Puritan Bride

by Anne O'Brien

  She did. With a jolt of surprise and not a little fear, she tightened her clasp. ‘Isolde?’

  ‘Yes. Call her.’

  Kate did so, her voice clear, echoing slightly in the empty spaces of the vast room. They waited. She called again. ‘Isolde.’

  The creeping chill touched them, raising awareness along exposed flesh. And the sorrow engulfed them. Kate trembled, taking comfort from the Viscount’s strength and staunch presence.

  ‘She is here.’

  Now Marlbrooke took over. He had thought carefully about this, about the revelations in the family letters. He would use that knowledge, if it were possible, to allow the pain-stricken creature to rest finally. ‘Isolde.’ He kept his voice low and gentle. The cool air swirled and the depths of emotion in it. ‘Leave us in peace, Isolde. I love her and she loves me.’ He lowered his eyes to Kate’s face as he spoke the words, making of it a solemn vow. ‘I will never force her or hurt her.’ He cast about in his mind for the right words to reach the spiritual remains of the wronged girl. ‘Any child Kate bears will be desired by both of us, created out of our love. Your history will not be repeated here. There is no future for your sorrow here. My heart is in Kate’s hands, and hers in mine.’

  There was no sound in the Gallery.

  ‘Rest in peace, Isolde.’ Kate took up the theme, moved almost beyond words by Marlbrooke’s declarations. ‘You have carried your grief too long and deserve to rest. Marcus and I will unite our two families at last, willingly and with love.’

  In confirmation of the promises, they moved together and kissed, lips to lips, a solemn vow.

  Imperceptibly, the chill ebbed. The atmosphere lightened. The heartbreaking emotion dissipated into the sunlight, to leave only silence and tranquillity.

  ‘She has gone, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, I believe she has.’ Marlbrooke pulled her gently on to the window seat beside him.

  ‘Do you think she will return?’ Kate leaned comfortably against his shoulder, a little breathless at what they had just done, overwhelmed by this evidence of the Viscount’s love for her and concern for the poor tormented spirit of Isolde.

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps.’

  ‘But she is not here now. I know it.’ She sighed a little. ‘I hope she has found some element of peace somewhere.’

  They continued to sit as the sunlight warmed the room, savouring the stillness, the silence that settled round them as in a blessing.

  ‘Marcus?’

  ‘Hmm?’ Marlbrooke folded her into his arms. He needed her close.

  ‘About Isolde. Perhaps it was not such a tragedy after all that your mother dropped the vessel—and so released her to walk these corridors again. Do you believe in fate?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘It came to me that it was Isolde’s destiny that she should be released from her captivity now—when you decided that you wanted me for your wife.’

  ‘So that we might have the chance to lay her unhappy spirit to rest for eternity.’ Picking up her train of thought, Marlbrooke turned his cheek against her hair as he contemplated the possibilities. ‘It is a pleasing thought.’

  ‘Yes. Perhaps it was destiny that we should love—and that our love should free her from the grief and betrayal of her past. That our love should heal her wounded heart.’ Kate pushed against her lord’s shoulder so that she might look up into his face, her own bright with happiness. ‘Perhaps it was fate that took a hand in our union.’

  ‘Dearest Viola! You are a constant delight to me.’ Marlbrooke smiled down at her, touched her cheek with gentle fingers. ‘I will willingly believe in fate or destiny, if you would have it so. Whatever the driving force behind it, you hold me captive in your pretty hands, as surely as Isolde was confined in her clay prison. Have I told you today how much I love you?’

  ‘No. I knew there was something missing.’ She laughed and her eyes sparkled with mischief.

  ‘You are my love.’ He was now deadly serious. ‘For ever. I cannot imagine not loving you—in this life or the next.’

  ‘That makes me happy.’ She turned against his restraining arm. ‘When shall we be wed?’

  He did not answer, causing her to glance up at his stern profile.

  ‘Marcus?’

