by Stella Riley
He said gently, ‘You couldn’t ask me to help?’
‘Hardly.’ She didn’t turn to face him. ‘You’d think I meant something else.’
He walked over and stood as close as he could without touching her.
‘Can I offer, then?’
Her shoulders lifted in the merest suggestion of a shrug.
‘If you like.’
Releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, Justin set to work disentangling the knot she’d created in the laces of her gown.
‘Where did you go?’ he asked conversationally.
‘To Nancy.’
That surprised him for a second until he realised how logical it was.
‘Did she help?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m glad.’ He slid the last loop free and said, ‘There. It’s done.’
‘Thank you.’ She half-turned and then froze, as if realising just how close he was. ‘I’ll go to bed, then.’
Laying a hand on her waist, Justin turned her round to face him. He said, ‘You have every right to be angry and I’m not asking you to forgive me. But please believe that I never meant to hurt you. I don’t know if it will make it any better – or even if it’s what you want – but if you give me leave, I would really like to hold you, just for a moment.’
And finally, for the first time since she had entered the room, she looked him in the eye and said gravely, ‘It might make it better … but, if it’s against your better-judgement, I’d rather you didn’t.’
‘It isn’t,’ said Justin past the lump in his throat. ‘It really isn’t.’ And putting his arms around her, he pulled her into a warm, passionless embrace and laid his cheek against her hair. ‘I’m sorry. Truly.’
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Abigail’s hands slid about his waist and she rested her head against his shoulder. She said sadly, ‘I know. So am I.’
And left Justin wondering, but not daring to ask, Yes – but for what?
~ * ~
TWENTY-FIVE
Over the course of the next week, Colonel Whalley conducted a desultory, almost lazy bombardment with his few pieces of artillery whilst continuing to have his fellows toss dismal fragments of news over the wall. The Prince of Wales had set sail for the Scilly Isles; Fairfax had taken Truro and was moving on to besiege Exeter; and the King would be getting no troops from Ireland because he no longer had control of any English port where they could land.
‘They’re not trying,’ remarked Captain Frost, at the weekly Council of War.
‘They don’t need to,’ replied Sir William. ‘They know that, sooner or later, we’ll surrender – either because we’re ordered to or because there’s no other choice – and they’ll get the Castle back in one piece instead of full of holes. If you were them, what would you do?’
‘The same, I suppose. It’s damned dull, though.’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Captain Ambrose, not quite idly.
Will looked at him.
‘You want some excitement?’
‘If I’m to retain my sanity,’ thought Justin. But said merely, ‘I wouldn’t say no.’
‘Speaking for myself,’ supplied Major Walrond, ‘I am quite content to watch them sitting out there in the rain.’
‘You just like keeping your coat clean,’ muttered Ned.
Still contemplating Justin, Sir William said, ‘You have something in mind? A sortie, perhaps?’
‘Well, it’s those two pretty culverins they’ve placed on the east side,’ explained Justin, flippantly. ‘They’re keeping Abby awake at night - so I said I’d see if something couldn’t be done about them.’
Hugh Vaughan said, ‘Liar. You want to go out and spike a couple of guns – mainly in order to find somebody to fight while you’re about it.’
‘That thought may have occurred to me.’
‘And why not?’ argued Ned. ‘At least it would break the monotony.’
Sir William shrugged. ‘I suppose it might have the added advantage of letting them know we’re still prepared to make a fight of it. Very well, Justin. Tonight, if it’s still raining. Take a dozen men of your own choosing and avoid any silly heroics. Happy, now?’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you.’ Justin turned to Captain Frost. ‘Coming, Ned?’
‘Try and stop me.’
‘Hugh?’
‘Since someone needs to keep the two of you out of trouble,’ drawled Hugh, ‘I suppose I’d better.’
