He shook his head and cast her a wicked smile. “No, we paid our first call on Longley Abbey and found Colonel Price away from home. We had the singular pleasure of divesting Longley Abbey of ample supplies that are now on their way to meet up with the main party. Giles took particular pleasure in relieving the wine cellar of some of its best."
Despite herself, Kate laughed at the thought of Giles calmly reclaiming his wine from under the indignant and ruddy nose of Colonel Price. “Oh, Jonathan! What have you done? Price will be furious!"
He had the grace to look shamefaced. “I wish I could say it was all Giles’ idea."
"I am looking forward to getting to know Giles,” Kate said. “Does he know ... about us?"
Jonathan shrugged. “I haven't told him, or at least in so many words but Giles knows me as well as anyone living so I can't answer for what he may have surmised."
There was a knock on the door and Ellen's voice came through the keyhole. “Cook needs you in the kitchen."
Kate sighed. “I fear I am making loaves and fishes feed the five thousand this evening. I want this meal to be special. We have had so little cause for celebration in the last months."
Jonathan smiled and, unlocking the door, stood aside to let Kate pass.
* * * *
As the evening shadows lengthened, Kate changed quickly into her favourite sky-blue gown with the fine lawn collar edged in lace, the legacy of the Selby fair over a year ago. The family gathered in the hall where Joseph had set the table with the best linen and Ellen had put vases of flowers along its length. The last of the best glasses glinted in the late summer light, a remembrance of the happier times past.
There probably had not been such a cheerful meal in that room for many a year, Kate reflected. The cook did them proud and Giles produced some of the liberated wine to go with the elegant repast, proving himself to be every bit as lively as his reputation.
Kate could not help but like Giles. She had imagined someone like Jonathan, but Giles Longley was a head shorter and as fair as Jonathan was dark. His lean and wiry build had a dancer's grace to his movement. His hair was impeccably curled, his clothes immaculate and his blue eyes were absolutely wicked, Kate thought. She had no doubt that whatever Jonathan's reputation, Giles was a devil with women. Jonathan, as she well knew, had a dark and introspective side to his personality whereas Giles would not know a black thought if it hit him between the eyes.
After a good many toasts to His Majesty and a pox on his enemies, Kate began to feel a little light-headed. She ignored Tom's curious looks and let Giles refill her glass.
After the meal was done Nan, who had been allowed to sit up for the meal, was retrieved by her maid and taken off to bed. Kate glanced at the darkened sky and wondered if they should bring the evening to an end but Giles had only just come to life. From the coffer under the window he rummaged through the musical instruments and music stored there. Nell was prevailed upon to play the virginals, an instrument that she practised regularly and proficiently. Giles took the lute and after forcing it into some semblance of tune he accompanied his wife with a very fine baritone.
Jonathan sat next to Kate on the settle, their fingers secretly entwined in the folds of her skirt. Nell's devoted eyes never left her husband and only when they had finished did she turn on her stool.
"Kate can sing,” she said. “She has a lovely voice."
Kate blushed furiously. “When have you heard me sing?” she challenged.
"You do all the time, Mother,” put in Tom, adding, “when you're happy."
Nell flicked through her music. “Here is a little song,” she said. “It will suit your voice. Try it?"
Reluctantly Kate agreed and made a passable attempt at the pretty tune, trying hard to avoid Jonathan's amused eyes.
"There's a duet here,” Nell said. “It's your turn Jonathan. You and Kate could sing it."
Jonathan's eyes widened in mock horror. “Me? My dear sister, you know perfectly well I cannot hold a tune."
"Liar!” interjected Giles, draining the last bottle of wine into his glass. “Kate, he regularly serenades the lovely demoiselles."
"And look at the result,” pointed out Jonathan. “When they have stopped laughing, some other man has whisked them away."
Kate smiled. “I would have to agree,” she said. “I've only heard him sing once and ‘twas not a pretty sound. You and Giles give us another song, Nell!"
