But almost immediately Sir Talbot reappeared carrying his saddlebags. He and the other man got into the boat and came towards her. Sir Talbot leapt out and strode swiftly into the hut.
'Come, we leave at once, the hunt is up.'
'Hunt? Who? Francis?'
He was gathering together the remains of the food and his few possessions scattered about the hut and did not answer. Thrusting the blankets into her arms he gave her a push towards the door.
'Take these, we'll need them on the water. Hurry, wench, or you'll regret it!'
Conscious of the blazing fury in his eyes she obeyed and he was behind her as she reached the boat. The man in the smock, ancient and lined but with twinkling blue eyes, gave her a comforting smile and stretched out a hand to help her into the boat.
'Don't worry, Missee, we'll get ye safe away,' he said, and began to row almost before Sir Talbot was in the boat.
For a few minutes Sir Talbot busied himself stowing their possessions, putting what he could into the saddlebags and making a bundle of the rest.
'Our land route is blocked,' he explained at last to Elinor, his tone bitter. 'I was recognised and someone betrayed my usual haunts. We travel by river. Jed here knows secret ways.'
The old man smiled, showing a toothless gum.
'Aye, ye' be safe wi' me. Have to walk the last couple o' miles though, daren't go right into Yarmouth. Rain's easin', that's a mercy.'
He and Sir Talbot took turns rowing. They passed the occasional cottage but for the most part the banks of the river were hidden by the thickly growing reeds, and the only signs of life were the waterfowl and the birds. Elinor, forgetting her strange situation for a few moments, watched entranced a motionless heron standing on the bank, then suddenly flapping his wings and slowly disappearing into the distance.
'Wrap one of the blankets about you.' Sir Talbot's voice broke into her thoughts and she looked up with a start. The sun had almost set behind her and it was chilly. She had not realised how cold she was getting and she did as she was bidden, snuggling down into the comfort the blanket provided.
*
The journey seemed to take hours. Darkness fell and the sky was studded with thousands of stars. A new moon gave faint illumination, but on the river only the splash of the oars and the quiet sounds of the night creatures could be heard. Finding a comfortable spot against the side of the boat Elinor drifted in and out of sleep and was conscious of a few quietly spoken words once or twice, but she was too emotionally worn out to pay any heed. She woke when her shoulder was shaken gently.
'What is it?' she asked in sudden alarm. 'Why have we stopped here?'
'We must walk now. Take this to eat as we go,' Sir Talbot's voice whispered in her ear and she found herself grasping a hunk of bread.
Still rather dazed she was helped out of the boat, heard Jed wishing her farewell and muttered something in return before the boat was pushed away from the bank and disappeared into the darkness.
The moon was gone and in the pale starlight Elinor gradually distinguished a few scattered trees beside the gleam of the river. She could hear a low rumble and realised that it was the waves pounding onto the beach. She shivered. What would become of her at the mercy of this madman?
'Come here and I'll arrange the blanket as a shawl,' Sir Talbot said, and she permitted him to fold it and tie the ends behind her after crossing them and winding them about her waist. She could barely move her arms but it felt snug, and there was a cold breeze blowing.
'How far is the boat?' she asked.
'Not much more than half an hour. Can you carry something?'
'Yes,' she replied, and he quickly arranged the saddlebags over his shoulders and handed a small bundle to her.
'There is a path of sorts. Follow me closely and don't speak or make a noise.'
Munching the dry bread as they tramped on, Elinor began to ponder the chances of another attempt to escape. It was clearly hopeless to try to run away here for he would soon catch her despite the darkness. The ground was so open there was nowhere to hide. Yet it might be her last opportunity before he carried her across the sea. She still did not fully believe he came from her brother and was in a quandary, knowing that whatever she did she risked danger.
Her footsteps dragged over the hard ground and through her thin shoes her feet felt very sore. Twice she stumbled and the second time Sir Talbot turned, waited for her to come alongside him and put his free arm about her waist.
