Her Captive Cavalier

by Marina Oliver

  'My lord! Don't! You're not strong enough!' Caro cried, dropping her embroidery and catching his arm.

  'I don't believe it! Rupert vowed to hold Bristol! It's our only good port! The news is wrong. It must be.'

  He sank back into the chair and clasped her hand, crushing it between his own.

  'It's true,' she said quietly, wishing she could wipe the bleak, stricken look from his eyes. 'No one knows why, but there are many rumours - '

  'Rumours?' he demanded. 'Rumours about the surrender? Then it may not be true!'

  'I didn't mean that. It's true. No, there were rumours about why he did it. Some say he hadn't enough men, and surrendered in order to prevent more deaths. Fairfax permitted him to march out and go to Oxford. But others - '

  She stopped, biting her lip. She hadn't meant to say anything more, but their closeness, the tingling that gripped her as he held her hand, seemed to have driven out her wits.

  'Well? Tell me the worst. I am used to his enemies spreading calumnies about him. What are they saying?'

  'That he was bribed!'

  To her relief he laughed. It was a bitter sound, but better than the blank, withdrawn expression.

  'What rubbish! Rupert cannot be bribed! I've known him as a good friend for years, fought beside him, and know that all he cares for is to save the King. How can they accuse him of such nonsense? It's another trick of the Parliament.'

  'It's not just his enemies, from what we've heard. The King's men are saying it too. You see, while he and Fairfax were at Bristol, Parliament granted some money - I don't know the details, but it was a great deal, I believe - to his brother.'

  'But the Elector Palatinate has been a pensioner of Parliament for years! That could not influence Rupert.'

  'It's what they say,' Caro said helplessly. She was afraid for some reason. If he did not believe her, he might ride into danger. His next words seemed to confirm that fear.

  'You say he's gone to Oxford? I must get well and join him there as soon as possible.'

  'You can't,' Caro protested. 'You're not strong enough,' she added quickly.

  'Not now, but I will be soon.'

  Caro bit back her reply, and tried to turn the conversation. He made an effort to be polite, and listened to her description of how she had learned to manage the farm. To her relief, he soon tired and went willingly back to bed, but she knew he was thinking about it, making plans, by the abstracted expression which became so familiar during the next few days.

  It was, however, several days before he spoke of it again. He was by then strong enough to come downstairs, and they were taking advantage of an unexpectedly warm day to sit in a sheltered spot in the privy garden.

  'I see you had a visitor yesterday,' he said suddenly. 'A Parliamentary soldier, if I'm any judge.'

  Caro glanced at him uneasily.

  'John Culham. He was one of Peter's friends. He was wounded slightly, and has been sent home to Barnstaple. He - called in to see how we did.'

  'I hadn't realised your Peter was with the rebels. But he brought news?'

  She nodded unhappily.

  'Peter was disturbed about the way the King treated Parliament. He thought the squires, the landowners, should have more say in how they were taxed. He'd been planning to enter the Commons, one day, you see - '

  'I see, my dear Caro, that you are trying to avoid giving me news. I'm not concerned with your cousin's beliefs, but with the situation today.'

  Caro sighed. 'Very well. But I don't know if it's true. We hear so many conflicting things. Apparently the King dismissed Prince Rupert and ordered him to leave the country. He also arrested Colonel Legge, who was the Prince's friend, and replaced him as Governor of Oxford.'

  There was a moment of stunned silence, then Lord Ashring spoke harshly.

  'Is this true, or is it a calumny spread by those damned Roundheads?'

  Caro sprang to her feet, distressed at the bleak look on his face, and tried to cover it with anger.

  'I don't know! I can only repeat what I've been told! Why do you always question it? Why do you think I'd be telling you falsehoods? How can I know what is happening in Oxford, or anywhere else for that matter! I haven't been there! And I don't want to go there, or anywhere but here, I want to live in peace! I despise every one of you! You've taken Peter away from me with all this stupid fighting, and it's nothing to do with us, with ordinary people who don't care a groat for Kings and Parliaments and - '

  Blinded with tears, shaking her head to dispel them, she turned and took a hasty step away from him. But her progress was halted as he grasped her arm in a relentless grip.

