Exile’s Bane

by Nicole Margot Spencer

  “I was hoping for your protection. But if you don’t wish to accompany us, Peg and I will make the journey alone.”

  “Of course I’ll go with you,” he said with some distress. He slid out of his chair and crept toward the door, not happy about it. “Um. The court. That would present some interesting possibilities, would it not?”

  “I am certain it would,” I said, pleased to see his spirit reviving, our old conniving Thomas returned to us. “For now, try to get some food.” I gave him the last of the gold coins my father had given me, years ago. The small cache of coins had slowly disappeared as I found things that Tor House needed. For some reason, I had thought to drop the last of them into my small waist pocket when I left my room early this morning.

  “Oh.” For a moment, his face lit up at the clank of money in his hand. “But what if they catch me?” Eyes huge with terror, he searched out my gaze.

  “You know your way around town,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. “It will be dark soon anyway.”

  He strode to a small pile of clothing on the other side of the hearth, searched through it with one hand, and pulled out a tattered cloak, which he threw on. Face set in a grumpy frown, he crossed the room and opened the door. “Heavy clouds. It’s going to rain.”

  “Be careful,” I prompted him, “and see what you can find. The glimmer of gold is still worth something, even here.”

  “True,” he said. He jiggled the coins now in his pocket, and the expression on his face changed to sly optimism.

  Thomas had been gone for some time when the weight in my cloak reminded me that I carried more than gold. I carefully pulled out the pistol. I was afraid to leave it in my pocket any longer. I had heard of pistols going off accidentally and taking a man’s hand or foot, so I put it in the empty upper cabinet of the hutch for safekeeping, where it would be close by should we need it.

  Of course, I had to find a suitable rag and wipe out the dust in the cabinet before I dared leave Duncan’s good pistol in there.

  “This place be filthy,” Peg said with a sweep of her hand, indicating the entire interior of the house. “Thomas became angry and insulted when I tried to sweep earlier.”

  We smiled conspiratorially at one another and, while we could, straightened the room, wiped off the littered table, replaced the still burning candle at its center, and swept the floor. These simple tasks went a long way toward dispelling my feeling of abandonment. Disturbed swirls of dust set us coughing, but finally, we pushed the wretched curtains aside and sat down at the table. Gray clouds hung in the distance. Fresh air seeped in through the poorly framed window. Cold as it was, it was a relief from the stagnant, barn-tinged air around us.

  “That was Duncan with ye,” Peg said. She leaned close to me, a gleam in her eye.

  “Yes.”

  “So are they coming?”

  “I am not to tell anyone,” I said. The table was still grimy, and I quickly retrieved my hand. My oath to Duncan hung in the air around me. “But yes. Do not tell Thomas.”

  “He would run straight to the Roundheads.”

  “I know he is a little jumbled right now and afraid at times,” I said, with a surprised look at her. “Why would you say that about him?”

  “Ye know how he is.” She looked off through the window, into the failing light.

  “What do you know?” I asked with a disabling stab of concern.

  “I told thee. His heart is dark.” She stood up and pushed the curtains farther back and turned back to me with a saucy smirk. “Is Rupert’s army coming?”

  “Yes,” I said with a resigned sigh. “We need to be careful and remain in this house until the battle is over. Rigby will fight, you know.”

  “Of course. Tell me about Duncan.” Peg put her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. Her arched eyebrows went up in anticipation.

  “The prince is warned. And Duncan is . . . quite thoughtful, yet unpredictable. That disturbs me.” My eye caught on the candle flame. It burned steadily with a little flare now and again when air from the window shook it. “When first we met, I sensed something passionate and spirited about him.” With a heartfelt smile, my thoughts delved into that startling encounter.

  She pushed impatiently at my hand. “Pray, tell me.”

  “He asked me to wait for him.” Heat rose in my cheeks.

  “And ye agreed?” Her dark eyes shone.

  “No,” I said, offended she would think that of me. “You know I cannot. I am bound to Gorgon, much as I hate it. But I do like Duncan. There is something about him when I’m around him that leaves me uneasy and unable to think straight.”

