'No, no, that is unimportant! Of course he would not!'
'George, ask Sir Randal to be good enough to speak with me,' James went on, ignoring Drusilla's protests, and before she could prevent him George had bounded outside, and a few moments later Sir Randal appeared in the doorway.
He looked across at Drusilla and James, before taking the tankard of ale George poured out for him, then walked across to seat himself on a stool beside James.
'I trust the injury is not too great,' he said easily.
'A simple, clean break,' Tom assured him, 'and a cut on the head that will soon heal with care.'
He looked from one to the other, and making an excuse about needing more wood for the fire, took a reluctant George outside the cottage.
'I have wished to express my regrets for your wife's death,' Randal said quietly to James. 'I shall ever be remorseful for my part in it, although it was not as Mr Blagrave said. It was because I visited the house, and was forced back into it by the ruffians that set upon me, so I am in part responsible.'
'No, no. Blagrave confessed to me he hired the men to kill you,' James said hastily. 'I have just been explaining to Drusilla, also that he made another attempt as you were bringing Drusilla home, and it was he who shot her.'
'I suspected something of the sort,' Randal said, nodding, 'but did not wish to accuse him until I had proof, and I have been kept so busy with Prince Maurice in the west I have had no time to search for that!' he added ruefully. 'Where is he?'
'Dead. He was with me, but fatally injured by the fall that broke my leg. He told me before he died. I was telling Drusilla, never dreaming you were but outside, that I must see you.'
'But you have no need, James, for all is now explained,' Drusilla intervened hurriedly. 'If Sir Randal will be so good as to escort me, methinks I ought to go back to Devizes and arrange for you to be fetched home.'
'There is time for that. I believe, Sir Randal, that the accusations made by Blagrave caused you to leave Devizes after you had offered for my sister. Drusilla may have been swayed by them – '
'No, I never believed that of him, never!' Drusilla cried in distress.
'Then why did you refuse Sir Randal's offer, my love?' James asked, puzzled.
'I have told you!'
*
Driven into making an explanation, Drusilla dared not look at Sir Randal, and did not see the arrested expression on his face. She spoke so quietly the two men had difficulty in hearing her, and James asked her to repeat what she had said.
'Sir Randal does not truly wish to marry me!' she said curtly.
Randal surveyed her calmly for a moment, and then rose to his feet.
'If you will excuse us, Mr Matthews, I think it would be best if we followed your sister's suggestion and sought help to move you. We can discuss this matter on the way.'
Not permitting a surprised and rather bewildered James time to reply, he bowed, smiled, and took Drusilla's arm in a firm grasp, leading her from the cottage before she had time to protest.
The horses were tethered nearby, and sound of wood being chopped indicated the whereabouts of Tom and George. Randal, drawing Drusilla irresistibly along with him, walked past the horses to a small grassy patch of ground sheltered from the winds by some fruit trees, and facing the setting sun. He halted, pulling Drusilla round to face him, and when she resolutely refrained from looking at him, pulled her chin gently to turn her face up to his.
'When I offered for you, Drusilla my sweet, did you imagine I did it unwillingly, that I felt obliged to do so because of the accident we had been so long alone together?'
'No, I knew that was not important, as I told you!' she said. 'My father did not understand!'
'He thought I had made the offer because of that?'
'That is what he told me,' she answered at last.
'And you refused me because you did not wish for an unwilling husband?'
'No! Not because of that!'
'Well, my dearest, I never thought you believed those lies of Blagrave, so what reason have you for saying I do not wish to marry you? Is it some strange way of saying you do not wish to marry me?'
She did not answer, for she could neither agree with nor deny his suggestion, and he slipped his arms about her and drew her close to him.
'My lovely one, I am older than you, and have been about the world a great deal, and observed people more than you have been able to. I prided myself I knew when a woman loved a man, that I could distinguish looks of love from those of coquetry or mere liking. When I saw you I knew there would never be any other woman for me, and I thought you came to feel love for me. Was I so completely mistaken?'
Wordlessly, Drusilla shook her head, and Randal's arms tightened suffocatingly about her.
'Then why did you refuse me?'
There was nothing for it except to tell the truth, and Drusilla took a deep breath and spoke, still avoiding looking at him.
'It was because of Mary Percy!' she exclaimed.
'Mary?' There was genuine puzzlement in Randal's voice, so that Drusilla, startled, risked a glance at him. 'What has Mary Percy to do with us?'
'I thought you intended – wanted – to marry her! I had heard, from Mistress Rogers, that you were paying her many attentions in Oxford, and then, your sister and Barbara seemed to be so sure of it, and Mary herself – she behaved as though she was certain of becoming your wife!'
Randal gave a soft chuckle.
'My foolish little love! You know so little of the world! Yes, I admit I paid her attentions, but no more than I have for years paid attentions to pretty women I had no wish to marry! My sister, I can well believe, would busy herself spreading rumours, for she has long despaired of marrying me off, and hoped Mary, with her wealth and beauty, might tempt me. Mary may have thought so, too, and if so I am sorry, but I have never given her cause to do so. I do not need wealth, and you have more beauty than a dozen Mary Percys!'
