Marriage Under Siege (20 page)

'I have to agree with you,
Francis.' Priam rubbed a hand meditatively over his face as he surveyed the
prospect from their high point of vantage. He shook his head. 'We simply
haven't the manpower to do other. Not with Brampton Percy to defend as well. As
soon as Herbert can recover from his defeat at
Highnam
and regroup, or if the Royalist army under Prince Rupert comes into the west—then
you will be in danger. And we cannot hold both strongholds.'

'So we have to make a
choice.' Mansell's voice was bleak as he rested his hands on the wall and
squinted at the distant pass from where an attack would undoubtedly come.

'Brampton Percy or
Wigmore.'

'There really is no choice,
is there? This is even more of a medieval fortress and really too small for our
needs, despite its position. It has to be Brampton Percy, where we can give
shelter to those who might need it. The defences are also much stronger if the
Royalists deploy cannon against us.'

'What are you suggesting?'
Honoria had followed the conversation, looking from one to the other, but not
fully understanding. Now she could no longer pretend ignorance. She fixed her
lord with stern eyes. 'Tell me that I mistake your intentions.'

Mansell exchanged a guarded
look with Priam. 'I suggest that we dismantle these defences completely. The
Royalists will take the castle from us anyway. But if we breach the walls,
destroy the defences and dismantle the barbican, they will be unable to use it
as a stronghold against Parliament. And against us. It will be of no value to
them. Unless they are prepared to rebuild it, of course, which they will not.'

'Destroy it? Raze your own
castle to the ground?' Honoria gasped.

'Yes.'

'But surely it makes no
sense to destroy a stronghold in our possession. How do we know that we cannot
hold out? How do we know that the Royalists will direct an attack against it?
Would they not use all their resources against Brampton Percy and simply bypass
Wigmore?'

'Wigmore is in a prime
position.' Master
Yatton
added the weight of his
opinion against her impassioned outburst, his dark eyes sympathetic and
respectful, but his voice forthright. 'They will certainly attack it, so that
they can control the valley and the route from north to south. We do not have
the men, my lady. If a force brings ordnance against us, we could not deter
them. We would soon be battered into submission. The water supply is also
vulnerable.'

'But—'

'If Parliament is to win
this war, it must defeat the Royalists in areas where they have their greatest
strength. Counties such as Herefordshire.' Mansell deliberately allowed
himself to show no sympathy. He understood Honoria's horror at wilful destruction.
What landowner would not? His words seemed harsh, even to his own ears, but he
knew that he could not allow himself to be swayed by emotional arguments. 'We
must not be found guilty of handing a castle over to them that they can then
use against us and against the true authority in this country.'

'But why not wait until the
threat becomes a reality?'

'It is a reality. You know
that. You heard the Marquis of Hertford's threats for yourself when he stood at
our gates.' He would force her to recognise the truth of it. 'We start
tomorrow. We brought gunpowder with us in the baggage wagons.'

Honoria saw no softening,
no tolerance in her lord's cold eyes and stern features. In his mind the
decision was made. She looked to Captain Davies, eyes wide, hoping against hope
for support. There was none.

'Francis speaks the truth.'

'I cannot believe that you
would do this.' She could not leave the matter, rounding on her lord again.
Having discovered the beauty of the place only that morning, to see it
destroyed before her eyes made her heart sore. 'To destroy this splendid place
seems...it seems all
wrong.'

'I know, but we have no
choice. Look, Honoria, it will not be as bad as you think. Let me show you...'
He reached for her hand, but she pulled away, stepping back, refusing to be
wooed.

'I cannot understand why
you have brought me here. To see the destruction of your inheritance. And when
you have already made up your mind to it.'

'I hoped to show you the
sense of it.'

'No.'

She turned from him and
walked from the battlements.

Honoria was woken some time
after daybreak by the sharp, repeated sound of metal on stone. She sat up in
the bed where she had spent the night, alone, and knew that it had started. The
destruction of Wig- more Castle's defences.

She had not seen Francis
again since her emotional outburst—regrettable, she now admitted—except for a
formal meeting in company at the evening meal. There had been no more
discussion of his intentions, but she had been unable to resist a parting shot
as the meal ended and she left the table.

'Tell me when you wish me
to move my possessions into the courtyard, my lord. Then you can dismantle the
castle around me without any inconvenience. Or perhaps I should simply go back
to Brampton Percy. If you can spare the escort, of course.'

Bitter, angry words,
childish even, of which she was now ashamed. She had turned her back on her
husband and taken refuge in the bedchamber, disturbed and confused at her
reaction, her heart sore with an almost physical ache, but she shed no tears.
Her anger was too hard for tears, a real sense of betrayal that goaded her into
heaping coals of fire on her absent husband's head. But now, with daylight, she
felt the onset of guilt. Her thoughts had cleared of emotion through a troubled
night and she began to accept the sense and strength of the argument. What did
comfort and attachment to stone and mortar matter compared with the peace and
security of the country, after all? And why had this unknown castle come to
mean so much to her anyway? It was illogical. Perhaps she had to admit that her
lord's decision had been the right one.

Perhaps!

But where had he spent the
night? Not in her bed—again. For a moment she covered her face with her hands,
summoning her inner strength and control. She must not show him that it
mattered. Even if it tore her apart.

Honoria rose from her bed,
dressed hastily and emerged into the courtyard to inspect the progress. She
could see no one, so climbed the steps to the battlements. From there the
activity was clear. At the foot of the towers that guarded the gatehouse,
impregnable to everything but gunpowder, a small charge had been laid to test
the strength of the stonework. Honoria watched from safety as the men working
on the tower made a rapid retreat to take cover at a given signal. A small
explosion shattered the peace of the morning, causing the doves to rise in
panic from the dovecote and the rooks to wheel raucously overhead. And the
first stones and mortar of Wigmore Castle shattered and splintered, to fall to
the ground in a pile of rubble and gritty dust.

