Marriage Under Siege (14 page)

'I could do without this
thorn in my flesh!'

Joshua read his thoughts
with ease. 'Honoria will be safe enough.'

'Yes.'

'A major force would be
needed to breach the defences and harm them at Brampton Percy.'

'Of course.'

'All we need to do is sit
it out here.'

'I expect.'

He was just as
uncommunicative as his new bride! Joshua gave up, leaving Francis to continue
pacing and mull over the situation on his own. It was not her safety or her
abilities to deal with the running of the castle that concerned him. True, he
had left her to begin arrangements for a siege. But he knew her for a lady of
considerable resource. And Foxton would lend his experience. She would hold the
reins. But was she content? No. Would she rest, sleep, eat well in his absence?
Probably not. He hoped he had allayed fears from Edward's clumsy handling, but
he had no real conviction that matters between them would now progress smoothly
as a political marriage should. He groaned as he relived their final conversation.
What had possessed him to suggest that her loyalty to him was in doubt? True,
he had been spurred on by the stresses of the moment. But that was no excuse.
He remembered the stricken look in her eyes before she could disguise it, the
paling of her complexion, the reserve in her voice as her habitual detachment
reasserted itself. Any good he may have achieved when she lay warm and willing
in his arms had without doubt been undone. He had handled her like a
thoughtless, heavy- handed clod, without finesse or sensitivity. So he brooded,
his self- disgust making poor company.

He could hardly confide in
Josh. The matter was far too personal. He
bared
his
teeth at the prospect.
My wife is afraid of me. Of personal
relations between man and wife.
Not possible.
I fear my wife will betray me to Fitzwilliam Coningsby and the
Royalists in my absence.
He cringed. And it was not exactly true.
Although guilt refused to loosen its hold on him.

There was only one remedy.
He needed to be alone with Honoria, to work out the knots in the rope that
bound them. Nothing would be resolved until he returned to Brampton Percy and
they had time to be together. And then he might persuade her to smile at him
again.

But he continued to brood
as the fire died in the hearth, conscious that, for the first time for many
months, the face that filled his mind was not that of Katherine.

Honoria stood on her
battlements above the main gate, surveying with anxious eyes the cavalcade that
made its forceful and imperious way along the village street. She found herself
facing a small military force, banners fluttering, weapons very evident.
Sunlight sparkled on polished blades and pistols, gleamed on supple leather and
prime horseflesh. Harness clinked and glinted as horses tossed their heads. A
magnificent scene, of unquestioned royal authority, of tight discipline, but
hiding a deadly threat.

Mary stood beside her,
somewhat dishevelled and cobwebbed from a hasty descent to the chapel's crypt
with Mistress Morgan to hide the de Brampton silver in the disused well.
'That's not Sir William Croft's coat of arms, but they certainly come in the
name of the Governor of Hereford. And do look.' She pointed in some surprise.
'The Royal banner, if I am not mistaken.'

The lions of England,
dominant and challenging in gold and red and blue, lifted in the heavy air.

Honoria's heart sank.
Francis and Joshua had made no contact, neither by letter nor by messenger.
Rumours of ambush and sudden death on the roads abounded, and although she had
heard nothing of certainty, she could no longer convince herself that
Leintwardine was safe and they would soon return. Where was Francis?. The
thought nagged at her consciousness night and day. But now she tore her tired
mind away from the horror of uncertainty and dire possibilities to focus once
more on the impressive little body of men drawing up below her.

They came to a halt before
the closed gates, harness jangling, metal against metal, leather creaking.

No. Honoria did not know
the elegant figure with ostrich-plumed hat and velvet coat who rode the
magnificent bay at the head of the troop, did not recognise his device on the
banner above his head. But his importance was without question. And he was
accompanied by his own Herald clad in a splendour of blue-and-silver livery.

