Toby had burnished the steel breastplate, helmet and gorget, and the leather of his baldric shone like glass. He donned the stiff leather buff coat and allowed Toby, who had, unasked, assumed the role of his manservant to buckle on his armour.
“You terrify me,” Ned said with a smile as Luke turned to leave the room.
Eschewing the heavy pot helmet for his hat, Luke clapped his friend on the shoulder and the two men clattered down the grand stairs of the residence to wait for Deliverance.
She came running down the stairs, dashing past them in her haste to reach the battlements.
Luke caught her arm as she passed and ran his eye down at her slight figure, clad in a man's breeches and leather jerkin. In her right hand she carried a handsome Wheelock musket, nearly as long as she was high. He seized the weapon and thrust it at Ned.
She squirmed in his grip. “Unhand me, Captain Collyer,” she fumed.
Luke shook his head. “You cannot wear that ensemble.”
Deliverance shook off his arm and glared up at him. “I've worn it before.”
“What do you mean you've worn it before?”
“Last time Farrington was here. I took my place with my men on the wall.” She looked at Blakelocke. “Melchior will tell you, I am a very good shot.”
Luke glanced at Melchior's impassive face. “I have no doubt you are, Mistress Felton, but I am not letting you out of this house dressed like that.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I am not staying in here like some helpless milksop while you negotiate with Farrington.”
“I am not suggesting you do that,” Luke took a deep breath and schooled himself to patience. “What I am saying is that I do not need you on the wall. I do not need to risk you being killed. You are too valuable.”
“Oh.” The defiance went out of Deliverance's eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I will hate myself for saying this, but the men seem to adore you.” He paused and the corners of his mouth quirked into a smile. “Obviously they don't know you well enough.”
Anger flared again in Deliverance's eyes again and he held up a placatory hand. “You have earned their respect and their admiration precisely because you are a woman who has shown incredible bravery. That is what is needed. They want to protect you and you need to show them you are worthy of their protection.”
Penitence, who had followed her sister down the stairs, laid a hand on her sister's arm.
“Peace, sister. I understand, Captain Collyer. You need Deliverance to be a woman worthy of their affection,” she said.
Luke gave Penitence a relieved smile. “Precisely.” He addressed Deliverance. “Think of good Queen Bess...What did she say? 'Although I have the body of a weak and feeble woman, I have the heart and soul of a King of England'. Those men at Tilbury would have died for her on the spot. I need you to be Queen Bess.”
“But this is my castle and I will defend it as I see fit.”
Penitence shook her head. “In this case, Liv, I think Captain Collyer has a point.” She looked at Luke and smiled. “Leave her to me. We will be right back.” She took her sister by the arm and propelled her back up the stairs.
It seemed to take forever before Penitence reappeared at the top of the stairs with a smile on her serene face.
She looked down at the men. “Ready?”
With the full attention of all three men, Penitence pulled her sister forward out of the shadows into the light. Luke clamped his jaw tight to stop his mouth falling open.
Deliverance stood with one hand resting on the banister. Her sister had clothed her in a gown of deep, rich burgundy velvet. She wore no collar, cuffs or jewellery and her hair, lightly pinned back from her face, fell in dark, glossy tresses around her shoulders. The colour of the gown was perfect on her, accentuating the ivory of her skin and the rich brown of her hair. The simple hairstyle framed and softened her face and Luke thought she looked both beautiful and ethereal. A woman worthy of his sword and his honor.
He shook his head in admiration.
“I knew it. I look ridiculous.” Deliverance ruined the effect by nearly tripping on the skirt as she attempted to take the stairs at her usual pace.
Luke stepped forward and swept a deep, courtly bow. “Mistress Felton, the admirable Mistress Felton. You look wonderful.”
He took her hand and kissed her long, slender fingers. His own work-hardened and calloused fingers tightened on the fragile bones. Deliverance contrived to wrench her hand free.
