Royalist on the Run
Page 7
‘All the children are in bed.’ She smiled. ‘But I doubt you’ll wake him if you would like to see him.’ She moved to stand beside him, feeling the heat of the fire on her face. ‘I am so grateful for what you have done for Stephen and I know I speak for Alice as well.’
‘I’m beginning to envy him the attention he is receiving from his loved ones. Will I not get even a little sympathy?’
The teasing in his voice did not conceal his anxiety of the situation and to steer his mind away from her injured brother, she said, ‘It must have been difficult—after all you had to endure in Worcester.’
‘I have been in so many life-and-death situations with Stephen over the years that it’s a miracle we’ve survived.’
‘I think you will live for ever just to spite death.’
He flashed a smile, a dazzling heart-stopping smile. ‘Perhaps I will. Who knows? But my concern now is to find somewhere we can hide until the Roundhead patrols move on. I truly regret causing you trouble. I knew that coming here was foolhardy. I have put you at grave risk.’
‘Where else could you have taken Stephen if not to the home of his sister?’ she asked, tucking away a wayward lock of hair burnished by the fire’s glow. ‘Besides, every day involves risk of some kind.’ She looked at him in the firelight, unaware that her amber eyes were glowing with golden lights. The light glinted off the planes of his face and the ache in her chest that she always tried to ignore when she was with him pulled harder. She felt the urge to touch his face, to feel the heat of him, to anchor her rioting emotions in the physical reality of him. The feeling exploded inside her on a flood of heat so powerful she was almost overwhelmed by it.
Moving away from the hearth, he stopped, his attention caught by a basket of freshly picked herbs Margaret had left on the table. He lifted a sprig of rosemary to his nose and smiled.
‘Rosemary,’ he murmured. ‘For remembrance.’
‘Yes,’ Arabella said, lowering her face so he could not look into her eyes. But there was too much to remember, too much pain. Most of the herbs in the basket had wilted in the warmth of the hall, but the rosemary was still strong, its scent filling the air like a welcome guest. ‘Would you like another brandy—or something else, perhaps?’
Placing the rosemary back in the basket, he looked at her and shook his head. ‘Not just now, but it’s a fine brandy. I’m surprised the Roundheads didn’t purloin it when they came here.’
Arabella smiled. ‘It was well hidden. In anticipation of what would happen if the Roundheads came, Alice had the foresight to bury it—along with other things she didn’t want them to take.’
Edward laughed. ‘Very wise.’
‘In fact,’ Arabella said, suddenly animated as a thought occurred to her, ‘they were buried near the old shed which is used for storing fruit on the far side of the orchard. It would make an excellent place for you to hide.’
His eyes sharpened with interest. ‘Show me.’
‘Now?’
He nodded. ‘We have to move Stephen quickly. The soldiers could be here at any time. If we are found, your sister could lose everything.’
* * *
They went through the huge kitchen where all around them utensils winked and glittered in the light of freshly lit candles. They passed larders and a buttery before opening a door that let them out on to a separate courtyard and stables. Carrying a candle lamp in her hand, which flickered weakly in the gentle breeze and barely held the darkness at bay, Arabella led the way to the orchards. The grass was long and difficult to walk through, the branches of the apple trees bent with the weight of fruit which they would do their best to pick when the time was right.
Her eyes darting about, she trod with care, not wishing to draw attention should someone be there. Edward followed, but she hardly knew it. He could move with the silent grace of a panther when he chose.
The orchard gave way to thick woodland of oak, beech and sweet chestnut. They made their way through the undergrowth and it was only a matter of minutes before they reached a low shed tucked away in the trees and covered with long tendrils of clinging ivy. Arabella lifted the latch on the door and pushed it open, cringing when it creaked loudly, disturbing the silence of the night. A startled fallow deer bounded off into the trees and a large bird in the undergrowth flapped its wings in annoyance and flew noisily away.
‘If you think the shed is a suitable place, we will ask Sam to oil the hinges. As you see, it is quite isolated so you should be safe, although with all the to-ing and fro-ing between the shed and the house there will be a definite path worn in the grass through the orchard. I will ask Sam to cut it in the morning.’
‘How many servants do you have here?’
‘We just have Sam and his wife Bertha and their son, Tom. They had another son who, like my father, was killed at Naseby fighting for the King.’
Stepping inside, Arabella held the lantern high. Edward followed her, having to lower his head to get through the door. The shed wasn’t roomy and cobwebs hung from the ceiling, but there was a small window and it was warm and dry. The earth floor was littered with several wooden boxes containing a few shrivelled apples and plank shelves were fastened to the walls. The air was stale and sluggish with a lingering smell of apples, but the building was sound.
‘What with the war and lack of servants, the orchards have become overgrown,’ Arabella said, placing the lamp on a shelf. ‘The shed isn’t visible from the house and unless you know it’s here you would miss it completely. At this time of year the trees offer protection.’ She looked at him as he took stock of his surroundings. ‘Well? Will it do, do you think?’
He nodded. ‘It is ideal—away from the house and well hidden.’
