The months began to roll into each other as Kate grew in confidence and asserted control over the estate. There always seemed to be some new problem, some knot to unravel, and some plausible reason to stay on a few more weeks.
Conscious of her promise to her sister, Kate wrote to Suzanne and told her that while she still planned to return to Yorkshire before winter, she could see no way to come earlier as there was too much to see to before she would be content to leave Seven Ways in Jacob's capable hands.
The summer drifted into a fine, hot August, and Jacob sought Kate out to discuss the matter of the harvest with her. The crops were ready and it seemed foolish not to make the most of the fine weather. To Nell's horror, Kate insisted that every member of the household assist with the harvest.
"Kate, I simply can't,” Nell protested. “It will ruin my hands."
Kate looked at her unsympathetically. “I'm sorry, Nell,” she said. “Everyone is to help, and that includes us."
Dressed in an old gown of Kate's and a wide-brimmed hat, Nell made a grudging appearance the next morning. She looked gloomily at the summer sun, already fierce and promising a warm day.
"This will be death to my complexion,” she complained. “Are you sure I can't help with the food?"
"No,” said Kate firmly, “that is a job for the old and infirm. We need every able-bodied person out here if we are to get the harvest in while the weather is fine."
Trailing sulkily after the rest of the party, Nell's appearance at the first field created some amusement among the tenants and villagers who had gathered to help. Nell smiled as prettily as she could, and casting a last, despairing look at Kate's implacable face, she followed the reapers into the field.
They were working the fields closest to the hall, the sun high and hot. Kate and Nell followed the reapers, gathering the straw into stoops. Kate straightened and eased her aching back. Nell had stopped work and sat in the shade of a tree, fanning her face with her hat. After two days of harvest, her hands were raw from handling the coarse straw and her face and arms were pink from the sun.
The other workers had also paused for a break and a drink from the jugs of small ale that had been brought out from the kitchens. Young Sam Barlow stood a little way off, chatting to Master Knowles’ pretty daughter.
He suddenly broke off and turned to Kate, his eyes wide. “Troopers, Mistress. Yon!"
There was a murmur of disquiet from the other tenants and workers. Troopers were an unpleasant memory from the past and meant only one thing: trouble. Kate stood up and squinted into the sun. Sam's sharp eyes were not wrong. Coming up the lane towards the house was a body of about fifteen horsemen.
Nell came up beside her, her face puckered with concern. “Is it Price?” she asked.
Kate shook her head. “They're not Price's troops” she said. “I've never seen such a raggle taggle collection."
She drew a sharp breath as she recognised a familiar grey horse at the head of the troop.
"Nell!” she whispered breathlessly, “I believe it may be Jonathan."
Nell clutched at her arm but neither woman moved as the troops stopped in the forecourt, and old Joseph came out of the house to meet them. She saw Jonathan lean down from his horse to talk to the steward then look towards the fields. He turned his horse, and he and another rider broke away, cantering towards the field where they waited.
Nell paled. “Oh no! It's Giles.” She looked accusingly at Kate then down at her dusty skirts and her ruined hands. “Oh, Kate, how could you! This is not how I imagined greeting my husband after four years,” she wailed.
Kate tried hard not to smile as she walked forward to greet the riders, a surprisingly reticent Nell trailing in her wake. Both men were dressed in well-worn buff coats and red sashes. Jonathan wore the familiar, low crowned beaver hat pulled well down as always. Giles’ more fashionable tall, crowned hat sported a jaunty red feather.
Jonathan drew rein and Kate placed her hand lightly on Amber's bridle.
"Sir Jonathan,” she said, conscious of the eyes of the tenantry on her back, “what brings you to Seven Ways?"
Jonathan bowed from the saddle. He looked tired and thin, but she caught the familiar sparkle in his eye and her heart leaped in response.
"Mistress Ashley, please pardon this intrusion,” he said. “We were hoping for some provisions and a bed for the night for some weary soldiers."
She looked across to the troopers, waiting patiently in the hot sun.
"Of course,” she said. “Tell your men they can rest in the barn. With plenty of new hay they should be able to make themselves comfortable."
