Beloved Enemy

by Margaret Dickinson

  Doubt began to creep into Charmian’s mind. ‘No, no, he does not mean it. He—he cannot!’ she murmured, trying to convince herself.

  ‘Come and bathe yourself, miss. Oh, there’s such lovely perfumes here.’

  An hour later Charmian was bathed and dressed in a silk bedgown and dressing robe in the palest pink. Nell was brushing her hair, still chattering excitedly. ‘What a shame about your lovely hair all being cut off, but you will make the most beautiful bride still. Oh the bustling about that’s going on below, you wouldn’t believe it. They’ve even found Lady Denholm’s own wedding gown. It was all so carefully wrapped away that it’s as lovely as ever.’

  ‘Nell, will you stop prattling about my marriage. There is not going to be any such ceremony.’

  Tiredness was stealing over her. Warmed by the pleasant bath, she was sleepy and too weary to worry any more about Campbell’s charade. She stretched luxuriously and yawned. ‘I shall have to convince him in the morning.’

  Within moments of snuggling down into the deep soft bed, she was asleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  Charmian awoke suddenly, not knowing where she was. Then she remembered. She had been abducted—there was no other word for it—and brought to Ashleigh Manor to become Campbell Denholm’s wife. She smiled to herself. In the early morning light, the whole thing seemed even more ridiculous. She lay for a few moments and then got out of bed. In bare feet, she padded across the floor and opened the heavy door of her bedchamber.

  ‘Good-morning, my love.’

  She jumped as Campbell spoke from the shadows. He rose from a deep armchair and came towards her. Charmian gasped and her mouth fell open. ‘What— what ever are you doing?’

  ‘Guarding my future wife. Seeing that she does not attempt to flee from me.’

  ‘You—you have been here, outside my door, all the night?’ she asked wonderingly. Campbell noded slowly, his gaze never leaving her face. She stared at him, her last belief that this was all some wild jest falling away. He meant to marry her. Even against her will, he meant to take her.

  As if reading her mind, he said quietly, ‘You shall not escape me, Charmian. You are to be my wife—just as you promised your mother—and there is nothing you can do to prevent the marriage taking place.’

  ‘I—I can refuse to speak the vows.’

  For an instant anger flashed upon his face. ‘But you won’t, my dear.’ It was a command rather than a request. Then Campbell laughed and in the face of his laughter, she felt her resolve to be of no consequence. His fingers reached out and touched golden hair, cropped short by the burgomaster’s wife.

  ‘How could anyone have done this to you?’ he murmured, and then his eyes darkened with passion. ‘Tonight, my love, until tonight.’ His lips brushed her mouth softly and then he was gone, striding away down the long passage, raising his hand as if in farewell. ‘Even the bridegroom must make himself ready, my love.’

  Charmian slammed the door with all her strength and leant against it, breathing hard. Why, she told herself angrily, when I loathe him so much do I tremble at his kiss? Because, came the reply from deep within her soul, because you love him.

  Why could she not agree happily to this marriage, for it was what she wanted most in all the world? Because, her heart answered, he does not love you. He is only marrying you out of duty to your mother’s dying wish; to please your mother, whom his father loved. It was as if Campbell were trying to recompense for the lost love of Elizabeth and Sir Geoffrey, as if the union of their children would give them joy after the lonely years of their own separation.

  Charmian closed her eyes and groaned aloud and sank to the floor. ‘ But if only he truly loved me,’ she cried.

  The servants at Ashleigh Manor were far more excited about the day’s celebration than was their future young mistress.

  ‘ ’Twill be like the old days,’ Charmian heard an older maidservant telling the younger girls. ‘Before those damned Puritans stopped all our fun-making.’

  ‘Ssh,’ whispered another. ‘The young miss—she’s a Puritan.’

  The older woman cackled with laughter. ‘Not for long, she won’t be. No pure maid after this night with our young master.’ And she cackled raucously once more. The younger girl sighed dreamily. ‘Oh, but she’s the lucky one to be marrying the young master.’

