Marriage Under Siege (42 page)

'Mistress Mary Hopton
interfering again, I presume?' Mansell's eloquent brows rose.

'Yes. Mary was the first.
But also Captain Priam!'

'So listen, lady.' His
voice was low, controlled, but with a depth of sincerity that impaled her
heart. 'This is the truth, God help me! I married you because...I was not sure
why. A desire to protect, I suppose, when you seemed so vulnerable, in spite
of your determination to exert your independence. I simply knew that I wished
to make you mine. Not because it was politic or that Edward placed a duty on me
in his will. When it became love—in the midst of all that hell and
destruction—I know not. All I know is that I cannot tolerate for us to be
parted again. It is too painful.'

Wide-eyed, she listened,
watching him as a rabbit might watch a circling hawk, unsure of what he would
say next. But she could not doubt him. His words swept away her grief,
spreading before her everything she had ever wished for, a feast of delights
for her to savour.

He leaned across the table
now and his hands clasped her wrists firmly, as if he feared that she might
still try to escape if he relaxed his guard for even a moment. 'I loved
Katherine.' Instantly responsive to her reaction, he tightened his hold as he
felt her pull away at his unexpected admission. 'No, Honor—it has to be said. I
loved Katherine and mourned her death—and that of the child. But that is now
past. It seems part of another life, another existence, after all that we have
been through and overcome together in recent weeks. My life today is not so
bound up with memories of Katherine and my son that I am unable to feel or
react or love again. Do you hear me?' His clasp did not loosen, intensified
rather. 'You are brave and resourceful, with a courage and spirit beyond
belief. You have a lovely face and an infinitely loving heart. What man could
ask for more in his bride? You deserve that I should kneel at your feet in
gratitude for your acceptance of my hand in marriage. Do you understand me?'
His thumbs stroked the satin skin on the inner sides of her wrists.

'Yes,' she whispered.

'Very well. I accused you
of treachery. I should never have done so. Stubborn—yes. Misguidedly
headstrong—sometimes.' He held her affronted stare. 'Treachery and
betrayal—never. Whereas I am guilty of a hasty temper and lack of
tolerance—occasionally.'

He grinned at his wife's
failure to hide her amazement at his admission. 'I do not admit to such faults
too often.'

'No. I am aware.'

'And something I should
have said to you many weeks ago, if I had not allowed myself to become so
caught up in the siege and the destruction of my inheritance. If I had had the
sense to realise it and not resisted it at every turn because it seemed to be a
mere complication in the circumstances. How could I declare my love for you
when I could not even guarantee your protection or ensure your survival beyond
the next hour, the next minute? But I was wrong, terribly wrong. I should have
told you. I love you, Honoria. I should have told you that night at
Leintwardine before events conspired against us. My greatest desire is to live
with you and enjoy our marriage in some semblance of peace and comfort. I love
you and find that I cannot contemplate an existence without you.' He hesitated
on a thought. 'I would be everything to you—if you would allow it.'

'Oh. Well...' It took her
breath away again.

'Now, my dear love, it is
your turn.'

She swallowed visibly. She
had never bared her soul like this to any one,
eould
not imagine ever doing so. But she would, because it suddenly seemed that her
chance of happiness depended on it. If her lord could strip his emotions to the
bone as he had done, then he could expect her to do no less. And perhaps her
task was easier than his. Had he actually said that he loved her? The words
glittered in shining letters in her mind.

'Very well.' She allowed
her wrists to remain imprisoned and took a careful breath. 'I married you
because I desired it. I remembered seeing you at Court, before either of us had
married. I remembered you with Katherine—and saw how much you loved her, and I
desired the bright emotion that bound you together. I wondered then what it
would be like to marry you and experience such love for myself. Instead I
married Edward... But I remembered all that when you came to Brampton Percy—and
I wanted to marry you.'

His face softened in
compassion. 'Honor—forgive me—I did not know. Go on.'

'And then I simply fell in
love with you.' Her voice became stronger with the recounting of her helpless
slide into love. 'I knew that you did not love me—thought that you could never
do so—but you were thoughtful and considerate and held me in your arms when I
was, afraid and could no longer hide it from you.' She shrugged at the painful
memories. 'I...I liked it when you touched me. How could I not love you,
Francis? You changed my whole life.'

He
bared
his teeth at the irony of her statement, but let her continue.