‘We will have a couple of pallets and some bedding brought across and water for washing. There’s no knowing how long you will have to be here.’
‘I don’t intend to stay long, Arabella.’
‘Why? What will you do? Where will you go?’
‘The Roundheads will look for us here. It is my intention to get to France.’
Arabella looked at him in amazement. ‘But—in this present climate that is madness. The war is over, Edward, over and done with. Do not add your own death to this tragedy.’
‘It is not over, Arabella. Life is not without risk. I have cheated death many times—on and off the battlefield. I do not want what I fought for to be in vain. The fight will go on. It is my hope that the King will reach France.’
‘And what then—a new plan of campaign?’
‘Perhaps. I cannot betray the King. I would defend him with my life.’
Weary of the incessant conflict and wondering when it would all end, Arabella shook her head. When she spoke there was no hiding the bitterness in her voice. ‘Like Stephen, you will remain patriotic to the end. I hope Charles Stuart is worthy of your loyalty.’
‘I ask you not to judge me too harshly, Arabella, for whatever your feelings are concerning the wars and the King you cannot deny that he has a moral duty to recover his kingdom—the one he inherited from his father. The Commonwealth has confiscated almost all Royalist lands and, unless the King regains his throne, they are gone for ever.’
‘I know that and Charles Stuart has my undying loyalty, even though there are moments—when I’m feeling at my lowest—when I wonder if it is all worth it. It is sad that his loyal subjects have bankrupted themselves for a lost cause.’
‘It didn’t seem like that when we were fighting for it. It is unthinkable that I desert the King. He needs support now more than ever. When he comes into his own, all that has been stolen from those who remained loyal will be returned.’
‘You really believe that will happen?’
‘I have to. Are you not anxious about the future and what it holds?’
‘I think about it all the time and wh
at will become of us all. The world as we knew it before the wars has gone.’
‘Sadly that is true. It is up to us to build a new life. There will be changes.’
‘There have been changes already. Any form of entertainment is frowned upon—even Christmas cannot be celebrated. I suppose we will have to make the best of life under the Commonwealth.’
‘Which I refuse to do. That is why I will go to France.’
‘And Dickon? Where does he fit in to all this?’
‘I shall take him with me.’
She stared at him, incredulous, unable to believe he would do something so reckless. She wanted to tell him to go, to take Dickon with him and disappear from her life, to do to him what he had done to her. But she couldn’t. A feeling of impending loss stabbed like a knife at her heart. If Edward was taken before he left England, she couldn’t bear to think of Dickon being alone with no one to care for him. How afraid he would be, alone, among strangers?
‘Edward, I beg of your to think about this. It is safer and much more comforting to stay here than to travel to Bristol or wherever you intend trying to take ship for France.’
‘My mind is made up.’
‘But—but Dickon? He is so little to undertake such a perilous journey. You will find it difficult evading capture with a small child to take care of. You go if you must, but please don’t take Dickon. Leave him here—with me. At least he will be safe.’
He shook his head. ‘No, Arabella. I want him with me.’
‘I will bring him to you when this is over.’
‘You would do that?’ He was clearly moved by her offer.
‘Yes, I would. I will do what I think is right—and it is not right to drag a small child about the countryside crawling with hostile soldiers who would kill his father if they got their hands on him.’
‘Perhaps you are right, but I have made up my mind.’ He studied her with piercingly shrewd blue eyes.
‘And what about Stephen? What will he do when he is recovered, do you think?’
‘I am sure that when he is strong enough he will want to join me and the other Royalists who have fled to the Continent.’ He looked at her with his discerning gaze. At length, he said, ‘I am wondering if I can enlist your aid.’
Containing her surprise, Arabella raised an eyebrow, hoping to convey her scepticism. ‘Forgive me if I seem confused. Five years ago you did not need me or my aid, yet suddenly you appear and ask me to take care of your son and now something else.’
Though his expression was strained he managed a slight smile. ‘We must put the past behind us, Arabella.’
She realised he was serious about asking for her help yet again. She did not know what it could be, but she felt a strange tingling in the pit of her stomach. ‘Tell me. What is it you want me to do?’
‘Come with me to France. I have no right to ask this of you, I know, but you are right when you say I will be hard pressed to take care of Dickon alone and I cannot leave him behind.’
For the spell of a few heartbeats she stared at him incredulously, her eyes enormous in her pale face. She was unable to believe he wanted to take her on so perilous a journey. But he was not asking her for himself, she told herself with a stir of disappointment, but to take care if his son. There was no one else he could ask, none except her. It was she upon whom he depended, to whom he looked to take care of his son, because he assumed she would relent as she had done before. But it was a tempting prospect, especially if it meant she could spend some time with Dickon.
He was leaning against the wall, arms folded, watching her with that unnervingly level gaze as she struggled to form a reply.
‘It is a fine thing you ask me to do. The threat of danger is very real.’
‘For all of us. It is my intention to make for the port of Bristol—if not, then to the coast, perhaps south to Cornwall, depending on where the Parliamentarians are thin on the ground.’
