Marriage Under Siege (29 page)

'You have an enemy in
Coningsby, my boy.' Priam snorted in disgust.

'So it seems. I inherited
him as such from Edward. I do not know the man.' They had entered the hall and
made their way to the table, which had been spread with bread and meat. Francis
picked up a jug to refresh their tankards, his expression thoughtful.

'He intends to rob you of
your power and property, Francis.' Joshua accepted and drank deeply, concerned
to pursue Priam's warning. 'The bad blood between the families of Coningsby and
Brampton has not been allowed to die with Lord Edward. It has played
magnificently into his hands that you have declared for Parliament, giving him
the strongest of legal justifications for waging war against you. Our Fitzwilliam
must thank God nightly in his prayers. You must be on your guard at all costs.'

'So I must.'

Francis raised his own
tankard to wash away the dust of the morning's work. It had given him
something to think about. And some unexpected insight into Honoria's scheming,
which might not be treacherous scheming at all.

It might be that he owed
her more than an apology!

Chapter
Twelve

It had to come
some time
.

Honoria dreaded the moment
when Francis would seek her out. She was safe during the hectic hours of
daylight. So many demands on her time—and on his. All perfect opportunities,
she was forced to admit, for her to avoid him.

But now dusk had fallen
into black dark. The imprisoned inhabitants of the beleaguered castle had been
fed and were settling round fires to talk over the events of the day and worry
over the future. Mary and Dorothy Wright had taken over supervision of the
kitchen for a little time as the suddenly hard-pressed doctor checked the condition
of their wounded. Nothing serious. A sword slash or two and a broken
collarbone. Minor cuts and bruises. Some scrapes and burns amongst the kitchen
maids. They had been fortunate indeed for such a risky undertaking against an
overwhelming force.

Mansell, Captain Davies and
Sir Joshua had taken themselves into the estate room to discuss men's
business—national events and local tactics. And how to make best use of a newly
acquired mortar.

So to occupy her wayward
thoughts Honoria took candles and joined Mistress Morgan in an investigation of
the state and condition of supplies in cellars and storerooms. They returned to
the Great Hall some little time later, having found nothing of significance to
drive them to despair, but less to bolster any optimism.

'Don't fret, my lady. We'll
make do.' Mistress Morgan had recovered her placid acceptance of events and
her calm good nature, momentarily shaken by the death of Mistress Brierly, her
friend of many years. 'The castle will stand until the war is over and beyond.
And the Bramptons within it. You go and rest now. And let the good doctor look
at that burn on your wrist—it needs a salve to remove the sting. It was a fine
show you made this morning with all the maids, my lady. That'll keep the pesky
Royalists back from the walls for a time. It was good to see them run.'

'It was.' Honoria's eyes
sparkled at the memory, smiling with not a little malicious pleasure.

'It's a pity they didn't
run all the way back to Hereford while they were at it! But at least my lord
can take on the defence now. And Captain Davies. A blessing for you to have
them here. Goodnight, my lady. And look to that wrist!'

She strode off into the
kitchens, carrying a large ham that they had discovered hanging forgotten in a
storeroom.

A
blessing?
Honoria turned toward the staircase, to go to her
bedchamber. Not to hide exactly. But she would rather not have to answer for
her sins tonight. Tomorrow would be soon enough, when she had decided what she
could possibly say in her own defence.

'Honoria.'

Her nerves jumped, her skin
like a slick of ice, but she turned to face him. 'My lord.' She felt at this
moment that she would never call him
Francis
with such easy intimacy again.

'There are things that must
be said between us.'

'Yes.'

'But perhaps not here.' He
cast his eye round the vast expanse of the Great Hall, the high roof, which
melted into shadows, the cold draughts that guttered the candles. There were no
warming flames in the vast cavern of a fireplace to draw them. As a venue, it
was anything but conducive to a delicate and personal exchange of views.

'It is as good a place as
any, my lord.' She would face him because she had to. She would explain why she
had taken the remarkable, the inexplicable, the astounding decision to keep her
husband under lock and key when an army was at their very door. She would ask
forgiveness. But she preferred the anonymity of this vast room to close
proximity in solar or bedchamber. She preferred the space that she could put
between herself and her lord. And she could hide her feelings and emotions so
much better here where shadows bloomed. She would ask his forgiveness—she could
do no other—but she would not reveal the anguish that tore at her very soul.

