Her eyes blazed with passion and Marcus was touched by their fire. He lowered his gaze to her hands resting in her lap. Small and slender, they gave the impression of fragility, yet at a time of desperation they had become strong enough to wield a broadsword and strike a man.
‘You’re a strange woman, Catherine. Just when I think I’m getting to know you, some new trait appears.’ He smiled and his expression softened with his humour. ‘Nature made a sad mistake when it made you a woman. You would have done better as a youth.’
‘A youth?’
‘You are incorrigible and have the recklessness of a young man. To raise a sword to an opponent takes courage—and strength. How does the maid fare?’
‘She was more frightened than hurt. I gave her into the care of Alice, who lavished on her the attention she normally reserves for me.’
‘And Fenton? Where was he while you were being abused?’
‘I don’t know. I have no need of his guardianship. I see little of him these days.’
‘Are you saying that he left you to the mercy of those blasted rebels?’
Catherine merely nodded and did not confide her nagging suspicion that Mr Fenton might have been behind the raid in the first place, to get back at her for reprimanding him for his conduct in the woods. There was no evidence of this and without proof she did not wish to openly accuse and make matters worse.
Marcus shook his head impatiently. ‘It was dangerous folly. Fenton knows the rebels are ill armed and look for weapons where they can—and where better than a house whose owner fights for the King? He cannot be permitted to get away with this—he’s supposed to be the strong arm on the estate in my absence.’ His anger rose at Fenton, though before he had left Saxton Court he had felt none, for, where his duties were concerned, Fenton had proved his worth many times.
At that moment Marcus seemed to Catherine to be the embodiment of unquestioned authority as he stood there, his dark head thrown back, his eyes stern. ‘Perhaps it is I who have been lax for not seeking Mr Fenton out and making sure he did what he is paid to do,’ she ventured.
‘Nonsense! You have not been here long enough and are far too young to have learned the arts of running Saxton Court. If Fenton cannot be found, I shall leave a man here to guard you. I can well imagine the fear and distress this must have caused you. Knowing that in my own and Fenton’s absence everyone would be looking to you, you would have to appear strong and in control. You did well, Catherine. You showed spirit and I am proud of you, but it would displease me to have your life so imperilled again.’
It was the closest Marcus had come to expressing feelings for her, and Catherine could not prevent the flush heating her cheeks.
The door opened and more food was brought in. Alone again, Marcus rose. ‘Come, we can talk while we eat.’ He grinned almost boyishly. ‘My backbone has been rubbing against my stomach since leaving London.’
The food was accepted with ravenous appreciation. Marcus ate heartily while Catherine toyed with her food. When he was finished eating, Marcus settled back in his seat, fingering his wine goblet. He tried to think of the rest of his journey when he left Saxton Court, but in his state of sated relaxation he was more inclined to dwell on his dinner companion.
‘So tell me, Catherine, apart from beating off marauders and protecting young maids, what else have you been up to in my absence?’
‘I’ve found plenty to occupy my time. Elizabeth and Margaret are frequent visitors. They have been most kind—making sure I don’t get bored on my own, and introducing me to more people in the neighbourhood.’
‘I am relieved to know you are getting on with Elizabeth. With all that is between us I do know it can’t be easy for either of you.’
‘It is important that we try to get along, and I do like your sister. Although there must be times when you regret your impulsive action and married me, Marcus.’
He lifted a brow and regarded her with some amusement. ‘Sometimes I do wonder what kind of wild and unprincipled creature I made my wife.’
‘You could have married any one of the beautiful, unattached ladies who grace the court.’
Marcus’s lips curved in a half-smile. ‘It is strange, but despite the unconventional beginnings to our marriage, I have no regrets. You are more beautiful than any of the dull creatures who preen and saunter about King James’s Court.’
Catherine smiled. ‘And you, my lord, are a flatterer.’
