Resisting Her Enemy Lord Read online

  ‘Have you not thought that he might want to see you—for yourself?’

  A faint, contemptuous smile touched her lips. ‘If that is so and he wishes to make amends for his neglect of me, then it is too little and too late.’ Descending the two remaining steps, she walked towards him, holding out her hand. Taking the letter, she read the words carefully. When she had finished reading she strode to the fire and tossed it into the flames and watched it burn.

  John was struck by her proud, easy carriage as she walked. She was stately and immensely dignified.

  ‘It is as I thought,’ she said. ‘Having heard of Thomas’s death, he writes that it is his wish that I go to him at Oakdene House—though God knows why. I want none of it—of him.’

  ‘You are hard on your father. Clearly you do not see eye to eye.’

  She was silent, considering his words, then she turned, her eyes capturing his. ‘No. We have never got on. Would that I could. It is his fanatical obsession with this infernal war that I hate.’

  ‘He works for the good of the realm.’

  Her lips curled wryly. ‘My father works for the good of himself, Edward Kingsley, and no one else. He was for the King before the King raised his standard at Nottingham. Deciding that England would be better and more comfortable under Parliament rule he became a turncoat, whose politics are as variable as the seasons. If you know him at all well, sir, you will know I speak the truth. He is his own worst enemy and is apt to be pulled in different ways than most ordinary mortals. I, too, want what is best for the realm, but my idea of bringing this about is different from that of my father.’

  John paused to master himself and marshal his arguments. Catherine Stratton’s views, whose animosity to Edward Kingsley’s opinions as seen from a daughter’s perspective, were of a different nature to his own. ‘I imagine they are and am most interested for you to enlighten me.’

  ‘Do not mock me, sir. I am not my father. He loves the power he wields over others. He wants control, believing he is the strong one. He does not hold women in very high regard—especially me—and his wife, my stepmother, only a little higher than me. Blanche was much younger than him when he married her. He wanted a son—was desperate for an heir to inherit his estate. He had no interest in daughters—in me. It must have been a disappointment to him when I was born. There were two children born to my mother after me—she miscarried them both. My father used me as a pawn in the marriage stakes, marrying me to your cousin because he was a good prospect without consulting me.’

  ‘Yet your loyalty to your father in doing his bidding was commendable.’

  She withstood his hard stare. ‘I was just sixteen years old. Loyalty weighs nothing against reality. The haste with which my father married me to Thomas was embarrassing—although not without its advantages for both of them. It was a union to bring power and wealth to both families. Assured that Thomas would follow his lead, he was disappointed when he declared for the King, steadfast in his loyalty. I have no doubt that now he has discovered that Thomas is dead, he has found someone else for me to marry. Although why he thinks I would I want to wed again is beyond me. I can think of no man I would want to marry. Female I might be, but do not underestimate me. I own no man my superior.’

  ‘The devil you do!’ He was astonished. ‘You have an uncommon honesty about such matters—unlike most women.’

  There was a gleam of battle in her eyes as she held his gaze. ‘There are many men hereabouts who see my independence as a threat. I prefer my own authority over what is mine.’

  ‘Without having to answer to a husband. It appears to me that Thomas’s death has come as something of a convenience to you. Did you not miss him?’

  Her eyes hit sharply on his. ‘You are impertinent, sir, but since you ask—no, I did not. We did not get on and I will not pretend otherwise. My father arranged my marriage to Thomas as a means to an end. And you, sir? Do you have a wife?’

  ‘No. Life’s too short to be bound to one woman.’

  The war years had exacted a huge toll not only on the country, but on John’s family also—he had lost both his father and older brother in the struggle. Holding a cynical view of love and marriage, he was reluctant to commit himself to any one woman.

  ‘But you need an heir—all men need an heir, do they not? It is a priority.’

  ‘Not in my case. I have brothers enough who have sons. When I propose marriage to the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, it will not be for the purpose of begetting an heir. I take it you will not consider marrying a man of your father’s choosing in the future.’

