by Lauren Royal
"And her hand?"
"Blisters, but no telltale red streaks of infection. Thank the Lord for small favors. Coping with a grief-stricken guest is enough—I feel unequipped to deal with one who is fever-ridden, in addition." He stared out into the distance. "I changed the bandage, applied fresh honey. I believe it will mend without incidence."
Kendra hesitated. "You like her, don't you?"
"She's a talented girl," he answered cautiously, keeping his eyes trained on an outlying field.
"I meant you really like her. You're attracted to her."
"No, I'm not."
Kendra gave an unladylike snort. "I remember that day in her shop. And I've seen the way you talk about her, look at her, take care of her. And you put her in the Gold Chamber." The beautiful room was usually reserved for honored guests. "Colin…"
"I'm betrothed," he stated firmly.
"But—"
"No buts, Kendra. I—"
"I hate it when you say that!"
Colin glared at her. "As I was about to say, I know you dislike Priscilla, but I am marrying her. And dangling a penniless commoner in my face, no matter how attractive, isn't going to change that fact."
"But why? I've seen you with Priscilla—you don't love her, I can tell."
"I don't want to love her; I've told you that. She's wealthy, she's pretty, she's—"
"Cold."
Colin ignored that. "—she's titled—"
"As though we care about such things. We're titled, and what did it get us? Nothing! We were paupers on the Continent, dragged from Paris, to Cologne, to Brussels, Bruges, Antwerp—wherever King Charles wandered. We had no home, no one who really cared about us. People are what matters. Titles are worthless."
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. That title kept us fed, allowed us to tag along with the court, obligated them to take us in. It was all we had, the only thing of value our parents gave us. My children will have no less—and a lot more."
"You're an earl, for God's sake. Without the war, the Restoration, I'd understand your mindset. As a second son, if you failed to marry wealth you'd have to live off Jason's largesse, or take a commission in the military, or a religious vocation."
It was Colin's turn to snort. "Not that, I'll warrant. You'll see a Chase in the pulpit the day the devil takes residence in heaven."
"You have a point there," Kendra conceded with a grin. "All right. But Charles owed a debt to our parents, and he gave you the earldom. Your children will inherit. You've no need to marry a title."
Colin's jaw was set, his voice firm. "They'll have titles from both sides. They'll never know a day of insecurity."
"What a bunch of blatherskite! You're using this as an excuse to avoid caring about someone—someone like that lovely girl asleep in the guest chamber. It's what's inside that counts—the Chases don't care about titles."
"This Chase does."
Her coloring high, Kendra stamped her foot. "Oh, you're so stubborn!"
"No more than you are, sweetheart. It runs in the family."
"Hmmph!" She crossed her arms and turned from him, facing outward.
"Hmmph!" Colin did likewise, in imitation.
She burst out laughing.
But his attention was already diverted elsewhere. "Od's fish!" he exclaimed. "I cannot believe I was blind to this earlier."
Kendra squinted her eyes, searching for something of note. "What? I see nothing."
"Exactly. It's London. Not burning."
Sure enough, although a dark cloud of smoke still hung over London in the distance, it seemed to be lifting, and there were no visible flames underneath.
"Oh!" Kendra's voice went up an octave in her glee. "Ford and Jason are on their way home already, I'll wager."
"And I'll take the children back to London first thing in the morning. We can only pray it won't prove too difficult to locate their families."
"And Amy? Will you return her to London as well?"
"Of course," he snapped.
He was relieved when Kendra didn't comment on his annoyance. "Come along," she said. "It's dinnertime. We can tell the children the good news."
He led the way down from the tower. Once in the quadrangle, the children ran ahead, racing noisily to the entrance.
Crossing the lawn more sedately beside Kendra, whose fashionable high-heeled slippers discouraged running, Colin suddenly stopped in his tracks.
"Now where am I supposed to find a story, I ask you? No one found time to tell me fairy tales when I was little, I'll warrant you that."