She could see Francis. And
watched him. Tall and dark, all male authority, all animation and decision in
the thick of the action, hands fisted on his hips as he assessed the result of
the explosion. He had tied his hair back, but the breeze caught and whipped the
ends into disarray. Prowling, edgy as a cat in a cage, he was intent on
overseeing the destruction of his inheritance. His stance spoke of
determination and certainty, but then he turned on his heel to look round the
walls, to survey the inner structures that would soon lie open to all dangers.
Honoria thought she caught a hint of despair in the set of his shoulders, the
tilt of his jaw.

She had not made the task
any easier for him. The guilt struck at her with a sharp blade, as sharp and
deadly as the edged tools being used against the castle walls. Hearing
approaching footsteps, she turned. Captain Davies came alongside with a brief
smile, to follow her gaze.

'I was very hard on him,
wasn't I, Captain Priam?'

'Yes.'

'Thank you for your
honesty. Don't spare my feelings!' Some of the tension eased in Honoria's
chest, the tight bands of anxiety loosening around her heart. She smiled a
little. They had slipped into an easy relationship since Captain Davies's
arrival in their household. She felt unthreatened with him, trusting of his
sincerity, even if she was yet unaware of the full depth of loyalty he felt
towards her. He treated her, she thought, although she had no experience of it,
with the affection a father might show towards a beloved daughter, and she was
able to relax into the relationship with warm pleasure. He became Captain Priam
to her, a figure of care and support and unconditional love, and would remain
so.

'You do not need me to tell
you that he is right in his judgement.' His gruff voice was forthright, but not
critical.

'No.' She sighed in
acknowledgement. 'I expect you would do the same?'

'Yes. Without doubt.
Wigmore controls the road from Hereford to Ludlow. We cannot let it fall into
enemy hands.'

How ridiculous to think of
them as the enemy! Honoria frowned at the scene before her. Most of the people
she had known since childhood came into that category now. But that is what it
had come to, whether she liked it or not.

'But to destroy all
this...' She turned to face Priam, searching for reassurance.

'Not totally. Merely the
defences—the walls and the gateway, of course.' His weathered face creased in
recognition of her troubled soul, her attempts to justify her previous bitter
words. 'After all this is over and you reclaim it, it will still be possible to
live here. And in even more comfort. You can extend the living apartments, turn
the ditches into pleasure gardens and the battlements into walks. A house
worthy of the de Bramptons, if that is what you wish.'

'I thought he would destroy
this too.' She waved a hand to indicate the buildings behind her with their
comforts and attractive outlook.

'No. That was never his
intention. We planned it all last night. It took a long time. And we started
the dismantling as soon as day broke. No time for sleep!'

So that was how he had
spent the night!

'He did not explain.'

'You did not give him the
opportunity, dear girl!'

Honoria studied her hands
in silence, before raising her eyes again to Priam's quizzical gaze. 'No, I did
not. I shall have to make my peace with him, shall I not?'

'Of course.' He laughed at
the discomfort writ large on her face. 'You will do it, Honoria. You are too
honest not to. And he needs your support.'

'I doubt it.' Her brows
rose in disbelief.

'Never doubt it, my child.
He won't ask for it. It is not in his nature. As a second son he grew up with a
need to carve out his own life, to make his own fortune and his own name. It
has had a lasting effect. But he needs your support, none the less.'

'I presume you know the
family well.'

'Yes. For many years.'

'And so you would have
known Katherine?' She could not resist, even though the answers might bring her
pain.

'I did. Her family's land
marched beside the Brampton estate in Suffolk.'

'She was very beautiful.'

'She was. A lovely girl. It
was always understood that they would marry.'

'He—Francis—must have loved
her very much.' Why was she torturing herself? But she needed the truth and
knew that she could ask Captain Priam without fear of rejection.

'Yes.' Priam was aware that
Honoria had turned her face as if to admire the view. But he knew better. She
was good at hiding her thoughts and feelings—but not that good. 'I am sorry,
dear girl.' He touched her arm lightly, saddened when she took a step away.

'It is no matter, Captain
Priam.' By the time she turned back towards him, she had a bright smile in
place. But the desolation in her eyes broke his heart. 'It pleases me that he
could have known such love. I have never—' She stopped.

'It can be yours too,
Honor. Given time.'

'Why, no. I do not expect
it. Our marriage is one of political expediency, after all. I am not
uncomfortable with it.' Her control was impeccable once more, her face serene
and expressionless.

What could he say?

'You are a fine woman,
Honor, a desirable bride for any man. I know Francis is aware of your
qualities.' Priam grimaced at his own words. How
cold
they sounded!

'Of course. He is very
kind. And, as you say, I must put matters right with him.'

Priam took possession of
her hand and kissed it, troubled by the conversation. It would not be good for
either of them to be so estranged. Honoria smiled at him in acceptance of the
encouraging pressure on her fingers. They understood each other very well.

So, she had to make her
peace with Francis. The need gnawed at her composure with the sharp teeth of a
dormouse on a hazelnut. She could wait until evening. When he had rested and
was more willing to listen to her.
Coward!
she whispered silently. It was not in her nature to put off the inevitable,
however unpleasant it might be. Better to get it over with. If she could come
to terms with Katherine, she could apologise to her lord. So she sought him out
where she knew he would be. By the barbican, amongst the rubble, directing the
soldiers who were widening the breach already made in the wall, masonry dust
clinging to his clothes and greying his dark hair. She must tell him that she
had been unfair and misguided. And, she supposed, that he had been right. She
did not like it, but she would do it.