Page 44 of By the Sword
She started to her feet, throwing back the mane of hair. ‘I didn’t hear you at the door.’
He apologised and she took the papers he held out without looking at them, her eyes studying his face. He ran the fingers of his right hand through his windswept hair as he struggled to find the words that had to be said.
‘Kate, I have something to tell you…’ he began
‘You’re going to tell me you’re leaving,’ she cut across him.
He swallowed, the pretty speech he had been rehearsing forgotten.
‘How did you know?’
‘It’s in your eyes. I’ve known for days that I could no longer hold you here.’
Over the past weeks, he had pushed himself to the limit of his endurance as he had ruthlessly forced his arm back into use. His tenacity had paid off and although he would probably never again have the full use of it, and it still hurt like the devil, he considered himself functional. It was a tribute to the long-suffering and sharp-tongued Ellen that the damage was nowhere near as bad as it could have been.
However, if he was honest with himself, it still needed time–but time was something Jonathan did not have.
‘Is there nothing I can say to keep you here?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘I must go, Kate. You know that.’
‘Even though you know it to be a lost cause?’
‘My obligation is to the King. That is never a lost cause,’ he replied, forcing a conviction he did not feel into his voice. ‘I’ll leave in the morning.’
She bit her lip, an unconscious gesture he had observed in the past weeks when something worried her. He found the gesture particularly endearing.
‘Will you tell Tom?’ she asked.
He nodded and turned away, closing the door behind him. He could not bear the pain in her eyes but he knew there was nothing he could say to make amends. He could not dally any longer and he dreaded the long, bleak ride to Scotland hampered by a bad shoulder.
He quickened his step, reminding himself that whatever his feelings for this woman, he owed a duty to the young King biding his time in Scotland and he was too long overdue.
He found Tom in the parlour wrestling with Latin conjugations set by his tutor. Jonathan pulled up a chair and sat down opposite him.
‘I don’t see why I have to learn Latin. No one ever speaks it anymore,’ Tom grumbled.
‘But you will be able to read all the great classics,’ Jonathan pointed out.
‘Why would I want to do that?’ Tom inquired. ‘When I am grown up I want to go to the New World and be an explorer. Latin won’t be much good then.’ He cocked his head. ‘What languages do you speak, Jonathan?’
Jonathan dismissed the picture of Thomas Ashley, explorer, encountering a tribe of Latin-speaking natives that had sprung to his mind.
‘By necessity, I speak French, Dutch, a little Spanish and a little German.’
Tom looked impressed. ‘Now they are useful languages. Can you teach me?’
Jonathan looked down at the well-polished table and, steeling his resolve, he looked up at the boy again. ‘Perhaps one day, but not now. I’m leaving tomorrow, Tom, if the weather stays fine.’
Tom’s face fell. ‘I thought you were going to stay…I thought you were going to marry Mother.’
‘What made you think that?’ Jonathan asked, genuinely surprised.
Tom shrugged. ‘Janet said that you and Mother were in love…’
‘And what does a twelve-year-old girl know about love?’
‘She said she heard Aunt Suzanne talking to Uncle William.’ Tom sighed and looked down at his work. He had not been watching his pen and it had left a large blot on the page.