"Thank you, Mistress Ashley,” Jonathan said. “It will only be for tonight, you have my word."
"Ah! So this, I take it, is the incomparable Mistress Ashley, of whom I only hear such fine talk!” Jonathan's companion interposed.
Jonathan looked around and inclined his head.
"My apologies,” he said mockingly. “Mistress Katherine Ashley, Giles, Lord Longley."
Kate curtsied politely.
From behind her a small voice said, “Hello, Giles."
"Well bless me!” Giles pushed his hat back. “Here I was thinking that there was an extraordinarily pretty maid, hanging back, and damn me she turns out to be my wife."
He dismounted easily from his horse and took Nell in his arms, kissing her passionately to the amusement of the onlookers, some of whom cheered and whooped. Kate caught Jonathan's eye but he was public property and their reunion would have to wait. Already his horse had been surrounded by those keen to hear what news he brought.
Jacob Howell, arriving late on the scene from the other fields, greeted Jonathan warmly. Barely raising his quiet voice, he ordered everyone back to work. The reapers turned reluctantly and trailed back to the fields, whispering amongst themselves.
Jonathan looked down at Kate. “I must see to my men."
Turning his horse he cantered gently back to his men, waiting patiently for him. Giles followed on foot, the reins of his horse looped around one arm and his other arm around his wife.
Kate looked up at Jacob Howell, whose eyes were fixed on the men by the house. His face, as usual, was inscrutable. “Jacob, if you can see this field is finished, and then everyone can take a break."
He nodded. “Of course, Mistress Ashley. We are nearly done anyway,” he said.
Kate walked slowly back to the house, composing herself. Her stomach seemed to be doing somersaults and her breath kept catching in her throat. Jonathan had come. Tonight—she felt a breathless sense of anticipation—tonight she would hold him in her arms.
Jonathan's troopers had dismounted and were seeing to their horses. The impression of military capability proved to be just an illusion. To a man the troopers looked tired and dirty. They wore an assortment of uniforms, carried some decidedly antique weapons and rode every description of nag. However they greeted her politely as she walked past them.
In the kitchen Kate paused to discuss dinner with her cook. Jonathan had come home. Tonight they would kill the fatted calf. Upstairs there was no sign of any of the Longleys. They had obviously withdrawn to Nell's apartment for some privacy but she found Jonathan in the parlour, seated in one of the large, oak chairs, a draught of ale in his hand provided by the faithful Joseph who hovered at the door with a happy smile on his face.
Tom sat on a stool at his feet, hanging on every word as Jonathan described the last few miserable months in Scotland and the long march south. Jonathan looked up at her entrance and smiled but she knew her turn had yet to come. Kate leaned against the wall by the door and listened. For now she was content just to observe, take in every detail of his face, still dusty from the road.
"So where is the King now?” Tom asked.
"Ten miles away, no more. He expects to enter Worcester tomorrow,” Jonathan said casually, as if such an occurrence was commonplace.
"Will there be a battle?” Tom asked.
"Yes,” he replied, “there will be a battle, Tom."
"Will you win?” The boy's eyes were shining.
There was the fraction of a hesitation that only Kate, knowing Jonathan so well, would have detected. “God willing,” he said, placing the empty mug down on the table and rising wearily to his feet. “If you will excuse me, Tom. I have some business to discuss with your mother before supper."
He took Kate by the arm and guided her out of the room, across the hall to the study where he firmly shut the door and locked it behind him. His face gave away nothing but his eyes were bright with suppressed laughter.
Kate stood defiantly in the middle of the room and crossed her arms. “And what business, pray, do you have to discuss with me that requires the door to be locked?"
"This business!"
He drew her into his arms and kissed her with a passion that was only met by her own.
"Are we doomed forever to meet like this? Hurried kisses behind closed doors?” he whispered when they eventually drew apart sufficiently to gain a breathing space.
"It seems so."
Kate held him closer, pressing herself against him. She could not imagine ever letting him go again. The difference in their height put her on a level with his heart and she could feel its firm beat against the soft cloth of his shirt. There was so much to say and this might well be their only chance of privacy but reluctantly she laid her hands on his chest and took a step back.
"What are you really doing here, Jon?” she asked.
