Sword to the Heart (Bantam Series No. 13) Page 2

  “It would be easy for a woman to love you for yourself,” Sir James said quietly.

  “That is where you are wrong!” Lord Colwall contradicted. “No woman will ever love me again because I do not intend that she should do so. I will take her body if it amuses me, but I am not interested in her mind, in her feelings and certainly not in her affections!”

  There was a sneer on his lips as he finished.

  “Most women, after a few plaintive protestations, are content to take my money or whatever I am prepared to give them and leave me alone.”

  Sir James gave a deep sigh.

  “You were one of the most attractive boys I have ever known. You were a very charming young man. I am not being dramatic, Ranulf, when I say I would have given my right hand to save you from the tragedy which altered your whole character. It should never have happened.”

  “But it did happen!” Lord Colwall said quietly. “And, as you say, it altered my character and my outlook. There can be no going back. I have therefore made my life my own way! And I can say with complete honesty that it is the way I prefer.”

  “Perhaps one day...” Sir James began tentatively.

  “No, no, Sir James,” Lord Colwall interrupted. “You are a romantic! This is reality. A man may suffer once from being burnt by a raging fire, but a second time he is too wary to approach it. I have suffered, as you rightly said, but it has made me wise and I shall not make a fool of myself a second time.”

  “And what about this child that you intend to marry?” Sir James asked.

  “Doubtless her parents have explained to her the advantages of such a match,” Lord Colwall said loftily. “Incidentally I have paid quite a considerable sum over the years for her education.”

  “You wanted her educated then?”

  “Not for my own benefit,” Lord Colwall answered, “but because the mother of my children should be cultured and have a certain amount of learning. After all, a mother is the first teacher a child knows.”

  There was silence for a moment and then Sir James said:

  “It is a pity you did not know your mother. She was very beautiful and very understanding. I have always been convinced that, had she been alive, you would not have been deceived by Claris.”

  “She died when I was only a year old, and therefore I cannot remember her,” Lord Colwall replied. “On the other hand, I remember my father distinctly. I endured eighteen years of his severity and his unmistakable indifference.”

  “Your father was never the same after the death of your mother,” Sir James said. “It was his love for her which made him resent that you were alive, and he blamed you because she never recovered from the very difficult time she had when you were born.”

  “I know that,” Lord Colwall remarked, “and it only proves my point, Sir James, that love, obsessive, possessive and demanding is something to be avoided at all costs.”

  “Perhaps you will be unable to avoid it,” Sir James suggested. “It conquers us all at some time in our lives.”

  “You are living in cloud-cuckoo land!” Lord Colwall sneered. “Now I must ask you if, having heard the truth about my impending wedding, you will still act as my best man?”

  “I will do anything you ask of me,” Sir James answered simply, “but I am no less worried and perturbed by what you have told me.”

  “Leave me to do the worrying,” Lord Colwall said. “The marriage will take place in the afternoon, and we shall sit down to what will be a Medieval Wedding Feast at about five o’clock.”

  “Medieval?” Sir James questioned.

  “I found some difficulty in discovering amongst the archives any precedent for a marriage feast of the owner or his son taking place in the Castle,” Lord Colwall replied. “Of course, the Reception was usually given at the home of the Bride.”

  “Naturally,” Sir James agreed.

  “But in 1496,” Lord Colwall went on, “Randolph, the elder son of Sir Hereward Colwall, was married at the Castle to a bride who came to him from Northumbria. It seemed, when I found the reference, an interesting coincidence that my wife comes from Cumberland.”

  “Were they happy?” Sir James enquired.

  “As they had eleven children how could they be anything else?” Lord Colwall replied mockingly.

  “Then let us hope that for your sake history repeats itself,” Sir James said, but he spoke without conviction.

  The Dritchka chariot moved along the highway at a quicker pace than had been possible on the previous days of the journey.

  “Look, Papa, it has hardly rained here at all!” Natalia exclaimed.

  “I believe it has been a dry October in the South,” the Reverend Adolphus Graystoke replied in a tired voice.

  He had found the long journey somewhat exhausting while it appeared that his daughter was fresher and in gayer spirits than when they had first left their home in Pooley Bridge.

  Everything en route was of interest to Natalia; even the rough, muddy roads that they had encountered on the first part of their journey had been no hardship.

  This was due to the well-sprung travelling chariot which Lord Colwall had sent for them. When it arrived at the Vicarage, its silver accoutrements and four magnificent horses had evoked the admiration of the whole village.

  Even the Vicar had been astonished at the luxury at which they travelled.

  His Lordship’s horses had been waiting at every Posting Inn, and the journey had been made easy by frequent halts, while a courier in another carriage containing the servants and their luggage left well ahead to see that everything was in order before their arrival.

  “We might be Royalty!” Natalia said in awe-struck tones, at their first stop.

  They had been ushered into a private Sitting-Room by a bowing Landlord and she found upstairs that a maid had already unpacked one of her trunks and a valet was attending to her father.

  “His Lordship is extremely considerate,” the Reverend Adolphus agreed.

