Marriage Under Siege (28 page)

His thoughts carried him
unseeingly into the Great Hall. Halfway across, his purposeful stride was
brought to a precipitate halt. Mary Hopton, with a little forward planning and
hasty action, stood foursquare in front of him.

He focused on her. 'I have
no time for polite conversation, Mistress Hopton, as you must realise.' He
retreated into cold formality, a curt bow of his head.

'That is not my intention,
Francis.' Her own informality was deliberate and he could not ignore the
martial gleam in her eye. When he moved to step round her, she matched his
direction to prevent it and continued her address. 'Though it is not my
intention to be impolite, of course.' Her words had been carefully chosen.
'Honoria feels the weight of guilt—and the terrible loss of Mistress
Brierly—and so will not argue her own case. But I will lay it before you in her
stead.'

'With respect, it is not
your concern, Mistress Hopton.'

'It is my concern, Francis,
when two people I know and respect are at odds—brought about by a
misunderstanding.'

He gave up on the dignity
and allowed the exhaustion to surface a little. 'Mary...'

She saw it, flinched before
the bleak stare, but refused to be deterred. 'She meant it for the best. You
must know of her loyalty to you. She would never betray you and it is cruel of
you to suggest that she would...that she would devise some plan to put the
Royalists in possession of Brampton Percy.'

'Locking me in the chapel
when my home is under attack, a Royalist army at my gate, seems to be a
strange way of showing loyalty.'

'Not if the troops were
about to withdraw in the face of a Parliamentarian attack on Gloucester,
encouraged by the fact that Vavasour was reluctant to lay a full-scale siege
against a defenceless woman in the first place. It is not Honoria's fault that
it all fell apart.'

'As I said, it is not your
concern.'

'No. Of course it is not!
But I cannot stand back and tolerate injustice.' Her voice was clear and
impassioned.

He bowed again. Curt.
Severe. 'Thank you for your opinion of my character, Mistress Hopton. You can
safely feel that you have done your duty by my wife most ably.'

She hissed at the
stubbornness of men, her dark curls tossed in frustration. 'My duty, as you put
it, is to you both. I did not think that you would be so unjust. Or unwilling
to listen to reason,
my lord!
'

He inclined his head once
more, eyes flat and cold, trying to ignore her sharp hit. Trying to block the
thought that he should give Mistress
Hopton's
words
some consideration. Later!

He strode round her and
from the room.

At dawn, when the hills and
trees were mere shadows, grey upon grey, the great double portcullis and gates
of Brampton Percy were opened to disgorge a small mounted force. The Royalist
camp, much depleted in number but still with the dangerous firepower of mortar
and culverin, was barely astir. Before the guards could blink in the grey
light, Mansell's troop was amongst them.

It was a very small force,
making use of all the Brampton men-at-arms who could sit a horse and wield a
sword effectively, but it might be sufficient for their purpose, which was very
specific. No shouted orders were necessary. It had been well planned and each
man knew his task.

There was some sharp
swordplay. Flashes of pistol fire as the Royalist infantrymen tumbled from
sleep. The muskets had yet to come into play. Under covering fire from the
gatehouse parapet, two of Mansell's men dismounted to pack one of the mortars
with gunpowder and lay a fuse. Meanwhile ropes were tied to the vast frame of
the second. They could do nothing about the culverin, but the mortars must be
silenced.

Every minute counted. Once
the advantage of surprise was lost, their danger was great. There was no time
to worry about it as Mansell brought his sword down with instant and deadly
effect on to the neck of a man who was attempting to drag him from his horse.
But shortly they would be impossibly outnumbered, totally overwhelmed. And when
the Royalist musketeers had organised themselves and loaded their weapons, they
would be fighting in a hail of bullets. Mansell clenched his teeth, swung his
horse about and fired his pistol into the face of an approaching soldier.

