'I begin to wish I'd hit you a little further towards the centre of your arrogant head! Then it would have been one plaguey soldier the less to house and feed!' she said resentfully the moment the others departed.
'Are you too ignorant to understand what would then have become of you and your household?' he demanded with sudden brusqueness. 'Aye, and to the entire village like as not, if my men had chosen to take revenge! To say you didn't mean to aim at me would have availed you little then!'
Caro shivered. She hadn't had time as yet to think of this, but she had a sudden, horrifying vision of the way his men would have treated her and the servants she was responsible for, all because she had tried to protect them.
These rough soldiers would have spared no one, not even poor old Bessy. Whatever they did to her she'd asked for, but they would in all likelihood have burned the village, raped the women and killed the men. She'd heard tales of babies being roasted over a spit, and felt a moment's thankfulness that James was safely away with his uncle in Falmouth. Not that he was a baby any more, but he was too young to suffer for her instinctive, thoughtless actions.
She realised with a bitter wave of helplessness sweeping over her that her puny resistance had been pointless. She could not have defeated professional soldiers, even if there had been no more than three or four of them. She might have led faithful Jacob to his death, and then what would have become of Bessy and Joan?
'I'm sorry,' she whispered at last. 'I just wanted to stop you taking our horses. Without them we can't work the farm, and if you take our food how will the villagers live this winter?'
'I need no horses, nor food,' he said, wearily resting his head against the pillows. 'As it happens we have enough. We're heading as fast as we can for Bristol, where Prince Rupert is besieged by Fairfax and has too few men to hold the defences. Horses are of no use except to get us there.'
'You are the King's man?'
'I am. I'll have no truck with rebels.'
'We hear the King is losing many towns,' Caro said quietly, then wished she had not. She had a sudden, inexplicable desire to see him smile, to soothe that worn frown from his brow. He looked tired and defeated, and she didn't know why she should care. She supported neither side, blaming them all for bringing war and death and misery to the country, involving innocent people who cared not a jot who ruled them up in London so long as they were left in peace to till their own land.
'Bridgwater and Bath have fallen, and Sherborne Castle,' he said and broke into her puzzled thoughts. 'We hold Cornwall still, but that's not thanks to the leaders. Goring is drunk half the time and the rest always quarrelling.'
Before she could reply Jacob came into the room bearing a flagon of ale and a pewter tankard.
'No doubt you'm thirsty, my lord,' he said obsequiously, and handed the tankard, brimming, to the man in the bed. 'This be our best ale, my Bessy brews it.'
'Be careful, Jacob! It's too full!'
Caro hurried to hold it, fearing the patient was too weak to manage. He sank back, an odd expression in his eyes, and permitted her to hold the tankard to his lips.
'I thank you.' He took a sip, then a longer swallow. 'Jacob, isn't it? Tell Bessy this is the best ale I've tasted for many a long day.'
Jacob, bending low, backed out of the room, a foolish grin on his face, and Caro wanted to shake him. They were still enemies, these men who had pushed in uninvited.
'And you are Mistress Caro, I believe? I am Lord Ashring - Robert Ashring, at your service.'
She knew she should have curtsied, but she was leaning over the bed towards him, half sitting on it. And, she reminded herself hurriedly, he was neither a friend nor an invited guest. She was trapped by the tankard she held steady as he put his strong, lean brown hand over hers and kept her imprisoned.
A slow blush stained her cheeks, and spread down her neck. It grew deeper as she saw his gaze slowly follow its progress, his lips curving into a slow smile, until the low neck of her bodice prevented him from tracing it further.
'Mistress Caro Waring?' he asked. 'This is Waring Manor, I was told.'
'It is,' she replied hurriedly, furious with her body for betraying her confusion so clearly. 'But I am not a Waring. The manor belongs to my cousin James. His mother was my father's sister. My name is Caroline Neville,' she managed, her words disjointed, and her voice hoarse with embarrassment. 'Have you finished with the ale or would you like more?'
