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He strode across the room and flung wide the door. It shook on its hinges and a flurry of wind swept in, bringing with it night chill and a scattering of snowflakes. The candles guttered and the smell of tallow stung the air.
‘What is it?’ He knew that he sounded brusque. Even he, renowned for his steady nerve, could be forgiven a certain shortness of temper the night before a battle.
It was the youngest of his captains who stood there, a youth barely out of his teens called Guy Standish. He was looking terrified.
‘Your pardon, my lord. There is a messenger from Grafton Manor.’
Simon turned away. He might have known that the Royalist garrison in the house would try this last-ditch attempt to beg a surrender and avoid bloodshed. He had been waiting all day for them to try to negotiate a truce. And now it had happened. It was typical of the cowardice of the King’s general, Gerard Malvoisier, to try to bargain for his miserable life.
Two weeks before, Malvoisier had murdered Simon’s younger brother, who had gone to the Manor under the Parliamentarians’ flag of truce. Malvoisier had sent Henry back in pieces, no quarter given, but now he evidently expected Simon to spare his worthless life. Once again Simon felt the ripping tide of fury that had swamped him when he had learned of Henry’s death. A fortnight had allowed no time for that grief to start to heal. He had had the anguished task of writing to their father with the news as well. Fulwar Greville, Earl of Harington, supported the King whilst his sons were loyal to the Parliamentarian cause. And now Simon had written to tell their father that one of those sons was dead, fighting for a cause that betrayed their father’s fealty.
Simon knew that his and Henry’s defection had broken their father’s heart. He had the deepest of respect for the Earl, despite their political differences. And now he felt a huge guilt for allowing Henry to die. All he could do was to turn that anger and hatred on to Gerard Malvoisier, stationed at Grafton. There would be no mercy for the besieged army in the Manor house, not now, not ever. It made no odds that Grafton—and its mistress—had once been promised to him. The Civil War had ripped such alliances apart.
Standish was waiting.
‘I will not see the messenger,’ Simon said. ‘There is nothing to discuss. The time for parley is long past. We attack on the morrow and nothing can prevent it.’
His tone was colder than the snow-swept night and it should have been enough, but still Standish lingered, his face tight with strain.
‘My lord…’
Simon spun around with repressed rage. ‘What?’
‘It is the Lady A
Simon swore under his breath. It was clever of Malvoisier to send Lady A
But this was war and he had no time for chivalry. His brother’s brutal death at Malvoisier’s hands had seen to that.
‘I will not see her,’ he said. ‘Send her away.’
Standish looked agonised. Despite the cold there was sweat on his brow. ‘But, sir—’
‘I said send her away.’
There was a clash of arms from further down the street and then the sound of raised voices and hurrying footsteps, muffled in the snow.
‘Madam!’ It was the anguished cry of one of the guards. ‘You ca
But it was already too late. The barn door crashed back on its hinges and Lady A
Lady A
Simon felt his heart lurch, as though all the air had been punched from his lungs. He had not seen A
It was not a comfortable beauty. A
At the begi
And then he saw A
‘Madam.’ He sketched a curt bow. ‘I regret that my guards saw fit to let you pass. It was ill considered of you to venture here tonight.’
A
Four years had changed her beyond measure; changed everything between them beyond recall. The Civil War had taken all that was sweet and precious and new between them and had destroyed it along with the lives and hopes of thousands of others. When he had gone to Grafton all those years ago, it had been at his father’s bidding and to make a dynastic match. He had not expected to be attracted to his potential bride. At twenty-five he had fancied himself a man of experience and he had been downright disconcerted to find A
It had been a long time ago, but it might only have been months, not years, so fresh it was in his mind. And now A