Page 50 of Exile's Return

He swept past Daniel, nearly colliding with the woman…Agnes? Was that her name?

She set down the tray she carried. ‘I was just bringing you some refreshment,’ she said. ‘Are you leaving so soon?’

Kit glanced back seeing Daniel standing by the window, looking out at the grey, autumnal day.

‘Please present my apologies to Sir Jonathan,ma’m’selle, but I cannot stay. I have done what I came to do.’

He inclined his head and walked out of the house. Gathering up the reins of his horse from the waiting groom, he swung into the saddle.

‘Wait.’

He turned to see Agnes running from the house, her skirts caught up in her hand. She laid a hand on the horse’s bridle.

‘Please don’t give up on him,’ she said.

He looked down into her face,rather a pretty face, he thought, with her upturned nose and smattering of freckles, but there were lines of anxiety creasing her brow and he wondered for a moment what part this woman played in his brother’s life.

‘Mistress Fletcher, whatever he might think, I have never given up on my brother,’ Kit replied stiffly, ‘but he needs time, maybe we both need time.’ Kit managed a smile. ‘Daniel is fortunate to have a friend in you, Mistress Fletcher.’

A sprinkle of colour stained her cheekbones. ‘Just an acquaintance, Master Lovell. Nothing more.’

She turned and walked back into the house, passing Jonathan Thornton at the doorway.

Kit watched her go. ‘Just an acquaintance?’ he mused aloud.

Jonathan laid a hand on the bridle. ‘You’re right. You both need time. Christ, Lovell, you have to expect your arrival to have come as a shock. I advise you to go to Bromsgrove and take a room at the Black Cross.’

Kit looked down at his old friend. ‘Thornton, it is not my appearance that is the shock, it is the realisation that his brother has feet of clay.’

Jonathan Thornton looked up at him, holding his gaze. ‘I think you owe me at least the courtesy of the whole story, Lovell. Dismount and walk with me to the gate. Dead men should not be appearing at my front door unless there is a very good reason, and you are the second one this month.’

Chapter 21

The rage had begun to die even as Daniel crossed to the window in time to see his brother, leading his horse, walking away from the house with Jonathan Thornton beside him. They walked in step with an easy camaraderie that spoke of their shared past.

Kit moved with a noticeable limp and Daniel lowered his head, remembering Worcester and, in the confusion of the battle, hearing his brother call his name. As Daniel had turned to respond, he had seen Kit fall, but he’d been unable to reach him before he too had been felled and his world changed forever. In some ways, he realized, it had been easier to think of Kit as dead on that battlefield. The truth was too hard.

A pain, every bit as physical as a blow to his stomach, doubled him over.

It couldn’t be true. Everything he had ever believed about his brother had evaporated. Kit, the hero of his childhood, had betrayed him as surely as the men he sent to their deaths. Why?What possible reason could Kit have given for his change of allegiance? Did he really want to know?

Taking a deep breath he straightened. He had to get out of the house. He did not want company or sympathy — he wanted alcohol and oblivion.

He turned for the door as Agnes opened it. She stood framed in the doorway, her hand on the catch.

‘What do you want?’ he snapped.

‘I came to see…if there is anything…’ she faltered and he could see the hurt in her eyes.

‘I need nothing, particularly not a woman’s sympathy,’ he said.

‘Daniel, as your friend … ’

‘Friend? I don’t have friends, Agnes. I have known you for what…? A month? Friendship takes time and we don’t have that time. Now leave me. I’m going to find an inn and have a quiet drink — by myself.’

She stood aside to let him pass without a word.

Daniel retrieved his cloak and hat from his room, before plunging out into the cold, grey afternoon. Heavy rain clouds rolled in over the trees but he didn’t care. There would be an inn close by and he set out with a firm stride, turning his face gratefully to the cold rain.