"As you heard me tell Tom, the King entered England with a Scottish army about a month ago. Giles and I have come on ahead to try and raise some support for the cause,” he said and added bitterly, “to little avail. Unless the Welsh can join us at Worcester, this is a battle that will be lost before it even began."
"How many men do you have?” Kate asked.
"Barely thirteen thousand to Cromwell's thirty thousand,” Jonathan said grimly.
"Why Worcester?"
"It's strategic to Wales and London and well protected by the Severn and the Teme.” He shrugged. “It's as good a place as any."
He ran a hand through his hair and walked restlessly over to the window. “It's a nightmare, Kate,” he continued. “The Scots are fighting among themselves. Charles’ great childhood friend, the Duke of Buckingham, is behaving like a sulky child because Charles, quite rightly, has refused him supreme command. And as I predicted, the English are tired of war. Few have flocked to the King's standard.” He turned back to face her. “And in the middle is the King, eternally optimistic but buffeted this way and that by his advisers."
Kate looked at him. She had no comfort to give and none was expected. She cared nothing for the King, the Duke of Buckingham or the Scots. Her only concern, and the greatest, was that amidst the conflict to come, he would die. She would lose him, just as she had lost Richard. She wanted to rail against him, hold him here where he would be safe, but she knew that those words had to lie unspoken. She could not hold him and he would be no safer here than anywhere in England.
"Are you well, Jon?” she asked, changing the subject.
"Well enough,” he said with a non-committal shrug. He smiled and caught her hand, pulling her towards him again. “How goes it here, Mistress Ashley? It cannot be easy for you."
Kate could afford a small smile of deserved pride in her achievements. “Not as badly as I feared, Jon. Thanks to the intervention of your Uncle Nathaniel Freeman, Colonel Price has caused us no trouble and our harvest looks good. We should survive, unless of course you plan to abscond with our winter supplies?"
He shook his head and cast her a wicked smile. “No, we paid our first call on Longley Abbey and found Colonel Price away from home. We had the singular pleasure of divesting Longley Abbey of ample supplies that are now on their way to meet up with the main party. Giles took particular pleasure in relieving the wine cellar of some of its best."
Despite herself, Kate laughed at the thought of Giles calmly reclaiming his wine from under the indignant and ruddy nose of Colonel Price. “Oh, Jonathan! What have you done? Price will be furious!"
He had the grace to look shamefaced. “I wish I could say it was all Giles’ idea."
"I am looking forward to getting to know Giles,” Kate said. “Does he know ... about us?"
Jonathan shrugged. “I haven't told him, or at least in so many words but Giles knows me as well as anyone living so I can't answer for what he may have surmised."
There was a knock on the door and Ellen's voice came through the keyhole. “Cook needs you in the kitchen."
Kate sighed. “I fear I am making loaves and fishes feed the five thousand this evening. I want this meal to be special. We have had so little cause for celebration in the last months."
Jonathan smiled and, unlocking the door, stood aside to let Kate pass.
As the evening shadows lengthened, Kate changed quickly into her favourite sky-blue gown with the fine lawn collar edged in lace, the legacy of the Selby fair over a year ago. The family gathered in the hall where Joseph had set the table with the best linen and Ellen had put vases of flowers along its length. The last of the best glasses glinted in the late summer light, a remembrance of the happier times past.
There probably had not been such a cheerful meal in that room for many a year, Kate reflected. The cook did them proud and Giles produced some of the liberated wine to go with the elegant repast, proving himself to be every bit as lively as his reputation.
Kate could not help but like Giles. She had imagined someone like Jonathan, but Giles Longley was a head shorter and as fair as Jonathan was dark. His lean and wiry build had a dancer's grace to his movement. His hair was impeccably curled, his clothes immaculate and his blue eyes were absolutely wicked, Kate thought. She had no doubt that whatever Jonathan's reputation, Giles was a devil with women. Jonathan, as she well knew, had a dark and introspective side to his personality whereas Giles would not know a black thought if it hit him between the eyes.
After a good many toasts to His Majesty and a pox on his enemies, Kate began to feel a little light-headed. She ignored Tom's curious looks and let Giles refill her glass.