‘Pah, woman,’ exlaimed Grandmother Bonville. ‘The whole of Shute knew.’
‘Wait a moment.’ Kate looked from one to the other. ‘You both knew?’
Eleanor suddenly found her mending to be of great interest. Grandmother Bonville shrugged.
Disgust flamed Kate’s indignation. ‘You rant at me for not telling you things, madame, when all along you never told me about Will and Lovidia. It’s she who killed my babe. I only found out that day, that instant.’
‘But, my lady, you can’t blame—’ began Eleanor, but Grandmother Bonville cut in again.
‘Listen to me, Katherine Neville, there will always be Lovidias in this world and Bonville men have always had a reputation. Young men,’ she shrugged, ‘why, of course they are going to spread themselves around the neighbourhood. They would not be manly if they didn’t. A pretty wench only had to stray across old Bonny’s path and the foolish old dotard would be knocking on her cottage door in no time. That’s the way men are.’
‘I am going out for some air,’ snarled Kate, ‘before I stab my needle into someone!’
Grumpy, rebellious and feeling five years old instead of a mature widow, Kate changed into her oldest kirtle and mantle, tugged on her riding boots, ignored Eleanor’s attempt to stop her and, with Cecily well-wrapped in her arms, marched down to the stables. If Henry Courtenay was gone from the neighbourhood, she was free to ride out without an escort of thousands. Grandmother Bonville would disapprove. Well, good! It was about time that the old woman realised she was a Neville and not on a leash like some brainless lapdog.
Her breath was vapour as she crossed the cobbles and the wind was icy.
‘I wish to ride,’ she announced, sending the two stableboys on duty rushing to fetch a sidesaddle for her mare, Guinivere.
‘No! That one.’ She pointed to a man’s saddle. ‘And I need a groom. Where’s Newton?’ Newton would find her a reliable escort. She could not afford to ride alone, even in high dudgeon, not with a babe in her arms.
‘Here, my lady.’ Booted, muscular, Robert Newton strode out from one of the stables with a pitchfork still in his hand. Used to exertion, he wore no mantle today, just a sleeveless jerkin, and the cordals of his shirt were untied. There was something about him that was unsettling. Probably his utter masculinity, challenging to her after an excess of women’s company. Or maybe because he missed nothing: a wry twist of his lip told her he could read the fury that was tensing her body.
‘I need a groom.’
‘So I could hear. Well, it had better be me.’ Having removed his thick leather gloves, he stroked a clean knuckle down Cecily’s cheek. ‘How about you take the child back to her nursemaid, my lady?’
Kate gave him a look that could have pinioned him to the stable door with his pitchfork and he stepped back from her, his expression an insulting mask of servitude.
‘As my lady wishes.’
So he considered her in the wrong in bringing Cecily, and maybe he was right but she was cursed if she’d be lectured by a Bonville by-blow even if he was comely. And the Bonville by-blow said nothing more when her horse was brought out but he certainly made an unneccessary fuss of checking the ambler’s buckles and girths before he led it to the mounting block. She silently handed Cecily to him while she slid across the saddle, and although he gave his full attention to the babe as she adjusted her skirt to a decorous coverage of her legs, she sensed his temptation to behave like a rutting Bonville at war with his rank as a servant.
‘Axminster,’ she decreed, as she heeled her horse’s flanks but they were barely past the gatehouse when Newton impudently kneed his horse to block her and pointed with his riding crop to the lane that ran tamely south along the valley floor. ‘Since you’re cradling the babe, that way is best. I’ll warrant the little one’ll be needing the breast in an hour or so.’
Curse it! She should have thought of that before she mentioned Axminster. Why was it men, even servants, always thought they knew better? She stuck her chin up defiantly but, yes, she would need to have Cecily back with her wet nurse and, anyway, the weather would not hold. A scrutiny of the clouds was necessary and having demonstrated that, she nodded condescendingly and, hiding her reluctance, led the way south, keeping her back stiff and haughty. If Newton wanted to smirk behind her, let him.
What the man did not realise was that the ride would take her through the same bland fields and leafless hedgerows that she could see from her bedchamber window. Boring, boring, boring. But what choice did she have? If she were a man, she would gallop down to Seaton and stride along the shingle letting the wind buffet the fury out of her. Instead, with tiny Cecily in her arms, she had to be satisfied with an ambling gait.
