Beloved Enemy

by Margaret Dickinson

  But Lady Denholm was smiling wistfully. She took Charmian’s hand in her own. ‘My dear, I am not a jealous person by nature. I knew of Sir Geoffrey’s love for your mother before I married him.’

  Charmian’s eyes widened. ‘And you—you did not—I mean—did the knowledge of it not hurt you?’

  Charmian knew how wounded she would feel, how fiercely angry too, if the man she loved were to love someone else.

  Lady Denholm sighed. ‘We have had a good marriage. There has been complete truthfulness and understanding between us always and a deep and lasting friendship. Sir Geoffrey is a fine man and I am honoured to be his wife. And we have our son of whom we are both so proud. And yet …’ She paused and leant a little closer. You see, my dear, I understood so well because my heart had belonged to another.’

  Charmian gasped and her lips parted in surprise. Lady Denholm nodded sadly. ‘Sir Geoffrey and I were betrothed as children at our parents’ insistence—just as you and Joshua Mason were. But that does not prevent one falling in love. I loved another man—a man my parents considered wholly unsuitable.’ Tears welled in her eyes. ‘I have never seen him during these last twenty-five years. I do not even know if he still lives.’

  ‘But you—you have never forgotten him?’

  ‘No,’ Lady Denholm’s voice was a mere whisper. ‘No, I have never forgotten him.’ More briskly, she added, ‘So you see, Charmian, why I bear your mother no malice. I understand—oh so very well—how they both must feel. And,’ she continued, squeezing Charmian’s hand slightly, ‘Sometimes we—all of us—must put duty before the desires of our own hearts.’

  And now, because of her mother’s deathbed wish, was Campbell to be made to marry her against the desires of his own heart?

  Chapter Eleven

  The following day, though Charmian was still pale and her eyes full of sadness, the storm of weeping had passed. She felt the need to escape from the confines of her room. So, putting on her warm cloak she left the castle and passed over the small footbridge over the moat and walked down the steep slope towards the river. From a narrow window, Campbell, a thoughtful frown on his face, watched her go.

  The ground was hard and frosty, the trees naked of their leaves, the river grey and lifeless. How very different it all was from that sparkling autumn day she had spent with Campbell, laughing so joyously without a care. So long ago it seemed. How very different she felt now. Her sweet mother gone, and her father …

  She shuddered. She tried not to think about her father. She did not know what to believe. She knew now that Campbell’s men had, as he had put it, kidnapped her father and the Deanes and had brought them back to England. Now they waited in the Tower for His Majesty’s decision.

  And Campbell. Her mind shied away from thoughts of him too. How different he was from the merry young man he had been all those years ago.

  She walked a short distance along the river bank and then her eyes caught sight of the arbour, nestling in the trees out of sight of the castle and she turned towards it. In the entrance, she paused. Here she had seen her mother and Sir Geoffrey meet.

  Then she had not understood the depth of feeling between them. Now she realized how precious those moments must have been for them—two people desperately in love but forced by their parents’ will to spend their lives apart.

  The floor was covered with withered leaves and cobwebs hung from the roof, but Charmian sat down upon the seat and, pulling her cloak closely around her, she stayed there, rigidly motionless, watching the river until the cold seeped into her bones. But still she sat there, locked in her own misery.

  It was there, a little while later, that Campbell found her—such a pathetic little waif, huddled into her cloak, that even his heart melted at the sight of her. He had watched her leave the castle, had seen her head bowed and her shoulders hunched and had known the grief she must be feeling. He had watched her disappear down the slope towards the river and then as the minutes had ticked away his anxiety had grown. He realized how lost and hurt she must be feeling and how he had done nothing to help her. Indeed he had only added to her humiliation and guilt.

  Now he was worried. Surely she would not do anything foolish? Yet had not her actions in helping her father been foolish and unthinking? His own father, he knew, sympathised with her, but for himself, Campbell had been irritated by her naïveté. Now he began to feel that perhaps he had been too harsh. His years of exile had made him hard, he had experienced all manner of hardships whilst she had remained cloistered and protected and kept ignorant of life itself. She was not to blame, he saw that now.