"Oh, you'll think of something." Kendra flashed him an arch smile. "I have complete and total faith in you, Colin Chase." Then she took off across the grass, running anyway.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Colin gently tucked the bandage and set Amy's hand on top of the quilt. It looked tiny and delicate lying alone, with the rest of her buried beneath the covers. He licked a bit of honey off his finger, gazing at her heart-shaped face. She'd missed dinner, and now supper…he glanced behind in case his sister might be watching, then, feeling foolish, shook Amy's shoulder again.
Nothing.
He rested a hand on her forehead. Still cool, and he could tell by the rise and fall of her chest that she was breathing. He felt beneath her chin for a pulse. Nice and steady.
His knuckles caressed her cheek, then he flicked open his pocket watch. The children were waiting for that damned story he—no, Kendra—had promised them. One story, then he'd take everyone back to London in the morning. Surely Amy would be awake by then.
And by tomorrow night, his life would be back to normal.
Sighing, he gave Amy one last long look, then walked out into the corridor. The door closed behind him with a soft click, and he headed for the drawing room.
The children waited on the black-and-salmon carpet, sitting with their backs to the fire. Weary after the stress of the past two days, their bellies full of Cook's good hot supper, they watched him walk in with eyes that were already drooping.
Their chatter died down as Colin seated himself facing them in one of the salmon-colored velvet chairs. Kendra sat off to the side in its mate, her head bent to her embroidery.
The castle was cool and drafty in the evenings. Kendra hitched herself closer to the fire and jabbed her needle through the fabric. Colin was amused to see her engaged in such a ladylike occupation. It was quite foreign to her nature, but he supposed she considered embroidery a fitting pursuit for a lady passing the evening surrounded by children.
He hoped she'd stick herself in the finger.
The children shifted impatiently on their bottoms. "My lord, what story are we to hear tonight?" Davis asked.
Colin glanced up at the carved wooden ceiling, but there was no help from above. All around the room, large gilt-framed portraits of solemn ancestors watched over him, waiting for him to prove himself a worthy entertainer of children.
When his gaze fastened on a newly commissioned painting of his king, inspiration hit. "Tonight, you will hear the story of the Royal Oak," he announced.
The children scooted forward in anticipation. Kendra looked up with a congratulatory smile.
"After the Battle of Worcester," Colin began, "our king, Charles II, endured great hardships in escaping his enemies."
"Were you there?" Davis's little brother interrupted.
"No, I was only thirteen at the time. But my father and mother were there."
Colin saw no reason to tell them they'd both died in the battle. They were already worried about their own parents.
"For nearly six weeks, King Charles was hiding and sneaking about," he continued. "Sometimes he hid with persons of high rank, and sometimes with those of low. He'd been declared an outlaw, you see, and he was hunted for his life. But the people still saw him as their lawful sovereign and willingly risked their own lives to save his."
"Our king was hunted?" The girl with the straight flaxen hair looked doubtful. "For real?"
"Yes, certainly.
Cromwell wanted him well out of the way." When the girl nodded, Colin went on. "Charles rode hastily away from the scene of his defeat, in the company of a few faithful friends. Whenever they came within hearing range of anyone, they spoke French to avoid detection. His friends brought him to a lonely farmhouse where five brothers named Penderel lived. It was death to anyone who dared to conceal the king, while a great reward was offered to any who would betray him to his enemies, but these honest farmers cared neither for threats nor rewards."
"How much was the reward?" Davis asked.
"A thousand pounds."
"A thousand pounds?" Davis's eyes widened. "Are you sure?" A thousand pounds was an absolutely vast sum, more than the average workman would earn in a lifetime.
"I'm sure," Colin assured him. "Charles cut off his famous black lovelocks so no one would recognize him. The Penderels dressed him like themselves, in clothes belonging to the tallest brother, for the king is over two yards tall."
"Like you?" little Mary asked, gazing at Colin as though he were the tallest man she'd ever seen.
