Defiant Desire

by Anne Carsley

  “You are done with the servant?” She barely waited for Julian’s nod before waving dismissal at Nan, who backed away so rapidly that she almost tumbled over her skirts. “Go and obey your lady.” Her voice was not lowered as she added, “The quality of service is worse every day.” Then she watched Julian closely and her words were almost sweet. “Lady, I bring a message for you from one who is greatly concerned for your well-being.”

  Charles had heard of her difficulties! Eagerly she grasped the parchment that the woman held out and broke the seal. The world spun around her as she read, “Father Sebastino has my approval in all that he does. We knew each other in Spain. When next I see you after your sojourn in the convent of his choice, I shall be interested in your choices.” The initial “A” was slashed across the rest of the page. How neatly she had been trapped by the pervert and the fanatic and the kindness of the queen, who sought to help her ward in a hard decision.

  Mistress Wheeler’s eyes were avid on her. “Lady, are you well? Is there anything in the message to distress you?”

  Julian knew that she had probably read it and might even be in the pay of Attenwood. She revolved to face the woman, taking a lesson from Nan and adapting it to her own need. Her eyes went a little blank, and she smiled vaguely. “No, no. I was just thinking the world seems so far away these days. Where is the good Father?”

  “He cannot come to you until after the royal party has left, for he attends the queen and offers her ghostly counsel. The king himself urged it. But he is most eager to teach you; he himself said it before Her Majesty.” Mistress Wheeler was growing nervous, and her fingers began to pick at her skirt.

  Julian sank to her knees in the middle of the path and spread her arms wide. “I know that the blessing of the spirit will come upon me, and I have the holy man to thank for it. I must have solitude in which to pray. Ah, the blandishments of the world are as nothing . . .”

  “Aye, truly. Truly.” Mistress Wheeler gave Julian a horrified glance and moved away as rapidly as decency would allow. “Of course you need quiet.”

  Julian watched her go and heard a muttered “Touched?” as she rounded the nearest corner. She did not think she would come back unless compelled, but Julian knew she must keep all her senses alert. The waiting was to be the hardest part of her hastily formed plan, and well she knew it. George Attenwood played with her for his own pleasure, and Father Sebastino was dangerous; she would need all the luck in the world in order to circumvent them.

  The smell of fresh grass and lavender floated on the warm air, and the sun rested gentle on her shoulders as she continued to kneel in the white garden. A delicately veined leaf blew inches from her face. The birdcall came round and soft at her side. She was conscious of the sweetness of life and freedom even while the words of Elspeth rang in her ears as they had done in all the years of her growing up. Praying is fine, but sometimes you have to use the wits the Good Lord gave you.

  The corners of her mouth turned up, and her courage was renewed.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The cloud-covered moon gave only a dim light in the silent night, and the wind rustled faintly as the small figure lay on top of the garden wall for a second to listen before sliding down the heavy vines that grew there. A dog barked, hesitantly at first, then loudly as it was joined by others. The sound held and faded as suddenly as it had begun.

  Julian expelled a long breath and moved away from the protecting greenery, over the palace grounds, and into the shadows of the trees, every instinct urging her to run just as caution kept her pace slow. She had wound the skirt of the woven brown gown that Nan had brought up above her ankles and tied it in places with strips of cloth. Her feet were bare, her face smudged with garden dirt. A brown hood covered her hair, and slippers of brown leather were thrust in the band at her waist. A shawl covered her shoulders and hid the small bag around her neck that held the several coins she had unashamedly kept when given them by Lady Clarence to distribute at the time of the queen’s ill-fated venture into the streets to give largesse.

  She let her mind turn back to the agony of the slow hours when she waited for Nan to send her materials, the ever present danger that someone might inspect the packet or decide to exhort Julian herself once more, the wait for the palace to quiet and the moon to go behind the clouds, and the self-questioning that she continued to do, and the final realization that she must find Charles Varland and force him to protect her if he would not do so willingly. How gladly she would return to Redeswan now, she thought, and how heavenly the peace would seem! But the royal anger would follow unless it could be blunted, and for that she must have a friend who was powerful.

