Her Favoured Captain (15 page)

 
“I can only speak for myself,” she said,
indignant in tone, “and with all my heart I wish to forget it happened at all.
Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to pass on my way unhindered.”

 
Disbelief etched on his face he snatched his
hand from her arm and reined his horse about. “Then I shall escort you until
such time as we resolve this difference between us. It is your birthday two
days hence, and besides, I wish to make amends for my behaviour in the meadow.”

 
“Go away Morton. You were happy enough to be
rid of me in the meadow, and now I am asking you to leave me alone.” She urged
Megan to trot, but Morton’s horse likewise kept apace. His persistence annoyed
in extreme, whilst he quite obviously delighting at her discomfiture. She dared
not glance at him again, because stating careless abandonment of feelings felt
that day in the meadow no less convincing said than experienced. “Go away,
Morton.”

 
“Anna, please
 
. . . I have to tell you that I will be going to . . .” She urged
Megan to the canter. She did not want to hear news of his betrothal to Catherine
Thornton, but he shouted, “Anna, hear me out.” Despite his appeal she sensed
him holding Calendar back as though expectant of her caving to his demands. She
did not, and soon his mount came at the gallop from behind and dropped to
canter alongside, but she kept her eyes to the fore. “Anna,” he yelled,
attempting to catch hold of Megan’s bridle. “Rein in this instant. What I have
to say is important, and I wanted to tell you first.”

 
“I do not give a fig if you marry Catherine
Thornton, do you hear? I don’t care what you do, not any more. Go home, and
leave me alone.”

 
“All right, I shall leave you alone, but
remember, when I leave here, as I will very soon, you may not see me again.”
She sensed his horse dropping back and heart leaden she rode on, yet still he
cast words her way and she thought he said, “Catherine is the least of my
worries right now,” but it was probably wishful thinking.

 
Alone with her trusted mare, wind in her
hair and tears in her eyes she didn’t care if she never saw him again: she
didn’t, she really didn’t. All but a good mile from home the tears dried up and
Morton’s last words revolved around and around in her head. Why wouldn”t she
see him again? Why might Catherine be the least of his worries?

 
Oh no, he was thinking of taking up arms for
the King’s cause. He might never return, true enough, if killed in battle. She
could think of no other explanation for his outburst, save his secretive nature
of late and expeditions to Loxton House. He and Thomas oft talked of the war, and
of course Lord Gantry had made mention of a captaincy in a cavalry regiment.
She couldn’t be sure about any thing, though had sensed air of disapproval from
the Lady Arabella when the captaincy was mentioned. She had also witnessed
mother and son quite often engrossed in whispered conversations, but what was
meant by it all not for her ears it had seemed.

 
She knew Morton to be very much his own man
in many ways, and nothing a bit of a girl could say or do would dissuade him
from his chosen path in life, but he had tried to explain and she unwilling to
hear him out. She owed him that much, at least.

 
She turned Megan about and rode for home.

~

Throughout dinner unease
prevailed for she had sensed and witnessed Morton’s eyes upon her in a most
intense manner, though Lord Gantry all the while thankfully unaware of any
conflict between the younger members of the household seated at table. The Lady
Arabella, on the other hand, had cast occasional knowing glances at both.

 
Morton’s seeming desire to engage in eye
contact unsettled her, and for the first time in their young lives he was now
bestowing sly winks of eye. She could not understand this from him. It was so
at odds with her disagreeable behaviour earlier, and to assume him poking fun
at her seemed the only plausible reason for his discreet attentions upon her.

 
The main part of the meal over and fresh
fruit upon the table Lord Gantry stole her eye as though suddenly suspicious of
something afoot, and her heart dived. She thought his lordship about to speak
with her but instead he leaned toward Morton. “Well my boy, it is all arranged.
You are to take command of a newly recruited regiment of trained horse, and
will ride to join with Prince Rupert at Chester a week on Monday. Thence to
serve alongside Charles Prince of Wales.”