The Longleys obliged and Kate closed her eyes and willed the evening not to end. She had not known what it was like to be really happy for so long.
But it grew late. Tom struggled to keep his eyes open and, after much prodding from his mother, made his way to bed. Giles leaned over the virginals and whispered in Nell's ear. She coloured furiously and with her husband's arm over her shoulders they wandered slowly out of the room, leaving Kate and Jonathan alone. Kate hesitated, making pretence of straightening cushions and putting the music away. Jonathan laid his hand on her shoulder and turned her around to face him. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her gently on the forehead.
"Go ahead,” he whispered. “I will be with you presently."
She smiled and crept away to her bedchamber.
Jonathan checked on his men, made sure the guard had been set for the night and wrote a dispatch. Outside the door to Kate's bedchamber, he hesitated. Another stolen night, a brief respite from the troubles that lay ahead. He wondered how fair it was to Kate and whether it would be better to seek his own bed. The thought lingered only a moment and he put his hand to the door catch.
Kate waited, curled up in a chair by the open window. The soft summer night stole into the room and as he entered she looked around at him, her eyes shining in the candlelight.
"All done for the night?” she asked.
He nodded. “The world is at peace, for the moment."
He crossed over to her and she rose from her chair to face him.
"Kate,” he said, “I wanted to give you something."
"There's no need,” she said.
He took her hand and dropped the heavy gold signet ring he always wore on his right hand into the palm, closing her fingers over it.
He smiled apologetically. “I'm sorry I have nothing else, Kate. All the family jewellery is long gone. Look after it for me. I hope when I come to claim it I may be able to exchange it for one more fitting your hand."
Her hand tightened on the ring, feeling the cool, heavy metal. She crossed to the small, carved box that sat on her dressing table. From it she selected a gold chain and, slipping the ring on to it, fastened it around her neck.
"I will wear it next to my heart,” she said.
Then he took her in his arms and carried her over to her bed. “One night, my dearest love,” he whispered as he buried his face in her hair. “It seems that once again, that is all we have."
"Then let's not waste it,” she replied, wrapping her arms around his neck and smiling into his eyes.
* * * *
At first light, the shabby troop of men rode away from the manor house. Kate and Nell, still in their nightgowns, stood by the window of Kate's chamber watching them ride away.
Not wanting to risk so fine a beast in battle, Jonathan left Amber and rode David Ashley's aging gelding that Kate had brought with her. He looked up at the window and his eyes met Kate's. They locked for an instant then he turned away. Giles, in characteristic style, swept them a low, courtly bow with a flourish of his feathered hat.
The two women stood in silence, watching the sun rise on another hot day. They did not need to speak their thoughts because they were the same as those of so many women who had watched their men ride away to battle. When, if ever, would they see them again?
Kate turned away from the window, feeling a dull, empty loneliness settling on her. She sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to summon the energy to dress and face the day.
Nell sat down beside her and took her hand. “Kate, why didn't you tell me about you
and Jonathan?” she asked.
Kate looked at her, surprised. “How did you know?"
"Well, my virtuous widow Ashley, it is plain that two people have slept in this bed—” she smiled at Kate's red face “—and besides, Giles told me, and even if he hadn't I would have guessed. Kate, I have never, and I repeat never, seen my brother look at a woman the way he does at you."
Kate smiled. In some ways it was nice to have someone to share the confidence with, like a young girl with her first love.
"In truth, Nell,” she admitted. “I think I loved him from our first meeting."
Nell smiled, “You are well suited, but Kate.” Her face suddenly grew serious. “But are you wise to take him to your bed? Were I to be with child, there would be no questions, but you ... we rely on you and your virtue. A Thornton bastard would not sit well with Colonel Price."
Kate bit her lip. The same fear had crossed her mind. Common sense told her that she was a fool to allow Jonathan into her bed, but she found when she was with him, common sense played no part. She wanted to feel his hard body against her and to experience the intimacy only two people in love can ever really know. Unconsciously her hand moved to her belly. What if she was with child? Nell was right, no one would believe an immaculate conception had occurred. Yet part of her yearned to be with child, Jonathan's child.