Newton tailed behind her with either tact or silence bridling his opinion, but beyond the sight of the last cottage, he spurred up to her. ‘If you are wanting a gallop to vent your anger, my lady, you’d have been wise to leave the babe behind.’
‘Anger?’ she echoed sweetly, hiding her astonishment that he had again penetrated her thoughts. ‘I think you overstep your manners, Master Newton.’
‘Sorry, my lady,’ he answered with a politeness as flimsy as a pauper’s shroud. ‘Your pardon, my lady, it’s the Bonville blood will out.’
‘It isn’t only the Bonville blood,’ muttered Kate crabbily, imagining Will pleasuring Lovidia.
Rob Newton touched his forehead to her with a deference she suspected he didn’t feel for an instant, and reined back once more.
Insolent Bonvilles! Betraying bastards, the lot of them. Did men think of nothing but their pricks? Or power? Well, one blessing was she need no longer feel guilty about her lack of contentment as Will’s wife. But could it be her own lack of passion that had driven him back into Lovidia’s arms? Oh damn everything! It was Will’s lying that angered her, not just lying to her that she and Cecily meant all the world to him but the other lying – with Lovidia – and the whole world knowing except her. And now to be blamed by Lady Bonville for changing the future by losing the baby. Well, no matter what, she would safeguard her little daughter.
Cecily fell asleep to the rhythm of the hooves. So did her mother’s arm but Kate was too proud to turn for home. The even-tempered track with its lack of twists and turns lent no adventure after a surfeit of needlework and nursery songs.
Oh, she so badly needed distracting. It was tempting to beckon Newton to ride alongside and make conversation. Should she? There was a sense of sinfulness in being in his company and it would be amusing to provoke his pride. Amusing but wrong.
‘My lady,’ he called out eventually. ‘We are almost off our land. It isn’t wise to ride further. You are carrying an heiress in your arms.’
She slowed Guinivere to a walk. ‘Pah, Henry Courtenay is lying low at Powderham Castle, and my lord of Devon will be at the queen’s side – wherever she is.’
‘My lady, yonder Colyton is theirs, as you know well, and the townsfolk are a pack of smugglers and thieves. Your kinsmen may have wooed London into supporting them but they have no power in Devon with my father gone.’
Arrogant poxy Bonville!
‘My lady?’
‘We’ll ride to there and then turn back!’ She pointed ahead to the ford over the Coly River.
Another obedient touch of the hat and the Master of Horse reined in to let her lead.
The ford showed signs of neglect. Neither the Bonvilles nor the Courtenays had bothered with keeping the thick tangle of hawthorn, ivy and brambles on either bank in hand and the slats of the wooden bridge that served travellers on foot were missing in places.
Refusing to ask for Newton’s help, Kate had an awkward scramble to the ground. A wonder, but she managed not to drop Cecily. Her tiny daughter was awake now. Even though her baby eyes were too young to look for fish, Kate carried her cautiously onto the footway. The chance of seeing a chubb or a kingfisher was as good as King Henry winning back France but it was all part of being a dutiful mother. Newton did not dismount
but waited with a resigned expression on the Bonville side.
It was in mid coo that Kate heard the sinister clink of metal and froze. It was an effort to look cheerful and nonchalant as she slowly turned.
O sweet Christ defend her! Two brawny ruffians, armed with cudgels and knives, were already on the footway. The third, a short, wiry brigand, had grabbed the reins of Guinivere. Unkempt, lousy hair framed greedy faces. Unkind faces. And the sister of the earl, who had just crowned a king, now experienced true fear for the first time in her sheltered life.
And she had no knight-errant. Newton, curse him, was not close at all. She almost had the sense he’d expected this, that he’d let her ride into this ambush.
‘Bah Gaw, ’ere’s a well-fed young piece for the tuppin’,’ muttered the tallest thief, brandishing a knife blade before her face.
‘Girrrl-child, is it?’ asked his companion, reaching out a hand to Cecily’s shawl. ‘We could sell ’em both to one of them Barbary ships. Fair hairr, pale skin’d fetch a fortune.’
Kate recoiled, jerking Cecily away. They were clearly blustering but…if they realised who her child was.
‘Lay yurr filthy ’and on this babe,’ she growled in the thickest Devon dialect she could muster, ‘an’ I’ll see you ’anged.’
