Change of Heart

by Margaret Eastvale

  Anne had told him the general direction the searchers had intended taking, but a few miles north of the village they had moved off the main road, after a chance-met farm worker had reported seeing a man and child whose description matched that of their quarry. So he had had to waste more time tracing their route. The mare had begun to flag badly and he was rapidly giving up all hope of catching them up and delivering his message when, to his relief, he saw them riding dispiritedly back towards him, having discovered that they had been following the wrong couple for miles.

  He had urged his weary mare forward to meet them and, somewhat apprehensively, delivered Anne’s message. Edmund listened grim-faced until the groom’s explanation trailed off into silence, then lashed out with sharp condemnation.

  ‘She would not listen to me, my Lord,’ the man tried to justify himself. ‘I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘You should have forced her to listen! God help you if anything has happened to her, I’ll…’

  Edmund broke of knowing it was unfair to vent his anxiety and frustration on the servant. A man who had been trained all his life to obey without question was no match for Anne’s determination. He had to admire her courage, foolhardy though her conduct was. Anne was no weak, shrinking female! ‘We are wasting time in argument,’ he went on more mildly.

  ‘You did what you thought best, I suppose. What is most important now is to hurry to Miss Wetherly’s aid before any harm comes to her—or Master Kit. You’ll have to follow as quickly as you are able. I can see that animal is too blown to keep up, and we cannot afford to delay for you.’

  Thankfully the groom dropped behind as the party reformed and set off with renewed enthusiasm for the cottage. They were all fond of Kit, and liked and respected Anne. No one relished the idea of either being at the mercy of Weston, whose vindictiveness most had cause to remember.

  Edmund, in the lead, tried to forget all the perils that could have overtaken Anne. Such speculation served no useful purpose. He forced himself to concentrate only on riding, to channel all his wrath into action. He was furious that so much energy had already been expended on this wild-goose chase. It was exasperating that Anne’s clear-headedness had found out the steward’s destination when he had failed to discover it.

  Convinced that Weston would make straight for London to lose himself in its crowded streets, he had wasted little time in inquiries before he sped away. How had Anne learned that Weston was at the cottage instead? The groom had hinted that the information came from Julia, though why, in that case, the stupid female had not disclosed the fact sooner he could not imagine. Still, he admitted resignedly, Julia’s thought processes had always been a mystery to him.

  How could he ever have imagined himself in love with her? True she was beautiful— though the peevish frown she wore so often now marred her looks—but what was beauty without the character to support it? Anne’s courage and dependability were worth all her sister’s beauty to him. Not that Anne was ugly! Far from it! The lively sparkle of her smile was far more to his taste than Julia’s empty perfection.

  Pray heaven he would see that smile again! How had he ever been so blind as to prefer Julia? Even at fifteen Anne’s qualities had been clear to see, but in his infatuation he had discounted their value. Julia’s beautiful face had filled his brain to the exclusion of all else.

  He had come home from France prepared to dote on Julia as before. Though the news of her marriage had been a shock, he had been willing to forgive that. But gradually his love had faded. Now Julia filled him only with irritation at her artificial manner and selfish disregard of any interest but her own.

  Why had he not recognised those faults before? Julia could not have changed so radically while he was away. In his prison cell he had brooded over her portrait, over the sweet smile he now looked for in vain in the original, and in his daydreams had endowed-her with all the qualities she had never possessed—loyalty, courage, unselfishness. It was a shock to find them absent when he returned—only to recognise them in her sister instead. Too late, he feared! If that fiend had harmed Anne he would track him down and kill him, however long it took.

  Why had he wasted so much time? Since that disastrous mistake when he first arrived home, Anne had treated him with cool reserve, keeping him carefully at a distance. Although at times he had dared to hope that her affection for him was unchanged, he had shrunk from betraying that his own feelings had altered so completely.

  Even when anxiety over Anne’s danger on the night of the fire had convinced him where his love lay, he had hesitated, fearing that she would be suspicious of his sudden change of heart; concerned, too, that her engagement to James would make her refuse to listen.

