anyone. Well then, little brother, I'll show you to your room and by the time we have changed, dinner will be ready and we will be fit to see Maria!'

  CHAPTER TWO

  'The horses and their packs are safe for the night, sir.'

  John turned away from the window and his contemplation of the inn yard as his servant entered the room. Matthew Deane was a stocky young man with a pleasant, open countenance that reflected his good-nature. He was officially John's valet, but also fulfilled the roles of secretary, confidante and John's closest friend.

  'Thank you, Matty. And the men?'

  Matthew grinned. 'Assured of clean beds and a good supper, served by some of the prettiest serving wenches this side of the Tyne.'

  The servant's good humour was reflected in John's eyes, but he said mildly, 'Let's hope they all get a good night's sleep. I want an early start in the morning.'

  'I know, sir, and I have ordered your supper to be brought up directly.'

  'And I hope you'll join me, Matty?'

  'Thank you, Master John, but it is more fitting if I take my meat downstairs.'

  'Matthew, you have been with me since I was a boy!'

  'As a servant, sir.'

  'A servant and a friend, dammit! I was never so lonely as during those first few months with my rich relatives in Durham, until I had learned to be a gentleman, and at ease in any company.' John gave him his crooked smile. 'Or is there some pretty serving wench waiting for you?'

  His man looked shocked. 'Give over your funning, Master John. And me with my Molly waiting for me back in Durham.'

  'Then lay a place for yourself and let's hear no more of your nonsense.'

  'Your aunt would be telling you to keep a proper distance.'

  'And so I will, from the packmen. But we are of an age, Matty. We took our lessons together, do you not remember?' He broke off as a light scratching at the door heralded the arrival of the innkeeper's wife with a laden tray. 'Ah, dinner, I think. Now, let us see if this Alnwick beef is as good as they say!'

  Despite John's best intentions the sun was climbing high in the cloudless blue sky before they left Alnwick the next morning. It had taken time to harness the pack-ponies, then the crates of swords had to be checked before loading and Matthew grumbled at the tardiness of the packmen.

  'We should still be with Lord Warenford in good time, if we keep a steady pace,' said John, his good humour unimpaired.

  The summer sun blazed down, and the day grew ever hotter. John encouraged his men with the promise of refreshments and a mid-day meal at Sleaton.

  'Lord Warenford writes that he can accommodate us all overnight, but I prefer that we do not arrive unannounced and half-starved,' he told his servant as they headed towards the coast. 'His letter gives clear directions to Sleaton, where he says we can bait at the Three Tuns.'

  The road wound between hedged fields until they found themselves riding at the foot of a high, wooded ridge. John and Matthew were in front of the pack-train, and after they had followed the track for some distance John brought his horse to a stand and raised his hand, signalling to Matthew to listen.

  The servant cocked his head. 'Thunder, master?'

  A smile lifted the corners of John's mouth. 'No, Matty. If I am not mistaken, the sea is on the other side of that rise.'

  They pushed on, the road climbing steadily to meet the northern limit of the trees and suddenly they found themselves with a clear view of the coast. A low, wind-blown hedge separated the road from lush green pasture that fell away for half a mile or so to the shore and gave way to an expanse of restless blue and white water that stretched to the horizon. They stopped. John took off his hat and wiped his brow.

  'The German Ocean,' breathed Matthew, awed.

  John set his hat back on his head, pressing it down firmly for a keen breeze was blowing steadily in-shore.

  'Aye, Matthew. And that, I fancy, must be Warenford Keep.'

  His outstretched finger pointed to a whinstone ridge that reared up from the flat meadows and jutted out into the bay, where the waves broke tirelessly ag
ainst the black rocks. Built onto the ridge, and gleaming in the bright sun, was a sprawling stone castle. Sturdy high walls perched on top the rocky outcrop, broken occasionally by a high tower, while on the south-facing slope twin round towers stood on each side of the arched gateway.

  Matthew glanced at his master. 'They say this was once a wild land. A lord might have need of such a stronghold.'

  'And if the Stuart is indeed in Scotland, he might have need of it again. By God, the air is so clear it seems I could reach out and touch those walls!'

  Matthew consulted his map. 'The landlord at Alnwick told me most travellers take another route, by Craster.'

  'Doubtless Lord Warenford has his reasons for sending us this way. In any event 'tis clear that the land between here to the Keep is too marshy for a road, else our journey would be a good few hours shorter. But we are making good time, Matthew.' John urged his horse forward. 'Come along. Let's get on to Sleaton – a blackjack of good ale is what I am in need of now.'

  John would have liked to set his horse to a trot, but glancing back at the line of ponies strung out behind him, he curbed his eagerness. His men were equally thirsty, and to ride on ahead would cause resentment. Instead he gazed about him at the unfamiliar landscape. To his right the land leading down to the sea was grazed by fat cattle, but inland the ground rose steadily to a gorse-covered heath. A movement caught his eye and he looked up to see two riders moving swiftly across the skyline. John smiled, aware of a faint envy.

  'They seem to be enjoying themselves,' remarked Matthew, reading his thoughts.

  'Yes. I – ' John broke off, for the second horse had stumbled, sending the rider flying over its head.

  The wind was coming off the sea, and carried away any cry, but almost immediately the leading rider had pulled up and was turning back. John turned his horse and set off up the rise.

  'Come, Matty, let's see if we can help.'