Exile’s Bane

by Nicole Margot Spencer

  “The lady insisted, sir.” Burke saluted his captain. “A matter of life and death, she said.”

  “And you listened to her?”

  “I did what I thought you would do, sir, were you in my place.” Sergeant Burke lowered his head, his mouth compressed into a tight line, barely visible under his mustache. His big hat dripped onto the floor before him.

  “Who is this?” I managed to ask, offended by the girl’s appearance and her proximity to Duncan.

  She had long blond hair. Her painted mouth curved into a frown over a slight overbite. This defect was overcome by her facial rouge and her dress. The rectangular, low cut neckline exposed most of her breasts, so much so that it seemed her nipples must pop out at any moment. She moved sinuously, as I would imagine a harlot might move to attract her customers. She was pretty, had a voluptuous body, and seemed to know it. She swayed slightly, her yellow skirts following her slightest move, which accentuated her tiny waist.

  “Go away,” the girl purred in oversweet tones. She pulled closer to Duncan and pressed her breasts into his arm. She studied me with a feral smile. “He belongs to me.”

  “Annie, stop it.” Duncan’s voice rose in irritation. He turned to me. “Elena, this is not what you think. Annie is my cousin.”

  A sob ripped out of me, my face afire. “What kind of fool do you take me for?”

  “Listen to me,” he insisted. His face went rigid. Anger sparked in his dark eyes. He reached for me again.

  I stepped back, close beside the sergeant. My limbs, my very face shook in aching despair.

  The girl continued to hang on him, would not let him go. No, it was he who would not push her away, my senses insisted. I was hardly blind.

  “Where is the prince?” I asked Burke. I clawed at his solid arm, tugged at the soaked hide of his buff coat.

  “Lady, I do not know.”

  Humiliated and embarrassed, I whirled around, ran into the hallway, and out of the building. It took two tries to untie Kalimir’s reins, my hands shook so badly. I led him quickly away across the crowded square. Every officer that came my way, I approached and asked where the prince was to be found. The third or fourth officer gave me a pitying smile, waved me away, and spurred his horse into a departing trot.

  I mounted and urged my stallion into the crowded, smelly streets that led to the east side of town. My knees clutched his bellowing sides as we wheeled around knots of rioting men, splashed headlong through extensive puddles covering who knew what obstacle or depression, and jerked away from hands that reached for us. I reined him in when the way was clear, but never stopped. Speed was our only ally, though more than once I drew my sword in reaction to insistent hands that would not release their hold on the reins, or in one instance, on my foot. An hour or more later, I had begun to think I would make it back to the Reedy House, when, in the near darkness of looming nightfall, my uncle appeared at the head of a crowd of oncoming cavaliers that charged up the street toward me. His mouth was white-rimmed, his forward-leaning stance in the saddle indicative of extreme fury. I turned Kalimir in a space in the crowd and fled before the oncoming cavaliers. The great bay sensed my fright and broke into a dangerous gallop. He ran down one man and leapt over a disabled cart.

  Something hit my head, hard.

  I came to myself, prone, in the wet of what had to be a dark alley. Kalimir was gone, though a hoarse whinny sounded in the distance. Stunned, I put a hand to my booming head. How had I gotten here? Water dripped from a roof somewhere above me, a steady plunking sound all around me. Shadows moved in the darkness over me.

  When my eyes regained their focus, faces hung close about me, like ghouls in the dark, literally drooling. I screamed, and two men jerked at my left arm. They exchanged curses, then dropped my arm to exchange blows. I struck at hands that grasped for me. Despite my efforts, big, filthy fingers pulled at me, tore my dress. A pot-bellied man wrenched his way forward and stood before me. A gruesome three-toothed grin split his face. He reached for me, but flew, suddenly, up and away.

  This amazed me. A large, gloved hand pulled two, three more men away and systematically ran them through. The rest of the mob slid back into the gutters they came from.

  “What about Devlin?” came a disembodied voice out of the dark.

