Page 33 of A Lover for Lady Jane (The Welsh Rebels #5)

Chapter Seventeen

A nother dead end.

Jane let out a sigh of frustration. Just how big was this castle?

No wonder it was hard to maintain to an acceptable standard.

Although now that she thought of it, Castell Esgyrn was almost as big as Throckmorton, but thanks to her parents’ careful administration, it was kept in prime condition.

It did not surprise her to see that Thomas Harrison had let his inheritance go to ruin.

Nor did it surprise her that Christopher, even though he had been restored to his title, had decided to remain in his cottage in Wales.

It was much more comfortable and welcoming. Why, she herself wouldn’t mind?—

A shuffling noise at the end of the corridor caused her to slow down.

In the absence of burning torches to light her way, she could not see who, or what, was hidden in the darkness.

Used to her home castle’s comforts, she had not thought to take a candle with her, even though it was a gloomy day. A mistake, clearly.

“Hello, is anyone here?” she called out, edging forward.

There was no answer, but more shuffling noises.

Jane skidded to a halt when the two people huddled in an alcove drew away from one another with a haste betraying their guilt.

It seemed that the castle’s lack of adequate lighting encouraged illicit trysts in its dark corners.

That was perhaps to be expected. What was not was the identity of the two lovers.

“My l-lady, oh, my lady,” the former Lady Ashton stammered, bringing her hands to her chest to hide her lowered bodice. “Please don’t…don’t think this is…”

The man, whom she recognized as the squire who had welcomed them the previous day, planted himself in front of his blushing lover, doing his best to shield her while she recovered her wits, and restored order to her clothes.

The gesture was enough to tell Jane the man was a man of honor; despite what the situation might lead her to believe.

“My lady, please, do not think ill of her ladyship. I’m afraid I took liberties I have no right to take. If you must punish someone, then I am the sole?—”

“No, Stephen, I cannot let you lie and take the blame for this.” The lady stepped from behind him, all shyness forgotten.

There was a defiant gleam in her eyes. “And there will be no punishment, for you have done nothing wrong, nor taken any liberties. What happened here happened with my full consent. I’m sure Lady Jane will understand. ”

Jane inhaled sharply, for she did understand.

The lady was looking at the man by her side as if he held her whole life in his hands, and the squire was carrying himself with pride but a hint of vulnerability, as if he thought deep down he didn’t deserve to touch the woman taking his defense so bravely.

It was all too reminiscent of another couple she knew.

Caught in a compromising position with her, Griffin would do exactly the same, try to protect her against malice and judgment, and she would take his defense, and look at him in the same adoring way.

She swallowed, moved by the scene unfolding in front of her. “Yes. I think I understand.”

A silence, heavy with tension, settled over the corridor, then Lady Ashton stepped forward, every inch the dignified lady despite her state of disarray.

“I was never happy with my husband. Thomas was a petulant, violent man who thought nothing of bedding all the women who crossed his path. From the moment we were wed, aged seventeen, he made my life a misery. When he became Lord Ashton last year, it only became worse. The title, predictably, added to his already insufferable arrogance. He railed against me, hating the idea that he was saddled to such a useless, lowly wife when he could, as a lord, have aspired to a much more advantageous match. Stephen, who was appointed as his squire when we came to live here, saw it all, saw how my husband treated me and my poor Henry…”

There, talking about her recently dead son, her voice broke, and she buried her face in her lover’s chest, hiding, while great sobs racked through her body.

Stephen held her throughout the storm, solid as a rock.

When he lifted his head to look straight at Jane, there was agony in his eyes.

It was clear he blamed himself for the death of the child and his lover’s grief.

But how could he be responsible for such a thing?

The letter Christopher had received had mentioned sword fight training in the snow.

Perhaps Lord Ashton, too lazy to see to his son’s lessons himself, had asked his squire to supervise them and Stephen had been unable to refuse the order, resulting in the poor boy catching a chill.

“Shame on me, I never dared speak up for her, or little Henry, all these months.” His voice was bleak, matching the emptiness in his eyes. “I should have been the one to die that day.”

“No, Stephen,” Lady Ashton whimpered.