  “I think ye do him and thyself a disservice by refusing him,” Peg said after a moment’s thought. She lowered her eyes. A long sigh followed. “It was a simple request to wait, was it?”

  “Yes.” I smiled at the memory, the flush returning to my face. “He even said he would find me, wherever I was.”

  “Oh, ye break my heart. If ye blush, why could thee not give him this simple thing? Ye may never see him again.”

  “I would not mislead him, Peg.”

  “Ach! Ye are stiff as an ox and do not appreciate him.”

  “Are you calling me selfish?” I pushed back my chair until its rear legs caught in the space between the floor boards and it would go no farther. Resentment soared within me. I glared at my friend and companion.

  She merely shrugged. After a few moments, her unruffled demeanor cooled my ire somewhat, though she did not take back her words.

  “What choice do I have?” My circumstances were dismal. A frustrated sigh merely brought it all into focus. “Either I pursue my own self-interests or I will be overrun and lose everything I am. You, of all people, should understand that. I owe it to myself, to my father.”

  In our early years together, as young girls, we came to understand our differences, frequently making fun of one another. Though I was the one who had the devastating dreams, Peg teased me incessantly for being too serious. For my part, I laughed at her constantly over her fantasizing. Over the years, we came to respect one another for what each brought to the friendship that sustained us, for we had been forced to stand together or be overwhelmed, first by Father’s over-solicitude and then by Uncle Charles’ and the countess’ grasping divisiveness.

  “What ye say is true.” Peg’s lower lip extended into a pout. “But I still say I saw it, that ye love this man, whether ye realize it or not. He will change thy life.”

  I could not accept this idea, no matter my blossoming feelings for the cavalier captain. The light faded, due to incoming storm or nightfall, I was not sure which. The window before us hung like a featureless shadow. With a shake of my head to match my thoughts, I leaned morosely forward to watch the hot wax curl off the top of the candle on the table. It slid down the candle’s length to the holder, where it hardened into a translucent lump.

  “I am not in love with Duncan,” I said with sudden decisiveness.

  “Ye dream the future.” Peg crouched forward as though to stand up, but did not, her face flushed in irritation. “I see hearts.”

  “That is generally true.” With a quick glance around us, I nodded slowly at my combative cousin, uncomfortable giving any credence to my dreams. “Except that I just met the man this morning. He has been kind and useful. But love?”

  “I saw the passion, no more than an hour gone. Ye should marry him and forget Tor House.”

  “All I have ever cared about,” I said to Peg, my voice breaking, “is my place at Tor House and a deep yearning to be loved for myself, unrelated to my duty or my worth as head of a valuable marriage portion.” I shot up to my feet, pushed the wobbling chair away, and stalked off into the darkness. My childhood dream, which I thought I had outgrown, came full upon me. To be appreciated for who I was. Such a rare commodity in this world of necessary dynastic marriages. And I had hoped to find this spark, this vibrant attraction that now haunted me, with a proper suitor.

&nbs
p; “Ye never told me this.” She sat at the table in the little circle of light, eyes wide.

  “It is what I am,” I said. Since it was right in front of me, I climbed into the carved chair. My feet fell nowhere near the floor. I felt the size of a child.

  “Then listen to me. I know what is right for thee, cousin. Give it some thought before ye throw him away. He cares for thee. Take him.”

  “That is mad. I will do no such thing. I like him, Peg. That is all.”

  “Why, Elena, I did not know ye kissed men ye like. Have ye then kissed Captain Wallace, too?”

  “Duncan is different,” I said, looking away into comfortable darkness.

  “What, pray, do ye intend to do about it?”

  “Nothing,” I said. I climbed off the big chair, went back to the table, repositioned the chair, and sat down. “I have to get to the King.”

  “Ah, so thy heart has no say in it?”

  “My heart and my duty are at Tor House, as you should well know.” I unclipped my hair from its tight closure at the back of my head and worked my fingers through the hopeless tangles. “May I use your brush?”

