Marriage Under Siege (11 page)

'No, my lord.' Foxton's
calm gaze answered the unspoken question in Mansell'
s
words. 'We are aware
of
your loyalties. We will
keep close watch. It is our duty to serve Brampton Percy and your lordship. You
need have no concern on that score.'

'Thank you, Foxton.' He
nodded, satisfied, aware of a sharp prick of relief. 'I must leave her ladyship
in your safekeeping. If you feel that you are in any danger here, simply close
the gates and allow no one to enter. And I mean no one. I don't expect it, but
it is not wise to be too casual. And perhaps you would ask Lady Mansell—'

'My lord...' He turned at
her voice, a smile momentarily lighting his face. It chased the doubts from her
own heart.

'Honoria.' He walked
towards her and Foxton withdrew to give them a moment together. He would use
the opportunity to report to the interested parties in the kitchens that her
ladyship had lost the haunted pallor that had dogged her for days, weeks even.
There had to be some good news in these days of uncertainty and gloom.

Mansell took his wife's
hand and raised it to his lips. 'Forgive me.' His expression was rueful. 'I
seem to have neglected you unforgivably. But a messenger has come.'

'What is it? Are we in
danger? Why do you have to leave so soon?' She closed her hand round his
fingers.

'It is from Leintwardine
Manor. We always knew it would be difficult to defend without outworks or
defences of any kind.'

'I know,' Honoria agreed.
'My ancestor who had it built last century thought there would be no more need
for fortifications. It is simply a pretty timbered house in beautiful
surroundings. But you have seen it, of course.'

'Well, it seems that there
is some troop movement and the Steward fears for their safety. There has been
some dialogue between the commander of the troop and your Steward. The troops
are Royalist.' His lips thinned in impatience. 'I am sorry, Honoria. There is
no way that this would have happened to your property a week ago. But the news
of our marriage has produced an immediate response from those who would harm
me. I must go and see what can be done.'

'Will it be possible to
save it? Without putting yourself in danger?' Honoria tried to keep the concern
from showing in her face. Leintwardine Manor might be a valuable property and
a place of considerable sentimental value for her, but where could it measure
against her lord's safety? In such a short time, she realised as fear brushed
her skin with the chill of a night breeze, her priorities seemed to have been
turned upside down.

'If I find it to be
untenable, I will abandon it. I will bring the servants back here and leave the
house to the Royalists.'

'Do you truly think it will
come to that?'

'It might. We can expect no
help from Gloucester within the week if we did send for help. And I know of no
Parliamentarian troop movements in the area. It might be better to let them
take the Manor than allow it to be put to fire and sword. If they decided to
use cannon against it, it could be destroyed within a day.'

'Of course.'

'And then, if the climate
changes, we shall have every chance of recovering it in a fit state. I would
not willingly rob you of your jointure, my lady.'

'I would rather you were
safe than the Manor,' she stated abruptly without thinking. And then blushed at
her words.

He bent his head in a
formal little bow. 'Thank you, lady.' He hid a smile at her obvious
embarrassment and took a deep breath against the warmth that spread through his
veins at her unexpected admission. 'Josh will come with me and we will see what
we can do. It may not be as urgent as we think. Mary will stay here to keep you
company.'

'I would like that.'

'I will stay overnight and
return tomorrow at the latest if there is nothing amiss. Honoria...' He took
her hands in a strong clasp. 'I am sorry. Now is not the best time to be
parted.'

She did not pretend to
misunderstand. 'No, my lord. I too am sorry.'

'I have talked with Foxton.
If there is an outbreak of hostilities, you should be in no danger before I
return. Brampton Percy is well- nigh impregnable except against a major force
with artillery. But close the gates and allow no one in. You might consider
making some preparations for the future.'

'I will speak with Master
Foxton and Mistress Morgan.'

'I have to ask you
something.' Mansell took her wrist and felt her pulse leap under his fingers.
'How hard it is...' He frowned down at their linked hands before raising his
head, a fierce expression in his eyes, suddenly silver in a shaft of light
through a high window. 'Will you hold the castle for me, lady, in my name? I
understand your difficulty, but I need to know your sentiments and your
loyalties. I would not willingly question your honour.'

He
does not know me. He does not trust me.
Some of the light
went out of Honoria's eyes, the warmth from her heart. 'Do you have to ask?'
Her voice was suddenly cold, her eyes dark, devoid of emotion as she hid her
hurt feelings.