'I know that you did not
altogether trust me. No—' She shook her head as he would have denied it. 'I
know that you did not, and accept the reasons why. Fate played a difficult hand
against us so that there would be doubt. But you must know that I would never
betray you, never thought of it. My allegiance was, and is, to
you,
my lord—not to a cause or an ideology. That will
not change, whatever the future brings in this conflict.'

'I know it, have always
known it.' He lifted her wrists, to press his lips briefly to where the fragile
veins ran blue beneath the fair skin and the pulse beat erratically against his
mouth.

Now the most difficult
part, but she did not falter. 'I love you, Francis. I want to live with you and
for you to know without question that I love you. And I am not jealous of
Katherine. Well, not very much.' She wrinkled her nose a little at the level of
honesty, making him laugh.

'There is no need.' He
kissed his way from her wrists to her palms with admirable thoroughness,
refusing to loosen his hold. 'Mary said that we were both hopeless at
communication. I expect she was right.'

'She told me the same.'

'So, lady? Anything else we
should confess to?'

She could not resist a
smile that started in the region of her heart and spread through every vein to
curve her lips and turn her eyes to gold. 'Well, then—I want to live with you
and carry your heirs. I will be a loyal and faithful wife. I will try to be
conformable and...'

'Never.' He too was now
smiling, the tensions of uncertainty and discord between them lifting.

'And I love you...and will
promise never to fire a pistol at you again or lock you in a chapel.'

'Well said. For my part, I
would think it an honour if you would bear my children. I will try not to be
impatient and...'

'Ha! Or scowl at me? Or
shout when you are cross?'

'All of that. And I love
you. There—have we said everything?'

'I think so.'

'Then I have something for
you. Don't move.'

He rose with his habitual
grace, dislodging Setanta, who had crept silently with cunning intent to rest
his head on his master's feet, to stride to the court cupboard and from it lift
a box, which he placed on the table before her.

'Go on—open it.'

Honoria did as she was bid.
Opened it, unwrapped the fine linen that cushioned the fragile contents. And
lifted out the first of two Venetian goblets.

'Oh!'

'Don't cry! You cried when
the original ones were broken. You must not cry over new ones!'

She wiped away the tears
that had escaped and laughed a little shakily at the panic in his voice.

'They are beautiful. Where
on earth did you get them?'

'I have my sources...or at
least Ned was able to discover them, at enormous cost! Do they please you?'

'How could they not? I
think that they are more beautiful than those that were smashed.' She stroked
her fingers over the smooth curve, marvelling as the light gleamed on the
fragile iridescent sheen of stem and bowl. 'Look how fine this is. I have never
seen anything so beautiful. How can I thank you?'

'You are very beautiful
too.'

Her eyes snapped to his,
suddenly shy again, colour suffusing her cheeks at the tender expression she
saw there. 'I...I have something for you too.' She placed the glass carefully
back in its box and stood. 'Don't worry, I will return.'

She returned quickly from
her room, holding the gift in her hands. It was not what he expected, what he
could ever have expected, and reduced him to silence as memory swamped him, a
tight fist around his heart.

'I rejected it once, did I
not?' he managed finally, his voice hoarse with emotion. 'Honor...can you ever
forgive me?'

'Yes, of course. But I hope
that you can accept it again. I understand why you rejected it, but—'

'No...I do not deserve your
excuses.' He touched her hand gently where it rested on the chased hilt. 'You
got it from Coningsby's greedy fist?'

'Yes.'

'I know what you did,
Honoria.' He leaned forward to press his lips to her hair, and then her temple.
'What can I ever say to express the depth of gratitude that I feel? I know that
you drove a hard bargain. I do not think that I deserve it.'

Honoria shook her head in
denial. 'I could not leave this sword in the possession of such a vindictive
and malicious a man as Coningsby. It is yours, and my father's before. It has
always been used with honour and integrity. Will you take it?'

He took the sword from her
hands, almost reverently. She watched him as he ran his fingers over the blade,
as a man's hands might caress the body of the woman he loved, and felt a warmth
steal into her heart. The blood in her veins now ran hot.

Laying it on the table,
beside the fragile glass, he held out his hands. 'Will you come to me, of your
own free will, Honoria? To my home and my bed?'

'Yes, if you will ask me in
the same spirit.' And she did, walking to stand before him, to look up into his
face.

'Honoria. I never wooed you
as you deserve. Or gave you the consideration of which you are worthy. But my
heart and soul are in your keeping, whether you wish it or no.'