  About mid-morning, Sir Geoffrey and his wife arrived in time for Lady Denholm to inspect her wedding gown and pronounce it fitting for her daughter-in-law to wear. The white silk gown, with tight-fitting bodice and sleeves and its full skirt embroidered with gold, needed only the hem taken up a little, and Neil stitched and stitched with feverish excitement until her fingers were quite sore, whilst from every corner the bits and pieces believed to be so necessary by the merry-making Royalists appeared. Suddenly everyone was caught up in the whirl of a pre-Cromwellian celebration. Gloves, garters, scarves and ribbons, all adorned the bride, but it was not until after the ceremony that Charmian understood just why.

  ‘My dear Charmian,’ Lady Denholm took the girl’s hands in her own. ‘All this must be very strange for you, but pray be not afraid—Campbell will protect you. The servants have long been oppressed and their joy at being reunited with the Denholm family and the marriage of Campbell—their undoubted favourite—will lead them to celebrate in the only way they know how. It may seem very vulgar and bawdy to you, my dear child, but be assured they mean you no harm. They want to love you as we already do.’

  Tears sprang unbidden to Charmian’s eyes at the kindness in Lady Denholm’s words. And whilst she knew that her father would disapprove most strongly of the day’s happenings, deep in her heart Charmian knew that her mother would not have done so.

  The marriage took place in the chapel of Ashleigh Manor at noon on a bright spring day. Campbell was resplendent in a dark blue silk doublet and breeches, with a velvet cloak trimmed with lace and lined with silk, his hair, at present longer than Charmian’s, curling to his shoulders, his neat beard not quite hiding the scar on his cheek. His face was solemn as he watched Charmian walk slowly to meet him before the altar, his gaze steadfastly upon her pale face. She held herself rigidly erect as if she were merely obeying the wishes of her mother and yet she herself was determined to hold herself aloof and totally remote from the proceedings.

  The words intoned by the priest and repeated mechanically, passed over Charmian’s head ‘… to have and to hold … for richer, for poorer … from this time forward …’

  Then, as it came to the words ‘… I plight thee my troth …’ Charmian faltered. The words suddenly came to be the vow they represented. She was about to give herself wholly to Campbell for the rest of her life. Now Charmian hesitated.

  The silence in the chapel lengthened and then the priest repeated the words more firmly, urging Charmian to say them, to make her vow. There was a restless murmur amongst those present as, slowly, Charmian turned her head to meet Campbell’s steady gaze. His eyes were unreadable depths—she could not see the love there that she had hoped to find. Now—more than ever—Charmian was convinced that Campbell was marrying her only out of a sense of duty.

  ‘My child,’ the priest whispered, ‘ will you not make your vow?’

  Charmian turned her gaze away from Campbell and looked towards the altar. The rich altar cloth and the ornate, bejewelled cross which had been hidden during Cromwell’s rule had miraculously reappeared. The Royalists were rising again whilst her own father now waited in the Tower for certain death. And yet even as these thoughts flew through Charmian’s mind, she seemed to hear her mother’s dying voice. ‘ Remember—it is my wish that you should marry Campbell.’

  Whatever lay behind Campbell’s reason, Charmian’s own was plain enough, she must fulfil her promise. She lifted her chin a little higher and the words came haltingly from her lips, ‘… I plight thee my troth.’

  A sigh rippled through the chapel. It was done. They were married.

  Almost before they left the solemnity
of the chapel, the making merry began. Charmian was shocked and a little afraid as she found herself and Campbell surrounded by the laughing, jostling servants. Fingers reached out to pluck the ribbons and scarves from her dress. A manservant, bolder than the rest—made so by the ale he had already consumed in honour of the bridal pair—caught at the hem of her gown and made to lift her skirt.

  ‘A garter, a garter from the bride!’ he cried. Charmian gave a cry more of surprise than alarm, but at once Campbell’s hand fastened upon the man’s wrist. ‘ I claim sole right to that, my friend,’ and whilst his tone was jocular, there was no mistaking the command.

  The gaze of the master and his servant met for an instant and then they both laughed and the latter released his hold upon the bridal gown and gave a low exaggerated bow towards Campbell and his lady. ‘Sire, I would deny thee not thy pleasure!’