'Yes. I have to ask.' His
tone was gentle. He understood only too well the chasm that might open up
before their feet. There was so little common ground here between them. And no
depth of understanding or long acquaintance to hold them steady against
adversity. It was a far cry, he admitted, from his relationship with Katherine.
It would be wise if he did not allow himself to forget it.

'Of course, my lord. There
is no need to doubt me. I am your wife and I will hold Brampton Percy for you.'

'I did not mean to imply
that I could not trust you, Honoria.' He sighed. 'We knew it would be
difficult, did we not? After all, we barely know each other.'

He slid his hands to her
shoulders, tightened his grip and drew her close. His lips touched hers in a
soft caress. 'God keep you.'

As he would have stepped
back, Honoria lifted her hand to his face, to touch his cheek. Her first
unsolicited gesture towards him and it took him aback. As it did her.

His eyes narrowed.
Determined to erase the stricken expression that his brutal question had
brought to her face, he pulled her hard against him, covered her mouth with his
in a swift possessive embrace that crushed her lips, angling his head to take
her, searing her with fire that leapt through her veins so that she trembled in
his grip. Hot, so hot, was all she could think. It was indeed a promise for the
future, one that left her afraid—but yearning to experience that glorious sensation
in his arms, in his bed, once more. Then Mansell released her, attempting
unsuccessfully to block the sharp stab of guilt at his insensitive handling of
her, and stepped away to collect saddle bags, hat and gloves. She saw the light
glint on the chased hilt of her father's sword, now strapped to his side.

'Francis....'

He noted her use of his
name, still so rare, but it pleased him. He halted and turned back at the door.

'Take care, my lord.'

'I will. I like it when you
use my given name.' He bowed and left her.

Chapter Five

Honoria and Morrighan took
themselves to the solar where the distracted lady knew that she could be
guaranteed a little time of privacy before she must face the demands of the
day. Hopes and anxieties jostled for priority in her head, successfully
destroying her calm demeanour, so that she felt the need for quiet reflection.
Yet she feared it would be a useless task. She sighed as she sat down on the
window seat to stare unseeingly at the sombre garden.

He had left her. With
everything unresolved and uncertain between them.

She shivered as a draught
crept through the ill-fitting glass, wrapping her arms around herself, hands
cupping her elbows, but not so much from cold as for comfort. Her emotions had
been swirled into a vortex, and not, she was forced to admit, by the prospect
of hostile troops arriving outside her door.

When Mansell—
Francis
—had leapt from her bed at first light to answer
the imperious summons at his door, a finger of disappointment had traced a
delicate path down her spine. It left her bewildered, a bewilderment that she
could not shake off. How could she have enjoyed such intimacy with a man,
after her experiences with Edward? But Francis was not Edward. Definitely
nothing like Edward! His hands had been so gentle. Between sleeping and waking,
she had felt a sudden need to know what it would be like to feel those hands
slide over her warmed skin. And his lips too. He had shown her such sensitivity
and generosity when she had frozen under his touch—an icicle, he had called
her—and then later, when she had wept uncontrollably in his arms. What would he
think of her—a weak, silly woman, without common sense or self-control.
Immature and stupid! Ignorant or resentful of the duties of an obedient wife.
What could have possessed her, that she should have so precipitately broken the
promise that she had made to herself on the night that Edward's death had
finally released her: that she would never marry again. That she would never
again open her heart and mind to anyone, never give anyone so much power to
hurt or torment. And yet he had carried her to bed to hold her close and she had
slept the night through in his arms. She had felt so safe.

And then, this morning,
after he had awoken her with the brush of his lips against her face, had
seduced her mind and body with grace and courtesy—what had he done? He had
asked her if he could trust her! Implying, of course, that perhaps he could
not. That as soon as his back was turned, she would invite the Royalist forces
to take possession of Brampton Percy and glory in his defeat. What sort of
leave-taking was that?

The problem was, of course,
that he did not
know
her. True, Sir Robert Denham had
brought her up to accept the supreme authority of the Crown. There was not one
drop of disloyal blood in her body. But Lady Denham had also instilled in her a
strong sense of duty. If her husband had entrusted her with the defence of his
interests and property, then so be it. In all honour, she must not betray that
trust. She sat and contemplated the situation facing her, weighed down by the
enormity of the task. But would it be such a burden on her conscience to take
a stand against her King? Perhaps not. Sir Robert had also given her an
unshakeable belief in the letter of the law. This castle of Brampton Percy was
theirs by the law of the land and the law also gave them the right to take up
arms to protect it. Surely it could not be
right
for the King and his followers to threaten to take it from them when they had
committed no crime?