  “As ye wish.” She studied me for long moments, her dark eyes alight. Finally, her mouth compressed, and her face drooped in disappointment. She shrugged, pulled her brush from her dress pocket, and handed it to me. “I will help thee. Petition the King, we will. But I have no interest in being left to the terrors of an angry earl and his countess. We must plan this well or we will both hang.”

  As the light went out, we lit a second candle that we found in the windowsill. Cold crept into the house. Huddled at the table, we took turns taking hopeful glances at the hearth, but delayed starting a fire. It was full dark by the time Thomas returned. He rushed in the door, closed it tight, his face drained of color, and jerked the window curtain closed. The rush of air from the door passed, and the flickering candles reclaimed their steady flame.

  “Well, what news?” Peg asked.

  He busily disgorged his pockets onto the table. Maybe three handfuls of oats for the horses, a withered apple, a hard loaf of bread, and four wedges of white, unhealthy looking cheese.

  “Did you get any information about the roads?” I asked.

  “No. The King is not in Oxford. He is in the field. There is no way to know where he is.”

  “And how do ye know this?” Peg asked. She watched his reactions carefully.

  “Actually, I have known. I just remembered while I was in town. Neighbor Sims, who lives beyond the church ruins, told me this not a week ago, hoping the King was headed to Bolton. Sims is a staunch Royalist, you know. Very few of those in Bolton.”

  He put his hands in his pockets and looked from one of us to the other.

  “Everyone I know in town is confined indoors or wandering the streets, homeless and starving. They’ve had to resort to looting and murder to survive. The gangs are no better than the Roundheads. Colonel Rigby has taken over. The townsfolk live under constant threat of violence.” He moved to the big chair, settled into it, his eye on me now, the expression on his face turned rigid. “I ran into that tinker friend of yours. He threatened me and told me I had to come back to the house, and I think I know why. A gust of wind whipped his cloak up and I caught a glance of his sword, too fine a sword for a tinker to own. He wore good cordovan riding boots, too. This fellow was on his way out of town. Isn’t that strange? With a nasty storm approaching? Eh? What could it mean?”

  “I cannot imagine,” I said, trying to appear nonchalant. I pretended to study the pathetic bits of food my precious gold had bought.

  “Well, I can,” Thomas railed, his voice an octave too high. “The King has treated with the Scots and they are out there on the moors ready to descend upon us.”

  “Eeewww! Bloodthirsty MacGregors come screamin’ down out of the highlands,” Peg cried, palms on her cheeks in mock terror. With an unbelieving look at him, she threw up her hands and laughed. “Thomas, y’re daft.”

  “Stop it.” He grabbed Peg’s shoulders and shook her. When he let her go, his eyes remained wild, though his words came out in the proper octave. “Whatever comes, I believe the Scot’s advice was good. We will wait here. No chasin’ after the King this night or tomorrow. Something untoward is going on.”

  Peg tried to break the bread, but ended up sawing it apart with Thomas’ knife. I took the apple to Kalimir and a small quantity of oats to the horses in the miserable stable. In my travels, I found the privy and happily relieved myself.

  When I returned, Peg was questioning Thomas about his neighbor, Sims. She handed me two pieces of hard bread and some cheese.

  “Roundheads are going around demanding provisions and housing,” Thomas said to me.

  “Have you seen any of them here yet?”

  “No, but I won’t be surprised if they come.”

  “We must barricade the door. If they find us we could be shot . . . or hanged,” I said, heart in my mouth. Peg and I looked at one another. “Or worse.”

  This, then, was one of the problems Duncan had referred to. But Duncan’s promised protection would not be here for many hours. In anxious concern, I clenched my hands together in my lap to keep from ravaging my fingers. Finally, I ate the bread by holding it in my mouth until it softened, then adding some of the rancid cheese. Famished as I was, I barely choked it down with a swallow of water from the cistern.

  “Maybe,” Thomas said, finger pressed to his lips. He looked at me from his wooden throne, eyebrows raised in expectancy. “Maybe Prince Rupert is coming. They say in town that he relieved Tor House.”