  ‘No, I will not. I am my own woman, sir, and now I know that Thomas is indeed dead, then I will not be swayed from going my own way by any words of persuasion from my father. I will be much happier to remain a widow for the rest of my life. I have not seen Thomas for four years—four years of not knowing if I am wife or widow. Not even a letter. Now I know what has happened to him it feels as if a huge burden has been lifted from my shoulders.’

  John detected the underlying bitterness in her words. He’d already determined her marriage to Thomas had not been a happy affair and that he had not dealt well with her. How much pain and anguish did this woman hide behind that calm composure? he wondered. He’d come to Carlton Bray expecting to find a quiet young woman grieving for her husband. Instead of this he’d found a strong, opinionated woman who appeared to be relieved he was dead.

  ‘You are both forthright and honest, my lady. I admire your plain, frank candour. After all my experience with dissemblers I have come across, it is refreshing to hear plain speaking. That I cannot fault.’

  Her eyes narrowed with suspicion at his words of praise and then she laughed. ‘You are chivalrous, sir. I respect that.’

  Her sudden and unexpected laughter was both joyous and warm. John suspected it was a long time since she had laughed at all. He suffered a slight sense of shock as, still smiling, she looked at him fully. There was something in her eyes that set his heart beating uncomfortably fast. He felt a great sense of excitement, and he could not but marvel at himself. She was a stranger to him with a mind of her own. Yet somehow he knew that beneath Catherine Stratton’s exterior there was a lush sensuality. Instinctively he knew, too, that no matter how arrogant she might conceivably be, she had that magic quality that could well enslave a man and bring him to his knees.

  ‘I have ridden many miles, my lady, to bring Thomas back to where he belongs,’ he said, giving no indication of his thoughts and feelings where she was concerned. ‘I was in the north with your father at the time of my cousin’s death. When we parted company, as Thomas’s heir I rode south to view my inheritance. It was your father’s intention to go to Oakdene. He has asked me to escort you to London—he threatened me with God knows how many disasters if I came without you. I am reluctant to return to him to admit my mission has failed.’

  ‘You will have to—unless you were to consider using force.’

  ‘Heaven forbid if I were to resort to that. I can imagine the trouble you would cause me on the journey were I to take you under duress. You might, of course, find me an objectionable escort.’

  ‘Not in the least. I do not know you well enough for that.’

  ‘Are you not afraid of me and what I might do should you refuse to abide by your father’s wishes?’

  She smiled thinly. ‘You give yourself too much credit. I’m a survivor. I do not show fear or weakness. That isn’t part of who I am. I don’t normally fraternise with the enemy—because that is what you will become if you insist on doing my father’s bidding.’ Her words were cool and measured. Defiance and strength shone from her. Being the only offspring of Edward Kingsley meant there was small chance of her escaping the same. Her path had been set at birth.

  ‘So is it your intention to remain here until...when?’

  ‘Worry not, sir. I will not be here when you com
e to take up your inheritance. Although should that happen before the country’s troubles have been laid to rest, there may be discord when you do. It will soon be the talk of the village that your political leanings are different to those of my husband and every man hereabouts.’

  ‘True, we differ, but it is not insurmountable.’

  ‘Still, it is hardly the situation for domestic harmony. Most of the people hereabouts are loyal to the King, but in recent months as they have watched Parliament take the upper hand, they are sensible enough to keep their mouths shut about it.’

  ‘As you do, Lady Stratton.’

  She smiled. ‘I like to keep my thoughts to myself.’

  ‘And should the strife continue? Forgive me, Lady Stratton, but a wayward band of desperate stragglers from either side looking for succour could prove dangerous.’

  ‘‘I am not alone and, with the castle walls to defend me, I am certainly not vulnerable.’