'As you wish.' He bit down
on the frustration, accepting and acknowledging the bleakness of her decision.
He watched her carefully as he approached. She kept her eyes on his, her
anxieties well cloaked, but he saw the nervous beat of the pulse in her throat,
the tension in her stance. Signs that he now recognised when her confidence and
peace of mind were threatened. And he saw the raw scars from the cinders on her
hand and wrist.

He frowned. 'Your hands.'
He stretched out his own, would have taken possession of hers, but she reacted
quickly and stepped back. She buried the evidence out of sight in her full
skirts.

'It is nothing.'

'Do they hurt?'

'No.'

He accepted her denial with
a nod of his head. He did not believe her, but could do nothing yet. He
addressed the weighty matter between them head-on, in typically brusque
manner. 'Perhaps I should say that I now know the reasoning behind your
actions. And so I regret my earlier words to you—my uncharitable accusations.'

'So you have spoken with
Master Foxton.'

He noted that she
deliberately ignored his apology, but determined not to react. 'No. He did not betray
you. Priam and Joshua brought news that touched on Vavasour's retreat from our
gates—and Mary a little. She thought that there were things that I should
know—and that you would not tell me.'

'I see.'

'Perhaps you thought it for
the best.' He tried for a conciliatory approach. To no avail.

'Yes. And I would do the
same again, given the circumstances. If I was at fault, it was my decision to
make and it must be on my conscience.'

'But what made you do such
a thing?' His anger built again, against his best intentions, in the face of
her icy detachment. Her unbending acceptance of all blame. Would she not even
try to argue her case? 'If you ever play such a trick again, Honoria, I
will...' He raised his hands in exasperation and sheer disbelief at what she
had done, holding him captive in his own castle, clenching them into fists
before letting them fall to his side.

'What will you do?' Face
and voice expressionless, she continued to look at him. 'Beat me? Send me to
live at Wigmore, without walls or windows? Lock me in the chapel, perhaps? It
would be suitable punishment and retribution, I think.'

'All of them! Any one of
one of them!' He struggled for calm. 'What on earth made you think that
Vavasour would withdraw?'

'Lady Scudamore informed me
in her letter that General Waller was marching on Gloucester. And Hedges said
that there had been a Parliamentarian victory. It seemed that Vavasour would be
called back to defend Hereford. Some of the cavalry had already left.'

'Who the Devil is Hedges?'

'Your fowler.'

'Oh... So on the basis of
minor troop movements, female gossip and the intelligence of my fowler, you
decided to lock me in the chapel.'

'Yes.'

'How could you think of
it!' He ran his hands through his hair, loosening the band that had held it
back during the day so that if fell forward on to his shoulders in heavy waves.
'Would you emasculate me, Honoria? Did you think, did it cross your mind that I
would object to being made to look a fool in the eyes of my own garrison? Imprisoned
by my
wife?
'

'No.' For the first time he
saw instant reaction. Her eyes widened in horror. 'No! That was never my
intention.'

'No.' He bent his head,
allowing some of the tiredness to show itself. 'I do not suppose it was. But
you gave little thought to my honour. My pride.' And then raised his glance,
pinning her with its intensity. She knew that she must speak the truth in the
face of such an accusation.

'If I had considered honour
and pride, I would have considered them of little value in the balance with
your life. Perhaps that is a sin in your eyes. But as a woman I felt that your
life, and mine—and the lives of all those who depend on us here—were of far
greater importance. I knew that the Royalists would be unwilling to attack me
with any great force. To defeat me with brutality and violence was not
acceptable. But if they knew you were here, and leading the defence against
them, it would be a different matter. And I
knew
that you would never stand back and allow them to believe that I was here
alone—even for a few days. I
knew
that you would launch a
counterattack as soon as daybreak. You were planning it with Sergeant Drew as
soon as you had entered the postern gate!'

A silence fell between
them.

'But you must not blame
Foxton.' Suddenly Honoria felt so tired, swamped by a need to see an end to the
confrontation that offered her no hope of remedy. 'The fault is all mine. I
persuaded him into it.'

'I know it.'

'You will not punish him,
will you?'

'Did you think I would cast
him off without a penny after his years of service to the Bramptons? Because my
wife was foolish enough to persuade him against his better judgement?'