Perplexed, and feeling a little defeated, she shook her head and crossed to the door. ‘I don’t know,’ she murmured honestly. ‘You take me by surprise. I cannot answer you now. In truth, I have no wish to go to France. Why should I? Everything I have is here at Bircot Hall. Besides, Alice will be against it, I know.’
‘Are you not old enough and sensible enough to decide for yourself?’
‘Yes, but why me? Why not someone else?’
‘You know my reasons, Arabella. Yes, the journey will be perilous, but you are the only woman I can trust to take care of my son should anything happen to me.’
‘Then I beg you to leave him behind.’
‘I cannot do that. He is my son. He is all I have left. I want him with me. Is that so unreasonable? You had a daughter. Would you not have wanted her with you?’
Arabella stared at him, wishing he had not mentioned her daughter. Turning from him, she swallowed down the hurt. ‘Not if it meant putting her life in danger. Unlike you I did not have the choice.’
Edward had revived painful memories for her and he regretted his words as soon as he had said them. ‘I’m sorry, Arabella. My words were badly said and not meant to hurt you. You must miss her.’
The compassion and understanding in his tone moved her. ‘Every day,’ she answered softly. ‘Sometimes I cannot bear it.’
He came to stand behind her. The shed was small and suddenly felt unaccountably warm. She swallowed, catching her breath, her entire body filled with unwelcome yearning. She knew she should go, to tear herself away from the spell he was weaving. It was dangerous to linger, but she could not bring herself to leave.
His presence filled the shed and seemed to press against her flesh. Her hand was resting on the latch and, reaching out, he took it in his long, firm fingers, slowly turning her round to face him, his arm closing round her wrist. She swallowed, wondering if he could feel the pulse throbbing there, beating erratically beneath her skin with the steady increase of sensation, excitement and anticipation. The heat of him was tangible. Her own shadow loomed on the walls of the shed, his loomed larger.
Looking up at him, she watched the shadows play across his face in the candlelight. He impaled her with his eyes that made the colour flame in her cheeks. It stirred sensations she had felt when he had kissed her. She pulled herself up short. It was a small warning, but a warning she should take heed of. From the moment he had reappeared in her life, too often for her peace of mind Edward could get under her guard. She should learn to step back, to keep tighter rein on her attraction to him, but he was not an easy man to ignore.
‘Well?’ he asked softly. ‘What is your answer to be?’
His voice was level, but when his eyes met Arabella’s, there was a sudden, perilous silence. The intensity of his gaze was profound. His presence, his very nearness overwhelmed her. She couldn’t think clearly. She told herself it was wrong, foolish to let her thoughts run away with her like this, that no good could come of it. She was not naïve of what happened between a man and a woman—no woman who had been married could be—but being in the confines of this shed unsettled her. The very quietness unsettled her. But mostly Edward Grey unsettled her.
She wanted to look away, to ignore the hunger in her loins, but she couldn’t drag her eyes from his mouth, his face, and thinking about what it would be like to feel his body close to hers, to let her hands touch his flesh, to press her lips to the pulse that beat in the hollow of his throat and breathe in the scent of his skin. She was the first to look away as she considered his request, suddenly uneasy, aware that her cheeks were hot and flushed.
‘I need time to think about it.’
His breath was warm on her face and sent a shiver down her spine. Releasing her wrist, he raised his hand and drew a finger gently along the line of her jaw, then down her throat. She shuddered with surprise or pleasure, she knew not which, but she did not want him to stop.
‘You are beautiful, Arabella,’ he said, extending his caress to her cheek.
‘No,’ she murmured, shaking her head and raising her eyes to his. He was watching her, his face close to hers, as contented as an animal whose prey is neatly cornered. ‘You are manipulative and demanding and only saying that to persuade me to say yes.’
‘I speak the truth. You are still beautiful whether you come with me or not. You have looked after Dickon well,’ he said, leaning forward and fixing that acute gaze on her face once more. ‘Please, Arabella. I’m at my wits’ end wondering how I’m going to get to France with him alone.’
‘But wouldn’t we slow you down—a woman and child?’
‘Perhaps, but I am determined to take him with me.’
Arabella chewed her lip. She had agreed to care for Dickon at Bircot Hall, but she didn’t want Edward thinking that he could rely on her. Yet she didn’t want to let Dickon down the way Edward had let her down. But loving and caring for him had forced her to face her own limitations. She was getting too close to the child, so close that she hated to think of parting from him. But she would have to hold back, for how could she protect herself from his father?
Yet what if something should happen to Edward? What would happen to Dickon, alone and defenceless, a child at the mercy of a cruel world? Edward was standing there, watching her with quiet desperation and a need that was entirely separate from what he wanted her to do with Dickon in his eyes. At that moment he appeared darker and more dangerous and more unpredictable than she could recall.
Chapter Four
Arabella was struck by Edward’s vitality and her own awareness of his masculinity. An ache awakened in her loins as his finger continued to move over her flesh, stroking her face, caressing her cheeks, her lips. She caught the scent of his flesh and lust stirred within her.