  He had prowled through the great rooms listening for the sounds of her return, always coming back to the windows overlooking the river. At last he could wait no longer and carelessly throwing his cloak round his shoulders he strode out and down the slope, almost running now in his eagerness to find her. He reached the river bank—there was no sign of her in either direction. Swallowing the fear that rose in his throat, Campbell ran a short distance along the bank and then retracted his steps and searched in the opposite direction. This way and that he scanned the river bank. He was about to call her name when he remembered the arbour and ran back towards it. As he approached it, he could see her sitting there.

  Relief washed over him, and with it came an anger that she had made him feel so anxious.

  ‘Charmian.’

  She jumped up at the sound of his voice, startled out of her thoughts. ‘Campbell! Oh—I …’ Embarrassment coloured her face.

  ‘What on earth do you think you are doing sitting out here in this freezing weather?’ His harsh tone was like that of an anxious parent who vents his anger upon a wayward child. ‘Do you want to catch pneumonia like your hero, Oliver Cromwell?’

  ‘He is no hero of mine.’ Charmian was stung to retort even through her grief.

  ‘Really? Then why so keen always to help his followers?’ His anger goaded her to show a defiance, yet it was not at all what she truly felt inside. ‘You condemn me for having helped my own father?’

  Campbell’s lip curled disdainfully. ‘Not if your father were following some worthwhile course, no, but …’

  ‘It is only a difference of beliefs. Who is to say who is right or wrong?’

  ‘I can see,’ Campbell stepped menacingly nearer, ‘that I shall have to teach you a lesson on obedience to your Sovereign, who reigns by divine right.’ Before she could utter another word, he had swept her into his strong embrace and crushed her against him. She gasped as his fierceness forced the breath from her body. His mouth was upon hers, demandingly, bruisingly, forcing her mouth open. Then suddenly he was gentle, his hands caressing her, stroking her hair, his mouth tenderly touching her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks and again her soft mouth searchingly. Wildly she felt an upsurge of emotion flood through her whole being once again. Just as before she had been powerless to resist him, now once more she found herself responding to his ardent kiss. Then she remembered his anger, his mockery of her, and she began to fight to free herself, telling herself that his embrace was loathsome to her, but her heart would not believe it.

  ‘Let—me—go. How dare you?’

  His laughter was a gentle breeze upon her face. ‘I should enjoy teaching you to be a willing servant of the Royalist cause, my dear Charmian.’

  ‘Never! Never! Never!’ She flung herself from him and almost fell over backwards in her attempt to flee from him. ‘Oh, I hate you. I hate you!’ she sobbed and ran from the arbour, and up the slope towards the castle, running, running until her lungs were bursting. And all the time she could hear his mocking laughter in her ears.

  That evening they dined in the great hall. Mary Mason, still mistress of Gartree Castle and yet a prisoner in it; her husband Edward, who was as silent and as unnoticeable as ever; Sir Geoffrey, his wife and son; Joshua, whose only interest in life seemed to be food—and Charmian. Charmian toyed with the food on her plate, her eyes downcast, her appetite gone.

  ‘Sir Geoff
rey,’ she heard her Aunt Mason say. ‘Arrangements must be made for the marriage between my son and my brother’s child. You have no right to stop it any longer. It is time they were married and …’

  Charmian raised her head and glanced towards her cousin, but he was too intent on stuffing more sweetmeats into his mouth to listen to the conversation going on over his head.

  Sir Geoffrey cleared his throat. ‘ I promised Charmian’s mother that I would see that she was not forced to marry Joshua.’ His level gaze met Mary Mason’s furious eyes. ‘And I intend to keep that promise.’

  As Mary Mason opened her mouth to speak, Campbell said, ‘Exactly so. Charmian will marry me.’

  For a moment there was a stunned silence around the table. Then Charmian gasped and stared wide-eyed at Campbell, whilst Mary Mason threw up her hands and gave way to hysteria. Joshua continued eating.

  And Campbell—he met Charmian’s horrified gaze with a mocking, half-bitter smile. ‘Well, don’t you want to be rescued from marriage to your cousin?’ he asked quietly.