  John admired her confidence. She had the backbone to withstand the defence of Carlton Bray as many beleaguered wives had done whose husbands were away fighting on either side. ‘Despite the fact that there is an absence of competent guards on the gates, as I have already stated.’ He looked at the old servant and then back at her. ‘Should Commonwealth troops arrive at your door when I have gone you will need to have men-at-arms aplenty to guard you. These are still dangerous times.’

  ‘We have survived so far—although the war has left behind physical scars which I am sure you must have observed for yourself when you rode in. The last I heard, the Scots who were marching south were stopped at Preston by Cromwell and driven back. The Royalists have been routed, Lord Fitzroy, and scattered throughout the length and breadth of England—something which you are aware of and rejoice, I am sure.’

  ‘Fully aware, since I was there, but I do not rejoice in another’s defeat. Preston was the death blow to the Royalists. They surrendered to Lord Fairfax. Many were killed, many taken prisoner—some of the leaders were sentenced to death, Thomas included. Badly wounded, he escaped over the border into Scotland.’

  ‘I see. That still doesn’t explain where he has been since Marston Moor.’

  ‘I don’t know the facts, but what I do know is that he was always involving himself in further uprisings wherever they occurred.’

  ‘Instead of coming home—or having the goodness to let me know where he was. A brief note would have sufficed. Love him or loathe him, sir, I was still his wife and deserved better than that.’

  ‘Whatever you say about Thomas’s character, it was not his intention to be cruel to you.’

  She looked at him coldly. ‘And you would know that, would you? Since I do not believe we have much to fear just now you can tell my father I am happy to remain where I am, until I decide to go my own way.’

  ‘There is something I have not told you, which may alter your decision on whether to go with me to London or not.’

  ‘Oh? And what is that, pray?’

  ‘Your father is not a well man. He was taken ill when he was in the north. The physician is treating him for a weakness of his heart.’

  She stared at him. Clearly this had come as something of a shock to her. ‘Are you telling me that my father is dying, sir?’

  ‘Perhaps not as bad as that, but his suffering was so severe that he had to be escorted home. He has expressed his desire to see you most strongly.’

  She cast him a frowning glance. ‘I see.’

  ‘Do you still intend to remain here?’ His gaze was steady and challenging. ‘I would advise against it.’

  Catherine raised her chin a notch, not ready to be bullied. ‘I haven’t made up my mind.’

  ‘Then you should. There is another issue that needs your consideration. Oakdene is close to London. You need to be present when Thomas’s will is read.’

  They stood face to face while arrogance and self-will waged their own war between them.

  ‘Yes, there is that—although there is nothing to stop him informing me of the contents by letter. Obviously, if my father is seriously ill, I shall have to give it some thought.’ She snapped a peremptory signal to the servant. ‘Bring some ale and cold meats for our guests, Miles.’

  John noted that, as she instructed the servants, authority wrapped itself about her like a cloak and she wore it comfortably.

  ‘Remove your wet clothes and make yourselves comfortable by the fire. Miles will attend to your needs. Now excuse me. I have things to do.’ To put an end to the discussion, she crossed to the stairs.

  ‘Lady Stratton.’ She halted mid-stride and looked back at him. ‘I trust you will consider your answer most seriously. I came here in good faith. Even if you do decide against going to London, at least I have told you the truth about your father.’

  With a slight nod of her head she turned from him. ‘I am obliged.’

  John watched her go. She walked with a purposeful stride and a proud set of her head. How would she react, he wondered, if she knew the truth about her husband’s death and knew what lay in store for her when she reached her father’s house?

  * * *

  After issuing orders to the housekeeper and a young maid to assist Miles in attending to the comforts of Lord Fitzroy and his steward, Catherine took refuge in her chamber. Standing at the window, she looked out, but saw nothing. The splendid room seemed to melt away and she was so cold as if she had been miraculously transported out of doors into the cold rain that continued to fall. Her shoulders sagged and her hands hung heavy by her sides. Her father was ill. How ill? she wondered. She suspected it had to be of a serious nature for him to summon her. Every instinct within her screamed resistance, but deep in her heart she knew she would have to go to him. Her heart was full, too full to express what had taken root deep within her. It was as unexpected as it was unwelcome. It was a tolling bell, heralding doom.

