Page 35 of By the Sword
‘Kate,’ he whispered.
She laid his hand back on the covers. ‘It’s late, Jonathan. I just came to say good night.’ She forced herself to smile. ‘Promise me you’ll still be here in the morning?’
He grimaced and closed his eyes. ‘I don’t think I am going anywhere for a little while,’ he said. Then with sudden urgency, he tried to raise himself on his right elbow. ‘My letters?’
Kate turned to the table where his sword and baldric had been laid and picked up a pile of letters tied together with a ribbon. They were stained dark in the corners. Jonathan’s blood. If the King ever got these letters he would know the price that had been paid for them.
‘They will have to wait,’ she said quietly as she opened the heavy oak chest that stood at the foot of the bed and placed the letters inside.
Chapter 10
Jonathan raised his head from the book he had found in David Ashley’s modest library to breathe in the scent of roses mingled with the cool breeze from the moor. He was seated on a well-cushioned stone bench with his back against a wall, warmed by the summer sun, his feet crossed at the ankles.
A few yards away Kate looked up from her gardening and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
‘What are you reading?’ She asked.
He looked at the little book. Reading with the use of only one hand had precluded any of the larger tomes.
‘Donne,’ he replied. ‘Do you know his work?’
Kate nodded. ‘That was one of David Ashley’s favourite books. ’
‘He had excellent taste.’
Jonathan set the book down and eased his shoulder. It would be weeks before he would be strong enough to resume his journey north. He thought of the letters that the King waited on.Nothing he could do about it. He could just as easily have died in that street in York and Prescott would have some interesting intelligence for his masters in London. That was the fate of war.
‘They’re particularly fine roses,’ he said.
Kate sat back on her heels. ‘Elizabeth’s legacy,’ she said. ‘David lavished such care on them that I am afraid they will die in my hands.’
‘Mother. I’m home.’ The crash of a door heralded the arrival of Tom, accompanied by another boy.
Kate stood up, smoothing her skirts. Suzanne Rowe followed the boys out into the garden. The two women kissed, and Suzanne turned to face Jonathan, her hands on her hips.
‘Should you be out of bed?’ she demanded.
Jonathan looked up at her, shielding his eyes against the sun. ‘Stay inside on a day like today?’ he said.
‘I brought you some broadsheets.’ Suzanne laid the papers on the bench next to him.
‘Who’s this?’ Jonathan looked at the other boy, who smiled shyly. The child had a pale, thin face and dark circles around his eyes.
Suzanne laid a maternal hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘My son, Robert,’ she said.
Robert bowed, coughing as he straightened. He whispered something in his cousin’s ear.
‘You ask him.’ Tom responded, but Robert shuffled his feet and turned a bright shade of pink.
‘What does he want to know?’ Jonathan asked.
‘He wants to know if it hurts being shot?’ Tom said.
Jonathan’s mouth twitched in wry amusement.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it does.’
Robert whispered in Tom’s ear again.