The three of them along with Sergeant Cole and the eight troopers he considered the best shots, slipped out of the concealed postern just after midnight. The heavy rain of earlier in the day had turned into a surly drizzle but was still sufficient to make it unlikely that Colonel Whalley would expect his gunners to be taking pot-shots at the eastern bastion – and so it was. The pair of culverins that were their target lay idle, guarded by only one forlorn and extremely wet sentry. Having arrived unnoticed a dozen feet to his left, Captain Vaughan levelled his pistol and strolled on, calmly advising the fellow to lay his musket down and stand.
It would have worked if the sentry hadn’t jumped nearly out of his skin with fright and thus jerked his trigger finger. The musket went off in a dull whoosh of damp powder … not as loud as a shot but loud enough to alert the inmates of the nearest tent.
‘Nice,’ drawled Justin, sardonically to Captain Vaughan. And then, drawing his sword, prepared to do what he did best in order to give Hugh and three of the troopers time to spike the guns as had been planned.
Half a dozen fellows rushed out of the tent in varying states of undress. Ned and Archie Cole joined Justin in stemming the first rush; their own troopers fired, taking down three of the six … and then battle was joined in earnest as the alarm was raised and other tents began to empty.
‘Hugh? How much more bloody time d’you need?’ shouted Justin over his shoulder when it started to become plain that they were about to be over-run.
‘Nearly there – couple of minutes,’ came the reply. ‘Start moving back.’
Justin called the command for a fighting retreat. Archie and his lads had downed some half dozen of the enemy but, with no possibility of reloading, were now fighting with fists, feet and the butts of their pistols. Shots came from somewhere on the far side of the culverins and one of Archie’s men went down with a bullet through the throat. Justin himself had despatched two opponents but was having trouble disposing of the third due to the ball which had torn through his right arm, impeding his grasp. Ned was somewhere to his right, grappling with a fellow the size of a small mountain. Then Hugh and the others were there; shots were fired, the big man went down, making it possible for Ned to fall back and Archie bellowed for his men to close formation.
‘Finish it, Justin,’ yelled Captain Vaughan.
‘Trying to,’ grunted Justin. And with a sharp and, to him, extremely painful twist, finally managed to disarm the other captain and send him down with same kick which had felled Thankful Barnes.
After that, their withdrawal was accomplished with reasonable precision and they regained the Castle with a few cuts, scrapes and gashes but with the loss of just one man.
‘Not perfect,’ remarked Hugh. ‘But not so bad, either.’ He grinned at Justin. ‘I’ll report to Will. You go and get patched up. And if it hurts, just remember this was your idea.’
*
Alone in the south-east turret, Abigail sat taut as a bowstring waiting for Justin to return. There had not, thankfully, been many such sorties – for Sir William had been keeping his men close until they could do the most damage; but Abigail lived in secret dread of them and invariably passed the time of waiting in a state of nastily imaginative fear. She didn’t know, since Justin had been careful not to mention it, that this particular one had been his own suggestion.
By means of an unspoken mutual agreement, they succeeded in putting the hiatus in their relationship behind them and achieving at least an appearance of normality. Justin managed to keep himself busy enough to b
e out a lot of the time; Abigail maintained a cheerful façade and kept her distance physically. She did not know how often he sat staring at her door at night, his soul awash with bitter rebellion; he didn’t know that, behind it, she lay dry-eyed, staring into the dark, knowing that surrender was imminent and in constant fear that the next day could be the last.
Justin came in wet from the rain at a little after two. The long hair curled damply on his shoulders and the buff leather was dark with moisture. He looked tired and she rose quickly, saying, ‘If you take off your coat, I’ll put it to dry.’
‘There’s no need. I can do it.’ His voice was edged with impatience and he stayed by the door, single-handedly discarding his baldric. ‘It’s long past your bedtime, isn’t it?’
‘Yours too, by the look of you,’ she retorted. And then, truthfully, ‘You know I can’t sleep till you’re back.’ She turned to get a towel from the washstand to hide the acuteness of her relief. ‘Perhaps you’d better dry your hair a bit first and —’
‘For Christ’s sake stop fussing!’ snapped Justin. ‘I’ve managed for years without a nursemaid and I’m damned if I need one now. Just go away and leave me in peace.’