  I cringed, closed my eyes, and beat at the arms that reached for me. Blindly, I shoved and kicked anything that came near me. Hands forced their way under my armpits, hoisted me up like a bag of grain, and took me away, only moments later to hand me into another set of strong arms.

  “Get her back to the house where you found her. Do not allow her out. Are my orders clear, Sergeant?”

  Chapter Nine

  Bolton had remained quiet for many hours, but Sergeant Burke was adamant that I could not leave the Reedy house.

  “Use the chamber pot,” he insisted. “I will be happy to empty it when you finish.”

  I slammed the door in his sincere face. Injustice steamed through my veins. Yet I knew we were safe. At least, Peg and I were safe. Thomas had fled in the night.

  Thoroughly humiliated, I tended to my personal needs and handed the chamber pot out the door. With a resentful flop into the oversized chair that Thomas preferred, I lay back and crossed my arms over my chest, so angry my chin shook.

  I looked up at the great beam above me, that long supporting rafter that I last remembered festooned with assorted salted meats, onions, and various dried herbs. It looked naked now in the dim room. My gaze traveled from the overhead beam down to the bare floor with its great gaps between the boards. The place was falling to ruin around us, the wet tap of the leak in the thatch constant in the corner. With a sudden cringe of desolation, I wanted my stone mansion back.

  “I hope Thomas is all right,” I murmured.

  “Ach,” Peg said, on her way to the cistern. “That man is like a cat. He will land on his feet and walk away. No need to worry over him, sure enough. We be the ones left trapped in this house.”

  “I suppose he will be safe with the battle over. Wait,” I cried, frozen with momentous realization. “The battle is done, but it was nothing like the battle in my dreams.” And Duncan still lived, despite my vision of his death. “Maybe my dreams really are just elaborate nightmares.” But my hands curled into fists. I groaned with conviction. “They are so real, just like you standing before me now, dribbling water all over the place.”

  “I knew thee had dreamed more than ye said,” Peg spluttered. She finished ladling water out of the cistern to her mouth. “Why did ye not tell me?”

  Shots sounded in the distance, toward town.

  We moved to the table, littered with Thomas’ leavings, dried fruit skins, nut husks, and small bits of paper. I pushed aside the curtains.

  Horse hooves pounded the earth beyond the gate. They wheeled to a stop. Moments later, our door burst open. In breast and back plates, his hat down tight over his forehead, Duncan entered dragging what looked like a huge bag of rags but that turned out to be Thomas, severely thrashed, his clothes torn, his hair a tangled mess. His face was scraped and his nose bloody.

  “Caught him stealing. He’s your friend. Here.” He pushed Thomas toward me.

  “Thank you, Captain,” I said, sticking to the formality I had promised myself I would henceforth use with this man. I shoved at Thomas’ fast approaching shoulder and aimed him toward his chair. “I’m sure there’s been some mistake.”

  “No, Lady Elena. I caught him trying to make off with horses at the cottage beyond the ruins.” Bitter resentment flared in his face. “The prince shoots looters. I brought him to you instead.”

  I stepped back at Duncan’s vehemence and turned to Thomas. “You should have stayed here.”

  “Ye stole from Sims? I thought he was thy friend?” Peg asked.

  “But he’s gone,” Thomas croaked. “We need the cursed horses.”

  “Captain. Duncan, I mean,” I said, my offended proprieties suddenly unimportant. He had, by his own admission, save
d Thomas from the prince’s ire. My fingers clenched around the solid top rail of the chair back I had retreated behind. “I am certain he did this because we only have one horse among us, and we must travel to Manchester soon.”

  “Manchester now, is it?

  His inference stung. “I have relatives there, my mother’s brother.”

  “Oh, certainly,” he said, ignoring my pressed explanation. “As to horses, your great bay was just brought in.”

  “Thank God.” My affront faded at news of my beloved Kalimir. “I was afraid I had lost him.”

  “He is at your gate.”

  “Where are you bound?”

  “You and Peg are coming with us.”

  “What about me?” Thomas cried. Eyes dark and pleading, he shuffled up to me.

  “I will not go without Thomas,” I said firmly.