  “He thinks of everything!” Natalia said softly.

  She had walked across the panelled room to touch a huge vase of fresh flowers that were arranged on a table.

  In front of them lay Lord Colwall’s visiting card, and she found the same attention waiting for her everywhere they stayed.

  Each time she admired the flowers she felt that they had a special message for her and she treasured the cards, placing them carefully in her bag.

  ‘Could any man be more attentive to his future bride?” Natalia asked herself.

  Lord Colwall had sent not only his carriages, his horses and his servants to Pooley Bridge.

  A week before Natalia was due to set out on the journey a trunk had arrived containing new gowns and for the journey a cloak lined with fur!

  “Ermine, Mama!” Natalia had exclaimed. “I cannot believe it!” She was so overcome by the magnificence of the gift that she had not noticed the strange expression on her mother’s face.

  Lady Margaret had already been informed that Natalia’s trousseau from a Bond Street dressmaker would be waiting for her when she arrived at the Castle.

  Lord Colwall had written:

  ‘It will not be possible for you to buy in the North the type and variety of gowns Natalia will require as my wife. I have therefore instructed Madame Madeleine to prepare what is required. Kindly send all the measurements necessary to the enclosed address.’

  “I would have preferred that we should provide Natalia with her trousseau,” Lady Margaret said to her husband in private.

  “Colwall knows we live in a backwater,” the Vicar had replied. “And to be honest, my dear, it would be difficult for us to find the money.”

  His wife’s face was still troubled and he added with a smile: “Natalia looks lovely whatever she wears, but I would like to see her in an expensive gown like the one you wore the first night we met!”

  “Given to me by my godmother, but I at least went with her when she bought it!” Lady Margaret exclaimed and then she added: “Of co
urse I am being nonsensical. Cousin Ranulf is being extremely kind.”

  But the feeling of uncertainty—with perhaps a touch of resentment had remained.

  “If only Mama could be with us,” Natalia said now, looking out of the coach window. “Think how thrilled she would have been to see the South again!

  “She has often told me how much she has missed the green fields, the apple-blossoms in the spring, and the hedgerows which are so unlike our Cumberland walls.”

  “It is a bitter disappointment to your mother that she could not see you married.”

  “Poor Mama, she cried when we left!” Natalia exclaimed with a soft note of sympathy in her voice. “I felt like jumping out of the carriage and sending His Lordship a message to say that, like other brides, I wished to be married from my own home.”

  “Lord Colwall had not anticipated that your mother would break her ankle just a week before we were due to go South,” the Vicar said.

  “No, of course not,” Natalia agreed, “and, as Mama herself said, it was too late then to alter all the plans.”

  All the same, there was an ache in her heart as she knew how desperately disappointed her mother had felt at being left behind.

  “Never mind,” Lady Margaret had said bravely, “I will look after the Parish for your father and at least everything will be ready for him on his return. I shall miss him, as I shall miss you, darling.”

  Natalia knew this was the truth. Her father and mother loved each other dearly and it was hard for them to be parted, even for a night.

  She was well aware that they would both suffer from what would seem a very long time before the Vicar could travel to Herefordshire for her wedding and return to Pooley Bridge.

  Natalia had always thought that her home at the end of the Lake of Ullswater was the most beautiful place in the world.

  She looked every morning from her bed-room window towards the mountain peaks high on either side of the silver water—their bare, rugged tops silhouetted against the sky.

  They always seemed to her to be filled with mystery and a strange enchantment that was part of her dreams.

  When she had learned that she was to be married at Lord Colwall’s home rather than her own, she had felt a pang of disappointment.

  She had thought of him so often that somehow he had become part of the mountains and the beauty of the lake. It was hard to think of him elsewhere.

  Although her mother had frequently described to her the wonder and the majesty of the Castle, she found herself always visualising Lord Colwall as she had first seen him.

  He had walked towards her through the morning mist rising over the lake. The mountains behind him had made it seem as if he emerged from the insubstantial mystery of her dreams into the reality of her life.

  It had been one of those days when everything was very still.

  The mountains which round Ullswater changed colour hour by hour had been almost purple, and the sun was attempting to break through the clouds and glint spasmodically on the silver of the lake.

  Natalia, who had been visiting a cottage on the outskirts of the village, was returning home. The basket on her arm was empty of the sustaining soup and homemade jam which her mother had sent to an invalid.

  Then in front of the Vicarage she had seen a very grand travelling carriage and the four horses which drew it had made her gasp with astonishment.

  She walked towards them and then a man who had been standing at the edge of the lake turned from his contemplation of it and moved into the road.

  Natalia was so surprised at his appearance that she stood quite still under a tree staring at him. Never in her whole life had she ever seen anyone so handsome or indeed so awe-inspiring.

  A cape swung from his shoulders, his dark head was bare because he carried his high hat in his hand.

  She watched him wide-eyed but, deep in his thoughts, it appeared he did not see her and he walked directly past her towards the horses.