  'Caro, my dear, I didn't mean to hurt you,' he said softly, and forced her to turn and face him. 'Of course I believe you're telling the truth about what you've heard.'

  She blinked hard. 'Why should I try to invent untruths? What good would that do me?'

  He took her chin in one hand and forced her to look up at him. 'None at all. But if it comes from this Culham fellow, a Parliament man, can you believe him? Don't you see, it's just the sort of rumour they would spread?

  Caro tried to twist her head away. Standing so close to him, her arm still gripped with one hand, and his face so close to hers, made her feel weak and uncomfortable.

  'What good do they think it would do, to spread untruths?' she asked.

  'I've known Prince Rupert for years, my dear, and it just isn't possible he'd become a traitor. Although he has enemies at Court, men who in the main are jealous of him, he is the ablest commander the King has. Without him the cause would be utterly lost. That's why I find it incredible the King would desert him.'

  'John said Rupert was trying to reach the King, who was in Wales when it all happened, and by now might be anywhere,' Caro muttered. 'Now please let me go, you're hurting my arm.'

  He released her immediately, but she did not move. Slowly he took her face in his hands again and inexorably forced her to look up at him. There was hurt in her eyes, as well as anger. With a gentle finger he brushed away a tear which trembled on her lashes, and then pulled her to him, his arms urgent as they encircled her.

  'I'm a brute. I shouldn't have let my surprise affect you, my dearest Caro. My little love, I can't bear to see you so unhappy. Say I'm forgiven.'

  She was trembling, for she had never before been so close to a man. Not even Peter had done more than give her a brotherly hug. She was afraid, but at the same time realised this was something she had been waiting for, since the moment she'd seen him lying unconscious on the bed, blood streaming from the cut on his scalp. Maybe, her thoughts whirled uncontrollably, since she'd seen him entering the garden where they now stood.

  As he bent to kiss her she sighed, trustingly offered up her lips, and without thought raised her arms to clasp him tighter.

  ***

  Chapter 4

  For several days Caro lived in a haze of delight. She and Robert, as he insisted she called him, spent most of their time together. On mild days they walked in the garden, and as he grew stronger she showed him her beloved valley. Hand in hand they explored the tracks which led northwards, away from the village and the fertile fields, leading eventually to the bleak uplands of the moor. For her the present enchantment was enough, she gave no thought to the future.

  And they talked. She spoke of parents she could barely remember, and her home in Cornwall, left ten years ago. She told him, hesitantly, about the childhood betrothal with Peter and the sorrow of his early death.

  At first they did not talk of politics. Caro was reluctant to introduce it after her outburst, and Robert, she thought, refrained because he did not wish to distress her by arguing. However, she knew he gleaned news from Jacob, who got it from the villagers.

  But one day he was so preoccupied she had to ask what he'd heard. They were sitting in the oak panelled parlour Lady Waring had used when the family had no guests. It was a small, cosy room, and outside it was a cold, blustery October day.

  'Bad news, I fear. Cro
mwell sweeps all before him in Hampshire and Wiltshire. The King is losing his last strongholds. And no one seems to have the slightest notion of what Montrose is doing in Scotland.'

  'Have you heard where Prince Rupert is?' Caro asked. She rose restlessly, and went to look out of the window at the rain beating down. 'Has he left England?'

  'No. He hopes to persuade the King to hear his side of events at Bristol. The King is at Newark, I believe, and Rupert will try to reach him there. Caro, I'm well enough now to rejoin the army - what's left of it! I must go within a few days.'

  Caro stared at him, at first too surprised to speak. This had been a fear she had suppressed, something she could not, would not think about. Then dismay engulfed her and she held out her hand in mute supplication.

  'My dearest Caro!'

  He pulled her gently into his arms, cradled her on his knees, and found she was shivering uncontrollably. He kissed away her tears, explaining he had a duty as a soldier.

