“What need I for fancy airs and graces, when already of noble blood?”
“Of noble blood, true enough, but wild and reckless and impulsive and madly irritating at times.”
She punched his shoulder quite hard. “So, it is true, what the servants say. You and Catherine Thornton are sweethearts?”
Eyes blazing like white heat in a blacksmith’s brazier, he held her gaze. “And if we are, what odds is it to you?”
“Why Catherine, why did you choose her, of all people?
“Why does it concern you so, Anna, Lady Maitcliffe, in knowing where my affections are wont to stray?”
“You know she hates my living here at Axebury Hall . . . Hate’s my being with you.”
“If what you say be true about Catherine and I,” he said, eyes flashing with hint of earnest intent, “then I had best away to Loxton House and pay court to Miss Thornton directly.”
She wanted to beat Catherine Thornton from his thoughts, pummel sense into him with clenched fists, but the hopelessness of her plight showed all too readily. Her dream of one day wedded to Morton was now crushed. Tears brimmed and almost spilled forth. She made to roll away from him, her escape thwarted by his arm about her quick sharp.
“Tears Anna, why tears?”
Pulled down to him, eyes locked, her heart skipped for his lips brushed hers in a most tantalising manner. The kiss tender light at first, became amorous and urgent in deliverance. She had no notion a kiss could be so potent, nor had she imagined the sudden joy of a young man’s tongue in her mouth. Dizzied by it all, she surrendered to sense of extreme pleasure. It all felt so wonderful, so perfect, even his fingers rimming the neckline of her bodice thrilled her. And deft with dipping his hand inside her bodice, his touch became merciless torture whilst his lips devoured hers.
She had so longed for this moment, and state of arousal had overcome him for she could feel his ardour beneath her. She savoured every nuance of his hand in idle caress of bared breast. The adventure and daring of his plunder caused her pulse to quicken and breath to falter.
Perhaps, perhaps she could win him back from Catherine Thornton’s clutches after all. But the wondrous sensation ceased as rapidly as begun, and he cast her aside, her bodice in disarray, his cruelty unimagined as he declared, “We cannot Anna, we cannot do this.”
“Why, why can we not be together?” she tendered, quite aware of his physical predicament. “It does no harm to kiss, and fondling is not a crime if a lady wishes to engage in mutual exploration.”
“Not for you.” Face flushed he rolled over and away from her. “Hellish painful for me, though, now go away and leave me alone.”
“I am not a child to be dismissed, and you’re a beast to pretend you care for me and then turn away because I am not your precious Catherine.”
He spun round to face her. “You are only five and ten years, and I old enough to know better. You really think me foolish enough to take advantage of a young innocent, the very one favoured by the Queen, the one the royal court placed in my father’s care? I think not. I value my neck.” He raked fingers through sun-bleached hair, frustration and anger evident. “What I did had nothing to do with Catherine. Now go. Just go.”
“Three years, Morton, you are only three years my senior, and a week from now I will be ten years and six.” She hurriedly glanced further upstream toward the bridge, modicum of guilt washing over her but she so wanted to steal him from Catherine. “The grass is high, and no one can see us from the bridge. Besides, I may have once dwelled at court and kept company with children of the royal household, but I do not have to return there unless I so choose.”
“Just go away,” insisted Morton, propped on one elbow. “If the Queen sends for you, you cannot refuse to attend upon her.”
“She will not. It was agreed I am at liberty to return if I so wish at ten and seven years of age . . . unless already betrothed by then.” What difference does it make if I go or stay? We were only kissing, and even if you . . . You know . . .”
“Had my way with you?” Morton sat bolt upright and drew up one knee, the lump in his groin shrouded by the fold of his breeches. “Just go, go before we do something we shall both regret.”
“But Juliet was merely ten and three years, and Romeo . . .”
“Leave me be, Anna, leave me out of your romantic dreams. You are here as father’s ward, and I sworn to protect you always, as though my very own sister. You can tempt the devil within all you like, but be assured I will not pursue nor attempt to bed you.”
She upped and fled, and ran to her little bay mare. Although impossible to mount Megan without a helping hand she caught up the reins and led the mare away from Morton’s horse, which seemed content enough to stay grazing and not the least concerned by their hastened departure.
Horse and man alike: both happy in their own company. Well, in future she would not ride out with him.
A broken down wall soon served as a mounting step, and she regained her seat in saddle and rode for home. Knowledge of what had occurred between them would not pass her lips, not even if asked about her dishevelled state of dress and unruly hair threaded with grass and seed heads. She would rather die than reveal Morton had kissed her and . . . and . . . had thrown her off in favour of Catherine Thornton.
~
He slammed his fist to brow several times, pain in groin far less than ache in heart. Dear God, how he loved her, loved everything about her. What he felt for Anna he dared not think about, for he’d kept his desires at bay and resisted temptation time and time again. Now, self-restraint had escaped him and lustful appetite declared albeit for a brief moment in time.
Sweet, sweet Anna, and her for sure convinced his heart was lost to Catherine. Hell and damnation. Little did Anna know betrothal to the Thornton girl had never entered his mind, nor would he agree to a marriage with the likes of Catherine not even if her parents and his had struck some honourable deal made during their infancy.