"I intend to shut up Seven Ways and return to Yorkshire by Christmas. If, and God willing it will not come to anything, then Price need never know.” she said. She turned to Jonathan's sister. “Nell, what do you know about a woman called Mary?"
"Mary?"
"She had some connection with Jonathan, a long time ago."
"Oh, that Mary!” Nell shook her head. “That was years ago, before the war, when he was at Oxford. He came home one day and told Father he intended to marry this girl. She was, I think, the daughter of one of the dons. Oh, I remember now! Her father was a Puritan. Zounds, Father was furious. He absolutely forbade the union. There was the most terrible row, but then most discussions with Jonathan and Father always ended in a terrible row."
"Was that it?"
"As far as I know,” Nell said. “It was all over long before the war. He's not still pining for her, is he?"
"She's dead,” Kate said.
Nell shrugged. “Well then, she is hardly a rival for his affections now."
"No,” Kate agreed, although some instinct told her that while Mary might not be a rival for his affections, she still lingered as a ghost in his memory.
"Jonathan does not give his heart easily, Kate. It may well be that this Mary and you are the only women he has ever loved. There are some men, like Giles, who love women and there are some, like Jonathan, who are loved by women. That is just the way of the world and for what it's worth, I think it's wonderful. Will you marry him? If you do, we'll be sisters!"
"Nell!” Kate felt the heat rise to her face. “You know as well as I do that we are both fools. We have no future to contemplate and if I allow myself to believe there is such a future, I will only end up like you, pining for a man I cannot have.” Nell's face dropped, and Kate instantly regretted her hasty words. “I'm sorry, Nell. I did not mean that to sound the way it did."
"No, you're right, Kate. Unless they prevail, there really is not much future for any of us, is there?"
Eleven
Giles and Jonathan found the King's forces only a couple of miles from Worcester. As they approached the King, the Duke of Buckingham waylaid them.
"Where have you been?” snarled Buckingham. “His Majesty thought you had deserted."
"I doubt that,” said Jonathan under his breath. “Did you not get the supplies we sent on, kindly donated by the good man in occupation of Longley Abbey?"
"That did not answer my question,” Buckingham responded petulantly.
"We spent the night with our family,” Jonathan answered quietly.
Buckingham's lip curled into something resembling a sneer and he shifted his gaze to Giles. “A night with the good lady wife, Longley? That should put you in good stead for the next few days. You had best hope you've not given her the pox."
Giles, his face black with rage, lunged forward and only Jonathan's restraining hand on the bridle stopped him from running Buckingham through.
"He's not worth it,” Jonathan said.
Buckingham turned his sharp eyes on Jonathan. “And you, Thornton? Who keeps your bed warm at night? Rumour would have it that you no longer find women to your favour?"
Jonathan's eyes narrowed. “Perhaps, my lord, I am somewhat particular about what I share my bed with. I am certainly not so desperate as to take anything as ill-favoured as that which you made your bedmate in Perth!"
Buckingham's hand shot to his sword but a low chuckle behind him stayed him.
"Well said, Thornton!"
The King rode towards them, looking every inch a monarch, splendidly dressed with the Order of St. George hanging around his neck. He smiled broadly, evidently in good spirits and jubilant at the thought of his entry into the loyal city whose gates stood open before them.
"It's a fine morning, gentlemen,” he said, “and Worcester awaits us.” He pointed south where the square turret of the cathedral dominated the landscape.
"It is indeed, Your Majesty.” Jonathan bowed from the saddle.
"This is your country, Thornton, is it not?” The King looked around the pleasant, rolling countryside and took a deep breath as if English air was the sweetest scent on earth.
"It is, Your Majesty. Lord Longley and I come from near Kidderminster. I confess we took the opportunity to visit with family last night."