Colin nodded solemnly while quelling a smile. "Yes, Charles and I are almost exactly the same height. He had to wear his own stockings with the fancy tops torn off, because his feet were so big they could find none to fit. And the clumsy country boots they gave him were too small, so he was forced to tramp around all day in great pain."
"Ouch!" said the apple-cheeked boy.
"Indeed. In fact, King Charles's memory of those boots is so strong that today he has the largest collection of shoes in the land, each pair made exactly to fit."
A couple of the children giggled. Colin glanced at Kendra. She was still smiling down at her embroidery. So far as he could tell, she'd yet to ply the needle.
"What happened then?" an impatient little voice asked. The girl had long dark hair and large gray eyes, and Colin realized with a pang that she reminded him of Amy. For a fleeting moment, he wondered what a little girl of Amy's would look like.
He banished that thought. "I'm just getting to the good part. One day, while the king was with the brothers in the forest, Parliamentary soldiers came upon them. Quickly, Charles climbed up an oak tree and crouched amid the leaves."
"How long did he stay there?" Mary asked.
"More than twenty-four hours, a whole day and night. The soldiers were certain they'd seen more men, so they rode back and forth searching all that time."
"How many soldiers?" Mary asked.
Colin shrugged. "I don't know, sweetheart."
"How many?" she persisted.
In a quandary, he glanced again at Kendra. She looked up, biting her lip to keep from laughing.
No help there.
"Seven," he announced finally. "I'm certain there were seven."
When the little girl smiled happily, Colin reached to ruffle her bright gold curls. "Charles slept for a time in the tree. When he woke, the soldiers were directly under him, saying how glad they should be to catch him. Hoping they wouldn't notice him there, Charles held his breath."
Hearing the children's indrawn breaths brought him a ridiculous sense of satisfaction.
"Finally, the next day, the soldiers rode off and left him to get down in safety." Little breaths were released. "That tree, in memory of the good service it had done him, was afterward named the Royal Oak, and if ever you go to Boscobel you can visit it," he said by way of conclusion.
"What happened then?" asked a boy. "How did he escape?"
Colin glanced toward Kendra, but she was smiling back down at her handiwork. "Yes, Colin," she said to a misshapen embroidered flower. "What happened then?"
"Hmmph," he said, wishing she were close enough to kick her. "The brothers were afraid the Roundheads would return when they couldn't find Charles elsewhere, so they moved him to another house, a few miles away. They had to find him a horse to ride there, because he couldn't walk that far on his aching feet. The boots, remember?"
Nine little heads nodded.
"He hid in a priest-hole in that house, and he was very cramped and uncomfortable in there."
"Because he's so tall," said little Mary.
"Exactly. Charles needed to get to Bristol to catch a ship and escape England," he continued, "but he couldn't travel in the farmer's clothes, since farmers don't often take to the roads. So they dressed him as a manservant and found a loyal woman named Lady Jane to ride behind him on a horse, posing as his employer. He decided to call himself William Jackson, and they made up a story that they were on their way to a wedding."
"Whose wedding?" Mary asked.
A smothered laugh came from Kendra.
Colin's mind raced. His gaze swept the chamber. "Lord Cornice and Lady Chimneypiece."
He would swear Kendra was choking. Not that she didn't deserve to.
He cleared his throat. "Charles and Lady Jane playacted all the way to Bristol. One day Charles's horse cast a shoe, and as he held the mare's foot for the blacksmith, he asked the man if there was any news since the battle."
Mary's big blue eyes were round as saucers. "What did the man say?"
"He told Charles that some of the Royalists had been found and arrested, but not yet Charles Stuart. The Roundheads called the king by the name of Stuart."
"Then the blacksmith was a Roundhead," Davis surmised. "Wasn't Charles afraid to talk to him?"
"Not Charles. But Lady Jane, she was having a fright. And what do you suppose our good king said then?"
"What?" the children chorused.
"He told the smith, 'If that rogue Charles Stuart is taken, he deserves to be hanged, more than all the rest.'"
"He didn't," Davis breathed.