  'I long to stay here with you, sweetheart. You've cared for me so lovingly, it's been a few stolen weeks, a joyous memory I shall always treasure. But I must rejoin the King. He needs every man possible, and Rupert needs friends at Court too, to counter the jealousies of men like Digby.'

  'And afterwards?' Caro asked tonelessly. Would there be an afterwards? 'What will you do then?'

  'It depends on what happens in the next few weeks. But it's not hopeful. It looks highly probable I'll be seeking my fortune in France or the Netherlands!'

  And what of me? Caro longed to ask, but dared not. It was abundantly clear to her that these few weeks which had been so momentous for her were incidental to his purpose in life. All he cared about was the King and his cause.

  'I wish you well,' she said as lightly as she could. 'Now it's almost dinner time and I must help Bessy.'

  She kept busy and out of his way for the rest of the day, and escaped early to her bed. She needed to be on her own, to have time to think.

  It was inevitable, she told herself bitterly, she would fall in love with such a handsome man when she'd been thrown into his company for so long, nursing him. Especially when his illness was the result of her impetuosity. And yet, what was love? She had no one to ask. Could she possibly know?

  It was equally inevitable, she told herself angrily, that he, for amusement during the time he had to be in Waring Manor, should seek diversion with her. Were not all men the same? And like a fool she hadn't seen it was simply a game for him.

  She struggled to be fair. He had never mentioned a future. His tender endearments, his warm and exciting kisses which produced such strange and delightful sensations deep within her, might be nothing more to him than the casual greeting kiss everyone used.

  How was she to know what was normal behaviour amongst grown men and women of his type? She had been just sixteen when her aunt had died, and since then had never been in company except for one brief visit to Falmouth. Apart from the villagers she knew very few people, just the occasional old friend from Peter's schooldays, men like John Culham.

  She'd read far more into his behaviour than was meant, and no doubt he would be horrified if he discovered the dreams she had been harbouring. Dreams of always being with him, ridiculous fantasies which ignored all practical details, and went no further than the desire never to be separated from him.

  It cost Caro dearly to present a bright and cheerful face to the household the following day. Fortunately they were all busy picking apples and she had the perfect excuse to avoid his suggestion of walking up onto the moor. But she could scarcely refuse the offer of his help in the orchard.

  'When do you plan to leave us, my lord?' she asked briskly as she handed him a full basket to carry back to the apple store. 'Will it be before we have gathered the fruit?'

  'You'm leaving?' Jacob asked, overhearing. 'It's too soon, you'm not properly well yet.'

  'Well enough to sit in the saddle, and by the time I get to Newark I shall be quite my normal self. I ought to go tomorrow. Is my horse in good fettle?'

  'He's fine and newly shod only two days since. Fretting for some action, though. Where's Newark? Be it a long way off? I never heard on it. This side of Bristol?'

  'Much further, well past the other side, in the east,' Robert told him.

  'Fancy that, now. And you'm going to ride that far. Bessy'd better pack you some vittals.'

  Caro kept out of his way for the rest of the day, and escaped early to bed. But she could not sleep. She would be losing him so soon, and she had had so little time with him. After several hours of tossing restlessly, she got up and slipped on her robe. She would go and make herself a posset, one to help her sleep.

  She crept down the stairs and through into the kitchen. The fire still glowed, and she took a spill and lit a candle, setting it on the table while she found what she needed. She filled a small pot with water and hung it over the fire to heat while she chopped marjoram and bergamot leaves, and ground some dill seeds.

  She poured the water over the herbs and let it steep for a minute, then sat with the tankard in her hands, staring into the embers of the fire, forgetting to drink.

  Suddenly a noise outside impinged on her thoughts. It was the metallic clang of a horse's shoe on stone, and it was close by. It was far too late for the villagers to be about. Who could be riding through the village at this time of night?