He gently pushed away the tankard. 'I have enough for now, thank you. Perhaps later. Will you stay with me and help me to eat?' He smiled. His smile was undeniably attractive. His mouth was firm and his lips full but not fleshy. And the gold flecks in his eyes seemed to sparkle more brilliantly when he smiled.
Caro was shaken out of her speculations as Joan appeared with a tray, and Caro jerked her hand away and went to set the tankard down on the chest.
Bessy had produced a feast fit for a king at five minutes' notice, Caro thought sourly. As well as the broth she'd promised there was a plate of cold meat cut finely, a wedge of rabbit pie, and a bowl of fresh gooseberries topped with thick, delicious yellow cream straight from the dairy.
'Shall I help to feed your lordship?' Joan asked hopefully, simpering and bending over unnecessarily far as she placed the tray on his knees.
Caro felt an unreasonable spurt of anger as she noticed the girl was, as so often, untidy. The strings of her bodice had somehow come untied, and it gaped indecorously. Her bountiful breasts, pushed high by the tight lacing of her gown, were all but free of their inadequate covering.
'I will attend to his lordship,' Caro said curtly.
If she left him alone with Joan she'd find the wench in bed with him in no time, she thought, and that was no way to comfort a man who'd just been shot in the head!
Joan gave her a sly look, then shrugged her shoulders, almost dislodging one insecurely anchored sleeve. She turned with an unnecessary vehemence and walked slowly from the room, her rump swaying provocatively.
Caro turned back to Lord Ashring. He lay with his eyes closed, the food disregarded.
'My lord? Will you not eat?'
He opened his eyes and sighed.
'I suppose I must. But I find I am no longer hungry. Odd, I was ravenous a short while since.'
Patiently, as though she were coaxing a child, Caro fed him a few spoonfuls of broth. After a minute or so he shook his head and pushed away the bowl.
'I'm sorry, I cannot. I must sleep. It was a plaguey long and wet ride last night. In a couple of hours I shall be fit to ride on with the men.'
But he was not. Caro sat and watched as the first peaceful sleep turned into restless tossing, and then feverish ramblings. The wound must be more severe than any of them realised, for within two hours he was feverish, incoherent, and quite unaware of where he was. He did not recognise Caro or Bessy, and did not even seem to know his lieutenant Tyler, who had been summoned hastily by Jacob from his rest in the barn.
'Best bleed him,' Bessy said calmly. 'I'll send Joan for the apothecary.'
'No point,' Jacob reminded her. 'He'll be away at his brother's in Barnstaple, it's his niece's wedding day.'
'Then there's no help for it. I'll have to do it myself,' Bessy declared.
The cupping which Caro could not bear to watch, so guilty did she feel, brought Lord Ashring to his senses for a short while. He tried to rise, but was too weak to stand.
'Tyler?' he asked, his voice scarcely audible, looking vaguely round the room.
'I'm here, my lord.'
'Take the men - to Bristol. His Highness needs them. And the letters. Tell Prince Rupert I'll - be with you as soon - as I am better. In a day or so.'
'Don't you worry, my lord,' Tyler replied bracingly.
'No, you're to stay in bed until you're well,' Bessy added.
Tyler went on, 'Bessy here'll take good care of you, and you get yourself fit before you try to ride all that way. I'll leave your horse, Jacob will care for him. Would you like one of th
e men to stay, act as messenger, belike?'
Lord Ashring shook his head, and winced.
'A plague on this stupid wound! No, take everyone, they're needed in Bristol more than here. Go as fast as you can, and let's hope you get there in time.'
Within hours he relapsed into fever and delirium, but Tyler and the men had gone. Caro, Joan and Bessy took turns to sit with him during the days, bathing his brow with cool lavender water, and persuading him to sup milk or broth when he had a few moments of lucidity.
One of the old women from the village came to sit by his side at night, for as Bessy said, the old crone could sleep during the day but she and Mistress Caro had too much to do in the time that was left from nursing, they needed their sleep.
Caro, blaming herself bitterly for his illness, slept fitfully and developed dark rings beneath her eyes. In the dark hours she tossed and turned in her bed, desperately afraid that she might, through her impetuous behaviour, be the cause of a man's death.
