Puritan Bride

by Anne O'Brien

  ‘Yes. I think you do.’ His expression became flat and cool for a moment. ‘She has never hidden her hatred of us or her desire to see the Priory back in Harley hands. Perhaps you will tell me the outcome of your conversation.’

  Kate nodded. ‘Of course. You must know that I would tell you the truth.’

  He took in her rigid shoulders, the anxiety in her compressed lips and the deep line between her brows and increased the pressure on her hand with his own in compassion. ‘I have never thought otherwise. How could I find it in me to love you if I did not trust you?’ He smiled with delight as she quickly drew her hand away from beneath his and pretended indifference—although the blush that rose from the lace edging of her chemise unquestionably denied it.

  ‘And now I must get dressed.’ Anything to prevent him from looking at her with such concern and understanding.

  ‘Why? I like you as you are.’

  He simply sat, watching her solemn face as the flush tinted her cheeks a delicate pink. Smiling, he leaned forward, closed his hand around the nape of her neck, so vulnerable with her short hair exposing its elegant curve, and pulled her gently towards him. She was irresistible in the embroidered chemise, her dark eyes lustrous and unfathomable, her body still pliant and warm from sleep. And so shy when he made his feelings obvious. He rubbed his lips softly over hers, pleased beyond measure when she made no move to pull away. Since she did not, he feathered the lightest of kisses from her ear, along her neck to the slope of her shoulder. Always gentle, keeping his own hunger hidden. When he returned his attention to her lips, he felt them curve under his in anticipation.

  ‘You are too enticing,’ he murmured as he used his tongue to trace the delicate outline, brushing her soft lower lip with his teeth. He laughed aloud at the look of surprise on her face; she was so unaware of her attraction, of the lure of her innocence. He found himself suddenly arrested by his determination that she should enjoy his body as much as he had enjoyed hers. He had never expected to feel such needs about a wife. One of the accommodating ladies at Court, perhaps, or a much valued, worldly-wise mistress—but not a wife who was in the way of a mere necessity. And certainly not an innocent unawakened girl who had acquired none of the Courtly arts to attract and seduce. He moved his hands to the unlaced neckline of her shift, intending to push it from her shoulders and expose her exquisite breasts when he caught the faintest hint of unease in her expressive eyes. He let his hands fall. Of course. It would not be an act of consideration to take her again now. He smiled ruefully, brushing his hand longingly over her slight bosom. She did not resist, but he could not.

  ‘I expect,’ he explained his reticence, ‘that you have discovered a number of tender aches this morning, Mistress Harley.’

  She bit her lip in some confusion. ‘Why … yes, my lord.’

  ‘Then I will not impose myself on you, however great the temptation. But I promise you that it will be a more memorable experience next time.’

  ‘I think I should not … that is to say, we …’ She floundered helplessly.

  ‘There is no need for guilt, Kate.’ He understood immediately. ‘Legally you are mine, complete with seals and signatures and all the force of the law. My body merely confirmed that. Does that help?’

  ‘Yes. I think so. You are very kind.’

  ‘No.’ He frowned a little, unnerved by such a level of trust. ‘It seemed a good time to take you to my bed,’ he explained simply. ‘And I believe the effect on you was beneficial.’

  ‘Yes. I slept well.’ She smiled up at him. ‘But I must get up. Where are my clothes?’

  ‘You will find some on the chest by the window.’

  ‘But they are not mine!’ She looked in some consternation where he indicated, at the deep blue velvet skirt and bodice that had been laid out for her. The sleeves were tight, ending in a deep lace-trimmed cuff, the skirt full but plain without decoration. The scooped neckline was rendered more seemly by a deep lace collar. It was the perfect outfit for riding. Beside it was a matching cloak in the same velvet but lined—oh, luxury—with sables. ‘I cannot wear something so … so magnificent!’ But her eyes said different.

  His brows rose. ‘Why not? I see no reason why you should not look delightful in a colour that so clearly mirrors your eyes.’

  Kate wilfully ignored the compliment. ‘And I would wager they never belonged to Lady Elizabeth. Could you be trying to buy my compliance, my lord?’

