Page 103 of By the Sword
Of all the deaths he had witnessed in the bloody years of war, his brother and his father among them, the death of those five ragged, starving men had wrought the greatest change in the reckless young man who had stolen his grandfather’s horse and ridden off to war.
Kate wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. ‘Prescott had his chance. Why didn’t he hang you when he could?’
‘He wanted me to suffer. He wanted me to live with the knowledge that it was I who was responsible for the death of my men–my innocent men. On the road back to London to face my trial, I escaped and took ship for France as soon as I was able. The rest you know.’
He dared himself to look up and face the judgment in Kate’s eyes but he saw only tears. Were the tears for him or for the ghosts of all the people he had wronged?
‘I’m sorry, Kate. It’s an unlovely tale but you deserved the truth about me,’ he said.
‘I’m glad you told me. I had no idea such things went on in the name of King or Parliament.’
He shook his head. ‘David Ashley protected you well. Be thankful that you never saw the dark side of human nature.’
Until now, he thought. Now through me, you have seen evil.
‘And you,’ she said, ‘you’re a soldier too, just as capable of doing the acts of which you were accused.’
He looked her in the eye. ‘Kate, I was young and I was arrogant but I pride myself on being a professional soldier. I never raised a hand against a woman or a child and, to my knowledge, no man under my command has ever done so.’
And lived to tell the tale, he may have added, but chose not to.
They sat in silence for a long time, He had given her the whole story. He had nothing more to say. Now he waited on her judgment.
She straightened and raised her right hand. She frowned and she touched his face, tracing the line of his cheekbone as if she were searching for ghosts.
They were there, they always would be–the frail wraith that was all that was left of his memory of Mary, the young Cornet and the four other soldiers who had died for that illicit love, and now, linking them all, the spectre of Stephen Prescott. But in telling her the story they seemed diminished, incapable of hurting him any longer.
All his words to Giles, all his resolve forgotten, he slid off the stool and knelt on the hearth before her. He took her hand in his and lowered his head, burying it in her skirts like a penitent seeking forgiveness.
‘Jon,’ she lowered her head to his. ’We can’t change the past, but we can determine our future.’
He straightened and they both rose to their feet. Her eyes did not leave his face as he took her in his arms and held her close, almost crushing her.
‘Kate, Kate,’ he whispered into her disordered hair, saying the three words he had said to no woman since Mary. ‘I love you, Kate. You’re everything to me and even if I am gone tomorrow, that will not change.’
She whispered his name, her body melting in his embrace. Conscious of her bruises, he kissed her gently and with infinite tenderness, desperate to obliterate the dreadful memories of the last few weeks.
They stood together for a long time in silence, just holding each other.
Jonathan closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of rosemary that was so intrinsically a part of this woman he loved so much. He looked down at her, smoothing the unruly hair from her face.
‘Kate, would you marry me?’ he whispered.
She looked up at him and smiled and his heart leapt at the warmth of that smile.
She laid her hand on his face and spoke in a calm, clear voice, more like the old Kate. ‘Yes, my dearest love, I will marry you,’ she said and paused. ‘But only when you can stand beside me a free man.’
He stiffened, as desolation swept over him. He broke from her and walked across to the window, running his fingers through his hair. As he stood looking down at the moat, she came to stand by his side. Her fingers twisted into his and she squeezed his hand.
‘It’s not a woman’s fancy, Jon. There is nothing I want more in this world than to call myself your wife, but one thing the past weeks have taught me is that I am more use to you and your family untrammelled by the Thornton name.’
He glanced down at her. The curse of the Thornton name, he thought.
He sighed. ‘I’ve always been so sure of the rightness of the cause I fought for but I too have had plenty of time to think in the past weeks. God alone knows how tired I am of fighting and running. I don’t want to see out my days in penury in some garret in Amsterdam or Paris in the name of a cause I can donothing more for.’ He shook his head. ‘Kate, I don’t know what to do.’
‘Make your peace with Parliament?’ Kate ventured.
He looked at her and sadly shook his head. ‘There is the little matter of my death warrant. For me, there will be no peace with Parliament.’