'Cheer up, Mistress Caro. You didn't mean to hit the fellow,' Jacob said one day. Joan was sitting with Lord Ashring while Bessy baked bread, a task she would permit no one else to undertake. Caro had wandered out to the stables, too restless to remain in the house. She fondled the head of his lordship's horse, a powerful but gentle beast, and rested her forehead against his velvety nose as Jacob rubbed down his flanks with a wisp of hay.
'What difference would that make if he dies?' Caro demanded petulantly.
'I thought you'd no time for either side, Mistress Caro?' the old man said, squinting up at her.
'I thought so too, but it's different when you know someone, especially when you've nearly killed them!'
In the middle of September news came that Prince Rupert, under fierce attack from the Parliamentary troops at Bristol, had negotiated terms for the surrender of the city to Fairfax, and marched out to rejoin the King at Oxford.
Caro was sitting beside the fire in Lord Ashring's room, staring at the flames and wondering dully what effect this might have on the progress of the war, whether it would soon be over, when she heard a muffled curse from the bed.
She leapt from the stool, knocking it over in her haste, and ran across to find Lord Ashring conscious. His eyes were wide open, and he had a puzzled look on his face.
'Where the devil - ? Caro? Isn't that your name? I seem to recall that's what they called you. Why can't I move? I feel weak as a newborn babe.'
'You're better! Oh, thank God!'
It was with the greatest effort that Caro fought back the tears of relief threatening to overwhelm her. Her hand trembling, she laid it on his brow and found his skin cool to the touch.
'Better? Have I been ill?' Suddenly he chuckled. 'Oh, now I recall - you shot me! But it was just a scratch, not sufficient to make me feel so feeble and helpless!'
'You were very ill, you had a fever, and I thought you'd never get better!' Caro told him, her voice uncertain as she struggled with the relief she felt.
He laughed again, his voice faint, but there was genuine amusement in it.
'Did you fear you'd be branded a murderer?' he asked slowly. 'Is that why you were afraid?'
'No! Yes. I mean, well of course I didn't want to be a murderer,' Caro stammered. 'It wasn't just that. I didn't want you to die,' she whispered.
Somehow he'd caught her hand in his, and despite his weakness it was a firm grasp. She couldn't get away, she daren't pull too hard and hurt him.
'Why not, Caro? Why do you care whether I die or not?'
***
Chapter 3
She shook her head. 'I have no desire to kill men,' she replied, and then a note of anger crept in. 'Not like men who can do no better than make war!'
'You seemed very prepared to kill me when we first met,' he said softly. 'How long ago was that? Two days? The men went on without me, I suppose.'
'Yes, you ordered them to go to Bristol,' Caroline said, trying to release her hand, but his grip on it tightened.
'How long have I lain here helpless?'
'I never really wanted to kill you!' Caro protested. 'It's just - I detest all soldiers, everything to do with war! It has cost me - and everyone, so much,' she amended swiftly. 'Could you eat something?' she added.
She had no wish to answer his questions. He would fret himself back into illness if he learned too soon that Bristol had fallen, and she could not bear to examine her own feelings closely. Why did it matter, apart from her natural desire not to have killed anyone.
This quarrel of King and Parliament had ruined many lives. It had ruined hers by taking Peter's. It had almost made her a murderer. Yet this loss and the guilt she felt were pale emotions compared with the surge of relief and joy she'd experienced when Lord Ashring had come to his senses.
'I'll see what Bessy can find,' she said when he did not reply, and he released his grip on her hand so that she was able to escape. She hurried from the room.
Every day Bessy prepared delicacies to tempt his lordship's appetite, and today she had a herb-flavoured chicken broth simmering on the kitchen fire. When Caro told her the patient was awake, the fever subsided, she insisted on taking up a bowl of the broth and seeing for herself. Caro was happy to let her go. But it was a brief respite and she had not ordered her thoughts before Bessy was back, declaring gruffly that invalids were always crotchety.
'Nothing will do for his lordship but that you act nurse and feed him,' she said crossly, but a smile trembled on her lips.