  Mary Mason began to shriek. ‘So, this is what you do in my house, you vixen, you spurn my son and throw yourself at a damned Royalist. Aah, what will your father say, girl, what will he say?’

  ‘Her father has no more say in her future,’ Campbell snapped. ‘He is the prisoner of the King and likely to lose his head.’

  Charmian swallowed and slowly she stood up. With quiet dignity she faced them all. ‘I do not wish to marry Joshua—or—or Campbell. I do not wish to marry anyone.’ She made as if to leave the hall, but Campbell sprang to his feet, strode around the table and swept her up into his arms and carried her the length of the great hall, whilst she kicked and struggled but to no purpose.

  ‘But I wish to marry you, Charmian, and your mother wished it. Did she not say—stop wriggling, will you?—did she not ask you that if I should propose, you should accept me? And did you not give her your promise?’

  Immediately Charmian was still. She gave a low moan and put her hand across her face.

  ‘So,’ Campbell was saying sternly, ‘that is all that is to be said.’ He raised his voice and bellowed for Charmian’s maid. ‘Nell, Nell …’

  Sir Geoffrey and his wife had followed Campbell to the far end of the great hall, leaving Mary Mason to her hysterics and Joshua to his eating. Edward Mason sat silently watching the whole proceeding with an expressionless face.

  ‘Campbell,’ his father said, a frown upon his face. ‘ What jest is this?’

  Campbell turned to face his parents still carrying Charmian in his arms. ‘No jest, Father, I do assure you. Charmian has the makings of a good Royalist wife and I intend to marry her.’ He grinned at his father. ‘ Surely you do not object?’

  ‘No—no,’ Sir Geoffrey seemed for once utterly lost for words, ‘but—but Charmian seemed to object—rather violently.’

  His son laughed. ‘ Oh she will calm down and in time come to thank me for rescuing her from Joshua, won’t you, my love?’

  ‘Never! Never!’

  ‘Ah Nell,’ Campbell said as the maid appeared. ‘Fetch your mistress’s warm cloak and quickly put together a few things for her and ask Jem to make ready the coach. We are going on a journey.’

  ‘What are you doing? Where are you taking her, Campbell?’ Lady Denholm seemed as frightened of her son at this moment as Charmian was.

  ‘To our home. To Ashleigh Manor. We shall be married there in our own chapel.’

  ‘No, no,’ Charmian began to scream and kick her heels.

  ‘Campbell—think what you are doing,’ his father began. ‘Are you serious? Is this what you really want?’

  Campbell’s face was solemn. ‘ Oh I am very serious, Father, and yes, it is what I want.’

  ‘Then I must insist you stop this nonsense and go about this in a proper manner. I promised her mother …’

  ‘And Charmian promised her mother—did she not?—that if I were to ask her to marry me, she would do so?’

  ‘Yes, but the child was put in an impossible position. Elizabeth was dying. She would never have extracted such a promise had she been well and—and …’

  Gently Campbell said, ‘I think Elizabeth Radley knew just what she was doing, Father. Don’t concern yourself, I will take good care of Charmian.’ And as he carried his reluctant bride from the great hall and out into the courtyard, he called back over his shoulder. ‘The marriage will take place as soon as I can arrange it.’

  He placed her in the coach and climbed in beside her. At once she began to struggle.

  ‘Campbell, please, I beg you. Don’t do this,’ she began to sob.

  ‘Thank you, Nell,’ Campbell said calmly as the maid handed him Charmian’s cloak. He wrapped it around her shoulders, which were shaking, not with cold but with fury. They waited, seated in the coach, whilst the horses were finally hitched and made ready. Sir Geoffrey’s face appeared at the door of the coach. ‘Campbell, your actions have displeased me. If you are making this child marry you against her will, just because of the promise she was obliged to give her poor mother, I shall not forgive you.’

  Campbell returned his father’s gaze steadily, unrepentantly. ‘I am grieved to displease you, Father. But I promise you that one day Charmian will tell you herself that she is glad to be my wife.’