‘’Er might, too,’ Newton called out cheerfully, kneeing his horse a few paces closer. The damned coward was still keeping a safe distance and his dialect had suddenly grown hairy. ‘Aye thourrrt you dawcocks ’ad taken to robbin’ old besoms in Exeter,’ he bantered.
‘Well, if it don’t be one of old Bonville’s by-blows,’ guffawed the short fellow. ‘Good marning, Marster Newton, and ’ow be service with them scraggy old birrrds in Shute? Bailiff down Dartmouth way’s lyin’ on ’is bier an’ my lord earl’ll be lookin’ for a new man. Suit you well, I’s a-reckonin’.’
‘I s’ll think about it.’ Newton was leaning forward in the saddle, unbothered, amused even, by their presence.
‘An’ word’s out his lorrdship’s put a price on the ’Arrington baby’s ’ead. Be worth zummat to you, lad. An’ speakin’ of brats.’ Speculation gleamed in the narrow slits of the fellow’s eyes and horror clamped like an icy hand around Kate’s heart. Why didn’t Newton ride forwards, the lily-livered coward? He was wearing a sword. At least he could rescue Cecily. Was he part of this?
God ha’ mercy!
The bigger ruffian was alongside her, lifting her veil to see if she was wearing earrings. She wasn’t. All her jewels were at the abbey. She jerked her head away and the rascal laughed nastily, his hands going to the ties that held his codflap. ‘Why we wastin’ time? One of you take the youn’ zow’s piglet. I s’ll go first.’
‘Says oo?’ With a leer, the second man shoved her cloak away from her right breast. ‘Soft and plump,’ he called over his shoulder to the third fellow. ‘Be like fuckin’ a pillow.’
Don’t show fear!
‘Get these cursed fools away frrrom me, Rrrob!’ Kate snarled through her teeth.
‘Rrrob,’ they chorused, turning to mock him. ‘Rro-ob.’
‘Ihn yours then?’ asked the leader.
‘Of course, ihn’s mine,’ Newton said with a grin. ‘Lordy, I’m not zum nursemaid to be wastin’ time on zummon else’s spawn.’
‘You ’earrd him,’ said Kate and she spat.
‘Thaas quite fine, though, young Newton,’ clucked the ringleader, eyeing the stuff of Kate’s gown. ‘Been zerrvicin’ the young widow ’Arrington, haz you, to afford this?’
The young widow Harrington stiffened. ‘Betterr not be,’ she growled.
‘Now therrre be a challenge.’ Wearing a confident grin, Newton at last rode into the ford and up to the footbridge. ‘Come on, my birrd, time we ’eaded for ’ome before the li’le darlin’ starts bawlin’ with hunger.’ He held out his arms for Cecily. ‘Give ihn ’ere!’
There was no message in his eyes. She had to trust him. He could spur off with Cecily, carry her out of danger. That was best. He couldn’t save both of them. She swallowed, trying to hide her terror. Rape would be horrible. But she’d survive, survive and see these curs hanged.
She lifted Cecily up to him, then for a swift breath, hesitated. Would he hand over her baby to the Courtenays? Would he…O Mary, Sweet Mother of God!
Newton took Cecily with a soft cluck of welcome.
‘Ahhh,’ chorused the villains.
You’re a Neville, damn it! Do not show fear!
With a flirtatious wriggle of her shoulders, Kate asked, ‘Zo, are one of you gormless dafties goin’ to help me onto my ’orse or wuz you goin’ to stand there like a row of ruddy peasticks?’
Was that brazen enough?
Cecily was mewling as Newton kneed his horse round towards Shute but he did not ride away. Instead, he tarried alongside in the midst of the ford. Why was he delaying? Give spur! Get-my-child-out-of-here!
Or was he waiting to see her dishonoured? Kate squealed as the largest ruffian shoved her back against the other rogue. A coarse hand swished her skirts up to the thigh. ‘Last chance, lads. Woz it gonna be? Err or the ’orse?’
She was praying, praying so hard they would take poor Guinivere.
And then Cecily let out an almighty bawl.
‘Changed my mind,’ guffawed the ruffian, letting go of Kate’s skirt and turning with a grin to Newton. ‘We’ll take the ’orse! It be prettier.’
Miraculously, they were stepping away. One of them had her horse’s bridle. The other two were laughing at her. Was it just a game? Or was she so ugly they did not want her?