The fuse was lit, the
Brampton men remounted. Riders now took the strain on the ropes, with shouts
and curses, to drag the other mortar towards Brampton Percy's gates. They could
have destroyed them both, of course, but to capture one would be of inestimable
value— and such a blow to Vavasour's pride. Mansell let the mortar go, keeping
his concentration on the growing numbers who now ran, fully armed, to prevent
this completely unexpected attack on their camp. And he knew that the paling
sky made them easier targets for a lethal bullet.

'Get on!' The first words
spoken. Indicative of the increasing pressure. 'Don't stop for anything. Put
your backs into it.'

They might have been
swallowed up in a wave of enemy fury— but a shout, a pounding of hooves and a
volley of shots heralded a smart charge of horse from the rear, scattering the
Royalist ranks as the newcomers turned on them with sword and pistol.
Unprepared, unable to regroup, Vavasour's men took cover, allowing the mortar
to make its ponderous way unhindered towards the open gates.

Priam Davies, opportunely
arrived with his small but expert force from Wigmore, dragged his plunging
horse to a halt beside Mansell, brandishing a pistol. 'Busy work, Francis.'

'Priam. Good to see you. My
messenger arrived, it seems.'

'He did. So here I am with
reinforcements. And not before time, I think. You look somewhat thin on the
ground.'

'You could say. Is that
Josh Hopton?'

'It is. He joined us at
Wigmore. He wields a useful sword in a fight. I was glad to have him.'

'Come on, then. Get your
men away towards the gate. That mortar is set to explode at any minute.'
Mansell cursed and flinched as a hail of stones landed to his right. And a
shower of hot cinder, glowing red in the morning air, scattered a group of
approaching Royalists.

'What...?'

Priam looked up. A quick
grin lit his expression. 'Her ladyship seems to have things well in hand up
there.'

Mansell followed his gaze
and saw a row of heads—kitchen maids, who had been setting out food and ale for
his men when he had last seen them, now hurling stones and buckets of cinder
from the parapet with apparent enthusiasm and more than a little accuracy. His
wife, he realised, with startled amazement, was amongst them.

'I hope their aim is good
or we could be in as much danger as Vavasour's troops.' He took avoiding
action, swearing as his horse sidled nervously, another shower of rocks landing
disconcertingly near.

'It looks good enough to
cover our retreat pretty well.'

'Then let's get this mortar
through the gates and I will promise you breakfast.'

Any further conversation
was drowned in the roar of exploding gunpowder, tearing the mortar apart,
echoed by a shout of appreciation from Mansell's men. Under cover of the
resulting dust and smoke, fallen debris littering the ground round them, rocks
and cinder still peppering their enemy from the heavens, they retreated into
the castle, dragging their prize.

'Not a bad morning's work.'
Priam Davies wiped the sweat and dust from his brow. 'Where's the ale?'

Honoria stayed to welcome
Priam and Joshua as they dismounted in the inner courtyard, ensuring tankards
for all involved in the successful campaign. The atmosphere was euphoric with
much male backslapping and coarse jests at the expense of the besieging force.

'I see you have been busy,
honing your defensive skills, Honor. Most imaginative, and deadly, if I may be
so bold as to comment. Your girls have a good aim. I don't believe that they
managed to wing even one of my men.'

'My thanks, Captain Priam.'
A smile lit Honoria's face, appreciative of his heavy irony. 'I will tell them
of your... compliments.' She was dishevelled and grimy, one of the panels of
her skirts singed where she had come into too close a contact with the cinders,
but her face was flushed with success and physical exertion.

'Perhaps it was a near run
thing, on occasion.'

'Don't spoil our glory!'
She chuckled and returned his pressure on her hand. 'Your presence is very
welcome here.'

'At your service, my lady.
Always.'

'And did I see my sister
with you, hurling rocks with deadly aim?' Sir Joshua strolled over, stripping
off his gloves.

'You did indeed. She is
very accurate. Perhaps you should remember that, Josh, when you are next
tempted to treat her with what she considers to be brotherly contempt!'

'That means she will always
get her own way.'

'Of course. She would
expect no less.'