She looked out at the stone
walls and heavy fortifications with distaste. She might hate it, but it was
hers. She would not allow its confiscation in the name of the King by
ambitious, self-seeking men such as Fitzwilliam Coningsby, Governor of
Hereford, even if it meant taking a stand against her monarch. And she was
quite certain that Sir Robert would support her in her decision. She heaved a
sigh of frustration. Perhaps when her new lord came to know her better he
would not find a need to question her loyalties.

Honoria thumped the
cushions with impotent fists as she felt cold fingers wrap and squeeze
uncomfortably around her heart. There was nothing she could do to resolve the
situation until he returned. If it could ever be resolved, of course. It would
be best if she simply immersed herself in her role as mistress of Brampton
Percy—just as she had before her present marriage, when she had been so
unhappy. After all, there was no point in pre-empting dangers and difficulties.
It might be that no Royalist threat materialised, so the question of trust
would never become an issue between them. And perhaps she could pretend that
the question had never been asked.

She pushed off her shoes to
tuck her feet up under her skirts and leaned her head against the stone window
frame. As long as Francis was safe at Leintwardine. It was not such a great
distance, after all, and he was too experienced to allow himself to fall into a
trap, or to be taken prisoner, or to fall victim to marauding bands of vermin
who would shoot first and ask questions later. But what if—?

Honoria blinked as the
clatter of rapid footsteps and the slither of claws outside the door shattered
her disturbing train of thought.

'Honor. What has happened?'
Mary made an entrance with more speed than grace, hastily arranging her collar
and pulling down her cuffs. The puppy pranced with ungainly joy before taking up
a hopeful position beside Honoria's abandoned shoes. 'I heard sounds of horses
in the inner courtyard, but could see nothing. Are we indeed under attack?'

'Not yet.' A smile touched
Honoria's lips as she leaned down to rescue her footwear. The resulting whines
of disappointment were duly ignored. 'I think that I would not be sitting here,
watching the rain on the window, if the Royalists were aiming their cannon at
the gatehouse.'

'True.' Mary settled
herself into a chair, skirts spread, eyes bright with interest. 'Where is
Josh?'

'Gone to Leintwardine with
my lord. A servant came before dawn with tales of troop movements and local
unrest—and the Manor is such an ill-defended place. Mansell and Sir Joshua have
gone to see what is afoot. They promised to return by tomorrow at the latest.'

'So we sit and wait. The
lot of all women.' Mary wrinkled her nose. 'Is there nothing we can do?' Energy
shimmered round her. Honoria had already learnt that she was not a restful
guest.

'Don't tempt me. I can give
you plenty to do. Francis suggested that we consider what's to be done in case
of attack. I must speak with Master Foxton. It is all so uncertain, but—'

'Never mind that,' Mary
interrupted, her face lit with a mischievous smile, a sly sparkle in her eyes.
Francis, is it?
'How is the bride this morning?'

Honoria blushed at the
outspoken interest. 'I am well,' she replied carefully.

'Are you not going to tell
me?'

The resulting raised
eyebrows were intended to quell the interest. 'Dear Mary, I cannot think what
you mean.' And failed miserably.

'Of course you can. What
was it like? What was
he
like?'

'Much as I expected...' How
could she admit the truth of her wedding night, even to the most sympathetic
of listeners?

'Oh, Honoria. You are
impossible. How can you say something so...so
impossibly dull
about such a momentous event!'

'I am sorry. I never had
anyone to talk with about such things, you see. I...I do not find it easy to
confide such personal matters.'

'And I have sisters, of
course. I have plenty of experience of intimate gossip. Well, now you can talk
to me.'

'I suppose so...'

'If I were married to a man
as attractive and virile as Mansell, I know what / would expect. Would I be
disappointed?'

Honoria's blush deepened
even further, if that were possible. 'No. He was everything I could have hoped
for.' And indeed it was true.

'Well, then. I hope he
returns soon, for your sake.' Mary cast her an arch look.

'So do I,' she found
herself admitting on a little sigh—and then shook her head at Mary with a
rueful smile. 'You are impossible. What does your mother say when you talk of
such things?'

