Her Rebel Heart: A romance of the English Civil War

by Alison Stuart

  He drew rein, his nose twitching. Over the stench of burning from the slighted castle, even from two hundred yards distant, he could smell death. He dismounted and led his horse across the battlefield to the ditch that lay before the castle, steeling himself to look down.

  He counted twenty eight bodies lying in the inadequate defensive ditch below the castle walls. Just as Lovedie had said, the men of Byton's garrison had been tied in pairs and their throats savagely cut. Farrington hadn't even spared the powder for a merciful bullet.

  Luke's own men dismounted and stood beside him looking down at the carnage, the horror on their faces undisguised. The man beside him turned away, retching and two went down on their knees, their hands clasped in prayer. Luke reflected, with some gratitude, that at least they had not heard Farrington's message. ‘Kinton Lacey will be next’

  Even as they stood there, the sound of women's voices and weeping came from the broken building and a group of four women appeared in the gateway. They walked towards him, past the shattered remnants of the gate hanging drunkenly from its hinges, their hands outstretched beseeching the newcomers to retrieve their menfolk for decent burial.

  Without the necessity of him giving the order, Luke's men set to the gruesome work retrieving the bodies and giving the dead some dignity in their last resting place.

  Luke left the men to their grisly task. With his pistol primed and at the ready, he entered the ruined stronghold. Farrington had set charges and brought down the towers and much of the curtain wall. Byton would pose no more threat to the royalist cause again. He thought of Kinton Lacey and the fate that awaited it—that awaited the garrison—if they should fail to hold it.

  An attempt had been made to torch what was left of the place but the fire had not taken hold completely. In the remains of the hall, he stepped over the charred and still smoking timbers, and climbed the stone stairs to the upper level of the only tower that had survived the destruction.

  A rattle of stone above him, alerted every nerve in his body and he softened his step, his hand tightening on the stock of his pistol.

  The stairs opened out into a square room that had apparently been used as quarters for the garrison. Straw mattresses had been piled in a corner with neatly stacked blankets. He scanned the room, and in the soft morning light caught the faintest flicker of movement from behind a buttress.

  He braced and cocked his pistol, levelling it in readiness.

  “Come out,” he said.

  “Please don't fire.” The voice sounded young and frightened.

  A slight figure stepped out from the narrow space formed by the buttress and the wall, holding shaking hands above his head. He fell to his knees and looked up at Luke. The boy could not have been more than about thirteen, a scrawny youngster, his dirty face streaked with the tracks of tears.

  Luke lowered his pistol. “It's all right, lad. I'm not one of Farrington's men. We're from the garrison at Kinton Lacey.”

  The boy gave a choked sob and slid down against the wall. He wrapped his arms around his legs, lowered his head on to his knees, and began to rock back and forth.

  Luke crouched down next to him. “I don't need to ask you any questions, lad. I've eyes in my head. Can you tell me your name?”

  The boy sniffed and said in a muffled voice, “Toby, sir. Toby Brown.” He raised his head and looked into Luke's eyes. “They're all dead, aren't they? I heard them screaming.” His face crumpled. “I hid meself. I should’ve been out there with them.”

  Luke laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. “And you would be dead too. Nothing you could have done would have changed anything, Toby. You're alive. That's what matters.”

  The boy continued to rock back and forth, locks of red hair covering his face.

  Luke squatted down. “You wouldn't be related to a Lovedie Brown would you?”

  The boy stopped his rocking and looked up. “She's my sister. What's happened to her? I thought her safe in Ludlow with our aunt.”

  Luke regarded him for a moment. “Why would you think that?”

  “She escaped from here not long afore the final assault.”

  Lovedie had not made it to safety. Farrington had caught her.

  “Is she dead?” The boy looked up at him, his face stricken.

  Luke held up a placatory hand. “Don't worry. She's safe at Kinton Lacey.” How she had got there and the grim message she carried was for Lovedie’s telling, not him.