  When she had married Thomas she had been a normal, healthy girl, filled with dreams and wishes about marriage, having read her share of romantic tales. Marriage to her was about mutual love, understanding and trust. She soon had reason to condemn herself for the silly, childish illusion, for marriage to Thomas was nothing like that. At the time, she had raised no objection to the marriage as she imagined it as a way to escape her father’s domination of her, to be released from the hold he’d had on her since the death of her mother.

  How wrong she had been. Thomas had never been a popular member of the community. Of an aggressive nature and downright unpleasant, he had left her alone to while away her days as she wished. He had found her so unattractive that he seldom came to her bed, fumbling clumsily and hurting her with his gropings when he did. In the beginning she had blamed herself for being naive and inexperienced so the fault had to lie with her. But when she listened to the girls she employed in the castle laughing and giggling to each other about their amorous encounters with the opposite sex, she knew there had to be more to what happened between a man and a woman when they were in bed.

  She often wondered if Thomas found his pleasures elsewhere, but finding it both hurtful and distasteful to imagine that he might, she immediately banished the thought from her mind. There were times when she was lonely without another woman to talk to, or anyone to keep her company at night when the chill of winter permeated every inch of the castle.

  She did not grieve her husband’s loss, only what his loss would mean to her personally, to her future. This shamed her, but that was how it was. Mercilessly, she was to be thrust once more into her father’s hands. There was a time, when she was a child and her mother had been alive, that he had shown her affection. Life had been so much more light-hearted then, when she had indulged in innocent pleasures. How she had longed for him to comfort her in her loss when her mother died, to show her that he still cared. But he was a man not given to exposing his feelings or emotions and now he was demanding that she go to London.

 
The brief, cherished dream of going to Wilsden Manor, a beautiful property in Hereford left to her by her mother, of living for herself and doing with her life exactly what she liked, was melting away just when it was almost within her grasp. After she had been to Oakdene she would go there, but at this time she was duty-bound to abide by her father’s wishes. Was it foolish of her to hope that the long-held memories of the affection he had shown her in childhood could be revived?

  Her thoughts shifted to John Stratton. Unlike Thomas, who was tall and thickset, with unattractive square features and fair hair thinning at the crown, John Stratton was quite different. But she must never forget that he was a Stratton, that he was of the same blood as Thomas, and her initial impression was that he was as arrogant and demanding as Thomas has been. At thirty-one years old, he was a striking-looking man with an enormous presence. Although his manners were perfectly correct, she sensed in him a purposefulness that made her uneasy. He was of an impressive stature, tall and lean and as straight as an arrow, with a whipcord strength that promised toughness, and, even though his arrival had interrupted the peaceful running of the castle, she could not help but admire the fine figure he made.

  His dark brown hair sprang thickly, vibrantly from his head and curled about his neck. His chin was jutting and arrogant, his mouth firm, hinting at stubbornness that could, she thought, prove dangerous, making him a difficult opponent if pushed too far. There was also a hardness about him, an inflexibility of mind and will, and a toughness imbued by his military life.

  Yet there were laughter lines at the corners of his mouth that bespoke humour. But it was his eyes that had held her. They were compelling, brilliant blue and vibrant in the midst of so much uncompromising darkness and, when they had settled on her, they had been unnervingly intent. He had seemed to take pleasure in studying every inch of her, although there was no lechery in his gaze.

  Somehow she could sense he expected her to fear him and to fidget nervously under his regard. It was for this very reason that she had stood motionless, forcing herself to look directly back at him, giving him stare for stare. And then he had smiled, a thin, crooked smile revealing a lightning glimpse of very white teeth. His masculinity was obvious and complete and there was a certain refinement in his well-defined, handsome features. All through their meeting she had been uncomfortably conscious of him and was careful not to move too close. She would not be lulled by a handsome face.