'Much as you do—and blames
me for my sisters' outspokenness.'

Mary sank to the floor with
a laugh. Under the pretext of scratching the soft belly of the puppy, she
watched Honoria with interest. Similar in age, in social class, their
upbringing could not have been more different. From a large family, Mary had
enjoyed all the benefits of caring and affectionate parents, her childhood
marked by laughter and enjoyment, loving arms when emotions raged. Yet Honoria
spoke of the duty of her guardian, where care was a legal necessity rather than
freely given. Mary could not imagine such a lack of love—but she saw before her
the results. A cool reserve, a rigid composure, not frequently overset. Careful
manners. A reluctance to say anything that might indicate personal involvement,
anything that might provoke censure. A determination to keep her thoughts
close, even when Mary had brushed and arranged Honoria's hair before her
wedding. What an opportunity for gossip and feminine speculation! But, no,
Honoria had been friendly in a distant way, willing to converse, but only about
inconsequential matters. There had been no confidences from a nervous bride.
Mary had presumed that she was nervous—but there had been little outward
indication.

I
like her. She needs someone to talk to. I simply do
no
believe that she is as cold as she sometimes appears.

But there were far too many
shadows lurking in the bride's eyes. Hardly surprising! To be married to Edward
Brampton would give any woman shadows! Mary shuddered when she thought of the
old lord as a husband. She would insist on someone far younger and more
personable for herself. Poor Honoria. Mary determined to manoeuvre Honoria into
a closer relationship and set about banishing the shadows.

Her thoughts turned
automatically to Lord Mansell. Not the easiest of men. But if the thought of
Edward as husband made her shudder, the prospect of Francis made Mary shiver
for very different reasons. He would make a formidable mate and lover, without
doubt. Was Honoria as indifferent to him as she appeared? How could she possibly
be indifferent to his striking features, his physical presence, to the thought
of those beautiful hands, that dominant mouth taking possession of her? Mary's
romantic soul sighed. True, marriage with Francis Brampton would have its own
dangers. He was not blessed with patience and his character inclined towards
the forceful. He would resist any who might stand in his way. In personal
affairs she thought he had as much reserve as did Honoria. And, of course,
there was the tragedy of Katherine and the babe... Mary glanced at Honoria
again through her lashes. How would they deal together when they knew so little
about each other?

Had she known it, Honoria's
private thoughts were travelling along a very similar path. And the lady's
indifference to her lord was not an issue. But any further feminine
observations were halted by a light knock on the door.

It opened to admit Foxton.

'Master Foxton. You and I,
I think, need to sit down and take stock of necessary preparations in case of—'

'Yes, my lady. Forgive me,
but I think it must be postponed.' He bowed, frowning a little. 'You have a
visitor. Sir William Croft is at the gate asking for my Lord Mansell. Should I
admit him?'

Honoria smiled with a touch
of mischief at the prospect. 'Have you indeed had the temerity to leave Sir
William at the gate, Master Foxton?'

'Why, yes, my lady. We
cannot be too careful. And, with his lordship not at home, it is my duty to
ensure your protection—and Mistress Hopton, of course.'

'He won't like it, Master
Foxton. He has too much consequence.'

'No, my lady. His words
were very—short. But I explained the situation.'

'What will you do, Honor?'
Mary's eyes snapped at the prospect of the forthcoming interview.

Her ladyship turned back to
her Steward. 'Is Sir William alone, Master Foxton, or does he travel with a
large retinue?'

'Only some personal
servants, my lady. Sir William has no enemies in this locality.'

Honoria thought quickly.
'Then admit his lordship. He is no threat to our safety. And we may learn a
little more about recent events from him. Show him here, but keep his servants
together in the Great Hall. Give them refreshments, make them comfortable, but
do not let them wander. Put Robert and
Nol
on guard,
so to speak.'

'Very well, my lady. I will
remain within call, if it pleases you.'

'Perhaps—although I hardly
expect to be attacked in my own home. Let us hear what Sir William wants from
us so early in the day.'

'Sir William. What a
surprise. It is always a pleasure to welcome you here, of course. Perhaps I can
offer you some refreshment?' Lady Mansell stood in her solar with all the quiet
dignity befitting her station. Her shoes were once more in place and the puppy
banished. She kept her voice deliberately light and pleasant as if conducting a
mere social obligation to a member of the family.