‘’Tis not flattery.’ Marcus’s face was serious. ‘’Tis the truth.’
Catherine met his gaze. A heavy lock of dark hair dipped over his brow and the candlelight softened his angular features. There was an intensity in his eyes as he gave her a long, silent look. Catherine was beginning to find in him a sensitivity that made him capable of perceiving her need for understanding. Was it possible that, after all the rancour and the arguments, she could believe that he cared for her—that she had come to care for him?
‘This was my mother’s favourite room,’ he told her softly, letting his gaze drift. ‘You obviously like it.’
‘Yes. When I’m alone I always dine in here.’
‘I cannot blame you,’ he murmured, draping his arm across the back of his chair, watching her, relaxed and indulgent. ‘It’s cosier.’
Cosier. Avoiding his eyes, Catherine picked up her glass and drank some wine. By Marcus’s definition, she knew perfectly well that cosier meant more inducive to intimacy. She knew it, just as clearly as she knew that the situation between them had altered. Marcus knew it, too. There was a new softness in his eyes when he looked at her and a smiling tenderness in his voice. A warmness grew within her that was nothing to do with the fire burning in the hearth. Surrendering to the compulsive urge to leave the table, she rose.
Marcus watched her return to the chair by the fire, her movements graceful and uncertain, like a nervous fawn. Firelight gleamed on her hair and her sooty lashes cast fan-like shadows on her smooth cheeks. As he looked at her now, despite the fact that he had made her his wife in the true sense on that one night they had lain together at The Hague, he marvelled anew at the strange aura of innocence about her. Since he had met her she had opposed, defied and challenged him, and yet for all her dauntless courage she was amazingly shy.
‘Marcus, there is something I must discuss with you—it concerns Mr Fenton.’
‘Apart from not being here when he was most needed, what else has my bailiff been up to in my absence that has set you on edge?’ he asked, getting up and sitting opposite her.
‘He has a tendency to overstep himself.’
‘Yes, I know, but he does his job well.’
‘Too well sometimes,’ Catherine retorted scornfully. ‘As well you know, Mr Fenton made a disagreeable impression on me from the start, and my opinion of him has not improved.’
‘Why should you be so serious and troubled over Fenton, who is of such little importance?’
‘Unimportant? Marcus, I fail to understand how, when everyone who is familiar with that man speaks nothing but ill of him, you go around as if you are wearing blinkers,’ Catherine admonished sharply. ‘Your own sister cannot abide him and makes no secret of the fact. I’ve had an uncomfortable feeling about him from the moment I first set eyes on him.’
Marcus frowned. ‘Tell me.’
‘Do you recall the evening before you went away, the first time I met Elizabeth?’
He nodded, recalling the evening in question and the unpleasant scene that followed. ‘What of it?’
‘You mentioned that Mr Fenton was in Bath visiting his brother.’
‘I remember.’ His look had become wary.
‘Well, I saw him in Taunton that very day, so he couldn’t possibly have been in Bath.’
‘Was he alone?’
‘No. He was with a man by the name of Trenchard.’
‘I know him well—a Whig country gentleman and former Member of Parliament for Taunton. A staunch Republican, he was involved with The Rye House Plotters. H
e is a marked man and fled the country before Monmouth’s arrival so he cannot be charged with complicity in his rebellion. I know Fenton is acquainted with him, and just how well I now intend to find out. How do you know it was Trenchard?’
‘Archie told me. They were deep in conversation and disappeared into the Red Lion tavern. There’s also something else.’
‘Oh?’
Catherine fixed him with a level gaze. ‘He knew my father. Did you know?’
Something quickened in Marcus’s eyes and his expression hardened. ‘No, I confess I did not. How well did he know him?’
‘I don’t know. When I asked him, he said they belonged to the same club.’
Marcus’s eyes narrowed as he considered her words. ‘The same club? Now I wonder, I really do, what he meant by that.’