  Undeserving though James was, she remained fiercely loyal to him. So Edmund had forced himself to go slowly, feel his way. Now he was dreadfully afraid that Anne might be lost to them both.

  He was riding automatically, urging his men on, while the appalling doubts raced around his head. What was happening to Anne? Weston was too deep in trouble to have any qualms about killing anyone who hindered his escape. If only he had taken more care to find out the steward’s destination before he left Ashorne! But it was useless to torment himself with might-have-beens. He must concentrate on following Anne to ensure her safety—or to revenge her if the worst had happened.

  He spurred his horse on, mercilessly. Jonas pressed close at his heels, the rest strung out behind. Their journey seemed endless but eventually they reached the track leading to the cottage. Edmund halted briefly to let the stragglers catch up. They would be more effective as a unit.

  About to give them the signal to move on, he motioned them to silence as the muffled drum of hooves sounded from along the leafy track. Weston? Who else on this little-used path?

  Swiftly he sized up their position. The ground dropped sharply from the road and the trees grew thick on either side. If this was indeed their quarry approaching, then here was the ideal spot to ambush him. Any rider must slow to negotiate the steep slope and corner, and the undergrowth was dense enough to screen them from his view until the last moment.

  Quickly Edmund stationed his men in the shelter of the gorse bushes on either side of the track, whispering a few essential commands. This was like going into battle once more, but with the outcome more vital. War was less personal, always holding the possibility that a fresh day could bring a swing of fortune. Here there would be no second chance. If they failed then everything was lost. Weston would not give them another opportunity.

  Edmund cast an anxious look round to see if he had missed any detail that might betray their presence. The tracks! The dusty path was criss-crossed with hoofprints. Following his glance, Jonas swung down and with a leafy branch swept the ground, obliterating all trace of their passage. The old soldier had served in the American wars too, and learned some useful tricks from the savages.

  Tense and silent, they waited until the single horse came into sight, moving swiftly despite its double burden. With relief Edmund recognised Kit, seated, pale but unharmed, in front of the steward. At least the boy was still alive! What of Anne?

  But he must not think of her now. This was no time for emotion; that only clouded the issue.

  He must keep his head clear and concentrate on the immediate task of capturing Weston and freeing Kit. Carefully now! Unless they moved skilfully the child might suffer.

  As Weston slowed to negotiate the rise into the turnpike road, Edmund rode out to block his path. Weston cursed wrenching at the stallion’s mouth to turn him back, only to find that way barred too, as Jonas and another groom closed in behind him. His eyes darted fearfully all round; estimating his chance of escape.

  Then, swiftly, he recovered his poise. The momentary panic vanished and light shone on bright steel as he drew his knife. Pale with hatred he glared at Edmund.

  ‘Out of my way or the child will die!’

  The knife held steady over Kit’s heart showed the threat was no idl
e one. Edmund’s hopes plummeted, but he remained where he was, blocking the path.

  ‘I mean it,’ Weston snarled. ‘What have I to lose if I kill him?’

  ‘Your liberty,’ Edmund told him calmly. ‘Kill him and we have you. Give me the boy and you may go free.’

  Sensing his reluctance, Weston laughed mirthlessly. ‘Even if I did trust you, how far do you think I should get without my safe-conduct? No deal! The brat goes with me. Let me pass and I’ll loose him when I reach town—but no tricks, mind!’

  ‘How can we tell that we can trust you? ’

  ‘You can’t, but I vow I’ll kill him if you don’t move away this minute!’

  With heavy heart, Edmund saw that he meant it. He did not trust the steward’s promise, but there was little choice. A certain death for Kit had to be weighed against a probable one if they let Weston go free. A slim chance, but one they could not ignore.

  ‘Very well!’ he said grudgingly. ‘But keep your part of the bargain, or I’ll hunt you down if it takes a lifetime!’ Slowly he began to move aside. Weston smiled in triumph— prematurely.

  ‘I won’t go with him!’ Kit panted, struggling desperately in the cruel grip. ‘You can’t make me!’