‘That wurrn’t necessary,’ she exclaimed primly, thrusting the folds of her kirtle back down.
Stupid thing to say.
She wanted to blurt out: my brother has just crowned the king of England and you’ll pay for this. But therein lay folly.
Then the air was shocked from her as the largest fellow swung her onto the rump of Newton’s horse. It staggered beneath the extra load.
And then, still wailing, Cecily gave a loud and meaningful passing within the swaddling bands. ‘High time to head home, I think,’ said Newton dryly, wrinkling his nose. His vowels back intact, he raised his hat insolently with his free hand. ‘Farewell, lads. Carry my regards to Henry Courtenay.’
They were over half a mile beyond the ford before he slowed the horse.
‘Poor babe,’ he said, looking down at the real tears on Cecily’s little cheeks. ‘She’ll have a bruise where I pinched her.’
‘I should have thought of that.’ Kate glanced back fearfully along the track. Like her babe, she needed to be wrapped in someone’s arms, assured that this would never happen again. Yes, kissed, and told that she had been brave, that she was prettier than a dun-coloured ambler.
‘The tupheads have the horse,’ Newton stated matter-of-factly. ‘That will suffice. Are you recovered?’
There was no ‘my lady’. But he didn’t say I told you so. And there was respect in his voice that seemed freely given.
‘Yes,’ she said, swallowing, one hand still holding onto his belt. ‘I wanted an adventure but I didn’t enjoy that one bit.’ She needed to make him promise that he’d say nothing of her shaming to his fellow servants but she sensed it was better to trust him than to ask him. ‘And I’m not very comfortable, Master Newton.’
‘I don’t suppose you are. Nor is this young lady. How about you get down if you can? It’s safe now, I promise.’
As soon as Kate slid to the ground, he passed Cecily down to her and dismounted. ‘It will repeat in your head all tonight,’ he warned her. ‘But you will feel better tomorrow.’
That was kind of him. Her face felt hot with embarrasment that she had thought him a betrayer. ‘You did it just with words.’
‘My lady?’ His puzzlement was feigned. Oh he knew. She read it in the smug twist of lip.
‘Just words, Master Newton. Three against one and not a blow struck.’
Ah, he could not stop his face turning scarlet. ‘Well,
we don’t want to start a local war again, my lady, even if it means losing a worthy horse. There’s always a way out.’ Perhaps the scepticism was evident in her face for he added, reddening further: ‘The old lord my father was always out for trouble an’ it did no one any good. We were just fortunate that them fools had turnips for brains and that the little demoiselle here has very good lungs.’ He gestured to the saddle. ‘Please you to ride an’ I’ll walk my lady? We still have one horse to carry you.’
It felt like the road to Bethlehem as he led them back to Shute. He lifted her down in the stable yard with the indifference of a worthy groom, except he said, ‘If you decide to do this again, Lady Harrington, I suggest we take an army.’
‘Indeed, Master Newton,’ she managed with a cheeriness that was only skin-deep. ‘I’ll order in some French cannon and, yes, we’ll load up cradles and an excess of babies – for pinching.’
She was in the dumps for two whole days, wanting to see Master Newton and knowing she should not and feeling like a pudding on legs and since incessant rain accompanied her dilemma, she had no excuse to go to the stables nor ask why he was not dining in the hall. That was until Eleanor came excitedly up the stairs with the message that Guinivere was back in her stall. Going to see for herself, Kate also observed that even the saddle was back upon its peg. What’s more, there were three extra horses tethered in the other stalls and they all had the Courtenay brand upon their rumps.
Master Newton was no longer in evidence either to thank or to interrogate. That morning Grandmother Bonville had dispatched him to Chewton with a long list of commissions, which was as well since he was still occupying Kate’s thoughts in a manner that was not healthy for someone of her rank. Such dreaming was a healthy counter-balance to other less useful conclusions – that she was too plump, too plain and not even worth tupping by a pack of leering louts.
Master Newton might have kept his promise of silence about the details of the encounter on the bridge but it was clear he had suggested to Grandmother Bonville that measures still be enforced to protect Cecily. Once the infant heiress learned to walk, she would not be walking far, not without several attendants, and judging by the number of servants who once more dogged Kate out of doors like favourite mastiffs, nor would Cecily’s mother.
The Golden Widows Page 9