‘I was confused at the time. I thought perhaps a club in London—a Republican club, since my father was a Republican too. That was the last time I saw Mr Fenton. I don’t know where he spends his time. I half-expect him to leave to join Monmouth.’
‘Fenton is not a young man. Perhaps he’s no stomach for a fight.’
‘I disagree. When it comes to dealing with those weaker than himself, he is quite ruthless. I—I discovered him in the woods one day about to flog an old man he had caught poaching. Sadly, the poor man had already been savagely mauled by Fenton’s hounds.’
Grim-faced, Marcus rose. Catherine shrank before the murderous look in those dark eyes fixed on her.
‘So, Elizabeth was right all along when she accused me of being too trusting, too generous, where Fenton is concerned. I am beginning to see Fenton for the scheming, manipulative opportunist he is, and understand how my father was tricked into employing him. This is unacceptable. There is a matter of justice here. Whatever the man has done, I cannot permit Fenton to take it upon himself to administer punishment. Go on, Catherine. I want to know everything. I am beginning to realise that where my bailiff is concerned there are no surprises.’
Marcus was standing beside the high-backed chair, his tall figure dominating Catherine as she sat, his eyes fixed compellingly on her features as she described the scene that had taken place that day she had come upon him in the woods. All trace of softness had vanished from his expression. As she spoke Catherine was able to follow the swift succession of emotions reflected on her husband’s face—surprise, fury, indignation and contempt. He did not utter a single word until she came to the end, and even then he remained where he was for a moment, rigid as steel, watching her in silence.
Forced to admit the truth to himself about his bailiff, a man he had trusted because he believed his father had considered him right for the position, and refusing to doubt his father’s judgement, Marcus realised at last that he had fallen victim to a man who had blithely incurred his anger, mocked him behind his back, and flatly refused to yield to his authority.
‘What will you do now?’ Catherine asked quietly.
‘Get rid of him. Were it not for this damned rebellion I’d personally investigate this matter—and no doubt there are others—and call him to task for his crimes. After all you have told me, I wouldn’t be surprised to find he was behind the raid on Saxton Court.’
‘I have wondered that myself.’
Snatching up his jerkin, Marcus turned to the door. ‘Marcus, wait,’ Catherine cried, getting to her feet and following him. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To deal with Fenton. I can’t leave things like this.’
She shook her head. ‘But you said you didn’t have much time. Will—will you be back?’
He paused and looked at her. Was he mistaken or was she sorry to see him go? ‘Do you want me to?’
‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
Marcus stepped closer. ‘Do you have any idea how much I have wanted to hear you say that?’ he said with tender solemnity.
Catherine’s delicately shaped eyebrows lifted in mute question. The intensity of his dark eyes held her transfixed. The potency of his gaze was intoxicating, setting her body aflame until her entire being glowed.
‘My hands have ached to touch you,’ he went on. ‘At times the temptation almost proved too hard to resist.’
‘When—when I spoke my vows, I did so with the full knowledge and determination not to see them out. There was bound to be a barrier between us. Remember that I saw you first as an enemy.’
There was something in his eyes like an involuntary tenderness. ‘Then we will have to rectify that, won’t we? And now? How do you see me now, Catherine?’
‘As—as a friend. A husband.’
Marcus nodded slowly as his lips curved in a seductive smile. ‘Husband? Now, that we can talk about. Are you willing to carry out your commitments as my wife in full?’
A lump of nameless emotion constricted Catherine’s throat. Although she had not forgotten all the valid grievances she had against him, she nodded and answered truthfully, ‘I—I believe I am. Once I despised you for causes that were justified, but the sting has been taken out of my ire by slow degrees. My resentment and my fears were difficult for me—but I think that perhaps both will cease to be the obstacles that keep us apart.’