  The boy closed his eyes. “I prayed for her so hard.” He raised his face to the ceiling. “Thank you, Lord.”

  He held out his hand, raising the boy.

  Toby swallowed and ran a hand through his hair. He took a deep breath. “Where are they? I've got to see for meself,” he said.

  Luke knew he meant his murdered friends and he didn't argue. He followed the boy down the stairs and out of the stinking ruin. The bodies of the slain had been laid out and it made grim viewing. Luke told the corporal about the blankets in the tower room and the man nodded, gesturing for two of the men to go and fetch them.

  The boy looked down the line of slain men. The women knelt beside the bodies of their menfolk, the keening of their grief almost too much to bear. Luke placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and Toby turned to look up at him.

  “Can I go to Lovedie?” he asked.

  “Of course, but first tell us who the dead are so we can give them proper burial.”

  Toby nodded and they walked the line of the dead, giving the grisly corpses the humanity of their names. These men who twenty four hour earlier had walked, talked, and laughed with the boy. Luke had little time for monsters like Charles Farrington. He would see him dead before this affair was over.

  They could not do much more than lay the bodies back in the bottom of the ditch and cover them with earth. Sergeant Hale said prayers over the dead, and with the morning sun high, the men mounted their horses and turned back for Kinton Lacey.

  An uneasy feeling prickled at Luke. It had all been too easy. It gnawed at him that Charles Farrington had apparently just walked away from Byton. The dramatic flourish of dumping Lovedie with her message only made him more suspicious. He wondered if this was what trout felt after it had been tickled and had taken the bait.

  Dearly as Luke would have loved to have put his heels to his horse and ridden hell for leather back to the safety of Kinton Lacey, a soldier's natural caution held him back. Small party though they were, he sent a scout out in front and proceeded at a leisurely walk. An hour's ride would take a little longer but he had to ensure they all arrived back in one piece. He could not afford to lose a single man.

  He rode with every nerve on edge. Behind him, his men rode in single file down the narrow country lanes, each man lost in his own thoughts. The horror of what they had dealt with that day reflected in their grim faces and their silence.

  To reach Kinton Lacey they had to cross a bridge over the River Teme. They were quarter of a mile from the bridge when the forward scout came galloping down the lane toward them. He drew rein, his face white.

  “Soldiers,” he said. “Cutting off the bridge.”

  Luke took a deep breath and uttered a silent prayer of thanks that he had not given in to emotion. Farrington had guessed, rightly, that Luke would respond to the situation at Byton and had laid the ambush for his return, certain in the knowledge that the parliamentary troops would be caught off guard.

  “How many?”

  “A hundred maybe more.”

  They stood no chance against those odds.

  “Were you seen?”

  The man hesitated. “I don't know.”

  Of course he had been, Farrington would have his own scouts out and they would have seen them all coming.

  “Fight the bastards,” one of the men growled.

  “Not today,” Luke said. “Split up. Half of you go around to the north and half to the south. Get across that river and we will meet back at Kinton Lacey.”

  Even as he spoke, a musket ball whistled ove
rhead and he heard the pounding of galloping horses. Farrington must have realised his ambush had been sprung and was coming after them.

  Without need for further discussion, Luke's men turned their horses in the narrow lane and they galloped for the nearest crossroad where they split up. Luke, Hale, with the boy Toby riding pillion behind him and three others went north with a squadron of horsemen in the Farrington livery of blue coats hard on their heels.

  One of the men with him was local, and he turned them across country down towards the river but even as they reached the bank, he could see more blue-coated soldiers on the far bank.

  “There's a ford about quarter a mile further on,” the young man said as they paused with blue soldiers closing in on them from behind.

  Luke nodded and they followed the river bank, the men on the far bank keeping pace with them. The occasional pistol shot slowed them but failed to hit any marks. A heavily wooded copse on the far bank slowed their pursuers and the parliament men put their heels to their horses in the knowledge that if they could get across the river before the soldiers on the far bank reached the crossing, they stood a chance of making it to Kinton Lacey, two miles further on.