Then Honoria would have
retired, with not even a glance in the direction of her lord, to reassure
herself as to the safety of Mary Hopton and her brave accomplices who were no
doubt full of giggles and chatter in the kitchens, reliving every moment of
their achievements. If anyone in the courtyard noticed the lack of
communication between Lord Mansell and his lady, no one cared to mention it or
dared to do so.

Until Mansell, with a
muttered oath, stalked across the courtyard to block his wife's retreat with
deliberate intent. 'That was well done, my lady.' His tone was clipped, heavily
controlled. 'I am in your debt.'

'But surprised.' All the
humour from her conversation with Priam fled. 'I see it in your face.'

'I never doubted your
courage, lady!'

'Of course not. Merely my
intent and my integrity.'

'I should not have said
that.'

'No. But you did.' She made
to sidestep him, the rustle of skirts and straight shoulders more than
expressive. He watched her with thinned lips, at a loss to bridge the divide.

'Trouble in the dovecote,
my boy?' Priam's hand rested on his shoulder in tacit support.

'No.' Francis continued to
watch his wife's retreating figure. 'A difference of opinion, merely.'

'You might say that, but I
recognise an angry woman when I see one. You have my sympathy.'

'I am not sure that I
deserve it.' Mansell shook his head and turned his mind to the immediate and to
his captain. 'I was never so glad to see anyone as you this morning, Priam.'
Mansell handed over a tankard. 'And you, too, Josh. An unexpected addition.
Your sister did not know where you might be—thought perhaps you had returned to
Ludlow.'

'No.' Joshua stretched and
eased a strained shoulder. 'I rode back from Knighton to Wigmore when I
discovered the siege in place— and so became part of Priam's involvement here.
I'd say we timed it to perfection.'

'And we now have a mortar
to prove it. And they have none. That has pulled the sting of their attack for
some little time. As you can see...' Mansell surveyed the damaged stonework
round him with a jaundiced eye '...we have suffered a little.'

'I noticed you have had a
busy time.' Priam indicated the very visible ruin of the church tower with a
cock of his chin.

'Yes. A little matter of
hostile action. We were very vulnerable from that vantage point.'

Joshua laughed. 'I don't
suppose they appreciated your extreme response. And the Reverend Gower will be
consigning you to the Devil.'

'I would dispatch him
there, if I could get my hands on him. Let us say that his present occupation
of one of my livings has been rapidly and permanently terminated.'

On a laugh Priam saw to the
welfare and feeding of his troop, and then the three men turned to make their
way into the Hall.

'We got some information
from the Royalist troops who passed Wigmore.' Sir Joshua gathered up his sword
and gloves and fell into step. 'We encouraged two of their foot soldiers—a
little gentle persuasion, you understand—to part with some details of their
plan. They were supposed to be foraging, but a deer caused them to stray a
little too close to our walls so we invited them in. They said that Vavasour
was intending to dismantle the siege—it tied up too many men with General
Waller at the gates of Gloucester and the possibility of him marching on
against Hereford.'

'Thank God for Waller.'

'Even without his
intervention,' Priam Davies continued, 'Vavasour was reluctant to stay on here
at Brampton Percy—in fact, he had been reluctant to start it in the first
place. They had no heart for violence against her ladyship. They did not know
you had returned, of course, which might have altered their plans.'

Mansell paused, one foot on
the bottom step, tankard raised to his lips. Brows snapped into a dark line.

'What?' Priam Davies halted
too.

'Nothing. Nothing at all.
So why the mortars?'

'That was Fitzwilliam
Coningsby's doing,' Joshua explained. 'He ordered a small troop to remain and
the use of the ordnance from Worcester. Vavasour would have nothing to do with
it so Coningsby ordered Henry Lingen to take up the attack. The
Lingens
may be family connections of yours, but he
apparently has no compunction at the prospect of blowing to pieces a lady in
her own home. I understand the Vavasour had some harsh words to say to both
Lingen and Coningsby about it. But without much effect.'