Page 49 of By the Sword
‘Our only consolation is the weather,’ Wilmot said as he walked over to the window and gazed out at the rain. ‘This lovely Scottish weather has dispirited the English troops. Their morale is low and Leslie is fighting on his own ground. Despite his problems, I believe he has the advantage.’ Wilmot turned back to the table. ‘See, Thornton.’ He jabbed a finger at the map. ‘Even now, Leslie has Cromwell trapped between the land and the sea at Dunbar. Leslie holds the high ground. I do not see how he can lose.’
‘Do not underestimate Cromwell,’ Jonathan warned. ‘With Fairfax tending roses in Yorkshire, I fear we will see exactly what Oliver Cromwell is really capable of.’
The King joined them at the table. ‘I would almost like to see him prevail if only to teach these damned Covenanters the price they pay for my humiliation is a high one.’
George Villiers stood up and stretched like a cat.
‘You’ve read Thornton’s letters, Your Majesty? What news?’
Charles threw the letters down on the table and looked at Jonathan. ‘You know what they say?’
Jonathan nodded. ‘Yes, Your Majesty. You will find they are professions of love and loyalty but no promises of troops or arms or money.’
‘You nearly lost your life to bring me this ill news,’ the King observed.
‘I did the task you asked of me, your Majesty.’
Charles smiled grimly. ‘I know. You have served me as loyally as you did my father, Thornton. I’ll not forget that.’
Villiers clapped Jonathan on his bad shoulder. Jonathan swore, apologised and glared at the Duke, who gazed back with a look of utter innocence.
‘Your injured shoulder? I do apologise, Thornton. Now tell us of the wench who cared for you in your agony. There had to be a wench. No woman can resist a wounded hero.’
‘The wench of your imagination, George, was a raw-boned Yorkshire woman who should be properly hung as a witch for all the vile potions she made me swallow,’ Jonathan snarled.
Buckingham pouted. ‘Oh you disappoint me, Thornton. I imagined at least some young nubile squire’s daughter with pert breasts and a sweet–’
‘Take your fetid imagination, back to the gutter where it belongs,’ Jonathan snapped, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword.
Buckingham raised his hands. ‘Now, now, where is your humour, Thornton? I fear I must have touched a nerve.’
Jonathan relaxed his hand and an urgent knocking on the door broke the tense atmosphere of the room. At Wilmot’s command a breathless and mud-stained messenger entered and, ignoring the company, he fell at the King’s feet.
‘You bring me news of Leslie’s army?’ Charles’ eyes were alight with anticipation of good news.
The man rose to his feet. ‘I do, Your Majesty. They are defeated.’
Lord Wilmot broke the dreadful silence that followed this news. ‘Defeated?’ he croaked. ‘How can this be? Leslie had the English troops cornered.’
‘Cromwell attacked at night. He took the Scots by surprise. It was done in no time.’
All eyes in the room turned to the King to gauge his reaction. The Scots had been defeated. Their great army, the fetter bywhich they held their young King, had been destroyed in one bold, unpredicted move.
Charles Stuart threw back his head and laughed.
Chapter 14
Barton, Yorkshire March, 1651
William set Nell’s letter down on the table beside him. He laced his fingers over his ample stomach and regarded his sister-in-law thoughtfully.
‘So, lass, the old man’s dead.’
Kate turned a strained face towards him. ‘You know what it means, don’t you?’
‘Aye. I’ve eyes in my head, I can read between the lines right enough. The old man has named Thomas as his heir. Where does that leave your Jonathan?’
Kate smiled bitterly. The family had developed the annoying habit of referring to the absent Jonathan Thornton as ‘your Jonathan’. ‘Jonathan Thornton is an outlaw in this country. He knew the old man’s intentions.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I wish it could have been some other way, William.’