Caro frowned. 'Why can't the stupid man feed himself? He seems strong enough,' she added, recalling his grip on her hand, and then blushed as she realised what she had said.
Bessie didn't appear to notice anything amiss. 'It's a good sign, shows he's on the mend, if he feels fit enough to go making demands,' she said.
So Caro had to attend him, but to her relief the slight effort of consuming the broth exhausted him, and he fell into a deep but peaceful sleep as soon as he had finished.
For several days he was very weak, unable to talk much, but in the end Caro had to face his questions.
It was the first time he sat out of bed. Jacob brought a large chair up to the bedroom, and Bessy fussed busily, arranging cushions, and making sure he was not sitting in a draught.
'You can sit here by the fire,' she told his lordship, bustling round happily.
He had other ideas. 'Please move the chair to the window. I haven't been able to see outside while I've been abed, and prefer to have a different prospect for an hour or so.'
'But it's bitter cold outside, a nip in the air to show winter's coming,' she protested.
'I shall be swathed in dozens of shawls like a sickly baby if you have your way,' he said with a rueful laugh, indicating the pile she had ready.
'The draught! You might catch a chill!'
'I shall benefit from a breath of fresh air, and I can move back to the fire if it is too cold,' he said firmly.
It was the first time he had used that decisive voice, and Bessy responded to the note of unconscious authority.
'You have a beautiful valley,' Lord Ashring said a few minutes later.
Jacob and Bessy had been persuaded to leave, reassured he would come to no harm, and Caro was alone with him. She had seated herself beside the fire, but he twisted round to look at her and gestured to her to come closer.
'Bring your stool here and sit beside me, where we can both look out of the window.'
Caro was reluctant, but his tone commanded her. She moved the stool, setting it down as far away from his chair as it would go, almost against the wall. She turned back to the table beside the fire to pick up the embroidery she'd occupied herself with during the many hours she spent with him.
To her dismay, as she returned, she saw that he'd reached over and pulled the stool closer to his chair, so close that her skirts would be touching his legs as he sprawled beside her. Gritting her teeth to still the trembling, she sat down and tried, unobtrusively, to edge further away. It was impossible so
she attempted to concentrate on the chair cover in her hands.
'I love the valley. This house has been my home since my parents died ten years ago.'
'You must have had an aunt or guardian? You did not live here alone?'
'Lady Waring was my aunt, my father's sister.'
'Yes, I recall you said something about that, before I grew feverish. She died?'
Caro nodded. 'Two and a half years ago. A few weeks after Peter - '
'Peter?'
'My cousin. He was killed. At Braddock Down. She had been ill for a year or more, and it almost broke her heart when he insisted on leaving home. Afterwards she just didn't want to go on living. Not even for little James's sake.'
'James? I don't recall hearing the name. But I am so hazy about events while I have been ill, I could have missed it.'
'He isn't here. Peter's brother. He's only eight, and when my aunt died he went to live with his uncle - his father's brother - in Falmouth. He shares a tutor with his cousins.'
'Why did you not go too? I would have thought it preferable for a young girl to live in a town, with lively company, than alone here in an isolated village.'
'I preferred to look after the farm. Someone had to, and I felt it was my duty to Peter's memory. Besides, I do not especially like Mr Henry Waring, and he resented me. He was happy enough to agree,' she added drily.
'So your cousin died in the war, and your aunt. I can understand your dislike of all to do with it. But I've had no news, and Jacob tells me it's a month since I came here. What is happening in Bristol? Have you heard?'
'I'm sorry. It's bad news,' Caro said gently, and at the bleak look in his eyes she would have given her soul to be able to change the facts. She reached out and laid her hand on his arm.
'Well?' he asked sharply. 'Come, it won't improve with keeping!' he added when she did not reply.
'Prince Rupert surrendered Bristol,' she said baldly. There was no way of softening the blow.
For a moment she thought he had not heard, he was so still. Then he abandoned his relaxed posture, and started to push himself out of the chair.
Her Captive Cavalier Page 2