'Don't be foolish,' he breathed in her ear as she shrank away from the contact, and held her so tightly she abandoned the effort to free herself. It certainly helped to have his strong arm supporting her and the warmth of his tall lean body so close beside her.
Soon afterwards he turned off the path and they slithered in the loose sand of the dunes as they crossed to the beach. The shape of a boat and the jetty to which it was tied loomed up before them.
At the very moment when they felt the firmer sand of the beach beneath their feet they heard the sound of galloping hooves coming from the path they had just left. Sir Talbot seized Elinor's hand and urged her on.
'Run,' he hissed in her ear, and forgetting this might be rescue for her, conscious only of a sudden unreasoning fear of the unknown horseman she strove to keep up with him as he helped her along.
'Halt there!' a sudden command rang out, and Elinor cried out in amazement and tried to free her hand.
'It's Francis!' she gasped as she was dragged onto the boards of the jetty. 'Francis!' she repeated, calling out to him.
Sir Talbot wasted no time arguing. Picking her up he carried her, struggling furiously, along the jetty. In the boat someone was rapidly hauling up sails and Elinor heard the noisy flapping as the wind caught them, then she found herself falling, to land in a heap on some coils of rope. Above her on the boards of the jetty running feet pursued them.
'You'll not get away, filthy spy!' Francis shouted, to be answered by a low laugh from Sir Talbot.
'Do you imagine you are going to stop me?'
The answer was a clash of steel, and as Elinor picked herself up from where she had been so unceremoniously thrown, she could just distinguish in the faint light two figures above her, swords drawn, balancing on the precarious footing of the jetty.
*
Chapter 3
Francis lunged furiously towards Sir Talbot's heart, but his sword was parried and he leapt back hastily to avoid the riposte which came in a fluid, deceptively easy movement. Elinor tried to scramble to her feet but the unevenness of her perch made it impossible and she clung to the side of the boat as it swayed perilously.
'Jump, Sir Talbot, we're clear!' a voice behind Elinor urged, but a low deep laugh was the only reply as Sir Talbot followed up his advantage, forcing Francis away from the boat.
In the faint starlight only their shadows could be distinguished and an occasional bright gleam from their swords. After his first headlong rush Francis fenced more cautiously, aware of the narrow jetty whose edges he could only vaguely distinguish against the foam-flecked water below. Gradually Sir Talbot pushed him towards the shore but neither man could penetrate the other's guard.
Elinor watched fearfully for a few seconds, then as the boat steadied and Francis was driven further away from her she realised that the sudden dramatic hope of rescue was disappearing. She scrambled to her feet, caught at the wooden edge of the platform level with her waist and tried to pull herself out of the boat.
The man behind her, belatedly realising her intention, swore and plunged across the space separating them. The boat pitched when the wind caught the sails, and as he dragged Elinor back she fell against the boards. Then Sir Talbot laughed suddenly, and sprang into the boat as Francis, missing his footing on the slippery jetty, fell with a resounding splash into the sea.
Sir Talbot and his companion cast off before Elinor had regained her breath and struggled into a sitting position.
'Francis!' she called despairingly, but there was no response. 'W
hat have you done? Did you kill him?' she demanded angrily, turning towards Sir Talbot sitting calmly beside the tiller.
'Save your pity,' was the curt reply. 'If I had we would have avoided trouble! But a wetting will dampen his ardour.'
'He didn't answer! He might have been hurt as he fell!'
'More like got a mouthful o' salt water,' chuckled the other man unfeelingly. 'How come he followed you, Sir Talbot?'
'I was betrayed,' was the brief reply. 'Don't go back until we know who did it and have different hideouts.'
'Robby Hardacre asked a sight o' questions last time I was here,' the other mused. 'His wife had a new silk gown, too.'
'Had she, indeed? We'd best discover why. Mistress Dakers, there is a bunk in the cabin, you can sleep now. I am sorry, but we dare not light a lamp. Come.'
He stood up as the other man took the tiller, his shadow looming menacingly over Elinor. When she did not respond he grasped her arm and pulled her to her feet.