'And mine in yours. Even
though I have never pleasured you as a wife should. Yours was not the only sin
of omission, my lord.'

He looked at her for a long
moment, shaken by her confessions that day, almost afraid of the depth of
emotion that he saw in her face, before bending to claim her lips in solemn
acknowledgement of her honesty and forgiveness. And they parted beneath his
with such sweetness that the urgency of his need, the craving of his body for
hers, could no longer be denied.

'Then let us do full and
rightful penance for our sins, lady. I love you, God help me, I love you.' His
hands, with barely a tremble, slid slowly from wrist to shoulder, one long
caress that made her heart leap to her throat, to hold her still before him.
'Where words fail us, our bodies will make all plain. All the love you never
had in your life, I will make it true for you. And we will make Edward's shade
weep for the glory of it.'

Then she was in his arms,
beyond thought, beyond reason, where blind passion ignited and flashed between
them. It was no distance at all to the bed. It took no time at all to dispense
with layers of clothing that might separate the desired slide of flesh against
silken flesh. Then fire built between them, flame on flame, to heat their blood
and drive them to their own madness. Gone were all the fears and uncertainties
of past months, all reticence and blame. She gave her body with such freedom
and generosity, such lack of inhibition that it almost unmanned him, so that
his forceful demands, where control was at its most fragile, were underpinned
by utmost grace and sensitivity to her needs. The fire raged and consumed,
stoked by touch of hands and lips and tongue, until it cauterised their wounds
of separation and misunderstanding. She cried out when it became too much to
bear, tears sparkling on her cheeks as she shuddered in his arms, but the
adoration in her eyes was for him, the worship of his body was for her. His
final claiming of her was deep and dark and all-consuming. They sank below the
torrent of passion and desire, letting it take them as it would, until his own
release could no longer be denied. Until they lay sated, Honoria still enfolded
in her lord's arms, both shaken by the intensity and mindless delight in their
response to each other.

To sleep at last in calm
and peace and in unity.

And if Honoria swept a few
stray leaves of lavender and coltsfoot and vervain from the bed linen beneath
her shoulder, she was the only one to know their origin, or the reason for her
contented and triumphant smile.

Epilogue

They rode together to
Brampton Percy.

After a final flourish, the
cold spring had suddenly emerged into early summer, almost without warning, the
trees clothed in new green, hedgerows bright with the last of the primroses and
the hint of bluebells.

The main arena of warfare
had moved on to other parts of the country, leaving Herefordshire to bask for a
little time in peace as if the conflicts had never happened. Or ever would
again. But although the Royalists still maintained a tight grip in the county,
nationally the balance was moving inexorably in favour of Parliament, which
promised further conflict in the months to come.

But for the moment the
progress or otherwise of the armies, the struggle of Parliament against King,
was not the primary interest of Lord Mansell and his lady.

Although settled in London,
comfortably enough for the past month, it had become necessary for them to
return to the Marches. To lay a ghost. Uncertain of what they would find, they
had come together in agreement, almost without speaking it, and accepted that
they must make the long journey. Mansell's power base in Herefordshire was
effectively destroyed, all his estates, in theory at least, confiscated by the
Royalists, his rents to be used to further the King's cause, but it might not
always be so. With Parliamentary forces in the ascendant, they would be free to
return to reclaim their land and to live once again on this wild border of
England.

If it be their wish to do
so.

For Honoria, the image of
Brampton Percy continued to loom, dark and edgy. Most of her memories of that
place she would happily bury and turn her face away from the guilt and misery
of her first marriage. And her second, her stormy relationship with Francis,
had for a time been just as heart-rending. She closed her mind against the pain
of those bitter divisions and recriminations, which might have destroyed all
hopes of happiness.

As for Mansell. Brampton
Percy was his inheritance. But he was, he thought, aware of his wife's
reluctance to return. And he would not inflict a life on her that would
overshadow and blight their future together.

So they had come to
Brampton Percy to lay the ghost.

They had rested overnight
at the house in
Corve
Street in Ludlow, making the
time to pay a short but emotional visit to the
Hoptons
.
The two young women embraced each other with none of the reserve of their first
meeting.

'I have missed you.'
Honoria's fears for the following day lifted at the deep affection clearly
evident in Mary
Hopton's
smile and welcoming arms.

'And I you.'