She looked defiantly from one man to the other, her gaze coming to rest on Luke. “Well, now you have me looking like something out of an Arthurian legend, what do you want me to do?”
Luke smiled. “We will show Sir Richard Farrington, just what he is up against,” he said. “Would you do me the honor of taking my arm, Mistress Felton?”
Beneath the heavy lacing of her bodice Deliverance's heart beat a rapid tattoo. She glanced back at Luke who gave her an encouraging smile as Sergeant Hale held out his hand to assist her to step up on to the box he had placed for her. Farrington needed to see her and as she barely topped the curtain wall, some additional height was needed.
It seemed like the eye of every man in the garrison was fixed on her and she began to see what Luke had meant. As she had stepped out into the courtyard on Luke's arm, a mighty cheer had gone up. They needed an idol, a figurehead. It may have been a tableau, a pantomime, but she could feel the responsibility of these men’s lives weighing on her shoulders.
Perched on the box, she drew herself up, standing ramrod straight. A gentle breeze flapped the standard above her, lifting her hair. No one watching from below could fail to see her and it would only take a reasonable marksman to pick her off, but she had no fear. Luke Collyer had been right, she needed to make a statement to Farrington and she would not do it hiding behind the walls.
Her heart skipped a beat as she saw what lay beyond her walls. Rank upon rank of blue-coated soldiers drawn up in battle order and Sir Richard himself, immediately identifiable by his own banner and the chestnut horse he rode, formed the centre of a small circle of senior officers. The sight of him almost came as a relief. She had hoped that he would not leave such an important mission to his brute of a son.
Sir Richard Farrington would find Kinton Lacey a different foe to the one he had faced in his half-hearted siege of only a month ago. The village buildings previously crowding up to the castle walls had been razed, leaving a couple of hundred yards of bare ground, between the nearest cover and the ditch that surrounded the castle. The ditch itself had been excavated to a depth of ten feet and bristled with staves and the antique weaponry.
Farrington and his officers seemed to be in conversation probably debating how best to deal with this troublesome woman. As she watched, Farrington turned his dancing chestnut towards the castle, his gaze scanning the walls until it rested on her. Across the distance Deliverance stared back at him.
“Is Jack there?” Penitence, on the curtain wall below her sister, tugged at the red skirt.
“Of course he is,” Deliverance said with a dash of impatience. “And several of our good neighbours. I can see William Linnet and Samuel Parr.”
“It must be somewhat awkward for them,” Luke, leaning on the curtain wall beside Deliverance, looking out at the scene, observed. “I am sure they have been guests at your father's board in happier times.”
“William Linnet and my father were boys together,” Deliverance said. “But that, as you would know, is the perverse nature of Civil War.” She shot him a sideways glance, remembering his revelation about his own family.
Sir Richard disengaged from the party and rode to the edge of the village within plain sight of the castle, and well within a musket's range.
“Smith could take him,” Sergeant Hale whispered to Luke. Out of the corner of her eye Deliverance saw him nod to his best sharp shooter who began priming his weapon.
“No,” Luke said. “This is a carefully arranged dance and that would be quite
the wrong move. Let him say his piece.”
“Mistress Felton,” Farrington hailed her across the distance between them. “I call on you now to lay down your arms and surrender up the castle to me. You have my word that neither you nor any of your garrison will be harmed.”
“Is that not the same promise made to the garrison at Byton?” Deliverance replied, her voice ringing out clear and strong in the silence.
“Byton made the grievous error of resisting,” Farrington replied.
“I am not resisting, merely defending my home,” Deliverance responded. “You have my answer, Sir Richard.”
“So be it, Mistress Felton.” He doffed his hat to her and turned back to his fellows.
Luke held out his hand and helped Deliverance off the box. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and bright. He tightened his fingers on hers and smiled.
“That was well done, Mistress Felton.”
“Is that it? What happens now?”
She took a step, and almost tripped on the infernal skirts again. Penitence was a few fingers taller than her and the skirts of the red gown were far too long.