  ‘There is something you need to see. I cannot keep it from you and I am determined that there will be no secrets between us.’ He pulled her to her feet and, without further explanation, ignoring her demands for enlightenment, led her back to the library, back to the desk and its weight of documents.

  ‘These are the contracts. You and your heirs will be suitably provided for as your uncle Sir Henry Jessop and I agreed. It is a very generous settlement, as is your right.’

  ‘Of course.’ Kate was puzzled by this turn in the conversation, but failed to detect the reason for it. ‘As you know, I have only given my consent to marriage because you are outrageously wealthy.’ She glanced at him from under her lashes and reached up impulsively on her toes to press her lips to his cheek. ‘Tell me what is wrong?’

  There was some shadow here. She could not quite identify it, but he was not at ease.

  ‘You are too astute,’ he admitted at last, an unexpected harshness in his tone. ‘I have something for you.’

  ‘A present? You will find that I can be very mercenary, my lord.’

  He did not return her smile, her attempt to keep the conversation light for fear of stirring muddied waters, but unlocked a drawer in the desk.

  ‘It is no gift. It is something I have no wish to give you. But I know that I must.’ He held a discoloured document in both hands as if he would not willingly give it up. He raised his eyes to hers. They were stern and bleak, his handsome face set in uncompromising lines. ‘I am afraid of the consequences.’

  ‘If you admit to fear, then I too must be troubled.’ Anxiety clawed at her throat, a fretful beast, a frown marred her forehead. ‘What can be such a threat now after everything that has happened?’

  ‘Verzons gave me this. It seems that I have misread his loyalty in the past and that I appear to have become acceptable to him as a suitor to a Harley after all. He said that he entrusted it to me in the certainty that I would give it to you. It was found in the back of the cavity behind the Long Gallery panelling. It must have been put in there, but not in the box itself—and slid down behind it.’

  He held it out to her. ‘Take it. It is yours.’

  Kate took the document, knowing instinctively what it must be; opening it, she read slowly the heavy black script that she now recognised as that of her father.

  Marlbrooke discovered that he could not simply stand and watch, could not anticipate her reaction, which might be one of pleasure and so might destroy his hard-won plans. He turned his back on her, strode to the fireplace and stared down at the smouldering logs, one arm resting on the high mantel.

  The silence stretched between them until he could stand it no longer. He turned his head and looked across at her. She stood where he had left her, neat and composed in blue silk and old lace, document in hand, eyes on him.

  ‘Well? It is what you had always hoped for.’ His tone was flat and cool, perfectly disguising what he felt, but emotion was stark in his eyes.

  ‘Yes. You know that it is. The recognition of my claim to Winteringham Priory within the wardship of my uncle Sir Henry Jessop until my majority. Then it would be mine without restriction, as if I were a male heir, with no strings of a marriage attached. That is how it should be.’ Her voice was quite calm, her eyes soft, a smile playing round her lips.

  ‘So, Kate!’ He straightened and looked fully at her. ‘Will you fight me through the Courts?’

  So that is what he feared! Kate took a deep breath as she realised what he had done. What sacrifice he had been prepared to make. She found the need to swallow hard to keep tears from welling and spilling down her cheeks at the magnificent gesture.

  ‘It gives you a very strong claim,’ he continued, ‘and, with the resources o
f the Priory behind you, enough money to bribe the most mercenary of judges to decide in your favour. Harley has a far weightier claim historically than Oxenden. You could very well win. Particularly if you exerted your considerable charm on King Charles. I doubt you would lose!’

  ‘And then there would be no need for me to marry you. Or pressure from my family for me to do so.’

  ‘No. The contracts could be destroyed if both parties are in agreement. If that is what you wish.’

  ‘What do you wish, Marcus?’ She joined him before the fireplace, moving lightly to close the space between them. So close that he could smell her flowery perfume, almost touch her. But he would not. His muscles tightened as he strove for control amidst the personal storm.