  “True,” I said, putting a hand on Peg’s arm. She seemed about to jump up and hit him or, worse, to expound on the subject.

  “So, if it is Prince Rupert’s forces approaching Bolton . . . that makes sense, actually.” He jumped from his chair in a huff, stopped dead in the midst of his forward motion, lost in thought for a long moment, then raised a questioning finger. “So, they are coming from Tor House, yes?”

  “We have no way of knowing that, Thomas,” I said. “Do not get carried away with this idea. We need to stay here, where it is relatively safe.”

  “Devlin would be with them,” he said to Peg with a sly look. “Bolton owes him fealty.”

  I shook my head in frustration and rising concern.

  “Well . . .” He hung before me, desperation dark and ugly in his handsome face. “Captain Wallace,” he said, a strange new urgency in his voice, “is he still the house guard commander?”

  “Of course,” I answered, unsure of his reasoning. “I cannot return. The earl would kill me, and you, too, for harboring me.”

  “Oh, I am not so sure of that.” He strode back to the chair and slapped the chair arm. “He has to get his hands on us first. Tell me, is the house guard still loyal to you?”

  I squinted up at him, mystified. “Probably not. Why?”

  He leaned toward us in the candle light, his face brilliant with excitement.

  “This is our chance. We will depart in the morning for Tor House and, without a drop of blood being shed, take the house in the earl’s absence. The house guard have served you all your life. They will rally to us, Elena. I know they will.”

  “No, Thomas. We stay right here.” I shook my head in amazement at his ability to skip from an untested conclusion into outrageous action.

  Chapter Eight

  The incredible sound of hundreds of clashing swords woke me in the night. A frantic gasp escaped me. I jerked my head aside to find Peg asleep in the dim shadows close beside my pallet. With a shuddering hand, I seized a handful of the cloak that covered me. The solid feel of the heavy material, Peg’s soft snore, and the frenzied thud of my heart slowly convinced me of the here and now of the dark far corner of Thomas’ house.

  But the dream still held me.

  A black cloud of gun smoke drifted over me, stinging my eyes. The ground vibrated under my feet with the pounding hooves of thousands of charging war horses.

&nbs
p; Holy Mother. My mind convulsed and the vision released me. Sweat ran off my face in waves, my chemise stuck to my skin under my twisted dress. I kept as still and silent as my rasping breath allowed. Slowly, my racing heart and labored breathing returned to their normal rhythms. In desperate need of a human touch, I reached across the gaping floor boards toward Peg, but did not touch or wake her.

  The night’s vision had been my most grueling dream yet. A long tapestry of horrors, a massive battle of flowing and ebbing horse and troop movements, outright death by sword, pike, and gun shot. Men crushed in the press. There had been no recognizable face, no familiar ground, nothing to connect it to me, which made it easier to shut away in my mind.

  By the time the gray light of morning entered the house, I had myself under control. I pinched my cheeks to ensure color in my face, rose and went outside into the rain-washed morning. Black storm clouds floated ominously low over the earth. The town lay quiet behind me. I inhaled the brooding, charged air. A quiver began deep within me. With the King out of reach, my uncle could do whatever he pleased—if he caught me.

  “Another dream, then?” Peg’s soft exit from the house was followed by her considered approach.

  “No,” I lied. I pointed off toward the shadowed moors in the distance. “They are there somewhere. Duncan . . . and Uncle Charles.”

  “Yea, and the prince.”

  I nodded. At mention of him, it struck me that the only reasonable approach to the absent King was through Prince Rupert. I had a chance, for he was the King’s beloved nephew as well as commander of his armies.

  Yelling in the distance caught my ear. It came from the west, toward the church ruins. I watched four to six distant men move lethargically across the wet grass. They raised their fists and shouted angrily at one another. One of them saw me and pointed. Desperate eyes sunk deep in their heads, they all shifted their path and began to run toward us.

  With a ragged intake of breath, I pushed Peg toward the house and raced around the corner to the stable entrance. I slid my sword from its saddle sheath, went back out, secured the stable door, and fled into the house.