  Luke crouched low over the horse's head and prayed.

  Deliverance had been up and down to the tower watching for the men since mid-morning. As the evening drew on, annoyance turned to concern. Her fears had been justified. Luke had walked into a trap and was probably captured...or dead. At the last thought, her heart tightened.

  Penitence, calm as always, looked up from her needlework as Deliverance paced the floor of the parlour.

  “He will be fine, Liv,” she said.

  “I have a bad feeling,” Deliverance blurted out. “I told him not to go. If anything's happened to him, it will be his own fault.” She clasped her hands together. “I tried to get Ned Barrett to go out after them but he says his orders are to stay within the castle. He won’t defy Collyer’s orders.” Deliverance did another round of the parlour. “Collyer’s so stubborn, arrogant and...and...”

  “A man?” Penitence suggested.

  Melchior entered the room without knocking. “Some of Captain Collyer's men are back,” he said.

  Deliverance’s heart lifted for a moment before sinking back as she realised what Melchior had said.

  Some of his men...not Captain Collyer.

  Melchior signalled to a man waiting outside the door to enter. He all but stumbled into the room, his face drawn and grey, his eyes red-rimmed and haunted. Deliverance took one look at him and knew that something had occurred at Byton--something terrible. Her first thought was of Luke and that terrible nagging fear that had haunted her all day crystallised. She took a deep breath. She had to maintain control. If she fell in a weeping heap on the floor, that would serve no purpose.

  “What happened?” Deliverance refrained from grasping the man by his dirty collar and shaking him.

  “Farrington was waiting for us at the bridge over the Teme. We got away but we had to split up.”

  “Captain Collyer?”

  “He's with the others. They're not back yet?” The man shot a glance at Melchior who shook his head.

  Deliverance glanced through the window at the darkening sky. If Luke was in trouble surely he would wait until the cover of darkness to make his way home?

  The man sensed her concern. “He'll be fine, ma'am. I've served with him this year past and he can look after himself.”

  The man's assurance provided no comfort. If he was still alive, Luke was out there when he should have been safe within the castle walls.

  A shout went up from the courtyard. Deliverance hurried across to the window and saw a small group of horsemen riding into the castle confines. The heads on their beasts sagged with exhaustion as they drew rein.

  As people ran out with torches, Deliverance counted the horsemen in. Ten men had gone out, five had returned in the first party. She counted...three horses... there should have been five.

  She gathered up her skirts and ran down to the courtyard as the last two horsemen entered. Sergeant Hale with someone riding pillion on the horse with him and the unmistakable outline of Luke Collyer, hatless behind him. The gates slammed shut behind him.

  Deliverance took a steadying breath. All the patrol was now accounted for. Her fears had been unfounded. Now she could afford to be angry.

  She gathered her skirts and descended down into the courtyard but as she approached him and saw Luke's grim face, her caustic greeting stopped in her throat.

  She looked from Luke's face to the other men and saw the story confirmed in their eyes. She could smell it on their clothes, the stench of smoke and something else, a sickly sweet smell of decay. Lovedie’s story had been true, all of it. Charles Farrington had murdered the garrison at Byton before slighting the castle.

  Luke dismounted, leaning against the animal's neck as if too weary to move any further. A red-headed boy slid off Sergeant Hale's horse and stood looking around at the gathering crowd. Deliverance heard a shriek and turned to see Lovedie pushing her way through the crowd.

  “Toby! Oh Toby, ye're safe!”

  Deliverance glanced at Luke.

  “Her brother,” he said, his tone heavy. He looked spent, dark circles under his eyes that had not been there the previous day.

  The Brown siblings threw their arms around each other, both crying with relief.

  Lovedie looked up at Luke. “Oh, Captain Collyer, how can I ever thank you?”

  Luke stiffened and he shook his head. “It was the boy's own wits that saved him, not I.”

  Lovedie seized his hands. “We owe you our lives, sir. We'll not forget your kindness.”