  ‘I want you, Kate.’ Now was a time for honesty, not dissembling. ‘I want you more than I have wanted anything in my whole life. But not against your will. If you would rather claim this inheritance in your own right without marriage to me, then I will abide by your decision. I told you when we first met in your uncle’s home that I did not want an unwilling bride. And again at Widemarsh. Now, even more so, I will never coerce you.’

  ‘Would it hurt you if I reneged on the agreement?’ She placed a hand on his sleeve, intensely aware of the taut muscles beneath her light clasp.

  ‘Damnably!’ His smile had a sardonic twist. ‘But I would accept it.’

  ‘I thought you understood me better than that.’

  Her head tilted a little as she studied his face. So handsome, so masculine. Heartstoppingly so—she took a deep breath to still the shiver along her spine. She could not believe such generosity, which could allow her the final decision about their future. She opened the document again, heavy with its seals and ribbons and signatures, smoothing her finger over the date inscribed beside her father’s name.

  ‘Do you not see? He changed his mind.’ The smile that touched her lips was a mingling of old sadness and a new satisfaction. ‘This was his final decision, before he left us. It pleases me, more than I can express. That my father had enough faith in me that, at the end, he believed I would be the most suitable heir for the Priory. I shall never know what made him change his mind, from Simon and Richard to me—but I am glad he did. I never knew him, nor he me, but this makes me feel closer to him.’

  She looked up. Marlbrooke had a quizzical expression, one brow raised.

  ‘And I now realise that is all that matters,’ she explained.

  ‘What are you saying, Kate? You are not making it easy for me.’

  ‘But I am. Very easy.’

  Marlbrooke read the intention in her eyes before she moved. But too late. With a quick turn of the wrist, she let the will fall into the fire. It was only a single sheet, dry and curled. In a moment it was gone into ash and smoke. His attempt to catch her wrist, to intercept the paper before it touched the flames, failed.

  ‘There. It is done.’

  ‘Katherine, I … Whatever I thought you would do, it was not that. What do I say?’ He could not find the words, simply looked at her, mouth firm, every muscle held in check.

  ‘Why, nothing.’ She tightened her grip on his arm. ‘You gave me the freedom to make a choice. I will never forget that. And I have made it—so that is the end to it.’

  He took her face in his hands, to search her expression with fierce eyes. Then he lowered his head to kiss her, his mouth soft and warm, seducing her into raising her arms to wind them around his neck and hold him close. She sighed when he released her, yet still keeping his arms around her, his cheek resting against her hair, her body held protectively close.

  ‘Do you need to know how much I love you?’ she asked, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against her own. ‘I could not fight you through the courts. Not now. Nor will I charm the King. The Priory is yours—and mine, if you want me.’

  ‘Katherine!’ He turned his head to press his lips to her hair. ‘I love you more than you could ever believe.’

  ‘And I thought you loved Viola!’

  He heard the laughter in her voice, muffled against his coat. He smiled at the release of tension. ‘Ah, yes. I fell in love with Viola. I have very fond memories of her. She was not as wayward or strong willed as Katherine. I remember her sweet gentleness, her good humour, her willingness to accept my advice without question …’ He grinned and winced as Kate’s heel found a tender place on his instep and exerted not a little pressure. ‘But I believe I can find room for both Viola and Kate in my heart. Will that satisfy you?’

  She lifted her head and answered with her lips on his, brushing her hand along his glorious hair in a tender caress. A faint crease appeared between her dark brows.

  ‘What is it, my dearest love?’

  ‘You once told me that you could never see the Priory as your home. That Glasbury would always hold the central place in your heart.’

  ‘I remember.’ A shadow touched his face, but was quickly gone.

  ‘I understand why, Marcus. But could you perhaps bear to live at the Priory occasionally? Even if some day in the future you decide to rebuild Glasbury?’

  ‘Yes. I can do that.’ Marlbrooke’s face was solemn, his eyes holding hers, as if committing himself to a binding oath. ‘As long as you are here with me, the Priory will be my home. In spite of Isolde and all the works of man, Harley and Oxenden will finally be joined.’

  ‘I would like that.’