  She was in the woodland proper now and could run as she had been cautioned was unbecoming a lady. It was a relief to move freely after the days of inaction and fear; her blood ran headily in her veins, and she had cause to be thankful once again that she was no pampered girl such as Charles’s betrothed. Her own body was strong and her spirit unhampered thanks to the comparative freedom of her rearing. There was advantage to being out of favor, it appeared.

  Julian lost count of the times she ran, paused, ran again, and finally walked with intervals of rest during the remainder of the night as the moon dwindled and the birds began to give off sleepy chirps when the darkness lifted. She passed some dwellings and open fields, then little copses, went along short paths that gave way to open roads, still rutted from the spring rains, now lined with flowers and dusty vines. She could have gone on forever, she felt, but when she heard the distant gurgle of a spring, knew that it was time to rest and reconnoiter.

  She settled in the considerable space behind the branches of an overgrown bush whose thick growth would be hard to penetrate even if one stood only a few feet from it. Then she spread the shawl and lay down, thinking that sleep was impossible. The road near at hand seemed well traveled, but how could she know if it were the one she sought? It might be that she moved in a circle; people did when they were lost, and she was not yet that familiar with the territory of this new life. A bird cried once and then again, a rabbit moved in the undergrowth, and the water rattled briskly along. Time blurred and Julian drifted, warm in the arms of Charles Varland.

  Light was in her face, dazzling her eyes and burning them. There was a sharp sound and a clatter; it seemed to her that she ran before a pursuing mob straight toward a cliff. The snorting sound came again, and then she woke, both hands clutching the grass at her sides, her heart hammering madly. Memory returned instantly and with it the knowledge that her face was itching under the caked dirt, that the sun was squarely in her face, and that it was the sun of midmorning. An old horse was poking along on the road beyond in response to urgent mutters from its master and was whinnying displeasure.

  She turned over on her side and drew into the shade. Hopefully she would be able to tell if this road were well traveled enough for her purpose. If so, there would be time enough to put her plan into operation. The sun inched higher, and she saw only a peasant couple ambling slowly along, their backs bent under heavy bundles. Her mouth was dry and hot, the dress prickled on her back, but she waited for perhaps another half hour without seeing anyone else. Something must be decided before night. She scrambled to her feet and went closer to the road where it curved around a bend. The voice that spoke almost at her feet made her jump and shriek.

  “You stepped on me! I’m trying to shoot the Spaniards! Get down!” The heavy voice broke on the last words but not before Julian threw herself flat on the ground in anticipation of attack. The snickers that began burst into open laughter then.

  She balanced herself on hands and knees and glared into the freckled face of a boy about eleven years old. Dark blond hair stood up in tufts all over his head, and two teeth were missing on the left side of his face. Eyes as green as the branches above them shone into hers. An expression of wariness crossed his face as he surveyed her. He had been crouching behind a bush, his makeshift bow and arrow at the ready; now he rose slightly.
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  “Well, the Spaniards might have been coming. Uncle John thinks they will sometime. I was just practicing.”

  Julian sat back on her heels and burst into laughter that rose and mingled with the boy’s relief. Tears formed in her eyes, and her throat ached as the blessed healing swept over her that she could laugh in freedom on a summer morning. When she could speak she said, “But we are at war with France. You have the wrong enemy.”

  He stiffened. “All the same. England for the English!” A young bantam of a lad, bold and brave as he stood there, his weapons folded under his crossed arms.

  Julian rose in her turn and smiled down at him. “Our land is well defended by such as you, Master . . .”

  “Ned. Edward, really, for the late king, you know.” His grin was bright.

  “I am Bess.” She put out a grimy hand to his equally grimy one. “Can you tell me the way to the Canterbury road? I am lost and must get there as quickly as possible.”