'This way,' he ordered, and she perforce followed him. He went down a steep ladder and then turned to grasp her about the waist and lift her to stand beside him, the back of her legs pressed against the side of a bunk.
'You can stand upright but only just,' he said with a faint laugh, his breath against her cheek. 'Try to sleep, we have a long voyage before we reach France.'
Elinor suddenly tensed as his arms tightened about her and she was crushed against his long lean body. She thought his lips brushed her forehead, but as she began to protest, her heart hammering in fear, she was as suddenly released and realised he had needed to hold her closely in order to pass within the narrow space.
She had no alternative but to occupy the bunk, huddling against the increasing cold. For a time the creak of the ropes and the splash of the water kept her wakeful, but eventually she fell into an uneasy sleep.
*
She awoke to daylight, the sound of rain, and an uncomfortable surge in the motion of the boat. As she tried to stand a sudden heave threw her back and she had to hold tightly to the ladder in order to reach the deck.
Sir Talbot, swathed in his cloak, sat in the bows. He smiled.
'You slept well?'
'Thank you, yes. What hour is it?'
'Late morning. There's bread and cheese and ale in that locker. You'd best take it back to the cabin.'
'Don't you want to sleep?' she asked, and he gestured towards the side of the boat where a sail had been spread to provide a shelter.
'Matt and I took turns. All we can do is run before the wind. It's not too far off course, but we're being driven shorewards.'
Elinor looked where he pointed. Through the sheets of driving rain the shoreline loomed a few hundred yards away, and the huddle of houses denoted a small harbour. There were no other boats in sight.
Elinor turned to take some food. It was unpalatable but filling and she ate hungrily. Then she sat on the bunk and began to wonder what would happen to her if they eventually reached France.
Escape now seemed unlikely and she might never again see Francis, even if he had not been drowned. She blinked back a tear. She had known him for years and been happy at the prospect of marriage with so strong and handsome a man.
What awaited her after this incredible abduction? Was Kit alive or had she been cruelly deceived? If he lived what sort of life did he lead as a follower of the uncrowned James Edward? What sort of life was in store for her in a strange country, far from the peaceful Norfolk countryside? Even more terrifying, what fate awaited her if the whole mad story were untrue and Kit was not in France?
She had so few facts she was almost glad when Sir Talbot came into the small cabin, carrying bread and cheese. He dropped his sodden cloak at the foot of the ladder.
'May I join you for a while? The shelter we rigged has been blown away and outside the bread turns to porridge.'
Elinor made room for him to sit beside her.
'Where are we? Can you tell?'
'South of Harwich but too near the land. Matt is afraid of grounding on the mud flats, especially as the wind is veering east.'
'Would the boat be wrecked?' Elinor asked in some alarm.
'No, we'd merely wait until the next tide floated us clear,' he reassured her.
'Did you kill Francis?' she asked after a brief pause.
'I doubt it, the water was a mere fathom deep. Only his dignity was damaged!'
'He'll kill you if he ever catches you,' she said, furious at the amusement on his face.
'He'll not leave the security of England even though I hold you as bait. He prefers odds more in his favour!'
'He was alone last night when he attacked two of you!'
'Didn't you see the troop behind him? Only half a dozen or so! A pity they were too far behind to come to his aid at the start!'
As she struggled for an answer a shout came from outside, and Sir Talbot scrambled quickly up the ladder.
'We're heading straight for it!' she heard Matt exclaim. 'It's an old wreck the storm's thrown up from the sea bed, and our tiller's useless, it broke away!'
Elinor was about to climb the ladder when there was a shattering jar, and she was thrown onto the bunk in a flurry of skirts. She heard great rending and tearing noises and a sharp crack as the mast snapped, crashing to the deck and partly obscuring the opening to the deck with a tangle of ropes and splintered wood. No longer scurrying forward, the boat tossed helplessly, the floor of the cabin listing alarmingly.
*
Elinor managed to reach the ladder and the obstruction above her head was dragged away.
'Elinor! Are you all right? Come up as quickly as you can, the boat is badly holed,' Sir Talbot ordered in swift, clipped sentences. He leaned towards her and slipped his hands under her armpits, hauling her unceremoniously out onto the deck.