 
Her heart lurched for she had thought Morton
destined to take up arms, but news of such no less a shock. She sensed
something wrong, his eyes glinting like steel in the candlelight, and reason
enough for sense of alarm, more so when he pushed back his chair, rose to his
feet and said, “In that I cannot oblige you my lord, nor will I serve King
Charles.”

 
“Cannot oblige?” charged his father, fist
slammed to table; flagstones scraped as his chair too edged backwards. “What is
this nonsense?”

 
“I do not choose service in the King’s
army.”

 
“Choose, choose
 
. . . You think you have choice in this matter?”

 
“I do sir, my life my own, and I will not
serve the King.”

 
Lord Gantry leapt to his feet, father and
son eyes locked. “You refuse command to fight for your king?”

 
“It would grieve me to do so,” replied
Morton, “for my heart is not his majesty’s to command.”

 
Lady Arabella intervened face serene, her
blue eyes ice cold yet her voice a tad shaky. “Must you turn this house into a
battlefield? Can you not let our son decide his own fate in this war?”

 
“Keep out of it my lady,” said Lord Gantry,
his expression that of a warrior hell-bent on justice and revenge, though of
what Anna Lady Maitcliffe had yet to determine. “I shall not have a son of this
house whore himself to Parliament, as you have with your pious talk and
condemnation of the King’s countenance.”

 
Lady Arabella braved his lordship’s
accusations. “Am I to remain silent in my own house, and ill advised to think
as I see fit?”

 
“Hell’s teeth, woman, if you’d stuck to your
needlecraft and left off poking your nose in politics, this house would be more
conducive to your son knowing his place in these dangerous times facing us all.
Did I not suffer enough subterfuge whilst you cavorted with Robert Darnley
behind my back? And now you set your son against me, when I provide for all.”
His lordship reached for the back of his chair, as if to steady himself though
Anna was absolute sure he had not drunk in excess all evening. “You, madam,”
should have wed Darnley. Had you done so my sister would have been saved from a
fate worse than death, and I from empty bed.” He laughed, a deprecating laugh,
his green eyes catlike, tone pure venom. “Was it Darnley’s lecherous leering
eyes or tongued cunning that turned your head and stole your body from my bed?”

 
Morton stepped toward his father, and Anna
thought him about to strike out but he stopped short. “You deign to dishonour
your wife, my mother, when this fight is between you and I?”

 
She had no words adequate to quell the
rising storm, and sensed his lordship so angered he might say something he
would live to regret. She had not imagined he would reach for his sword, its
strap and scabbard hanging over the back of his chair. She had not thought he
would threaten his own son with death by father’s blade, yet indeed, standing
before them he drew forth his sword, his words akin to that of dagger to her
heart. “A traitor in the family, I’ll have you dead before the Gantry name
shamed forever.”

 
Morton stepped back, air of defiance, his
eyes steel cold and not leaving his father’s for a second. He had no weapon to
hand, no means of defence save a chair to ward off blows from a sword. Still
his father advanced and Morton took another step backwards.

 
She, albeit a girl, had to do something, say
something, and rose to her feet. “You cannot your lordship, please, I beg of
you.”

 
“He is but eight and ten years, William,”
said the Lady Arabella face stricken with fear. His mother rushed forward and
placed herself between Morton and her husband. “You shall see me run through
first, for I will not have my only son dead at my feet.”

 
“Step aside, my lady,” warned his lordship,
his sword twirled most threatening. “Your son,” he railed, face rage reddened.
“Ha, so you admit he’s not . . .”

 
“Nothing, I admit to nothing unseemly,”
intoned her ladyship, cutting him short, “for you know the truth and choose to
deny it.” Her face turned ghostlike, drained of blood. “You are drunk my lord,
your head unwise upon your shoulders tonight.”