  Afraid, Caro swiftly blew out the candle and ran through the silent house. She peered from the parlour casement which overlooked the privy garden and beyond it the road. There was no moon, but the sky was clear and the stars bright. Several men, at least half a dozen, had halted their horses beyond the gate.

  With painstaking care Caro eased open the window, holding the catch carefully so that it did not fall back against the window frame. The voice came to her clearly.

  'You two round to the back then, and one each to watch the side windows. We know he's here, and we'll have no murderous Royalists escaping the net by jumping out of a window.'

  Caro could hardly breathe. She watched as the men spread out, taking care to make as little noise as possible.

  'Seth, you come to the front door with me. But not till the others are in place. We'll count to a hundred, slowly, then I'll move in.'

  Caro pulled the window close, standing out of sight behind the damask curtain. As soon as it was latched she ran as fast as she could across the room, not even noticing it as her bare toes banged against the end of a heavy settle.

  Racing up the stairs she found herself counting, but had only reached ten when she came to the top. She made herself pause to lift the latch of Robert's door as quietly as possible. Then she flung herself across to the bed, dragged the hangings aside and shook him vigorously.

  'Robert! Oh, Robert, please wake up! Quiet, please don't make a noise!'

  He had the soldier's ability to wake instantly, and be fully alert. Caro was still begging him to be silent when he grasped her shoulders and shook her slightly.

  'Caro, calm down! My love, what on earth is it?'

  'Listen, I beg of you! And do as I say, there's no time for argument!'

  'What's frightened you? Let me light a candle, then you can tell me what it is.'

  'No! We mustn't show a light. Thank goodness your curtains are drawn, and they won't see our shadows from the firelight, though there isn't much of that.'

  'They? Who?'

  'Parliament men, at least six of them, surrounding the house and out to catch you,' she gabbled. 'Quickly, get out of bed and pick up your clothes!'

  'If they are surrounding the house there is little I can do, dressed or otherwise,' he said calmly.

  'But there is!' She was almost sobbing in her urgency. 'Oh, Robert, don't waste time! Don't argue! I can hide you, but we must be quick.'

  To her relief he accepted it, nodded, and swiftly and silently collected his clothes together.

  She whisked round the room gathering up his other belongings and thrusting them into the saddlebags. She had reason
to be thankful both for his neatness, always keeping his possessions in the same places, and the fact she had spent so much time in this room and knew where every item was. She could find them without fumbling in the very dim glow of the almost dead fire.

  The fireplace was vast, almost as large as the one in the hall beneath, with huge settles built in at either side. Caro had explained one day that in Tudor times the room had been a parlour where the family could retire in privacy. This had been before the hall was divided to make separate rooms downstairs.

  Now she swept the book he'd left on one settle to the floor, twisted a knob in the ornately carved back, and pulled the seat up to reveal a gaping hole.

  'It's a priest's hole. Get in, lie down, and you can wriggle through the back, then work your way round behind the fireplace. I'll throw your clothes and things in after you. Drag them in with you. There's a panel you can slide into place once you're in, so that if they should search it looks an innocent chest. I'll throw in some blankets. That's what we would normally keep in here.'

  To her relief he did not argue, but clambered into the settle and lay down as she directed. She went on whispering instructions as he began to crawl through the gap.

  'In the little room there's a trap in the floor, it leads to a space behind the hall fireplace, and you could get out that way if necessary. I'll let you know when they've gone. Now I must go and warn Jacob.'

  He was following her instructions as she spoke, and had no time to say more than a hasty thanks, before she tossed in a couple of blankets from the matching settle, slammed the seat into place and tossed the book back onto it.

  Already there was a loud hammering at the front door. She could hear Jacob clumping down the stairs from the attics where the servants slept. He was muttering imprecations against heathens who disturbed good folk in their beds at night.

  'Jacob!' she hissed, intercepting him outside the bedroom as he went past.

  'Mistress Caro!'

  He was scandalised, and Caro realised that her appearance in the middle of the night, in her nightgown, from Lord Ashring's room, might be interpreted badly. Despite the anxiety she giggled.