She stared at him – at first hurt and then, because he generally came back from these affairs filled with annoying joie de vivre, increasingly suspicious. Stepping towards him, she saw what his behaviour and the shadows had previously hidden from her. The towel fell unheeded to the floor and she said shakily, ‘Why do you have to be a hero? Let me see it.’
‘It’s nothing. I can deal with it myself.’
‘With only one hand? You won’t even get your coat off.’ She closed the remaining space between them and set to work, unopposed. ‘What was it – a sword?’
‘A musket-ball.’ He winced as she drew his coat from him. ‘I think you’ll find it’s gone straight through. I’m sorry I shouted at you.’
She smiled wryly. ‘I’m not. You’ve been so polite recently, I didn’t recognise you. Now come into the light and sit down so I can see.’
Gingerly, she peeled back the torn, blood-soaked edge of his shirt sleeve to examine the unpleasant gash in his upper arm. Then, crossing swiftly to her own room, she returned with a pair of scissors and proceeded to cut the cambric from wrist to shoulder.
Justin sighed. ‘Another shirt down the drain. I knew it.’
‘Be grateful it’s only a shirt.’ She rose again and set about assembling water and strips of linen for binding. ‘How was the raid?’
‘Wet,’ he replied, watching her moved lightly about the room. ‘And informative. They’ve constructed a defensive line right round the outskirts of their camp.’
‘Oh?’ Abigail sat down beside him on the bed and began cleaning the wound. ‘Is that unusual?’
‘Only when, as now, there’s no possibility of being attacked from the outside.’ His breath hissed between his teeth. ‘Their engineer must have got bored. Abby – that hurt.’
‘Keep still then.’ Her tone accorded ill with the pallor of her face. ‘I do this for fun, you know.’
‘Yes? Perhaps I ought to come back in holes more often then.’
She cast him a glance of sardonic reproof before setting the bowl of water on the floor and restoring her attention to the task of bandaging. Silence fell. As once before, he allowed himself to wallow briefly in the unfamiliar feeling of having someone care. He found himself dwelling on the silky sweep of her lashes and the line of concentration between her brows. Then, without warning, she looked up at him and the world melted.
He watched her eyes change and her breathing shorten as the thread between them tightened and then, with dreamlike slowness, he used his sound arm to gather her to him. The moment stretched on and on, prolonged almost to breaking point, while he held her gaze before letting his own drop to her mouth. Abigail made a tiny sound in the back of her throat and her hands rose to touch his face. Justin drew her close against his chest and finally, finally claimed her mouth with his own.
Her body blended into his with a lithe willingness that demolished whatever remnants of self-control he had left. His fingers slid up into her hair, cradling her skull; he trailed kisses along her jaw, lingering on the place where he could feel her pulse beating; and then, returning hungrily to the sweetness of her mouth, his hand sought the slender curves of her body.
Abigail clung to his shoulders and tangled her fingers in his hair as heat flamed through her. Justin’s kiss grew deeper and more demanding; and, unmindful now of his bandaged arm, he drew her down with him into the softness of the feather quilt, holding her so close against him that it was impossible to tell her heart-beat from his own.
His fingers were at the laces of her gown when his foot inadvertently kicked over the bowl of water and brought him to his senses. His eyes flicked open and he lay absolutely still for a moment. Then, releasing her with an abruptness that made her gasp, he was up and away across the room.
He heard her sit up. Then she said huskily, ‘Justin? What’s wrong?’
‘Everything.’ He remained with his back to her, staring into the fire. ‘Go to bed, Abby.’
There was a long silence. Then, ‘I thought,’ she said softly, ‘that we were doing just that.’
Something inside him lurched and he turned slowly to face her. The half-awakened dark eyes looked back at him with candid longing and he said flatly, ‘Yes. A lamentable loss of self-control on my part – and exactly what I swore I wouldn’t do. Still … it should have answered a question for you.’