  “Really?” A small smile widened Duncan’s mouth. He delayed, considering before he answered. “We can take him. I have a remount he can use.”

  “Here,” I said. A haughty stroll to the hutch and I drew his pistol out of the cupboard. “And thank you.”

  “You had to use it?” He stared at me in wide-eyed surprise.

  “Yes,” I said, my nose in the air as he holstered the weapon. “Where are you taking us?”

  “To Tor House. We must go now. You must leave in any event. The town is dangerous. But first, you must come with me.”

  I stepped back in alarm. “I cannot go back to Tor House. My uncle will kill me.”

  “No, he will not, my lady.” His jaw bulged with deadly intent. He must have recognized my cloak, for he picked it up from where it lay across the back of the far chair. He pushed the cloak into my arms and jerked me out of the house. “You two had best be ready when I return,” he called back to Peg and Thomas.

  Outside the door, Duncan waited while I put on my cloak. He then took my hand, led me out through the gate, past a dancing Kalimir, and directly toward a clutch of officers not far away. They were members of Prince Rupert’s lifeguard, for they all wore the signature red cloak and were outfitted with new firelock rifles. The cavalier at the center of the clutch, who was dressed in unrelieved black, stood a head above his compatriots. It was the prince himself. A shaky breath rattled out of me. Officers stepped back and away, Duncan retreated, and I stood alone before Prince Rupert and his grinning, panting dog.

  My knee touched the ground, so deep was my curtsy. When I regained my feet, his frosty expression had softened somewhat. He took a quick look toward the house.

  Duncan had given me this chance, though mixed feelings came with that realization. He had understood my plea when I fled his presence in Bolton. Just as he had retrieved Kalimir. Was he perhaps sorry I had caught him with Annie, his tramp?

  “The relief of Tor House and the Battle of Bolton were important victories over the Roundheads.” Prince Rupert looked down at me sternly. He was a handsome man, with black shoulder-length locks and a long, distinctive nose that gave his face great dignity. “But we must not underestimate them. They believe God is on their side. Did you know that?”

  “It doesn’t surprise me, your Highness. They think far too much of themselves, it seems to me.”

  He nodded, studying me. Was he testing me?

  “I understand you have a petition, Lady Elena.”

  Another curtsy and I came up with pride. The man made me feel important, giving me his utmost attention, though his troops awaited him.

  “Yes, your Highness,” I said, folding my shaky hands together. “I must get a message to the King. I had hoped to approach my Uncle Justin in Manchester for assistance in this, but I lack faith in his loyalties.”

  “In Puritan Manchester—” a caustic smile curved the edges of his mouth. “—I imagine you might.”

  “Lord Devlin has usurped my. . .” My voice broke. I tried again, and the words flowed out as though my life might not be forfeit for such an act. “He has destroyed what he thought was the only copy of my jointure deed. He plans to send me off at the first opportunity and retain Tor House as his own. It is my hope that my father, who was a careful man, sent a second copy of the deed to the King.”

  A small grimace tightened his mouth.

  “In your next correspondence to him, will you kindly ask the King if he has the deed?” I went on, breathlessly. “I would be eternally grateful.”

  His intense gaze focused on my mouth and then shifted to my eyes. “I will do so. Actually, your situation explains Devlin’s frantic need to travel to Tor House after Edgehill. The man, forgive me, your father was dead. A more ordered procession was called for. I did wonder about that.”

  “Thank you, your Highness.” I grasped his big hand and kissed it.

  Boye shouldered me and licked at my fingers. I patted his curly-haired back.

  “Your Highness.” A deep breath restored my purpose. “I appreciate your intent, but I cannot return to Tor House with your troop. If you will release me—”

  “I will escort you to Tor House,” he said, with a sudden, predatory smile that left me wary. “It is a requirement of my service to you that you do the honorable thing and return to your home.”

  “Yes, your Highness,” I said. There was no appeal. This prince would not be countermanded.

  “Did I understand Captain Comrie to say that Mistress Carey is with you?”

  “Yes, and my friend Thomas, whom Duncan has already promised a horse for our journey.”