"He surely did. Charles enjoyed his jest, but Lady Jane wanted to die right there."
"I don't blame her," said the dark-haired girl. "Not at all."
"Me, neither," Kendra put in with a raised brow. "That prank brings to mind one of my brothers."
"Let me finish," Colin scolded. "Lady Jane breathed more easily when the shoeing was done and they could be on their way. But at Bristol they were disappointed. For a whole month, there was no ship sailing to France or Spain. So Charles had to hide about the countryside again until they finally found a ship that could take him to France. The ship was named the Surprise, but it's now called the Royal Escape."
He stood. "And that is the end of the story. Time for bed, children. We've a long trip back to London in the morning." He flexed his shoulders and stretched.
Applause came from the doorway behind him. He turned to see his brothers, faces and clothing black with the soot of London's fire.
"Welcome back!" Kendra sprang up to greet them, her embroidery landing unceremoniously on the floor. She hugged them each in turn. "How did you like our storyteller?"
"Watch your gown; we're both sorely in need of a bath," Jason admonished. He aimed an exaggerated nod toward Colin. "I would have liked to attend the Cornice–Chimneypiece wedding. Pity that we were too young."
"Colin certainly rose to the occasion," Kendra said. "I all but forced him into it—in a sisterly way, of course." When Colin snorted at that, she flashed him an innocent smile. "Whatever made you think of that particular story?"
"Are you jesting? We must have heard Charles tell it a hundred times on the Continent. It was all but our nightly entertainment." He looked to Jason. "You brought Ebony with you, I'm hoping?"
"We're both fine," Jason drawled. "Thank you so much for asking." He turned to Ford. "So nice of him to inquire after us before thinking of his horse."
Ford shrugged. "It's not as though we've spent three days battling flames, exposing ourselves to the dangers of falling walls and debris—"
"No, nothing like that," Jason agreed. "Nothing that would compare to the hazards of telling tales to a pack of children."
"Oh, that's not all he's been doing. You don't know the half of it." Kendra rolled her eyes toward where Amy slept upstairs, and Colin moved closer, intending to elbow her in the ribs.
W
ith a laugh, she dodged out of his way. "We'll see the children to bed. You two go clean up, and we'll meet you back here with some supper."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Amy woke to the sound of low voices nearby. She kept her eyes shut tight—she had no intention of letting anyone know she was conscious, just yet—but even so, she could tell from the color inside her lids that morning had arrived.
Finally.
Several times during the interminable night, she'd awakened and floated to the surface of awareness, first hearing the soft crackling from the fireplace, then feeling the persistent burning in her right palm. And then she'd remember—and immediately force herself back into the depths of slumber. Back to where it was last week, and she wasn't alone in the world, and her only worry was her upcoming nuptials.
Once, she'd sensed a presence in the chamber and slitted her eyes open, peeking through the slits to see Colin watching her, his profile dark against the light of the flickering fire. She'd shut her eyes and lain perfectly still, feigning sleep until he left. He'd sighed heavily before closing the door behind him.
What kind of sigh had it been? she'd wondered vaguely as she lapsed back to her troubled dreams. A sigh of concern, or a sigh of exasperation?
He certainly seemed to be exasperated now.
"Bloody hell," she heard him say. "I want to take her with me. I need this over and done with. I've work to do."
"Well, it's not to be," a male voice answered reasonably. Ford or Jason, Amy reckoned. So they were back. "You'll have to deliver the children without her. You're not going to haul her around the countryside unconscious, are you?"
"Of course not!" Colin spat.
"Shh!" cautioned another unfamiliar masculine voice. The other brother, she supposed. "She might be ill, you know, if she's been sleeping this long."
Amy heard a couple of footsteps, then a warm palm pressed onto her forehead and rested there a few seconds. Colin. It had to be. "She's not hot," she heard him say, his voice closer now. "I checked her hand again last night. There's no infection."
Amy's heart fluttered at the thought of him caring for her while she slept. Perhaps she should let him know she'd awakened…