  ‘I did not realise that I needed to. Not after last night! You were splendidly compliant.’ He stroked his hand along the curve of her throat and shoulder for the sheer delight of seeing her shiver with pleasure. ‘But, no, that was not my intent. I merely thought Goldfinch deserved better.’

  ‘Goldfinch?’

  ‘Certainly. Something is owed to her breeding. Where did you get the horror you were wearing yesterday? I refuse to have my wife resemble nothing so much as a scarecrow.’

  Kate tried to suppress a laugh, without success, as she saw his meaning. ‘I found the horror, as you so eloquently put it, in a clothes press at Widemarsh. I had nothing else suitable for riding in inclement weather. Except the breeches I came in, of course, and Gilliver forbade me to wear them. She can be surprisingly prudish and made some of her usual very uncomplimentary comments on my upbringing.’

  ‘Well, now you have something suitable. And I am sure you will look charming in it.’

  ‘Why?’ She frowned at him. ‘Why have you given me so much?’

  ‘Because it pleases me to do so and it gives you pleasure. I have never yet known a woman who did not enjoy parading herself in fashionable feathers.’ He leaned down to plant a kiss on her indignant lips. ‘The law now states that I am allowed to give you pleasure and I will continue to do so. You might grow to like it, dear Kate, if you allow yourself to do so.’

  As a parting shot it was most effective. Ruffled at his undoubted ability to do so, Kate was reduced to silence.

  Kate felt nervy and uncomfortable as, clad in a glory of sapphire blue velvet, she presented herself in Elizabeth’s bedchamber. The lady was pale and drawn, but making a gallant attempt to drink some of Mistress Neale’s nourishing chicken soup. But she gave up, waving away Elspeth and the spoon with some relief as Kate entered the room.

  Sitting beside the bed, Bible open on her knee, was Mistress Felicity. Angry colour flooded her face and her stare was baleful, but she closed her lips into a straight line. It was clear that she had been warned against repeating the previous day’s outburst, but her views on Kate’s involvement had not changed.

  ‘Kate. I hoped you would come before you returned to Widemarsh.’ Elizabeth’s voice was a mere shadow, but she tried for a smile.

  ‘Of course, my lady.’ Kate continued to hover by the door, reluctant to approach the bed where Felicity held sway. What could she say?

  Elizabeth realised the problem and remedied it ‘If you please, Felicity, I would have a private word with Kate before she leaves. I know that you will understand.’

  Felicity did not understand, but knew that she had little choice in the matter, short of outright refusal. ‘Whatever you wish, dear Elizabeth, but are you quite sure that I should not stay within calling distance? After all, you are still very weak.’ She smiled at her cousin and completely ignored Kate’s presence. ‘I would feel better if I remained here.’

  ‘No. Indeed, why should you? You are not to be at my beck and call all day. I am quite comfortable.’

  ‘It’s witchcraft!’ Felicity hissed, all attempts at congenial manners suddenly vanishing. ‘Meddling with herbs and charms and such like—it is not suitable for a God-fearing household.’

  ‘Lady Philippa, my mother, would never have been involved with anything unseemly.’ Kate likewise abandoned her intentions to be conciliatory and held Felicity’s hostile stare with a calm certainty. ‘Her family was of the strictest. Yet it was thought that the gift of healing should be practised for the benefit of others. That is not witchcraft. She had remarkab
le skill, which I could never emulate. She would never hurt anyone—and neither would I.’

  ‘But can you say the same for Mistress Adams?’

  And there lay the problem! ‘I know little of her. I had not met her before two weeks ago, but I see no evidence of witchcraft at Widemarsh Manor.’

  ‘I do not trust her.’

  Or you. Kate read the implication perfectly. She shook her head, finding nothing to add.

  ‘If you please, Felicity. I wish to speak with Kate.’ Elizabeth’s voice might be weak, but there was no doubting her authority.

  Felicity gave a little shrug of acceptance and stalked past Kate, her eyes averted, taking the Bible with her as if Kate might contaminate it with her presence.

  ‘Oh, dear!’ Elizabeth sighed with a resigned grimace. Her words of warning to her cousin had clearly fallen on deaf ears.