  She thought that he was about to enter the carriage, but instead to her surprise the footman opened the gate to the Vicarage for him.

  ‘Whoever the stranger may be,’ Natalia thought to herself, ‘he has come to see Papa.’

  Still without moving, she watched the footman, the crested gilt buttons on his livery glinting as he hurried ahead of his master to rap sharply on the Vicarage door.

  ‘Who can this visitor be?’ Natalia wondered.

  Then she realised that the sensible thing to do would be to go home and find out.

  She had in fact run back to the Vicarage, entering not through the front door but by the back way to deposit her empty basket in the kitchen. Then she slipped upstairs to change her dress.

  At fifteen she had few dresses and there was therefore little choice. But she put on the blue cotton with its full skirt and satin sash that she wore on Sundays, and tidied her hair.

  Anxiously she peeped through her bed-room window to see if the horses were still outside.

  She was overwhelmed with curiosity, but at the same time she felt a sudden shyness at the thought of speaking to a man who was so impressive, of such obvious importance, and at the same time so handsome.

  ‘Perhaps after all, he is not real,’ she told herself, ‘but just someone of whom I have dreamt.’

  She smiled as she recalled how often her mother had rebuked her for letting her imagination run away with her, and for peopling the world with the heroes about whom she had read in her father’s books.

  Always it seemed to her that the Gods and Goddesses of Mount Olympus resided on the mountains that she could see at the end of the lake.

  Sometimes as she wandered through the woods which bordered the water, she thought that she saw Apollo pursuing Daphne, or Persephone coming back with the first stirring of spring from the darkness of the Underworld.

  “It is all very well for you to stuff the child’s head with these mythical characters,” Lady Margaret said once to her husband, “but she has to concern herself with Mrs. Warner’s rheumatism and Johnny Lovell’s measles!”

  “It really does not help for her to imagine that she is Mercury, the Messenger of the Gods, instead of just little Natalia Graystoke!”

  Her father had laughed but had continued to relate to Natalia the legends that he loved and to teach her about Alexander the Great, the Philosophers of Ancient Greece and the achievements of men like Hannibal.

  So when Natalia finally met Lord Colwall, his handsome face stirred a chord deep in her memory and she knew who he was.

  He was not one of the Gods of Olympus nor one of the great Conquerors of History.

  But just as surely as if a voice had spoken to her from the sky, she knew he was to her someone very special and very personal.

  He was in fact her Knight.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was of course the Reverend Adolphus who had put the idea into Natalia’s head.

  She had been twelve years old and was walking with her father along the side of the lake. They wended their way through the silver birch trees which were just coming into bud.

  A strong wind was blowing the waters into silver ripples and the clouds were heavy on the tops of the mountains.

  But Natalia could only listen enthralled to the story her father was telling her about the Crusaders.

  It was one of his favourite subjects, and because he had a Scholar’s command of words he could make her feel the excitement which fired the noblemen of England and other Christian countries when they decided they must defend the Holy City of Jerusalem from the infidels.

  Natalia used to imagine crowds of men assembling in the Castles of their Liege Lords.

  There, inspired with the desire and the will to go on the long and dangerous journey, they left behind them their wives, families and everything familiar.

  She could visualise the ships setting out in style filled with horses and men, flying pennants and bedecked with flags.

  Their Commander, King Richard the Lion-Hearted, led the British
contingent on what must have seemed to many a hopeless mission.

  It was thinking of the courage of those that attempted such a feat which made Natalia’s eyes shine and her blood quicken as she learnt how much over the centuries they had achieved.

  Her father told her about the hospital in Jerusalem which had been founded more than a hundred years earlier to care for Christian pilgrims.

  He told her how the Knights Hospitallers had been driven out first to Rhodes and from there to Malta.

  He described their ceaseless fight from that small island against the Barbary pirates who infested the Mediterranean and who held at one time more than twenty-five thousand Christian prisoners in Algiers alone.

  He made Natalia see as clearly as if she had been there the magnificent Auberges built in Rhodes and Malta to house the Knights of each country, men not only of great courage, but of culture, intelligence and breeding.

  Then the Reverend Adolphus had said sadly:

  “Napoleon overran Malta sixteen years ago, dispersed the Knights and stole all the treasures they had accumulated over the centuries.”

  “Oh, Papa! But they cannot be vanquished forever!” Natalia exclaimed in concern.

  “Certainly not forever,” her father replied. “The Order still exists in other European countries and the ideals they stood for and the bravery which has lifted men’s hearts all through the ages will survive.”

  “I am glad!” Natalia cried. “I could not bear all that wonderful courage to be wasted.”

  “That could never happen,” the Reverend Adolphus remarked. “Never forget, my dearest, the desire to combat the forces of evil is something which should animate us all.”

  Natalia considered what he had said, then she asked quietly: “You mean, Papa, that we should each of us fight physically and mentally against what we think is wrong.”

  “And for what we believe is right,” the Reverend Adolphus added. “I often think, Natalia, that we are too prone to accept conditions as they are instead of trying to improve them.”