The gentleman reined in and
signalled to the Herald. The peace of the morning was instantly shattered by a
blast from a trumpet. And then a second impatient summons when Honoria made no
move to descend from her perch or order the gates to be opened.

'Will you go down, my
lady?' Sergeant Drew was now beside her, eyes intent on the scene below.

'I think not. Wait a
little.'

Now they had been seen. The
assembled party looked up, shading their eyes against the sun. The trumpet
sounded for the third time, followed by the Herald producing a prepared scroll
from his doublet with a theatrical flourish. All calculated, Honoria registered
with a faint smile, to impress her beyond measure and reduce her to total
obedience before this studied magnificence. But she knew well the ways of the
King Charles's Court and she was not to be intimidated.

The Herald unrolled the
document with its seals and ribbons and began to read in loud strident accents,
which carried to Honoria's ears without difficulty.

'His Lordship the Marquis
of Hertford requires audience with Honoria, Lady Mansell.'

So they knew that Francis
was detained elsewhere! Honoria leaned forward from her elevated position. 'I
am Lady Mansell. What do you require, my lord?'

Hertford, looking up, swept
off his hat, bowed low over his horse's withers with all due respect and a
flourish of his flamboyant plumes. And waited, presuming that the lady would
descend or invite him to enter. And waited.

When it was clear that she
had no intention of either action he waved his Herald to continue, his
expression bland, inscrutable.

'We are sent here by Mr
Coningsby, the Governor of Hereford, in the name of His Majesty King Charles.
To summon the honourable and valiant lady, Honoria, Lady Mansell, to surrender
to the Governor of Hereford. To deliver up the castle of Brampton Percy with
all arms, munitions and warlike provisions, under pain of arrest and trial for
high treason against His Majesty. The law and martial force will be allowed to
take its course against her.'

Treason! Honoria's eyes
widened in shocked fear, her heart beating faster within her laced bodice. Had
she ever truly thought it would come to this?

The sonorous voice
continued to deliver the official words, spelling out the fate of those who
dared to question the authority of the King.

'With rapid compliance in
this matter, the gracious lady, her family and her servants will be allowed
free passage from the castle, to go wherever they will outside the borders of
Herefordshire. There shall be no harm or blame directed against them. Failure
to comply will result in instant arrest.'

Silence, as the lady
collected her scattered thoughts.

'You must not do it,
Honoria,' Mary murmured, aghast at the prospect. 'You must not agree to this.
They are too small a strength to enforce this demand.'

'I know. I promised, did I
not?'

'Promised?'

'I promised my lord.' A
vivid memory of Francis's stern features, intent stare, his firm grip on her
wrist, invaded Honoria's mind. Their final meeting in the Great Hall with all
its undercurrents of distrust and betrayal. She closed her eyes momentarily
against it. 'I promised that I would hold the castle in his name. We talked of
it before he left.'
And I think that he did not quite trust me
to keep that promise!

But there was really no
decision for her to make. Honoria took a deep breath, leaned forward against
the stonework. And answered the summons without hesitation, directing her words
at the Marquis of Hertford himself, not his Herald.

'His Majesty King Charles,
as I understand it, has always promised to defend the laws and liberties of
this realm. This property is mine in my husband's absence. By what right do you
demand that I give it up? And if I do not hand it over to you, my lord, how
does that make me guilty of treason, a crime specifically against the King and
the State? I cannot believe that King Charles would support you in your
charge.'

Hertford shifted in his
saddle, clearly surprised by the challenge, but replied calmly, confident of
her ultimate obedience to his demands.

'Your refusal, my lady
Mansell, most assuredly renders you guilty of treason if you then proceed to
use your possessions against the safety of this nation and against the
authority of the King.'

'I have no intention of
using my possessions against His Majesty, or the peace of the realm!'

'But can you say the same
for your lord? Will it be as easy for you to proclaim
his
innocence in the matter of overt treason?' Honoria
could detect his sly smile even with the distance between them. It stiffened
her resolve.