“No. Farrington will send you a formal letter requesting your surrender,” Luke said.
“And what do I do in the meantime?”
“You sit quietly and wait,” Luke suggested.
Penitence smiled. “We have some sheets to turn into bandages, Deliverance dear. Join me in the parlour.”
As Penitence ripped the castle's oldest and most darned linen, Deliverance watched from the window as the garrison went about its last minute preparations.
Ned and Luke stood in the centre of the courtyard, their heads together, in deep conversation. They both looked up at the sudden blast of a trumpet from beyond the walls. Luke, displaying no sense of urgency, took the steps to the curtain wall.
“This is agonising,” Deliverance complained. “I need to know what's happening.”
Penitence joined her at the window. As they watched, Luke returned to his position in the courtyard, his eyes on the gate. The portcullis raised and a lone figure wearing Sir Richard Farrington's uniform jacket of blue with silver trim, ducked underneath it and walked forward. The men greeted each other with a formal bow and Luke stood to one side gesturing for Farrington's man to enter the residence.
Penitence gave a sharp indrawn breath and her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, no. It's Jack.”
Deliverance caught her sister's arm giving her a reassuring squeeze.
“Who did you expect? He sent the least objectionable person, thinking we will capitulate to Jack's charms. Try not to think about him as Jack, but as the enemy who wants to destroy our home and murder our garrison as he did Byton's.”
Her sister's lower lip trembled. “Oh, not Jack...he would never...”
“If you can't control yourself you can wait here.” At the sight of her sister's stricken face, she continued in a softer tone. “Otherwise I would like to have you by my side.”
Melchior appeared at the door. “Sir Richard Farrington's envoy is awaiting you in the Great Hall.”
Deliverance reached for her sister's hand. “Coming, Pen?”
Penitence took a deep breath. “I am Sir John Felton's daughter, too. I just wish I was as strong as you, Liv.”
If only she could see how my stomach is churning, Deliverance thought, pausing at the screen to straighten her skirts.
She swept into the Great Hall, the skirts of the red gown making a satisfactory swish through the rushes on the floor. She had the satisfaction of seeing Jack's eyes widen with surprise as he bent into a low bow. As he straightened, his eyes flicked to Penitence and Deliverance saw the naked misery in his face. What a pair, she thought.
“Good afternoon, Jack,” Deliverance said, deliberately using his forename.
“Del...Mistress Felton,” Jack said. “It pains me that we must once again meet in these circumstances.”
She glanced at the officers of her own garrison, who stood behind Jack. Both Luke and Ned wore expressions of military inscrutability. She was the lady of the castle and she had never felt so completely alone.
“I bring a letter from my father.” Jack handed over the stiff parchment, bearing the Farrington seal in a pool of red wax that had been applied with such haste, or anger, that it sputtered across the paper, like drops of blood.
Deliverance broke the seal and read the missive aloud.
“My dear Mistress Felton, I assure you of the great respect I hold for you and your sister and our long relations with your family make me careful to prevent, if I can, any further inconvenience to you. However my orders are to restore your castle to the good graces of His Majesty the King and you may do well to reconsider your position. Prince Rupert has taken Bristol and is even now before Gloucester, so that you cannot expect any relief from that quarter. If you persist in your obstinacy I cannot promise to pay you the respect due to your position, nor indeed any quarter to those who are with you.”
She looked up at Jack. “Is your father threatening me with the fate that befell Byton?” she asked, her voice glacial.
Jack shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet her eyes. “Mistress Felton. I had no hand in the fall of Byton. I was with my father in Ludlow.”
“Let me remind you, Jack. The garrison surrendered on honourable terms only to find the word of your brother meant nothing. Twenty-eight men murdered in cold blood.” She indicated Luke. “Captain Collyer can attest to the atrocity. Your brother should be called to account with his neck for such brutality. I speak the truth, do I not, Captain Collyer?”