  “Why? Are you running away? I tried it once, only I wanted to go to London. They found me.”

  Julian swallowed hard, her mind swinging back to when she was this age. romantic and full of dreams, ready to brave the world for a cause. “Edward, can you keep a secret? A truly important one?” At his eager nod, she continued, “My betrothed is going to fight the French and sailing with the king when he goes, except that he thinks, as you do, that there’s enough fighting to do here in England. Scots and the like. So I am running away from my mistress in London and will join him when the party reaches Canterbury. Then we’ll go north. Will you show me to the road and keep silence?”

  “Come home with me, Bess. None’s there but Mum, and she never goes out. We’ll do better than show you the road; we’ll help you down it.” He was suddenly older than his years, his eyes anxious on hers. “Please say you’ll come.” She protested in vain; the green gaze did not yield. “Please.”

  “I should not, but I am grateful.” Julian could not greatly fear anything this brilliant morning with the wind in her hair and her body strong and lithe under the hot gown. Was it to take this experience to show her that she was not truly of the royal court? Her feet were sure on the paths as she followed Ned through the woods and around a maze of paths that might have been trodden by deer but never humans.

  The house was a thatched hut in a clearing. One side of it was covered with roses, and a thick vine twisted over the door. Ned called out and then pulled her in after him before she could resist. As her eyes adjusted Julian saw the woman lying on a wooden bed. She was heavily pregnant, and one foot seemed to be deformed, for it twisted back on itself. Two clumsy crutches were close at hand. The girl felt pity well up in her as Ned launched himself at the woman, spilling out the story and embellishing it so that she had to laugh and tell him to cease his chatter.

  Her name was Mary, her husband a woodcutter often gone days at a time, visitors were almost nonexistent, and Ned did what work he could where he could. The thin, soft voice said, “He will walk with you; a woman alone is always in danger. You shall wash and take my shawl; it is more the garment a servant would have. Yours and the talk we exchange will be payment enough.”

  Julian hoped that she could remember the tissue of lies she spun that morning to Mary and her son as she spoke of her dictatorial mistress who wished to keep her unwed and of her love for her handsome Andrew. She told of London, the sights and sounds, the processions and the public gatherings, as much of the court as a servant might be expected to see, adding the tale she had told Ned, and ending, “We, too, seek only peace to live our lives as we may.”

  “That will never happen while hell’s daughter sits on the throne! We lived by the river once and had a good living. My neighbor informed against me for a chance remark, and I was put to the rack, which made me as you see. We had to flee for our safety and our lives, such as they are! What sort of life will my son have in such circumstances?” She tossed fretfully on the bed, and Ned came near to murmur soothing words.

  Julian felt the heat of anger once again. “It is truly bitter. How can I thank you for your help?” She had availed herself of water and comb. Now she was clean again, and her face shone in the dimness; her hair, coiled demurely beneath the hood, still gave off glimmers of light. The brown gown was shaken out, and the new shawl, dark and ragged in places, gave the appearance of the country.

  Mary reared up on the bed, and her face was transformed by the fury that Julian did not dare show. She spat, “What good is prayer? Who is there to hear? Get your man to join with those who would set the Princess Elizabeth on the throne and free us of this yoke to Spain. Let him fight here where the battle is! Will you do it? Will you?”

  “Aye.” Julian wanted only to escape this flood of understandable emotion and go into the hot noon, but something stronger held her. “Are there many who feel as you do? Who have suffered as you?”

  “Many. As many as the sands of the sea.” Mary slumped back in weariness and closed her eyes.

  Ned pulled her skirt, and Julian followed him outside. “She gets so lonely, Bess. Did you mind?” She shook her head, and he grinned with relief. “Then come, the road is long.”

  The road was indeed long, and they hastened along it, a peasant girl and her young brother, bound for who cared where. It was the road of the pilgrims, travelers to the coastal cities, royalty and tradesmen, the road of history. Julian was conscious of ruts, dust thrown up by carts and animals, the chaffering of one laborer to another, the burning heat of the sun. She forgot safety and adventure and the discomfort that Mary had aroused in her concerning the queen; she thought only of food and drink, of rest for her burning feet.