‘I am glad to hear it, although your resentment was understandable. When I married you it was nothing less than an act of outrage on my part—an act of selfish revenge. When I brought you to Saxton Court, in the beginning my objective was to show you every civility in my power in the hope of obtaining your forgiveness and to lessen your ill opinion of me. ’Tis painful for me to wait, but I will endure anything, knowing there is hope.’
Catherine’s cheeks grew flushed beneath his unwavering regard. Raising his hand, he gently traced the curve of her cheek with his fingertips. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Alone, Catherine stood motionless, staring at the closed door through which she had watched her husband disappear. Perhaps it was the tone of his voice and all that it implied, or perhaps it was the combination of tenderness and solemnity in his dark eyes as they had gazed into hers, but, whatever the cause, her heart had doubled its pace in anticipation of what was to happen when he returned.
Chapter Seven
L eaving the half dozen men he had with him to partake of rest and what refreshment Saxton Court had to offer, Marcus set off for Burton Grange for an audience with George Stanhope. As deputy Lieutenant of the county’s militia, if Fenton had been actively involved in aiding Monmouth and was guilty of gross misconduct towards the workers at Saxton Court, George would know about it.
‘We’ve had our eyes on Fenton for a while, Marcus,’ George informed him gravely. ‘I tend to agree with Elizabeth, that coming into your father’s service was a guise that helped to lead suspicion away from him. I have evidence that he has been assisting John Trenchard in drawing a large number of West Country men into Monmouth’s faction for some time. He hasn’t taken up arms himself—whether he will or not remains to be seen, but I will tell you now that he is a marked man.’
‘I understand that Trenchard left the country before Monmouth landed.’
‘He did. Like yourself, Marcus, I have known John Trenchard for a long time, and he has a much clearer view of the realities of English politics than the supporters of Monmouth. Maybe your bailiff shares his views—along with the clearest-sighted gentry, since few have rallied to Monmouth’s standard—and they are for the Princess and Prince of Orange to succeed James, because they see the line of succession clearer that way. If so, Mr Fenton may desert his post as your bailiff and follow Trenchard across the water to bide his time.’
‘If he isn’t arrested before he does. There is another serious matter that troubles me, George, concerning Fenton. The estate seems to have prospered while I’ve been away, so I cannot fault him on that, but my wife came upon him one day when he was about to inflict a flogging on a man caught poaching. I find that kind of thing unacceptable and will not tolerate such misconduct from anyone—and certainly not from my bailiff, who should know better.’
�
�As you say, Fenton is your bailiff, Marcus, and far be it from me to interfere. It’s up to you how Saxton Court is run. However, my enquiries have uncovered an unsavoury side to his character. He has cruel tendencies. It would appear that he uses excessive brutality to estate workers who do wrong—however minor the crime. He believes in discipline, and he is of the opinion that the only way to discipline those subservient to himself is by instilling fear into their very souls—by showing no mercy to those who would challenge the lawful commands of their betters.’
Grim-faced, Marcus turned abruptly and strode across the hall towards the door. ‘This cannot be overlooked. When I find him I will deal with him.’
George frowned, bringing up a worry that had been plaguing him since the night he had dined at Saxton Court and met Marcus’s wife for the first time. ‘And your wife? Still a Monmouth sympathiser, is she?’
‘She did not give succour to the enemy, if that is what you think.’ Marcus laughed softly when he saw a polite objection spring to his lips. ‘Worry not, George, you will be as relieved as I to know that Catherine has little sympathy for Monmouth following the raid on Saxton Court. It was fortunate no one was injured—apart from one of the rebels when my wife courageously saw him off with a broadsword.’
George watched his eyes soften when he mentioned his wife’s name and the subtle trace of pleasure and admiration that threaded his voice when he spoke of her courage. ‘I heard about that, Marcus. Dreadful business, but Saxton Court wasn’t the only house the rebels plundered for weapons before moving on.’ George followed Marcus out into the night air and watched him mount. ‘Where to now in such a hurry?’
His Rebel Bride Page 15