'So how is Mr Samuel More?
Does he live up to your expectations from your first meeting at Brampton
Percy?' Honoria could not resist the sly enquiry.

'I have hopes.' Mary tossed
her curls with the self-confidence of privileged youth. 'He has visited. And my
mother likes him, so my father will not object. But how are you?' Her smile
widened into a grin. 'Do I need to ask?'

She did not need to ask.
There was a contentment about Honoria, a pure serenity that had never been
there before. And there was no mistaking the expression in Mansell's face when
his eyes rested on his lady. A fierce possession. An intense love. It took
Mary's breath away.

'Do I start collecting
vervain and coltsfoot?'

'I would recommend it. It
has miraculous properties.'

Their laughter drew
attention, but they kept their secret close.

But now the morning had
come. Honoria deliberately did not think of her pretty manor at Leintwardine in
the rapacious hands of Fitzwilliam Coningsby as they took the road from
Ludlow. She did not regret her decision on that dreadful day in Hereford
Castle, nor ever could.

They rode through the
village of Brampton Percy, noting the signs of hardship and destruction in the
wake of the siege. The church tower and part of the nave remained in ruins and
would continue to do so, jackdaws and the white doves from the castle nesting
on the shattered walls. Houses were sound enough, but with patched walls and
new roofs. Some were beyond redemption, mere heaps of rubble and plaster, left
to rot and disintegrate once the useful stone and wood had been robbed out by
needy villagers. Mansell had sent money to his tenants through Sollers who,
although deprived of his position in his lord's stables, was determined to
stay, moving in with his sister in the village, until better times. It was all
their lord could do in the circumstances and he felt that he owed them a debt.
Any attempts to collect rents would be made by the Governor of Hereford.
Mansell accepted the situation with deep cynicism and fervent hopes for his
failure.

There was no great warmth
in the welcome for their lord and lady from the villagers. Had they not
suffered in the name of Brampton? Their future was unsure. But they were
complacent enough, the landlord of the inn offering ale and food. Tom was
uninhibited in his rush to renew his friendship with the hounds. And Sollers
presented himself to report on progress and problems.

'Bad times, my lord. You'll
not have seen the castle yet.'

'No. The village is bad
enough.'

'Improving, though. Some
reroofing. Some stone borrowed from the walls yonder.' A sly glance here. 'It
seemed a shame not to make use of it, it lying waste as you'll see, my lord.'

'They're welcome to it,
Master Sollers.'

It was a bleak warning of
what they would find.

They drew rein before the
gatehouse. Dismounted.

There was a strange silence
that hung over all, blighting the promise of the bright day. They did not
speak, or meet each other's eyes. It was as if the castle waited for its lord,
for his condemnation, for his horrified reaction, everything in sharp and
painful focus.

And then reality slid back
into place. The sun shone with real warmth from a cloudless sky. The jackdaws
chattered and soared from their nests. Behind them, the worst ravages of the
village were hidden. A peaceful scene where daily life went on as it had done
for centuries. By comparison, the destruction before them was an obscenity.

The gatehouse was still
recognisable as such, but the once-proud symbol of power and dominance over the
surrounding countryside was overthrown, the battlements blasted away. The gates
were gone, and also the portcullis, leaving a gaping hole, a raw wound through
which the sky beyond could be seen.

In silent agreement, they
walked through, unhindered by guards or defences. There was, after all, nothing
of value left to defend. Frances took Honoria's hand, to help her over the
mounds of fallen debris, and to give comfort in the midst of total devastation.
The wolfhounds ran ahead .to sniff out the possibility of encroaching squirrels
and rabbits.

The destruction was now
visible before them. And it was complete, a total laying waste of the
once-great Marches' stronghold.

The pleasure gardens no
longer existed, the grass trampled and churned, the flower beds completely
obliterated by the mounds of earth thrown up in the first weeks of the siege.
The light coating of spring grass did nothing to hide the ugly scars. No
pleasant walks. No shady bowers in which to sit to enjoy the prospect of the
park where the stands of trees had been felled and burnt.

This depressing scene they
had expected. But not the rest.

For the walls of the castle
had gone. Down to ground level. Every room where Honoria had walked and slept
and lived out her previous existence. The old keep, outbuildings, stables,
kitchen range, living quarters—all razed to the ground as if they had never
been. The work of generations of Bramptons wiped out in a few short weeks. Vast
craters appeared where even the cellars had been dug out. Coningsby had had his
revenge. Any base for Brampton power in the county had been cruelly and
completely obliterated to an extent which they could never have believed
possible.