'In his absence, my lord, I
speak for Lord Mansell. Mine is the authority here.'

Hertford cleared his
throat, no longer enjoying the situation. 'I know your guardian well, my lady.
I know that he would advise you to uphold the law of the land before any other
loyalty. He would hear your words now with disgust.'

'He would do no such
thing!' Anger surfaced, causing Honoria to grasp the battlemented stones with
whitened knuckles. 'Sir Robert would be the first to uphold the rights of
property and of the law. And, true to my upbringing, I shall protect what is
mine against any attempt to rob me of it.'

'Then you must expect to
pay the ultimate penalty. I hoped that you could be persuaded to see the sense
in complying with Governor Coningsby's wishes.'

'I have nothing more to say
on the matter, my lord. I will not hand over Brampton Percy to you, the
Governor of Hereford or His Majesty the King.'

The Marquis bowed his head
in acceptance and pulled on his reins, signalling his escort to retire.

A sharp crack of a pistol
broke the tension with startling effect. Rooks flew up from the groups of elms
with harsh calls. The horses fidgeted and pawed. There was more than one
muttered oath.

It was a wayward shot, but
sufficiently accurate to strike the coping of the battlement beside the
watchers on the gatehouse towers. Shards of stonework, edged and deadly, flew
in every direction, one of them grazing the cheek and jaw of Sergeant Drew, who
flinched away with a sharp curse of surprised pain. Honoria looked in horror at
the blood that began to trickle down his face, soaking into his collar, and
then back down to the scene below, in time to see a flurry of action as the
pistol was wrenched forcefully from the hand of one of the soldiers.

'Forgive me, my lady.'
Hertford pulled his restive stallion once again to a standstill. 'That was
never my intention.'

'Can I believe you, my lord
Hertford? Will you perhaps shoot me next? In the name of the King?'

The flush of anger and
embarrassment that flooded his cheeks was evident, but with thinned lips he
abandoned his conciliatory mood, making Honoria's position very clear. 'Of
course it was not by my orders, Lady Mansell. But perhaps you should take it as
a warning. Tempers run hot when treason is in the wind to fan the flames.'

'I am grateful for the
warning. I fear that this outcome confirms me in my thought that I cannot rely
on you or your word for my safety. The gates of Brampton Percy remain closed to
you, my lord Hertford.'

Honoria turned from the
retreating Marquis to speak with firm authority to Sergeant Drew, who grimaced
and mopped his face with a bloody kerchief.

'You will open the gates to
no one without my express permission. Do you understand? Not even if it is the
King himself at our door.'

'Yes, my lady.'

'Our lives are now at
stake. The gates stay closed.'

Honoria took herself to her
bedchamber. It was cold and cheerless, but for some reason suited her mood. She
drifted around the room, unable to rest, even when her nerves finally settled.
Looked out of the window, picked up a book, put it down, discarded a piece of
embroidery—what was the point in such meaningless trivia when the ordered
world she knew seemed to be crashing down around her? She found herself opening
the connecting door to Francis's bedchamber. Unsure of the reason she walked
in, nervously, feeling a little like a trespasser. She resisted looking over
her shoulder, even though she knew he was not there. Ridiculous to feel so
uneasy. Her lord had not occupied the room himself for more than a handful of
nights before their marriage. He had hardly had time to stamp it with signs of
his ownership.

Still, she went to sit on
the bed, finding it comforting in a strange way. The gold and blue of the
hangings surrounded her with a sense of peace as she watched the dust motes
hang in a golden cloud in a patch of sunlight. Tears stung her eyes and she
allowed herself to weep a little. Something she would never do in public where
the people of Brampton Percy watched her every step, every swing of mood. How had
she valued her privacy so little in the past when she had it in abundance? But
now she felt as if she were acting out her life on a stage, drawn by
circumstances into actions and decisions that she would have once thought to be
totally alien to her character.