“You do, ma'am. The garrison had surrendered on terms. The men were tied together and their throats cut, their bodies flung in the ditch.”
The colour drained from Jack's face and he swallowed. “I...I...didn't...” he stuttered.
Deliverance decided to put him out of his misery. Tormenting Jack Farrington brought her no pleasure. She believed him innocent of the atrocities committed at Byton.
“Bring me paper,” she said. Melchior stepped forward setting paper, pen and ink on the table. Deliverance sat and wrote her reply. In the silence, the scratch of her pen seemed to echo around the ancient beams of the hall. When she had finished she looked up and read out what she had written.
“Sir Richard Farrington. Sir, you have my assurance that I am a faithful subject of the King who at his coronation, promised to maintain the laws and liberties of the kingdom. I cannot believe that this same King would give an order to take anything away from his loyal subjects, much less my home. If you are set upon this path then I have no choice but to rightfully defend what is mine.”
She looked around the circle of faces, doubt gnawing at her heart. Was she doing the right thing? As if reading her mind, Luke inclined his head, his mouth quirking at the corners into an encouraging smile. As she poured the red wax on to the sheet of paper, she thought of the blood that would be spilled in the next few weeks. She hoped the men would not see how her hand shook as the seal of the Felton’s pressed carefully into the wax.
She rose to her feet and handed the paper to Jack who bowed as he took at it.
“That is your final answer?” he enquired as he straightened.
She nodded.
He looked down at the paper in his hand. “You have my word, as a friend, Deliverance, that I will do whatever is in my power to see no harm comes to you.” His eyes drifted to where Penitence stood behind her. “Or any of your family.”
“Thank you, Jack, but I am not convinced your word holds much sway with your father or brother, but I am glad to know someone in the Farrington camp will speak for our case.”
As Jack bowed to Deliverance, Penitence stepped forward and Jack turned to her.
“Mistress Felton,” he said in a strangled voice and, bowing low took her hand and kissed it. He straightened, gave Penitence one last, lingering look, turned on his heel and with Melchior and Ned as his escort, left the room.
Penitence gave a choking sob and fled, l
eaving Deliverance alone with Luke. They stood unmoving, looking at each other.
“Will she be all right?” Luke asked.
Deliverance didn't think he referred only to Penitence's current distress. He meant could she be trusted?
She nodded. “My sister is a Felton. She knows what is expected of her.”
Luke regarded her for a moment, his head on one side. “The heart is a curious master, Deliverance. It does not always listen to common sense.”
“And what do you know of love, Captain Collyer?”
“More than you I warrant, Mistress Felton,” he replied.
She snorted. “What you think of as love, most people would call lust.”
His eyebrow twitched but he gave no other sign that her barb had gone home, until he spoke.
“You are harsh, Mistress Felton.” His voice dripped with ice. “If you want to learn about what it means to love, ask your sister. One day there will be a man who will teach you the difference. Now if you'll excuse me, there is work to be done.”
He strode past her, so close she could smell the now so familiar tang of soap and leather.
Deliverance watched him go. She wanted to run after him and tell him she regretted her impetuous words but he wouldn’t thank her for demeaning herself. She sank back into the chair and rested her chin in her cupped hands.
Before Luke Collyer had come into her life, no man had affected her the way he did. When he walked into a room, she wanted him beside her. When he looked at her, her guts clenched, and when he smiled at her, she just wanted him to fold her in his arms.
She closed her eyes and prayed. ‘Oh, dear lord, make these feelings go away. I want to go back to how I felt before. I don't need this distraction.’ Her eyes, brimming with unshed tears, opened. ‘But don't let him be killed, I would die...’
She laid her head on the table. Love...lust...whatever it was she suffered from, it afflicted her badly and now she had to endure possibly weeks of incarceration with a man who clearly saw her as nothing more than a nuisance.
Her Rebel Heart: A romance of the English Civil War Page 10