'I did not expect this.'
Honoria's eyes were wide with shock, her voice hardly more than a whisper as if
she feared to disturb the tense atmosphere.

'No. Nor I. Dismantling of
the defences certainly, but not this.' Francis picked up a lump of crumbling
mortar, which disintegrated in his hand. 'Coningsby had his revenge two-fold on
the Bramptons.'

They walked to stand where
the Great Hall had been, its great staircase with the carved newel posts, the
decorated hammer beams of the roof. It was all too difficult to imagine now
when even the foundations had been swept away.

Honoria put her hand on
Francis's arm, aware of the tense muscles beneath her light clasp, as she
remembered her first meeting with him in this very room. When she stood in the
shadows to watch this powerful and difficult man who had come to hold her
future in his capable and impatient hands. 'Francis. I don't know what to say
to you.'

He shrugged, trying to
dislodge the sense of failure and loss, his face revealing little. 'It was an
inheritance I never expected. And now it is gone. It hurts, that I should have
been unable to protect my land and my people. But I have to accept that it is
not the tragedy it might have been. The castle is gone, but with no great loss
of life. The village will recover with time.' He looked down at her, covering
her hand with his. 'And you are safe, the most valuable treasure of all my
inheritance.' But his eyes were bleak, weighed down by the magnitude of the
destruction around them.

Stepping through a maze of
worked stone, charred beams and mortar, they walked to the position of the
west wall, where they could look out over the country to the distant hills of
Wales, then turned back to survey once again their ruined property.

'It is mine still, with all
the security of the law and title deed. When all this is over, we could return.
But that is the question. Do we rebuild? Or do we leave it to the elements to
remove the final traces? I think I know your sentiments, my lady.'

She turned to stand before
him, lifting a hand to press her palm against his heart, searching his face
with eyes a little quizzical. 'If I did not wish to live here, would you indeed
be willing to abandon it? Would you be willing not to rebuild to re-enforce
your authority here?'

'Of course. The decision is
yours.' He placed his own hand over hers, exerting a warm pressure.

'Why would you do such a
thing?'

'Because I love you.'

'And you would do that for
me.'

'What troubles you,
Honoria?' She caught the shadow of hurt in his eyes and was sorry that she was
the cause. 'Do you still doubt that I love you? Doubt that I would consider
your happiness and comfort before anything?'

'No.' She shook her head,
quick to heal the wound. 'It is just that I am still not used to it.'

'You are my life, lady. My
light. My heart. What more can I say?' He raised her hand to his lips, to kiss
her fingers with extravagant flamboyance.

'Francis! I am more used to
your calling me the bane of your existence!' Laughter illuminated her face at
his foolish gesture. 'The choice to live here or not—it is the greatest gift
you could have given me.'

Honoria left his side, to
walk back to where her solar had once graced the upper storey, a haven of
warmth and security when she had been lost and afraid. And waited there for him
to join her.

'I have decided.' There was
no doubting the certainty in her voice or her clear gaze. 'I think we rebuild.'

'Now that does surprise
me.' His brows snapped into a line of astonishment. 'You were never comfortable
here—hated it, I sometimes thought—and I understand why. So tell me why you
should consider returning here, rather than the soft lands of Suffolk or the
bustle of London.'

She lifted her face to look
at him, as grave and as solemn as he remembered from their first meeting, her
thoughts hidden from him. But in her eyes there was an unmistakable glow, gold
over green over brown.

'Well, my lady?'

A smile curved her lips, lit
her face with such joy. 'Because our child was conceived here. It is the
inheritance of your heirs and as such should be restored.'

Her statement, delivered in
the practical, unemotional fashion that he had come to expect, and love,
reduced him to silence. He absorbed the news slowly, his gaze caught in hers,
an answering smile beginning to tug at the corners of his stern mouth.

'A child. You carry my
child,' he repeated, his voice low. A statement rather than a question. A
quiet acceptance.

'Yes.'

'You have chosen a
remarkable time to tell me, in the midst of all this.' His arm swept the
devastation round them, but his eyes were for her alone.

'What better? New life in
the midst of desolation and despair.'

'Honor...my dear love, are
you sure?'

She took his hand, placed
it on her still-flat stomach, held it there with her own. 'I am sure.'