Unwilling to permit herself to believe what he was saying, Drusilla was staring up into his eyes, and at these last words she disbelievingly shook her head.
'Oh, but she is lovely!' she could not help exclaiming, and he laughed.
'Yes, mayhap, but I prefer your style of beauty! Besides, you have so much more to give me, and I love you, and I did not love Mary! Was that the barrier you thought lay between us?'
'You cannot possibly prefer me!' she whispered, and he bent down to kiss her, gently at first, but with a growing passion so that Drusilla, finally accepting the truth, the incredible reality of his words, responded blissfully.
When he finally released her she could not speak, but looked up at him wonderingly, and he tenderly took her hands and kissed them, looking all the while deep into her eyes.
'Drusilla, my dearest, lovely Drusilla, will you marry me?'
'I – oh yes, Randal! I have been so unhappy since you went away!'
He clasped her tightly in his arms again.
'I never want you to be unhappy again! Will you marry me immediately? Do you think your parents will agree? I did not obtain the impression your father was against my suit!'
Drusilla chuckled.
'Oh, no, he was most impressed by your title!' She sighed a little. 'He has always had great ambitions for his children. Even when he half-believed you might have hired those men, he was prepared to overlook it for the sake of that! Why, he even believed I had exaggerated the injury to my head to compromise you!' she recalled. 'I truly think that supposed aspect of my behaviour pleased him more than anything else I have ever done, for he thought it very intelligent of me! He said I would have been clever at business!'
Randal laughed. 'Then we had best return and inform him you are going to be Lady Thornton! When we have fetched James to Devizes we will make our own arrangements, and as soon as we are wed I will take you to Thornton Hall.'
'Your sister!' Drusilla exclaimed. 'She will be far from pleased! I do not think she liked me? Will she still be there?'
'She ma
y be disappointed her own schemes have failed, but she will be happy to see me wed. Besides, I have never criticised her choice of husbands, and she will say no word against you, for if she does she will never visit us again! She is to be married herself in a few days, and I will ensure she leaves Thornton Hall before I take you there, for I know she can be intimidating. It is your home, my love, to do with as you wish, and I know with you it will be a real home, the one I have dreamed of, and I still cannot believe my good fortune in having found you!'
'You were so angry when you found me tonight,' she recalled.
'Not with you. Never with you, my love. I was appalled at the danger you ran, but I realise now that, never having seen a battle, you could not have known what it would be like, with desperate men searching for escape or for loot.'
Drusilla shuddered. 'I heard, in the town, that you won despite the numbers against you.'
'Waller had twice our number of horse, and the foot also. It was a tremendous victory. But there would have been no joy in it for me if I had not won you.'
They realised some time later that the sun had almost slipped over the horizon, and Randal somewhat guiltily laughed, saying he would have to make reparation to Tom and George if they had been chopping wood unnecessarily all the time.
'And James will feel neglected if they are not with him. Come, we must ride home.'
But they found when they reached the horses that Tom had returned to the cottage, for the soft glow of a candle was visible through the small window. They rode back to Devizes in the gathering twilight around the edge of 'Runaway Hill', hand in hand, content to forget the struggle that had taken place on it in the blissful contemplation of their own joy.
THE END
###
Marina Oliver has written over 60 novels, and has converted most of them to Ebooks. Others have been or are being published as Ebooks by other publishers.
For the latest information please see Marina's web site:
http://www.marina-oliver.net
Here is the beginning of another of my novels about the Civil War now available as an Ebook:
CAVALIER COURTSHIP
BY MARINA OLIVER
Chapter 1
Caroline Tame, or Prudence, as she was now called on her uncle's orders, was sitting in the fork of her favourite apple tree near the stream.
She always went there when she wanted to think, or merely to get away from the rest of the household. And life was so strange in this household that she often needed to get away. Everything was so solemn, and Caroline, green eyed and fair haired, just nine years old, was a merry, adventurous young creature, often boisterous, frequently irked by the restrictions and prohibitions which abounded in this, her uncle's house.
There were so many prayers! Family prayers both morning and night, as well as many occasions during the evenings and on holidays when Uncle John read aloud to them all, servants as well as family, from his big family Bible. Then on Sunday it seemed as though they were praying all day long, either at church or at home. Sunday, to a child of Caroline's temperament, was near torture. No games or recreations were allowed, she was expected to read solemn, good books whenever they were not at prayer, and on the few occasions when she had rebelled, and been caught in an unsuitable Sabbath pastime, she had been severely whipped and sent to bed without food for the rest of the day. She managed to restrain her rebelliousness for most of the time, so terrible were the consequences if she were discovered, but still on occasions her love of gaiety or her mischievousness had overborne her caution.
She escaped as often as she could to the fields and woods outside the garden, to the barns in the farmyard, or here, to her apple tree. Then she would imagine that life was different, happier and more colourful. She would wonder about the time she could not remember, when her parents were alive, and she had lived with them. Little had been told her about that time. When she pressed Uncle John for details, he usually said her father had been unwise, and her mother even worse. Why, she did not know, except that it was something to do with the King who had been executed for treason twenty months earlier. She understood little of the matter. It was a long way from the quiet life in the house at Lichfield, but the reverberations of the trial and execution of King Charles Stuart had been loud enough for even a child of seven to hear something of them.