  With a shriek of fury he kicked the stallion’s flank. As it reared up, he flung himself sideways, away from the knife. Taken by surprise, Weston lost his grip on both and clung to the reins in a frantic effort to retain his seat. The knife clattered down on to the ground. As Kit tumbled down beneath the horse’s feet, Jonas seized the animal’s bridle, forcing the terrified beast down clear of the boy. It stood quivering with nervousness.

  Edmund levelled a pistol at the steward and motioned him to dismount. Sullenly he obeyed. ‘Now, where is Miss Wetherly?’ Edmund demanded.

  ‘That damned jade! Curse her! I’ve had nothing but ill luck since I met her. I might have known the bitch was lying to me!’

  ‘What have you done with her?’ Weston spat, but refused to answer. ‘Answer me, damn you!’ Edmund thrust the barrel into his chest.

  But Weston was confident that he would not shoot an unarmed man. ‘Find her!’ lie sneered. ‘Pretty piece, isn’t she? Worth two of that drab of a sister. I wish I’d had more time to enjoy her company.’

  ‘What the devil have you done with her?’

  Weston flinched back from the naked fury in Edmund’s face, but whether from terror or spite he stayed silent.

  ‘Tell me, or I’ll choke it from you!’

  From the ground where he lay gasping, all the breath knocked out of him by his fall, Kit wheezed, ‘The cottage!’ pointing down the track.

  Turning, Edmund froze in horror. A cloud of black smoke was billowing up above the trees.

  ‘It’s on fire! You devil, Weston! God help you if she is harmed.’

  Tossing his pistol to one of the grooms with a terse ‘Shoot him if he moves an inch!’, Edmund spurred forward, wheeling at perilous speed along, the winding track. The gate loomed before him. His horse checked but he gathered it up firmly, forcing it to leap. The rear hooves rapped the bar, but they were over.

  Edmund pulled the horse to a standstill by the door and tumbled off. The door would not budge. He put his shoulder to it and heaved. With a grinding crash the lock gave. A dense cloud of smoke surged out. One hand across his face to shield his smarting eyes, Edmund plunged through the gloom to the back room.

  ‘Anne!’ he called urgently. ‘Where are you? Anne!’ He must not fail now. Fear, far greater than any he had felt in battle, spread an icy chill within him.

  The smoke was even thicker here, and he could barely see his way. He despaired of finding her alive in the choking blackness, yet a last glimmer of desperation drove him on.

  A faint moan made his pulses race with expectation. The eagerness drained away as he discovered that the sound came from Rosy, sprawled unconscious on the bed. Yet that must be a hopeful sign. If Rosy was still alive, perhaps Anne had survived. But where?

  Jonas had followed him in. Edmund indicated the limp form, then felt his way across the smoke-filled floor seeking Anne. She must be here! Fate could not be so cruel as to defeat him now.

  At last he stumbled upon her, slumped on the floor bound to her overturned chair. Was he in time? With trembling fingers he fumbled at her bodice, feeling for her heart. At first the pounding of his own pulse drowned everything, then relief flooded through him as a shallow flutter of her breast showed she was still alive. Thankfully he drew her limp body closer, burying his face in her fragrant hair, suddenly aware of how weary he was. He had driven himself on desperately, but he dare not relax yet. Anne’s hold on life was very weak.

  If he did not get her out of this suffocating smoke very soon she might not revive. Already Edmund could feel it tearing at his own lungs, its acrid fumes making his eyes stream.

  Frantically he hacked through the ropes that bound her then carried her into the garden, thankfully gulping in the fresh air to clear his lungs.

  Resourceful as ever, Jonas had managed to find some water. Wrenching off his neckcloth, Edmund dipped it in the cool liquid and tenderly bathed Anne’s well-loved features. In an agony of suspense he cradled her in his arms, watching the colour creep back, so very slowly.

  Even now he hardly dared hope he had been in time. He ignored everything around them to concentrate all his energies upon her, as if the very intensity of his determination must bring her back to consciousness. After what seemed an eternity, her eyes flickered open, focused wonderingly on his anxious features, then widened in delighted recognition.

  ‘Edmund!’ she murmured, her eyes fixed upon him in such glowing trust that his whole body pulsed in gratified response.