  A ghost of a smile flittered across his mouth, quickly suppressed. ‘And, of course, we are now honour bound to keep my solemn vow to Isolde.’

  ‘Did you make one? I do not remember.’

  ‘I did indeed. That a child of our union would be desired and cherished, a celebration of our love.’

  ‘And you believe, of course, that we should attempt to keep your vow?’

  ‘Assuredly! Vows should always be taken seriously.’

  Kate laughed. ‘And you claim that I am devious and managing!’ Her eyes glowed with love. ‘I will agree to keep your promise, Marcus—but only if you marry me first!’

  ‘I can also do that!’

  ‘Well then, my lord!’ She took his hand, linking her fingers with his in a promise of unity before she allowed him to draw her more firmly into his arms, lifting her face for his kiss.

  * * *

  The next novel from Anne O’Brien is The Forbidden Queen

  Released in eBook in February 2013

  and available for pre-order now

  ‘Better than Philippa Gregory’ – The Bookseller

  Turn the page now to read on for a free extract of The Forbidden Queen

  ‘Well, all in all, it could be worse. Or could it?’ A sly chuckle followed.

  I was sitting in the place of honour for my wedding banquet.

  ‘She’s young.’

  ‘But Valois.’

  ‘She’s handsome enough.’

  ‘If you like pale and insipid.’

  ‘I’m surprised Henry does. I thought a more robust wife would bring him to heel at last.’

  I flushed uncomfortably. Whatever I was, I was not a robust wife. The burgeoning confidence that had stiffened my spine at my wedding was draining away like floodwater into a winter sluice. Do they not say that eavesdroppers never hear any good of themselves? How true. Unfortunately, my understanding of English had improved sufficiently for me to grasp the gist of the conversation between the little huddle of three English ladies.

  Blue-blooded and arrogant, they had accompanied the English court to my marriage, and now as my bridal feast drew to its close, when I knew that I must stand to make a dignified exit beneath the prurient gaze of the feasting masses, they had moved to sit together and gossip, as women will. They were not wilfully cruel, I decided. I supposed they thought I would not understand.

  ‘Do you suppose she’s inherited the Valois … problems?’

  ‘There are so many.’

  ‘Madness, forsooth. Have you seen her father? No wonder they shut him away.’ The owner of that voice was a rosy-cheek
ed brunette with decided opinions, and none to my advantage.

  I glanced at Henry, to sense his reaction, but he was deep in some discussion with his brothers Bedford and Clarence to his right that necessitated the manoeuvring of knives and platters on the table.

  ‘And treachery …’

  ‘Extravagance …’

  ‘Adultery …’

  The eyes turned as one to Isabeau, who was leaning to attract some man’s attention, and the voices dropped to a whisper, but not enough for me to be deaf to their judgements.

  ‘She likes young men, the younger the better. Nought but a whore. And an interfering bitch when it comes to politics.’

  ‘We must hope there’s nothing of her mother in her.’ The brunette’s eyes flicked back to me. I stared stolidly before me, concentrating on the crumbs on the table as if they held some message. ‘Madness would be better than uncontrollable lust.’ A soft laugh drove the blade into my unsuspecting flesh.

  The heads were together again. ‘It’s always a problem if the bride is foreign and of a managing disposition. She’ll want to introduce French ways. Pursue French policies.’ There was an inhalation of scandalised breath. ‘Will she expect us to speak French with her?’

  ‘Will she seduce our young courtiers, do you suppose, climbing into their beds when the King is away?’

  By this time I was horror-struck. Was this what the English though of me, before the knot was barely tied? A dabbling French whore? And would I be expected to take these women as my damsels? Would I have no choice in the matter?

  ‘She doesn’t have much to say for herself. Barely two words.’

  They are cruel, a voice whispered in my head. They don’t like you. They mean to hurt you.

  I knew it to be true. They had already damned me, dismissed me as inadequate for my new role. I tried to close my ears but a little interlude of quietness fell, while the minstrels quaffed ale and the musicians tucked into any passing platter they could waylay.