She knew that her parents had died in the summer of '45, six years ago. It was in a battle, she knew, but how her mother had been involved in a battle, no one would or could tell her. She had confused recollections of places other than her uncle's house, and vague memories of the time when she first came to live with his family. She knew her real name was Caroline, and always thought of herself so, but her uncle had immediately ordered she should henceforth be known as Prudence. When she had later wondered at this, and asked for a reason, she had been told it was unwelcome to her uncle to have a reminder of the King always before him, and in any event, with her background, the quality of prudence would be of inestimable value to her.
This left her no wiser than before, until she happened to mention it to Geoffrey, one of her companions who was the son of a neighbour and two years older than herself. With the superiority of his age and sex, he crushingly informed her that Caro was a Latin form of Charles. She had hotly defended her ignorance, declaring it was unfair he should be taught Latin, whilst she had to put up with dull things like needlework.
She was nevertheless intrigued and vaguely proud of this connection with the King. She had not imbibed her uncle's republicanism, and her nursemaids had told her many fairy stories in which kings and queens figured prominently. They did not seem bad people as her uncle suggested, rather the opposite. And rather romantic, too. She wondered whether real kings and queens were romantic, and her daydreams often found her serving some beautiful queen or handsome king.
But royalty did not figure in her dreams today. Something much more immediate concerned her. Her own marriage.
She had been idling the morning away in the stableyard, having run away from Mistress Williams, who was her governess.
But she had heard the woman's shrill voice enquiring after her from the grooms, and ran back into the house, having suddenly thought of a new hiding place, one which would be rather fun.
She made her way to the dining hall, and looked cautiously round the half-open door. The room was empty, and with a sigh of relief she stepped inside, and ran quickly over to the corner of the room between the chimney and the window. There was a big cupboard there, and she was sure the lower half of it was big enough for her to squeeze into. She opened the door, and was rather relieved to see very few things on the lowest shelf. She pushed them right to the back of the cupboard and crawled into the space left. There was ample room for her. Pulling the door of the cupboard almost closed, she stretched out and found just enough space for her to lie flat on her back. She giggled.
That horrid Williams would never think to look for her here! She would often be able to escape from the tedious lessons Uncle John considered necessary for her.
Caroline was only just settled in the cupboard when she heard the dining hall door closing. She held her breath, and heard footsteps in the room. Now the security of her hiding place would be tested!
'We shall be undisturbed here.' It was Uncle John. 'Sit down, my dear. I have important business to discuss with you.'
'Is it this invasion by Charles Stuart?' asked a woman's voice. It was Aunt Anne, Uncle John's gentle, kindly wife.
At the sound of her voice, Caroline smiled. She had made the little lost girl welcome when she had first come to the house, and had mothered her and done her best to shield the child from the severity of Uncle John, when she could do so without appearing to resist or defy his authority.
Uncle John replied, rather hastily. 'No, no. Nothing of that sort, which in any case you should not allow to disturb you, my dear. Cromwell will soon put a stop to that puppy's pretensions. It is a matter nearer home. A weighty one, but nevertheless pleasant.' He
paused, then went on in a slightly gruff voice. 'We have been unfortunate in not having children of our own. A son would have been my greatest joy, even a daughter would have made me happy, but for some reason the Lord has seen fit to deprive me of that blessing. I often wonder what sin of ours has been responsible for this sorrow.'
Caroline frowned. Her uncle was frequently discoursing on this theme, which Caroline knew was a most painful one for her aunt, who loved children and would have delighted in a large family. And by the way her uncle said 'sin of ours' it was perfectly clear he did not believe it was a sin of his which was responsible for their childlessness.
'The Lord has His reasons,' calmly replied Aunt Anne.
'Yes indeed. But as this is the situation, my nearest relative is our niece Prudence, and she will naturally inherit from me. I could wish she were a little more decorous and pious, but I hope time will overcome these faults. As for her disobedience and unwillingness to attend to her lessons, greater severity on our part will cure her. I have hopes that despite her unfortunate beginnings she will grow into a God-fearing woman. But enough of that. As you know, my estate is large, and Prudence will be a wealthy woman. I am afraid it may cause undesirable attention from fortune-seekers, and I therefore plan to protect her and my wealth from these.'
'You are wise to take precautions,' murmured Aunt Anne.
'Since my land runs for much of its northern boundary with that of our good friend Robert Wells, and he has a son of much the same age as Prudence, methought it would be sensible to join the two estates through marriage. Robert agrees, and we propose to betroth the children in a few weeks' time, when the lawyers have drawn up the necessary contracts and settlements.'
'Prudence is over-young to be betrothed,' said Aunt Anne, with a worried note in her voice.
'It is not unusual where large estates are concerned,' answered her husband, 'and we will ensure the marriage does not take place for many years yet.'
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