  ‘Thank God!’ The fervent words were husky with emotion. ‘I was so afraid I would be too late, my love.’ Too moved to go on, he clasped her tightly to his chest as if he would never let her go.

  ‘I knew you would come,’ Anne whispered, her arms closing trustfully around him.

  Edmund groaned, remembering how nearly he had failed her. A few more minutes and rescue would have been impossible. Bending his head down, he pressed his lips passionately into the hollow of her throat, vibrantly aware of the tiny pulse that fluttered there.

  ‘Oh Anne! Anne!’ he murmured thickly. ‘Don’t ever be so foolhardy again, my love. I thought all that I cared for in the world was gone for ever. I wanted to die myself when I saw the dreadful fire and knew you were in it.’

  ‘You got the name right that time,’ Anne whispered wonderingly. Her brain felt hazy still.

  Was this really happening?

  It seemed like a dream to have Edmund gazing so lovingly down upon her, his eyes filled with such tender concern. A dream she had no wish to awaken from.

  She twined her arms around his neck drawing his head closer. As his eager warm lips took possession of hers she knew it was real—no dream had ever moved her like this. With a low, inarticulate moan of pleasure she strained closer, twining her fingers through the springy curls at his neck, a tingling response searing through her whole body. Every sense clamoured surrender. Blissfully she abandoned herself to the rapture thrilling through her, everything forgotten but the instinctive need to respond to the urgency of his kiss.

  Almost everything … The memory of a wan frightened face swam reluctantly into Anne’s consciousness. Kit! How could she have forgotten!’

  Anxiously she strained to free herself. Edmund, not understanding, gathered her closer, murmuring in husky protest. As desire threatened to overwhelm her she struggled more desperately, knowing she must fight the so-seductive temptation.

  ‘Edmund,’ she gasped. ‘Weston has taken Kit with him. You must go after them before it is too late. Weston will kill him if…’

  ‘Hush, my darling,’ his arms formed a loving prison holding her still. ‘Don’t fret over that young imp. We have him safe already.’

  ‘And Rosy? She was tied to the bed when he set it alight.’ Shuddering, Anne hid her face in Edmund’s bro
ad chest to blot out the awful memory. ‘He meant to burn us alive.’

  ‘Don’t think about it, love!’ She felt the shiver of remembered terror run through Edmund too as he cradled her close. Anne clung to him, grateful for the comfort his nearness gave her. The warmth of his body drove the chill of fear from hers, the strong beat of his heart gave her new courage.

  ‘Rosy is safe too,’ he went on consolingly. ‘Jonas carried her out. She is burned and badly shaken, but recovering fast.’ A ripple of amusement ran through him as he remembered the scene he had barely registered earlier in his anxiety over Anne. ‘Perhaps it is as well you were unconscious and didn’t hear the names she called Weston. She set about him like a wild cat. Jonas pulled her off him, but not before she’d drawn blood. Now be still, my love, and think of yourself for once.’

  He settled her more comfortably in his arms before demanding, ‘Whatever made you rush here in such an impetuous manner? You might have died. Damned near did!’

  Feeling the shudder that ran through him at the thought, Anne clasped his muscular body tightly, anxious to return a little of the comfort his nearness afforded her. The fervour of his response was enormously gratifying.

  ‘I had to get to Kit,’ she explained when she had the breath to do so. ‘There wasn’t time to wait for you. I didn’t mean Weston to catch me, but I was forced to risk it to slow him enough for you to get here.’

  ‘Don’t ever be so rash again, my love!’ His arms tightened in a possessive grasp that Anne found immensely satisfying. ‘I could not bear to lose you.’ Edmund loosened his hold a little, and looking remorsefully down at her admitted reluctantly, ‘I promised myself that if only I found you safe I would willingly surrender you to that idiot, Shrivenham, if he was the one you truly wanted. But I find I am very loath to do so!’

  ‘You feared I wanted to marry James still?’

  ‘Yes, damn him! You are not serious about meaning to have him, are you, Anne?’ His eyes rested beseechingly on her, dark with a passion that made her catch her breath in wonder.

  She had never dared hope his need for her was so violent.