  ‘I most certainly will not,’ Charmian cut in. ‘I would sooner marry Joshua than you.’ But her tone lacked conviction. Once, long ago, she had told Campbell the exact opposite and now, suddenly, she remembered that very moment—that golden moment in the garden when as a child she had spoken from her heart without guile. ‘Oh you’re hateful!’ She added now truculently and twisted herself finally from his grasp, but instead of attempting to get out of the coach she huddled in the corner, as far away from him as she could get and pouted moodily.

  Campbell laughed. ‘You see, Father. She is still a child in a woman’s body. ’Tis time the woman in her was awakened and Joshua is not the man for that.’

  His father smiled, suddenly seemed to relent. ‘There I must agree with you, my son. But I beg you, please don’t cause her anguish, I …’ But his words were lost to them, as Jem whipped up the horses and the coach was moving over the cobbled courtyard, out through the gates and over the drawbridge and down the hill towards the village.

  Campbell sat back in his seat, spreading out his long legs and grinning insolently at her. Charmian refused to meet his gaze. She tried to tell herself that he was merely playing some foolish prank, at her expense, and that he did not seriously intend to go through with the marriage.

  ‘How far is it to Ashleigh Manor?’ she asked.

  ‘Some distance, my dear. Several hours’ drive—depending upon the state of the roads. We take a few hours’ rest at an inn perhaps and journey on tomorrow. I hope you will love Ashleigh Manor as I do.’ For a moment his expression grew softer as he talked about his home. ‘It has fallen into disrepair during our absence, but it is a lovely house with parkland and gardens and a lake with swans,’ he added impishly, reminding her of the happier times they had spent together. He leaned towards her in the darkness of the coach. ‘Don’t you remember, my princess, once saying that you wished it were me and not Joshua to whom you were betrothed?’

  So, he had remembered too.

  ‘Well? What if I did? I was only a child.’

  ‘Ah, but a child always speaks the truth—didn’t you know that?’ Campbell mocked.

  As the coach drew up before the main entrance of Ashleigh Manor late the following afternoon, servants seemed to appear from all directions.

  ‘Welcome, young master,’ was the chorus, beaming smiles upon their ruddy, jovial faces.

  Campbell leapt from the coach and turned to give his hand to Charmian, but she refused his help and clambered down in an undignified manner. She felt, rather than saw—for she refused to look at him—Campbell’s amusement at her petulant behaviour.

  ‘Nell—take your mistress upstairs. You will be shown the way. See that s
he has everything she needs and that she rests now. It has been a long and tiring journey.’ Then he caught hold of Charmian’s hand and raised it to his lips. ‘ Until tomorrow, my love, when we shall be married.’

  Charmian gasped and snatched her hand away. ‘How much longer do you intend to carry on this ridiculous masquerade?’ she snapped.

  Campbell’s face darkened and his mouth became a hard, uncompromising line. ‘No masquerade, madam, I promise you. Tomorrow you shall become my wife!’

  Charmian stared at him for a moment and then retorted, ‘If you think that, then it is you who are mistaken, not I.’ And with that, she flounced into the house and up the wide sweeping staircase to the bedchamber being hastily prepared for her. A huge log fire burned in the grate and food and drink were brought to her. She had never known such cosseting, such luxury particularly after the hard work and frightening experience she had suffered during her brief stay in a foreign land. Hot water was brought for her to bathe, fine silk garments—presumably Lady Denholm’s—were laid out for her to wear. Idly she fingered the sheer nightgown.

  ‘Oh miss,’ Nell breathed, her young face red with excitement. ‘Such a handsome husband you’ll have and such lovely, lovely clothes. Oh miss, you’ll keep me on as your maid, pray say you will?’

  ‘Don’t talk such nonsense, Nell. We shall not be staying here. Campbell Denholm is carrying on a cruel jape, that is all. There will be no marriage.’

  ‘Oh miss, I think you are wrong. He has sent one of his men for the priest. And the chapel is being decorated with early spring flowers—snowdrops and crocuses and even a few daffodils, I think they have managed to find in the grounds.’

  Charmian scoffed disbelievingly. ‘Really, Nell, you would believe anything.’

  ‘No, no. Miss, I saw it with me own eyes. One of the gardeners, he come in with armfuls of greenery and flowers—he knew just where to find them.’