'Are you hurt?' he demanded, and she shook her head, trying to see about her. 'Good, we have to swim for the shore. Take off your gown, it will drag you down too much!'
He and Matt were rapidly removing their boots and coats, and she bit back her instinctive refusal. The boat was already half submerged at the bows. As she fumbled with cold clumsy fingers at the fastenings of her gown Sir Talbot seized the material and wrenched it apart from neck to hem.
'We've no time for modesty,' he said, grinning at her indignant expression. Then he grasped her arm and before Elinor knew what was happening she found herself pushed over the side, to where Matt was clinging to a piece of wood.
'Hold on, Missee, kick hard,' she heard Matt say as she spluttered, gasping for breath. Then a strong arm was about her waist and she trod water while taking a firm grip on the plank.
'Can you hold it?'
'Yes, I've got it now,' she replied, and tried to kick out as Matt instructed.
With the men to either side they struck out for the shore. The water was numbingly cold and they could see little for the blinding rain and the surging waves, but as the tide swept them to one crest Elinor had a glimpse of some trees near the shore, seemingly miles away.
'We'll never do it!' she gasped, then choked as she swallowed some water.
'Of course we will. Both tide and wind are helping us. Keep holding to the wood,' Sir Talbot said bracingly.
Their progress was agonisingly slow, and Elinor felt her strength ebbing as the bitter cold numbed her limbs. Sir Talbot held her close to him as she coughed and spluttered over another mouthful of water.
'We'll tie you to the wood,' he said calmly, slipping off his shirt and passing it across her shoulders and under her arms, then securing the ends to the wood so that her arms were resting on the plank and she was raised further out of the water.
The shore looked even further away, and Elinor remembered little of the next half hour. She became conscious of her surroundings once more when Sir Talbot suddenly swung her up into his arms and waded the last few yards up onto the beach.
*
'I never thought we'd make it,' Matt gasped, and Elinor found she was lying on soft w
et sand.
Sir Talbot began chafing her hands. 'You've got to walk,' he said urgently. 'You must, to keep warm. There's a cottage a short distance off. Come, child, it's not far.'
Somehow Elinor struggled to her feet. Sir Talbot half carried her as they followed Matt along a narrow winding path through the dunes. She was aware of little apart from the warmth of his body burning into hers and the iron band of his arm about her waist.
'You poor dear!' she heard, and looked up to find a plump, rosy-cheeked woman gazing at her in concern. Then a man, bearded and clad in rough homespun, came out of the cottage and carried her inside.
She lay on a thin pallet before the fire, swathed in linen towels, and as the woman rubbed her briskly warmth stole back into her body. Then, wrapped in blankets, she sipped mulled ale, spicy and delicious.
Suddenly she realised it was Sir Talbot's arm about her, supporting her, and she tried to draw away. He retained a firm hold, making her drink the ale, then sip chicken broth which he himself gave her. When her head drooped he laid her gently down, tucking the blankets about her.
She awoke from a dream in which the waves had been sucking her down into their dark depths, and sat up in alarm. But she was in a big cosy kitchen with a huge table in the centre and a wall bed at the far side. She recalled the plump cheeks of the woman who now left her pastry and came to bend over Elinor.
'How do you feel now, dearie? You've slept long.'
Elinor smiled, then coughed. Her throat felt dry and raw.
'Much better,' she croaked, her voice rough and uncertain. 'Where is Sir Talbot?'
'Gone wi' my Jake to get horses. He wants to get you home quickly, for fear you take a chill. Seems like you have, too.'
'I shall be better soon,' Elinor said hurriedly. Home? Did he mean to return her or was this some excuse to delude these kind cottagers? 'Where are we?' she asked. 'And who are you? We owe you our lives,' she added, taking the mug of milk the woman held out to her and drinking deeply. She wondered whether to appeal to this kind woman for help, but her throat hurt too much to talk, and she doubted whether the woman would believe so fantastic a story.
Rebel Heart Page 3