"As is your right,” the King said. “Would we had the same joy to look forward to."
His face saddened. He still carried a deep grief from the death of his sister Elizabeth, who had died a prisoner in Carisbrooke Castle.
"So yonder is Worcester.” The King raised himself in his stirrups and pushed his hat to the back of his head. “Where we will rest and await our loyal subjects!"
"Or Cromwell. Whoever reaches us first!” Giles whispered to Jonathan as the King cantered forward with Buckingham trailing in his wake.
The gates of Worcester stood wide and the townspeople turned out in force to welcome home their King. Fine words were spoken by the mayor, and the King, for one brief moment, lived out the sad parody of his birthright.
Work began immediately in re-fortifying the city. The bridges to the south of the city were destroyed, denying access to the city from the East. The earthworks, thrown up during the earlier conflict, were re-dug and the walls reinforced.
* * * *
Despite the optimism of the King there was no disguising the utter weariness of the largely Scots army and the dispirited and desperate air of its commanders. The Earl of Derby, landing from the continent with badly needed troops, came up against the Parliamentarian forces in a battle outside Wigan. He barely escaped with his life, let alone any men to reinforce the forces waiting at Worcester.
Worse news came over the next few days. Cromwell had met up with Lambert and they were closing in on the city from the south. The bridge at Upton had not been completely destroyed and Lambert took Upton without difficulty, pushing back the Scots and giving access to the west bank of the Severn.
The King decreed that all loyal subjects were to gather at a field called Pitchencroft just outside the city on August 26th. Barely a soul came to the assembly and that night the King sat gloomily in the large, pleasant house on the outskirts of the town, ironically named “The Commandery", sunk in the harsh realization that his only resource remained the Scots. The English had abandoned him to his fate.
In the days that followed Jonathan busied himself where he could with the strengthening of Fort Royal, a former stronghold that had fallen into ruin in the intervening years of quasi peace. He attended the meetings at the Commandery and concluded it was entirely wrongly named. He saw precious little evidence of command taking place within its walls.
In the endless councils that took place in the hall the young King found himself assailed from all sides by conflicting advice. One man suggested that they attempt to break out and make for London, another that a foray for new supplies be made. Jonathan, when pressed for input, suggested they abandon their position and make for Wales. He found himself howled down and accused of cowardice.
Jonathan sat back, his long fingers beating an impatient tattoo on the arm of his chair. He had been a soldier long enough to recognise the virtue of a strategic withdrawal. In Wales they stood a chance of bolstering their forces and drawing Cromwell to a fight on unfamiliar territory.
While Cromwell with his thirty thousand troops came closer every day, the interminable, inconclusive councils went on. August passed into September and by early September Cromwell sat at Evesham, poised like a cat ready to strike. He had already brought the city under bombardment from enemy guns positioned to the east at Red Hill.
Another evening at the Commandery had ended in bickering and Jonathan trudged wearily back up Friers Street to his billet. Tomorrow would be September 3rd, exactly one year since Dunbar. Cromwell was known to be a superstitious man and his incredible deliverance at Dunbar would point auspiciously to another success if battle were to be brought on the same day.
In the downstairs parlour of the large, half-timbered house, Giles played cards with an old companion from their younger days, a daredevil of an infantry officer called Kit Lovell, who had recently joined them. They were both fiendish card players and Jonathan declined their invitation to join them.
He left orders with his orderly that he was only to be disturbed if Cromwell attacked, undid his sword belt, took off his boots and fell still fully clothed on to his bed. Despite his utter weariness, sleep did not come easily as he played out the events of the morrow. The outcome of the battle seemed such a foregone conclusion that death seemed inevitable, and he knew with utter certainty that he did not want to die. For the first time he felt there were people in his life who would really mourn him. Not that he had been deliberately careless of his life in the past, but he had known that while his family would be sad and grieve for a while, his death would have been viewed with inescapability rather than a sense of loss.
By The Sword Page 15