'Perhaps not.' She sank her
teeth into her bottom lip and for the first time looked away.

Sensing a softening in her,
or perhaps merely the onset of sheer exhaustion, he turned towards the
staircase and held out his hand. 'Will you come up to the solar, my lady? It
will at least be warm there.' He had covered barely a few feet before her words
brought him to a halt.

'Katherine would never have
done that, would she? She would never have compromised your dignity or pride,
never have undermined your duty to your tenants.'

He turned his head,
surprise mingling with exasperation. 'No. Of course she wouldn't. But what has
that to do with anything?'

'I expect she was an
obedient, conformable wife.'

'I expect she was.
Honoria—'

'I am sorry I cannot live
up to your expectations.'

'I never said you didn't.'
He frowned as he tried to follow her train of thought.

'You thought I intended to
hand you over, for Vavasour's gratification.'

'No. I...I think I probably
said that in the heat of the moment—or in the diabolical cold of the chapel.'

'Yes, you did. My judgement
was at fault and I made the wrong decision. I am sorry for what I did.' She had
noted his attempt at humour, to relieve the intolerable tension between them,
but her hurt was too deep to accept it. 'I will ensure I am the suitable and
obedient wife you desire in the future. With due regard to your honour and
pride. I will try to be worthy of my name.' Her voice broke a little on a sob,
quickly suppressed. 'Now, if you will excuse me...I have a headache, a little.'
And my heart is breaking, for you can never love me.
She
fought back the tears that suddenly threatened to shame her before him.

'No. This is no way to
leave it.' As she took a step to widen the space between them, he moved to
block her path, knowing that if she walked away now, the rift would grow even
deeper.

She halted, but would not
look at him. 'What can we possibly have to say to each other that can make this
situation any better? I would like to go, if you please.'

'I thought we had come to
an understanding—at Wigmore.'

'So did I. I have been
wrong many times.' She stepped back.

He held out his hand. 'Stay
a little. I never truly thought you would betray me.'

She looked at the offered
hand, so strong and capable, so fine. She swallowed a sob. Another olive
branch, indeed—which she dare not grasp. 'You say that now. But you will always
wonder, won't you? I think you did when we were first wed—but now even more so.
You will always consider if my Royalist upbringing is stronger than my loyalty
to my husband. And there is nothing I can do to change that.' She stepped round
him and walked up the stairs.

'Honor—I was proud of your
actions today.' Short of restraining her physically, he could think of no other
ploy. It was a last-ditch stand indeed. 'You have great courage.'

She did not, could not,
respond for the tight grief that closed her throat and the tears that had begun
to course down her cheeks. He would never know what it cost her to throw his
magnanimous gesture back in his face.

He watched her go. So much
courage. So much hurt. How could they ever build a relationship, a life
together, built on such misunderstanding and mistrust? The abyss that yawned
between them seemed wellnigh unbridgeable. And how had Katherine figured in
this? He had never spoken to her of Katherine, nor had Honoria ever made
reference to her before. And how was he expected to read Honoria's mind if she
would not speak to him of what was in her mind, in her heart! Why were females
so difficult?

But on that thought, it hit
him, a blinding revelation that struck with painful intensity. Of course he
understood. Or thought that he did. He shrugged his shoulders against the
discomfort. How could he have been so blind? Honoria had a history of broken
betrothals and an unsatisfactory marriage. He knew that Edward had humiliated
her, blamed her for his own shortcomings. And now he, in his blindness, had
accused her of treachery and betrayal. Small wonder that she must feel alone
and unwanted. And if she felt that he still mourned Katherine, still held her
as a bright image in his heart, to love and to cherish that memory with his
every breath, then Honoria's isolation would be complete. His lips curved a
little as he remembered Katherine, so young and full of vitality, her red-gold
curls falling over his hands. But did he remember her so clearly? He frowned
when he realised that the fine tresses were dense, honey-brown, shot with gold.
And the face that filled his dreams and his reality was Honoria's pale, serious
oval. When had that happened? He did not know. But it suddenly became very
important, more important than he had first realised, that he heal the wounds
of the past days. But he knew that he must handle his lady very carefully. And
how it was to be achieved presented him with more problems than Henry Lingen at
his gates.