  Luke extricated his hands and shook his head.

  “Nothing any good Christian wouldn't do.” He looked around the assembled garrison. “Farrington is on the move and he will be with us come the morning. It's time to shut the gates. Those who want to go, leave now.”

  No one moved.

  “We're here to the end, sir,” Truscott said and the Kinton Lacey men nodded in agreement.

  “Lovedie?” Luke looked at the girl. “You and the boy've just been through a siege, there's no call to go through another.”

  Lovedie straightened, tightening her arm around her brother. The siblings exchanged glances.

  “We're not leavin',” she said. “I told you, we owe you our lives and if that's what the good Lord wants of us, then we'll stay and see it out.”

  Toby looked up at Luke with undisguised worship in his eyes. “I'm your man now, Captain Collyer. I can fire a musket as good as any.”

  Luke clapped the boy on the shoulder as Hale held up his arms and boomed, “On your knees and let us pray to God Almighty for the souls of the slaughtered at Byton and for our safe delivery from the enemy. And let us beseech God to smite our enemy and give us victory.”

  As one every man, woman and child sank to their knees in the muddy courtyard to echo Sergeant Hale's fervent prayers.

  As Luke rose, brushing the mud from his breeches, Deliverance put her hand on his sleeve.

  “Luke?”

  He looked down at her, his face grim. “We don't have time for pleasantries, Deliverance. We need to get as many of the villagers as want to come in here along with as much livestock as we can fit. Ned...”

  He strode off leaving her standing in the middle of the courtyard. Halfway to the gate, he stopped and turned, looking at her with a smile on his face.

  “Well, my lady? Are you just going to stand there? I can't do this by myself.”

  Chapter 9

  They heard Farrington's advance long before he arrived. The steady cadence of his drums and the tramp of feet drifted toward Kinton Lacey with the soft summer breeze, long before the first soldiers came into sight.

  Deliverance watched from the castle wall, anxiously scanning the road for the patrol Luke had led out at first light. The five horsemen came galloping up the road toward the castle. A shout went up from the Gatehouse a
nd the horse's hoofs clattered on the cobbles as they entered the castle. Hitching up her skirts, Deliverance and ran down into the courtyard to meet them. As she placed her hand on the bridle of Luke's horse and looked up into his grim face, she knew the news would not be good.

  He unbuckled the heavy steel ‘pot’ helmet he wore and pulled it off, shaking out his sweat dampened hair.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  A wry, humourless smile twisted his lips. “We’re honoured. Sir Richard himself is riding at the head of the column.” Luke paused. “I calculate he has three hundred men with him as well as all the guns we saw at Ludlow.”

  At the memory of the impressive arsenal they had seen demonstrated on the water meadow at Ludlow, Deliverance’s courage wavered. She looked away and took a deep breath to steady her nerve, as Luke swung off his horse.

  “Is everyone inside?” he asked.

  She nodded and Luke turned to Sergeant Hale.

  “Shut the gates, Hale.”

  “Sir!” Hale turned on his heel, already bellowing the orders.

  It took three men to shut the heavy gates, stoutly reinforced with new cut oak. With its chains clattering, the newly repaired portcullis juddered to the ground behind the gates with a resounding thump.

  Kinton Lacey had become once more the fortress it had been designed to be.

  Deliverance looked up at the walls and saw the garrison already deploying to their rehearsed positions, the sun glinting from the metal on their muskets and helmets. Buckets of water had been placed at strategic positions on the walls and around the courtyard, ready to deal with the inevitable fires. They were as ready as they would ever be.

  A hand rested on her shoulder and Luke said, “Nothing more to be done, Mistress Felton.”

  “When will he be here?”

  “Within the hour.”

  Deliverance nodded and gave Luke a brave smile. “Then I will be waiting for him.”

  Preparing for the imminent arrival of a besieging force held some odd similarities with the expected arrival of an exalted guest. One dressed for the occasion. Luke considered his rather limited wardrobe, and decided on grim, military efficiency.