  The sun had lost something of its power when she saw, at a crossroads and in the shelter of three large oak trees set well off to the side, a small inn which had long ago lost the one coat of whitewash it had been given. The carving of an ill-favored bird straddled the roof, and a lettered sign below proclaimed this inn to be the White Pheasant. Ned glanced uneasily at the sun, and Julian read his mind. Soon he must hasten back to his mother, then she would be alone. Not for the first time, she doubted the scheme that had come to her when she learned from Nan that Charles had gone ahead to the coast to make sure, with others, that all was in readiness for the royal departure. If she followed and confronted him there, made her demands known or her plea given, whichever seemed most expedient, then she would have the best chance for success. He was by no means indifferent to her, betrothed or no. She shrugged back the pain that thought gave her; one must do the best one could, and she was not one to blindly submit.

  They entered the taproom of the inn only to find it filled with drinkers, most of whom seemed to know one another, for they bawled insults back and forth in amiable fashion. Another group, perhaps laborers on the way back to their village, sat over tankards in a corner and muttered to themselves. A huge woman, dark hair straggling down her back, rushed in and out among them, her high voice raised in answer to complaints and comments alike.

  “Hurry, Madge, got to be on the road before dark.” “Satisfy a man’s thirst!” “Ale, over here!” “That good-for-nothing Henry still drunk?” “I asked for wine! Do you have it or not?” “Getting it fast as I can!” “Coming!” “Wait your turn!”

  Julian and Ned stood just inside the door and listened. The cries, though basically good-natured, might turn angry at any moment. She had spent stolen time in the inn at the village below Redeswan in the days before a horrified Lady Gwendolyn had been informed and was now surprised at how much she had absorbed. There was a sudden push at her back that sent her to the dirt floor. A large, evil-smelling man stamped past and paused a foot from her.

  “Wine! The wine of Bordeaux! I will have it now!” His angry voice lifted over the hubbub.

  “Sir, this is a poor inn. I have none such.” Madge’s words were softer than the other comments had been.

  “Poor comfort for the traveler to Canterbury!” The man snatched at the end of a table, and so great was his siz
e, several drinkers tumbled from their low stools to the floor. Others retreated before the start of drunken anger.

  Julian threw all her strength against the widespread legs just below the knees and Ned joined her. The drunken man, caught off guard and unbalanced, toppled as if he were a felled tree. His head cracked on the side of another table and he lay still.

  The inn was silent for a second, then cries of delight arose along with clapping. Madge hurried toward Julian and Ned, who stood laughing in surprise at their own feat.

  “Take him outside and throw him across on the other side of the road. Lazy louts to let him try to tear up the place! I ought to close down for sheer exasperation!” Madge laughed as some of her chastened customers rushed to do her bidding. “Girl, that was quick thinking. It saved us a fight. Will you drink good wine, you and the boy?”

  Julian remembered Nan’s face before Mistress Wheeler, her own dullness before the commissioners of the king, and she assumed that look now. “I would ask another thing, good mistress. It grows late and my small brother must return to his master. I am for my village, but a night’s lodging would be a blessing, and I could help you here in the taproom for my food.”

  Madge examined her curiously, the small eyes intent. Julian repeated her request in almost the same vein. Ned pulled at her hand, and she looked down at him with the same expression. The woman blew her breath out. “That’s the way it is, then? Can you handle this work with direction?”

  Julian said, “Aye, mistress.” Then she said her piece again and saw the woman look around at the waiting men whose eyes had taken it all in. The unconscious man had been taken outside and those men returned. “He pushed me. I pushed back.” She put both hands on her hips and looked around.

  Madge grinned. “You shall help me this night and welcome, girl.” She raised her voice to the men. “And no fooling with her, either. She pushes back.”