Page 2 of By the Sword
Tom yawned. ‘Was she? Is this going to be a boring story, mother?’
Undeterred by her son’s lack of interest, Kate continued. ‘She married your grandfather against her father’s wishes.’
‘Really?’ Curiosity sparked in Tom’s eyes.
‘Her father, Sir Francis Thornton, swore he would never have anything to do with her again.’
‘So what happened then?’
‘Well, as far as I know, the story, your grandmother died when your father was born. And we have heard nothing from the Thorntons before or since.’
Tom snorted. ‘That’s it?’
Kate bit her lip and considered leaving it at that, but Suzanne had been right. Tom deserved to know.
‘I’ve had a letter from your great-grandfather, Sir Francis Thornton. He heard that your grandfather Ashley has died and he has invited us to visit.’
‘Where does he live?’ Tom’s eyes were bright with interest now.
‘At a house called Seven Ways in Worcestershire.’ Kate replied.
‘Worcestershire?’ Tom’s eyes widened. He had never been further than York. He frowned. ‘Seven Ways is a funny name for a house.’
‘I recall your father once told me it was called Seven Ways because one of your ancestors was told the King would be passing by and he constructed seven entrances to his property to make it easier for the King to find him.’
‘And did he?’ Tom asked.
Kate laughed and shook her head. ‘I have no idea.’
‘Seven Ways.’ Tom tried the name out again. ‘I suppose Sir Francis is very old?’
‘I suppose he must be,’ Kate agreed.
Tom pushed his thick hair out of his eyes and looked up at his mother. ‘Do you think we should go, Mother?’
Kate thought for a long minute, remembering her conversation with Suzanne. ‘I think, perhaps, if your grandfather were still alive he would want you to go. For all he never talked of them, I doubt he would prevent you from meeting them. It is your right.’
‘What else do you know about them?’ Tom hugged his knees.
She shook her head. ‘I know nothing more than what I have told you.’
Tom looked up at her. ‘Then I think we should go, Mother. Shall we? It will be an adventure.’
Every instinct within Kate screamed resistance. She had lived through a bitterly fought war and had no need for further adventures in her life.
She leaned over and kissed her son gently on the forehead. ‘If that’s what you want, Tom. I will see what can be arranged. Now sleep. You’ve had a busy day.’
Tom lay down and closed his eyes. ‘Seven Ways,’ he murmured drowsily. ‘It is a funny name for a house.’
Kate drew the curtains around the boy’s bed to keep out the cold draughts and crossed to the window. The snow had passed, obliterating the signs of the afternoon’s battle and laying a fresh, white crust on the trees and the walls. She looked out across the garden, lit by the cold light of the winter moon, to the familiar dark shapes of the hills and woods beyond.
Seven Ways, she thought, echoing Tom’s comment. It is indeed a very strange name for a house.
Chapter 2
Seven Ways, Worcestershire, May 1650
An ache of homesickness, every bit as physical as her sore, weary muscles, clawed at Kate’s heart as she looked from the long, low window of the pleasant bedchamber across the unfamiliar Worcestershire countryside. She thought longingly of her own parlour and the little garden bursting with spring life that she had left behind and fought back the tears that welled in her eyes.