Her gaze did not waver. ‘Oh?’
‘You wondered if I wanted you. Now you know.’
‘Yes.’ Her sudden smile lit up the room and she said simply, ‘I love you.’
This time the floor seemed to shift but he kept his voice level.
‘I know. That is – I suspected you might. I’m sorry.’
Her smile evaporated. ‘You’re sorry?’
Justin shrugged slightly. ‘I hoped you’d escape that.’
‘Why?’ She swung her feet to the floor and stood up. ‘You should know that escape, as you call it, stopped being an option a long time ago. But I’m not entirely naïve, Justin. I know it’s different for you and so I’m not asking for words or promises. I’m only asking you to - to let us share something it seems you want as much as I do. Can’t we? Please?’
The knife twisted and he gave a crooked smile.
‘No. It isn’t that simple.’ He drew a long breath. ‘Come and sit down, Abby. I think it’s time we opened the box so that we can finally lock it away.’
She walked uncertainly towards him and, ignoring the stool he offered, sank down on to the rug as his feet. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘No.’ He hooked the stool forward and sat facing her. ‘This is something else I’d hoped to avoid … but I didn’t bargain for tonight. And we’ve gone too far for me to leave you thinking that I don’t care for you or that it was easy to walk away just now.’
Abigail drew up her knees and clasped her arms tight about them. She was shaking a little.
‘Go on.’
He said simply, ‘I love you. You are – you have become – the other half of me and, if I could marry you, I would. But —’
‘Stop.’ She stared at him, uncomprehendingly. ‘Could you say that again?’
A faint smile touched his mouth. ‘I love you.’
‘Oh.’ She flushed a little and the glow returned to her eyes. ‘Truly?’
‘Truly. Unfortunately, as I just said, I can’t marry you. I have no home to offer you and only one means of earning a living – which means that, once we surrender here, I no longer have any future in England; and, because of that, I don’t have the right to touch you. In any way.’
The warmth in her face faded again and she thought for a moment. Then she said unevenly, ‘Could we take things one at a time? You’re going too fast for me.’
‘Deliberately,’ came the austere reply. ‘The facts are inextricably linked – and, th
e sooner you accept that, the easier it will be for both of us. I love you more than I know how to tell you … but I can’t marry you and I won’t take you on any other terms. And that is quite final.’
Despite the disturbance in her chest and the agony in her throat, Abigail said calmly, ‘Not to me. Surely I have something to say in this? And I’d live in a hole in the ground if it was the only way to be with you.’
A sudden flame flickered in his eyes and then was gone. ‘No.’
‘Why not? What would I be giving up?’
‘That isn’t the point.’
‘Then what is?’
Justin laced his fingers together and stared down at them. Then, with an effort that could be felt, he said, ‘You think, after being here, that you know how it would be elsewhere. You don’t. This is relatively civilised. The Castle is dry and moderately comfortable. The officers are all gentlemen of one sort or another and, as you’ve now discovered, the men all know what I’d do to anyone who offered you any disrespect. It would be very different in France or Germany. You’d be living in cold, damp tents or flea-bitten billets; decent food and clean water would often be hard to come by; as for my fellow-soldiers … most of them are the scaff and raff of Europe, with no manners worth mentioning. The only time you’d be perfectly safe would be when I was with you. And every time I had to be away from you – which could be quite often – I’d be worried sick that you might be being pestered or frightened or worse.’ He paused and then went on, ‘Then we have the situation if something should happen to me. You’d be left completely unprotected, possibly with little money and no one to turn to. And that is why I can’t marry you and why I won’t even contemplate taking you with me when I leave here. Have I made my point?’
‘Yes.’ Her eyes were perfectly stark but a tiny smile touched her mouth. ‘You’ve painted a very bleak picture but —’
‘No – an accurate one.’
‘ – but I don’t care.’
There was another excruciatingly long silence. Finally, Justin said harshly, ‘Perhaps not. But I do. And we are done discussing it.’