 
Anna’s heart levelled, and she spoke her
thoughts. “Please, please, don’t strike out, don’t kill Morton, I could never
forgive you that, never.”

 
His lordship swung round to face her, his
anger erring madness. The abrupt silence hung heavy with malevolence and alarm.
She quite thought she might be his next victim for daring to open her mouth,
yet his enraged state dissipated and implied her safe. Finally his sword hand
fell to his side, his attention redirected to the Lady Arabella protecting her
son. “He leaves now, and never, never to set foot on this estate. Do hear me,
madam, never to set foot in this house. His choice lies with the very devil
intent on bringing the king to his knees.
 
Now get him out of here.”

 
Lady Arabella seemed to sway as though about
to fall faint, but recovered and barely that of a whisper said, “Heartless
avenger, may God judge you as you deserve.”

 
Lord Gantry edged back two steps and sank
into his chair, expression of disbelief at his own action of conceding defeat
to a woman and chit of a girl. Nonetheless a mortal blow had been struck bar
that of death, for Morton was now banished from his birthplace, the house and
land he loved, and the people he loved.

 
Amidst whispered comments Lady Arabella
turned away from her husband in disgust and ushered Morton from the dining
hall. Anna felt a cold chill strike her face as the door opened and closed
behind mother and son. She wanted to follow, but grace and manners forbade her
from doing so.

 
“Well my little sprite, are you happy now,
happy that I let a traitor to the King and England walk free tonight?”

 
“I am glad you spared him, my lord, but I
shall grieve his banishment, forever.”

 
“Oh you will, will you?” A derisory chuckle,
preceded, “Your romantic ways my little sprite will see you in serious trouble
some day, and who will you turn to, eh, to get you out of it?” Despite his
previous rant and rail a smile crept to his face. “Who did you run to tears
streaming a few days past?”

 
“I did not run to you, my lord, I bumped
into you.”

 
“Split hairs all you like, my lady, but I am
still of mind to suppose that boy to be the cause of all your heartfelt
weeping.” He raised his hand to shoulder. “This left sodden with tears that
day, and you pleading for Morton’s life but a moment past. Am I right to think
him the cause of all your tears, despite his mind dwelt on treachery these past
months?”

 
Although angry with his lordship, a flush
rose to her cheeks for she had not revealed the truth behind her distress on
the day of Morton’s kiss, and never would. She owed much to Lord Gantry for a
roof over her head and the rich cloth on her back. She was, after all, merely
his ward. He at all times had bestowed affection upon her as though she was his
very own daughter, and now she understood why Morton had no brothers or
sisters. It was not so difficult to puzzle the reason.

 
“May I take leave, your lordship?”

 
“You may, and be sure to tell Morton I grant
him a spare horse. And tell him to be gone before the clock strikes the hour.”

 
“But my lord, that is but a few minutes from
now.”

 
“He will be gone by then or by God and King
Charles I will not be responsible for what I might do.”

 
His lordship’s expression turned to that of
a man hurting, hurting deep inside, and his sword fell to the floor with a
clatter. He leaned forward head in hands, and her heart went out to him. She
could not understand why Morton had chosen to support Parliament, for it seemed
so at odds with a royalist household. Now, now it seemed as though the house
had always harboured secrets.

 
The Lady Arabella and Lord Gantry’s heated
exchange was more than reason to surmise his lordship believed himself
cuckolded by his brother-in-law. And it seemed betrayal of a political nature
had existed within the walls as well, and she all the while ignorant in
innocence. But how could Darnley, a man of parliament, have influenced the Lady
Arabella? The man never came to the house without Lord Gantry’s sister. At
least, not as far as she was aware, and surely Darnley had not betrayed his
wife?

 
Torn between need to comfort Lord William
and selfish need to see Morton safe and out of his father’s reach for the time
being, she doubted not the day would come when his father would relent. She
could only hope and pray for that outcome, and setting her own desires aside,
said, “Shall I stay?”