  Bawdy laughter broke out on all sides and Charmian felt it to be at her. Above the bobbing heads she caught sight of Sir Geoffrey and Lady Denholm standing a little apart from the mêlée, yet seeming to enjoy it all, seeming to condone this behaviour so strange to Charmian whose protected, well-ordered life had been so very different.

  If the wedding had not been so hastily arranged there would have been a great number of invited guests—Royalists all—in attendance. As it was, apart from the bridal pair, there was only Sir Geoffrey and his wife and the members of their household present. Nevertheless, the procession from the chapel to the Manor and the waiting banquet was accompanied by a great deal of noise—music from lutes, fiddles, cymbals and drums, laughter, dancing and singing. Amidst it all, Campbell took his wife’s hand and led her proudly towards the Manor, a broad smile upon his face.

  In the great hall a magnificent feast had been laid out. How ever these good people had managed all this preparation in the space of one night, Charmian could not begin to imagine. All at once, she felt humbled by their kindness, by their obvious love for their young master and their ready approval of her as his wife.

  His wife! She was now Campbell’s wife.

  All around her the noise and the laughter went on and on until late in the evening whilst Charmian, seated beside her husband, remained very quiet, eating little, her face pale with exhaustion.

  Campbell leaned towards her. ‘Am I so repugnant to you, Charmian,’ he whispered, ‘that you cannot even bring yourself to join in our wedding feast? Did you really prefer the odious Joshua?’

  Charmian shook her head. At least she owed Campbell the truth. Almost inaudibly, she said, ‘No—no, I did not wish to marry Joshua. I said that in anger—it was not true. But—but neither do I wish to spend my life with a man who despises me, just—just because of the wish of a dying woman.’ She turned to face him now, looking directly into his brown eyes. ‘Did you really think that you could make up for the lost love between your father and my mother? Did you imagine that by marrying me you could atone for their unhappiness?’

  His dark gaze was upon her face, his eyes unreadable depths. Her voice shook a little as she turned from him, murmuring, ‘ I shall never forgive you for what you have done this day. Never!’

  She rose, hoping to leave quietly and unobserved, but escape was impossible. As soon as she stood up the cry echoed around the vast room, ‘The bride, the bride.’

  As if it had been a signal, she was at once led away by six or eight laughing, chattering young women.

  ‘The bedding, ’tis time for the bedding!’ went up the exultant cry and Charmian glanced back to see a like number of young men advancing upon Campbell.

  For the next hour, amidst much ribaldry, Charmian was obliged to submit to being disrobed and adorned in a fine linen bedgown.

  ‘Where’s all her hair-pins. We must leave no pins, ’twill bring ill-luck,’ one young girl exclaimed. ‘Oh madam—why ever is your hair so short?’

  ‘It—was cut off—when I was in Holland.’

  The young girl’s eyes sparkled with interest. ‘ Was that when the young master rescued you?’

  All at once the ugly scene in the market-place was vivid in Charmian’s mind. The angry mob, the branding iron and Timothy’s anguished cry of pain. With a surge of guilt, Charmian realized suddenly that over the last few days she had not once given thought to Timothy nor indeed to her father in the Tower.

  She did not know for certain if they were still alive.

  The girl was chattering on and her words interrupted Charmian’s own thoughts. ‘ Were you ill-treated then, like Sir Geoffrey and Master Campbell in Spain? Oh treated bad, they were. They don’t talk about it, but some say they was tortured by the Spanish for being spies. That’s how Sir Geoffrey lost the use of his right arm, and how the young master got that scar. Mind you, I think it makes him all the more handsome.’

  ‘Tortured? In Spain? I did not know of it.’

  ‘Now, now,’ put in an older woman, ‘this is no talk for a wedding night. Stop your prattle, Mary Jane.’

  ‘No, no, I want to hear it,’ Charmian insisted. ‘ What happened in Spain to Campbell and Sir Geoffrey?’