  A shadow passed over his face, but he went on in apparent good humor. “Well and good. I will take a few moments to speak with Peg, and we will depart.” He strode off in his long-legged gait toward my companion, who waited at the gate. Boye followed him, tail wagging.

  Thomas was already on the horse provided for him.

  In the distance, the prince bowed before my auburn-haired cousin. He had offered no excuse or indicated any embarrassment at the use of Peg’s given name. Certainly, he was used to having his way with women. For all my thankfulness for his assistance, I would have to caution Peg about his inevitable intent.

  We rode away in the company of Prince Rupert and his lifeguard, a troop of a hundred men or more. Boye ran alongside the prince, a bounding white presence constant among the cavaliers to my right. The prince had directed us to stay well left of him, Duncan on our left, boxing us in.

  The sun came out and pushed the clouds away for our progress. We moved quickly over the Lancashire moors, but soon met a much larger force that awaited us at the top of a great hill thick with gorse.

  From that force, a rider broke out and galloped to meet us. It was my uncle. Without a helmet his straight hair flew in a nimbus around his head. He charged up to us and brought his horse to a smart stop before the prince. Boye sat panting while he could. The earl wiped his hair out of his face and spoke to the prince with little courtesy.

  “Your Highness.” He pointed at me. “This woman is a traitor. And those two—” He pointed at Peg and Thomas “—are equally traitorous vagrants. I would prefer to escort them back to Tor House. For your protection, your Highness.”

  “They stay with me, Devlin. Get back to your men and fall in behind us.”

  Boye’s growl underlined the prince’s order.

  The earl rode his stallion down the line toward me. His knuckles were clenched so hard they stood out pale against his reins. He brought his horse to a sudden stop before me, as close as he could come with Duncan suddenly between us.

  “It is unfortunate, niece, that you choose to defy me,” he growled at me over Duncan’s shoulder, his face a livid scarlet. He jerked his horse’s head aside and rode away.

  Duncan returned to his place beside us. He settled into place and mumbled heavily burred words that I barely caught, something about the prince’s patience.

  The earl’s forces fell into place behind the lifeguard, and we began to move again, heat wavering up around us. The hot sun beat down on our heads, slowly evaporating a three-day accumulation of moisture out of the earth,
which left precious little air to breathe. Sweat ran down my face and wetted my dress at the underarms and in the natural sluice of my back. The close air was overbearing, wilting my hair, my clothes, and my resolve.

  For the moment, I was safe from the earl’s retribution.

  In its shallow valley, Tor House, my massive, well fortified mansion, with its towers, gates, and double walls two yards thick, loomed before us. The breeze finally rose and cooled my skin. I raised my face in the sun to watch the Roland flag, where it whipped from the top of the watch-tower, that ancient Norman keep at the heart of the house.

  Finally, we crossed the scarred draw bridge over the moat and passed through the outer walls between the gate towers. Cool stone walls gave us respite from the heat as we moved through the outer courtyard. The inner gates squealed open, and the many-windowed mansion hulked before us. Dead shrubbery lined our path, a casualty of the winter and the siege. We cantered our horses around the formal circle. Where there had always been sound and the movement of servants and stable boys milling outside the entry, silence greeted us.

  A familiar, dread figure, none other than Edward Gorgon himself, stood grandly positioned atop the steps, a provocative smirk on his face. Though he wore a rich velvet doublet with a wide, heavily laced collar, wide pants and soft cordovan riding boots, disgust churned in my stomach at sight of him. My heart bumped heavily in alarm.

  Something moved in the inner shadow of the great doors behind Gorgon. To my surprise, it was the heavy-set countess who lingered in hesitation, her face an agony of anxiety.

  Gorgon remained a corpulent, muscular man with a neatly trimmed beard. He had not changed since I met him on the Isle of Man before the war. Fourteen years old at the time, I had accompanied my father to meet the Manx steward in the hawking yard, only to come upon him as he drew his sword out of the body of one of his servants. Father had been shaken. Gorgon had wiped his sword on the grass, sheathed it, and only then answered my father’s queries.

  “Oh, him. He was too slow,” he said with disinterest.