  ‘I suppose that she thinks I am a minion of the devil. I expect that she has been reading about stoning sinners to death!’

  ‘I am so embarrassed. I know what she has said. Please let me apologise on her behalf.’

  ‘There is no need.’ Kate’s face was stiff.

  ‘There is every need.’ Elizabeth leaned forward and held out her hand. ‘Do not distance yourself from me, dear Kate. I value your company and your potions. Don’t stop. And I know that I owe you my life. I am grateful to Elspeth, who told me about your efforts on my behalf last night.’

  Kate shook her head, but approached the bed to touch Elizabeth’s hand with her fingers and forced her facial muscles gradually to relax into a faint smile.

  ‘I will only help you if you promise not to take anything that I do not give you personally. Otherwise there is too much opportunity for malevolence.’

  ‘Very well. I promise.’ She plucked at the covers in frustration. ‘I feel so tired.’

  ‘You need to rest. You were desperately ill. Tomorrow you will probably be strong enough to rise and take up your tapestry again.’

  A faint smile touched Elizabeth’s lips—but then she startled Kate by covering her face with her hands.

  ‘What is it? Are you in pain?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Will you tell Mistress Felicity?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Then tell me. Is it the cold spirit that still troubles you?’

  ‘Yes.’ She let her hands fall helplessly in her lap, to be followed by tears that ran unchecked down her cheeks. And the words came flooding out.

  ‘I cannot rest, Kate. She was here again last night when I was at my weakest. Her spirit surrounded me with such a weight of despair. I still feel it pressing on my heart.’

  ‘My aunt says that she is Isolde Harley,’ Kate explained, holding Elizabeth’s hands comfortingly. ‘She is an unquiet spirit who took her own life here at the Priory over a hundred years ago. For some reason she has returned now.’

  ‘It becomes worse as the days pass—much worse. Such sorrow floods from her. I cannot sleep because I am waiting for her. And I am afraid that one day she will do more than just be, but will extract some terrible revenge from me. I have not caused her anguish and yet I feel that in some way she holds me and mine to blame. I wish you could do something to remove her, as you can remove my pain.’ Elizabeth continued to fret in her weakened state, holding on to Kate in her distress.

  ‘This is dangerous work, my lady.’ Kate found it difficult to turn away from the desperation in the lady’s face.

  ‘I know. Dealings with witchcraft can have terrible consequences, but living with this outpouring of anguish is too distressing. What would Mistress Adams say?’

  ‘I do not know, but I will do what I can. I need to talk to Gilliver. About a number of things.’ There was an air of determination about her at odds with her slight figure. ‘But I would be grateful if you spoke to no one about this. And certainly not to Mistress Felicity!’

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Does she live?’

  ‘Yes, she does.’ Kate pushed the door closed against the chill evening wind and walked forward into the dusty interior. ‘The devil’s bit removed the poison and reduced her temperature as you advised. She is recovering.’

  Mistress Adams stood in the timbered hall of Widemarsh Manor, jewelled fingers folded across her apron, diamonds glittering coldly on her breast, and nodded with satisfaction. Her appearance was as benevolent and smiling as ever and, as Kate knew, could be completely misleading to those who did not know her. Beneath the kindly exterior lurked all manner of disturbing qualities. And yet she had sent the means to care for her forsworn enemy without hesitation.

  ‘Should I say that I am relieved?’ Gilliver’s smile grew but became thin-lipped.

  ‘I would be happier if you did, Aunt Gilliver. But I would not know if I could believe you. We need to talk.’

  ‘I see you have talked to Oxenden. Or more.’ The sly glance and raised brows caused colour to flood Kate’s face to her intense annoyance and embarrassment in equal measure.

  ‘You have an aura,’ explained Aunt Gilliver, inspecting her uncomfortable great-niece. ‘But why not? You are his legally betrothed after all. And very pretty. Is he virile?’

  ‘I … I will not discuss it.’ Kate all but choked on her answer.

  ‘Pity.’ She sniffed. ‘An attractive man, in spite of his family. That is a very fetching gown. You did not find it in my clothes press—and you did not leave home in it yesterday morning. Perhaps he is trying to buy your favours?’ She pursed her lips. ‘Perhaps he is succeeding. And what will Richard have to say about that, I wonder?’