  ‘We don’t know much more than that, madam,’ the older woman now answered, ‘all we know is that when Sir Geoffrey and Master Campbell were forced into exile, they fled to France and from there to Spain. But there’s something happening there called the—the inquisition—and they were arrested and questioned and—we’ve heard tell—tortured. Oh, it has left its mark, and not only on the young master’s face. He’s not the merry young man he was. He’s got a dark side to him now that he never had before. And Sir Geoffrey, why it’s made an old man of him. But now, there’s happier times ahead for us all now we’ve rid ourselves of these damned Puritans.’

  Charmian was silent. How these people hated the Puritans and how they adored their own master and mistress. Charmian was lost, unable to decide what she should believe.

  Who was right? Her father with his strictness, his harsh standard? Yet his faith and beliefs were sincere, she knew. Or the Royalists with their love of life and pleasure? And yet they too worshipped in their churches and made their pledges with a faith that was just as sincere. But this deep introspection was interrupted.

  The time had come. Amidst much jollity, she was led towards the massive four-poster and then Campbell was ushered into the room by his male attendants and urged to climb into bed beside his bride.

  But all was not done yet.

  ‘Tell the priest we are ready for the blessing.’

  A quietness fell upon the gathering as the priest who had married them entered the room to bless the marriage bed. That done, Charmian thought, they will all leave but still there were more customs the happy revellers remembered from the days before the Puritan rule.

  ‘We must fling the stocking. Here, Mary Jane—see if you can do it.’

  ‘I never heard of it. What must I do?’ the young girl giggled.

  ‘Stand here, at the end of the bed and throw the young mistress’s stocking over your shoulder and see if you can hit her. If you do, ’twill be you next in the marriage bed!’

  The girl squealed with delight and flung the stocking over her shoulder hitting Charmian full in the face.

  The women laughed. ‘You’ll be the next to marry. Now young William—you try to do the same with the young master.’

  It was obvious that Mary Jane and William were considered promised to each other and he, blushing red, performed the custom to the delight of all the women as Charmian’s other stocking landed on Campbell’s head, drooping comically over his nose.

  ‘There, your fate is sealed, Master William,’ Campbell teased. ‘You cannot escape marriage to your Mary Jane now, for we have all witnessed that you are next to marry.’

  The young man shyly put his arm about Mary Jane. ‘Nor do I wish to escape, Master Campbell.’

  ‘Now—off you go and my thanks for making this day possible.’

  ‘One more thing before we leave, young master.’ One of Campbell’s attendants stepped forward holding a goblet.
‘A posset of hot wine, milk, eggs, sugar and spices. ’ Tis said to fortify the bridegroom and the sugar to make him kind.’

  Unsparing of Charmian’s blushes, the laughter rose again, as Campbell drank from the goblet.

  At last the merry-makers departed, though their laughter could still be heard even through the heavy door. But in the bedchamber all was quiet and the darkness enveloped them.

  Charmian felt Campbell move towards her, his arm slip around her, as she lay rigidly afraid now that the time was here.

  ‘Charmian, oh Charmian,’ he whispered close beside her. ‘Do not be afraid. I would not hurt thee—never would I cause thee pain …’

  When she awoke the following morning she was alone. As on the previous morning it took her a few moments to remember where she was and all that had happened on the previous day—and night.

  Unbidden, a small smile curved her lips as she remembered. Campbell had soothed away her fears with unexpected tenderness. He had been demanding yet not brutal until in spite of her initial unwillingness, she found herself responding to him. Never had she imagined it would be like that. By the time he had taken her completely she had submitted to him readily, willingly and pleasurably, her love for him which she had tried so desperately to hide at last overflowing and engulfing her as she felt his need, his desire, for her.

  Perhaps matters between the young couple might have gone on improving gradually, but Fate had another blow in store that threatened to tear them apart and to destroy the growing tenderness between them.

  Campbell greeted her when she descended the stairs and entered the dining-room, an unfathomable expression upon his face once more. A little shyly, Charmian took her place at the opposite end of the long table. This morning she was hungry.

  About half-way through their meal together, they heard a commotion in the hall. The door burst open and a young man dressed in the uniform of the Royalist soldier came running towards Campbell. ‘Sire, sire.’