On his feet in a thrice, his running strides fast covered the ground, and heart pounding he cursed the sound of Megan’s shoes crossing the bridge. He called out in hope of delaying Anna’s flight, and absolute sure she had heard and deliberately ignored him it hurt. Damn it, it hurt a lot. Dear God, how his rejection must have pained her. He leapt to saddle; his horse less than keen for a gallop on full belly of grass, but once clear of the bridge he gave Calendar free rein and his mount rallied.
They sped alongside the river, his every intention to ease the pain of his callous rejection as good as dashed, unless he could catch Anna before she reached the safety of the stable mews. He groaned in dismay as she disappeared into the mews. With Calendar sweated beyond reason, he reined to canter and thence to trot on approach to same, and once within the mews there was no Anna to be seen just her mare about to be led away by a stable hand.
He leapt from the saddle, Calendar’s reins tossed to senior stable hand, a scowl of justified rebuke from Joseph before the young master at Axebury Hall could turn and flee in pursuit of his heart’s desire. He quite expected verbal outburst in response to Calendar’s sweated loins but Joseph for once held his tongue: a wise individual and likely having gauged his young master’s urgency as of some importance. No doubt tongues would wag, and rumours of intimacy between him and Anna soon to abound within the servants parlour.
It was sensible to ascend to upper floor by way of the servants” stone staircase, rather than perchance be spied in pursuit of Anna through the main hall. She would be at the staircase by now and sure to go straight to her bedchamber, given her tearful flight beforehand. He knew that much about her, and his cruel action in the meadow was unforgivable.
In haste he almost collided with a maid hurrying down to the laundry room, her arms draped with bed linen. They danced this way and that in attempt to each pass the other, until he grasped her shoulders and sidestepped. The maid giggled, presumably at his semi-nakedness. Nevertheless, he carried on his way two steps taken with each stride in hast
e to waylay Anna in the main corridor before she vanished inside her chamber.
He should have made sure her bodice was rearranged proper, her raven hair as neat as able and no tears to set rife suspicions of his having sullied her in any way. At least the truth was out and Anna had proved herself not the least smitten with Thomas. Such had gladdened his heart, and although it was imperative to make things right between them he dare not declare his love for her. It would be utter folly. Time and civil war marched toward them, and his destiny was already perceived by his father as that of a young cavalry officer in a royalist troop, but in the next day or so a secret would be revealed and might well tear the family apart.
He reached the second floor, and about to push the panelled door left ajar by the maid, Anna’s tearful voice and that of his father questioning her unhappy state halted his hand mid-air. He held his breath, pressed himself tight to the wall, his chest taut and heart beating as loud as a drum. As luck would have it the pair passed him by without incident; Anna’s sobs plucking at his heartstrings.
His father’s voice, although soothing to Anna in respect of her unhappy state, nevertheless the elder’s presence alone a reminder of the danger yet to come. How would his lordship react, once news of his son’s refusal to abide to family tradition in service to the royal court was declared? If only, if only King Charles had seen sense the country would be at relative peace, and his and Anna’s future less uncertain. Thank God his mother approved of his intended action, her positive encouragement his staff of righteousness though he could not claim the same devotion to the scriptures as her ladyship.
He turned and thrust his hands to stark cold of wall. Head bowed, Anna’s anguished expression and nut-brown eyes bejewelled by tears plagued him. Try as he might he could not banish the soft tickle of her lustrous locks brushing against his cheek, nor sensual softness of tender young breast beneath his fingers. He drew breath, his chest as though banded by steel, the memory of her lips captured by his and the merciless way in which he had wanted to devour every part of her: enough to drive a man insane. His rejection of her was far worse, her petite figure to flight utter agony. A moment of rash behaviour behind him, he now had a treasured sensual memory albeit one to haunt the lonely path ahead. Dear heaven, how am I to live without her?
~
Four days later after intense feelings of embarrassment and avoidance of Morton, with exception of brief verbal exchange at mealtimes, Anna was sure he had ridden to Loxton House. It was therefore safe to venture out for a short ride, and to that aim she set off from the mews. Too late she realised her mistake, for no more than a few paces beyond the stable mews and now nearing the private Gantry church she spied Morton riding toward her, his velvet coat the colour of his cornflower blue eyes.
She drew breath and reined Megan to a standstill. It was best to brave up to him, for as much as she wished to turn about and flee in the opposite direction he was too close.
He too reined in and brought his horse alongside Megan; head to tail. “Anna, how long do you propose we remain distant in the manner of enemies?”
“I have not with intention kept distance between us.”
“I do love you meadow nymph, never doubt that, ever.”
Stunned by his proclamation, words failed her.
“Anna?” He touched her sleeve. “Can we not at least be friends again?”
Heart racing she struggled to think let alone speak, and could not bear to be ridiculed for a second time. “I had not thought us otherwise, and what happened in the meadow is of little consequence. You chose to distance yourself from me. And I have been too busy to notice whether you are here or at Loxton House.”
She thought him about to laugh, his eyes sparkling in mischievous manner. “Come Anna . . . we both know what happened between us cannot be put aside so easily.”
“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 o
n 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?”
Her Favoured Captain Page 10