“Yes. Anything to spare you the pain of losing your child.”

Jane could understand the guilt weighing on him, but she also knew that a mere squire would have had no choice but to hide what he thought of his master’s behavior and what he felt for his mistress.

A man as violent and unreasonable as Thomas would have killed Stephen had he challenged him in any way or hinted at the feelings he harbored for his wife, unsuitable as he deemed her.

“The shame is all the late Lord Ashton’s, for mistreating his wife and causing his son’s death, not yours. You have done nothing wrong.” A glance to the dark corner made her meaning clear. You have done nothing wrong by being with a woman you love and who loves you and needs you.

“I swear I never did anything that would compromise her honor, only loving her from afar all these months,” Stephen added, nonetheless. “If was only after…”

Lady Ashton had rallied by this point, and she left her lover’s embrace to face Jane when Stephen’s voice trailed. Her face was a mask of determination, her eyes, still red rimmed, held a fire that spoke of the depth of her feelings.

“When my husband died, I rejoiced, do you hear? I rejoiced. Finally, I was free of that despicable tyrant. Finally, I could be with a good man, a man I love and who loves me.” She straightened her spine and took her lover’s hand in hers.

“I care not what people will say about me. With my Henry dead anyway, I have nothing left to live for but Stephen’s love and support.

I will not let anyone deprive me of it. I am not ashamed and will never be, of wanting to be with him.

If you want to spread the word about our liaison, then do. ”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Jane said slowly.

How could she do anything to thwart two people who were so obviously meant to be together, when she was yearning for her own happily ever after with a man people would deem unsuitable?

It would be plain hypocrisy. “But I will say that I do not believe it should remain a secret forever. You are a widow now, and Stephen does not owe anything to anyone. In a few months’ time, you will be able to marry. ”

The look the two lovers exchanged twisted her heart. There was hope, joy, and longing in that look. And love. So much love. They knew the difficult times were behind them, and soon they would be together for good.

“Thank you, my lady. This means a lot.” Stephen’s voice was hoarse with emotion. “And I hope you find your own happiness soon.”

“Yes. I hope so too.”

Perhaps she had found it already, but the man who’d planted the seed of her future happiness in her heart refused to let it bloom.

He was only staying because he wanted to make sure Cynan and the men were stopped.

But she didn’t know how she would stop him from leaving once she was safe.

Ironically, being no longer in any danger would be the death of her.

Unable to contain the tears burning her eyes, Jane turned and fled.

Later than afternoon, a group of riders led by a white horse were seen galloping on the road leading to the gate.

From her place at the top of the battlements, Jane recognized Raven, her uncle’s stallion.

Her heart seized in her chest. Matthew was coming, with a contingent of men.

Was he bringing news of Cynan’s capture?

Unable to wait a moment longer, she rushed down the wooden ladder and was in the bailey in time to see him dismount.

“Uncle Matthew!” She threw herself in his arms.

“Jane. Dear God, we were so worried. Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, I’m all right, thanks to…” At the thought of Griffin, of all he had done for her and with her, of all he refused to accept, she burst into sobs.

“Hush, don’t worry,” Matthew soothed, putting her reaction down to the ordeal she’d endured at the hands of the rebels. “It’s all over now.”

At this she looked up at him, then at the men behind him. Were Geraint’s friends amongst them? She couldn’t see any. These were all guards from Sheridan Manor. “You mean… You’ve captured the men?”

He made a face that clearly indicated he was not satisfied with the result of his expedition. “Come. Let us find everyone so I can tell you what happened.”

A moment later she, Christopher, Sian and Griffin were seated in the solar, listening to her uncle’s tale.

“As soon as we got the missive Gwenllian delivered, explaining you believed men were lying in ambush waiting for you, William and I mounted an expedition. He scoured the forest to the east, and I headed west.”

Jane nodded. It was as she’d expected. The squire, who’d arrived at Sheridan Manor at the age of seven as a page, was an exceptionally brave man, and would have volunteered immediately to help her.

Between them, and the retinue they had assembled, the two men couldn’t have failed to capture the rebels. Or…

“You didn’t get them, then?”

Blunt as ever, Christopher asked the question everyone was dying to ask.