  The fact that she herself had accused Marlbrooke of doing exactly that, and that she too had entertained guiltridden thoughts about Richard, did not make Kate more amenable to her aunt’s jibes. Without finesse she changed the subject.

  ‘Aunt Gilliver! Did you produce the wolf’s bane and leave it at the Priory for Elizabeth to drink?’

  Mistress Adams looked at her with interest, head cocked on one side, a gleam in her bright eyes. ‘Now what would make you think that?’

  ‘Because you have the knowledge and the skill. And I am sure that there will be a jar of dried aconitum root somewhere in your still-room if I searched. And because, if you remember, you offered to poison Marlbrooke for me when I first set foot in this house. Some would say that was fairly conclusive and damning evidence.’

  ‘Some would be totally misguided. Come into the parlour where we will continue this most interesting conversation. It is too draughty and too public in this hall.’

  They sat on either side of the oak table amidst the drying herbs, eyes locked in confrontation.

  ‘I have the container, and what remains of the contents.’ Kate removed it from a deep pocket and pushed it across the scarred surface between them, where it left tracks in the dust.

  Gilliver took the green glass and held it to let the light play on the dark surface.

  ‘No. I did not make this. I admit to a great temptation—but I did not. If I had given in to the impulse, I would have directed it at Marlbrooke, not at his lady mother. Why not strike at the heart rather than at one of the limbs? Marlbrooke is the one who has stolen our birthright.’ She hesitated, and then, ‘I am surprised to note your sympathy, your care, for the family.’

  ‘I am tied to them whether I will it or no. And besides …’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘If you wish me to be completely honest, Aunt Gilliver, I have experienced more affection and concern for my well being from Lady Elizabeth than I ever did from my own mother. Once she had birthed me, I am afraid she had only a cursory interest in me as a person, much less as her daughter.’ Kate’s smile was wry, but with no hint of self-pity. ‘Tapestries and herbal lore were far more amenable than the needs of small children who would cry and fret.’

  ‘And so? Where does this lead?’

  Kate tapped her fingers on the table. Why not ask? Gilliver could only refuse. ‘If you are not moved to harm Elizabeth, will you in good faith help me to ease a cons
iderable problem in her life?’

  ‘What do you want from me? You can deal with pain relief and salves for swollen limbs without my aid. I said I would not administer poison, but do not ask too much of me.’

  ‘It is Isolde. She troubles her.’

  ‘Isolde!’

  Kate nodded. ‘The presence lingers in her bedchamber at night. And the Lady Elizabeth is afraid.’

  Gillivers was silent, forehead wrinkling, lips pursed as she considered the situation. Then, ‘What are you asking?’ Her eyes narrowed, wary, suspicious of her great-niece’s intentions.

  ‘I am asking you to use what you know, to use your experience to put to rest a troubled spirit that pervades the corridors at the Priory. If she is in truth a wronged member of our own Harley family, perhaps we owe it to her. Can you not do something to keep Isolde at bay or to give her peace?’ Kate spread her hands on the table, palms upwards in supplication. ‘I am certain you can. I have seen the rowan over the doorways and the mistletoe in this house—I believe that you have the knowledge.’

  ‘Quiet!’ Gilliver all but hissed, leaning across the table, eyes narrowed to the merest dark slits. ‘What you speak is dangerous. Too many ears are open, even in this place. Besides, why should I do anything?’

  ‘Why not? Isolde is of our blood. Indeed, perhaps our own family drove her to take her terrible decision to end her life. Should we not, then, help the lady to rest? And if she brings distress to others, surely we are in duty bound to alleviate that distress.’

  Gilliver still sat in thought, fingering a gold chain that rested heavily on her bosom, occasionally glancing at Kate sitting calmly across from her. She wondered if the girl really understood what she was asking.

  ‘Will you help?’ Kate persisted.

  ‘I might. Let me think.’ She rose to her feet, paced to the fire to stir the logs, and returned to consider the determination in Kate’s eyes and the stubborn lift of her chin. Finally she nodded.