by Lauren Royal
“Oh, yes,” she breathed gratefully.
“And some supper,” Colin interjected. “She hasn’t eaten in two days,” he explained to Kendra.
Amy shook her head slightly. She was certain she couldn’t eat yet. “I really just want to sleep.”
“Warm chocolate, then,” Colin insisted.
Amy nodded acceptance.
“With brandy in it,” he added decisively. “And some soup.”
Amy sighed. “Perhaps some soup. The chocolate sounds nice.”
The brandy sounded nice. The brandy and bed. She’d be willing to wager the beds in a place like this would be soft and comfortable.
“Well, up you go, then.” Colin gestured toward the stairs. “Up you all go, in fact,” he declared in a raised voice, striding over to the children huddled in the back of the hall, whispering amongst themselves. “Baths for everyone, first thing. Then supper, then bed.”
There were audible groans at this announcement. “Could we not just wash up a bit?” Davis spoke for the group. “We won’t really have to take baths, will we?”
Heading up the stairs, Amy smiled to herself. She knew that at home, Davis probably bathed twice a year, if that. Cleanliness was considered an invitation to infection.
“Oh yes, you will,” Colin stated firmly. “Kendra, two at a time. And fresh hot water for each bath.”
Behind her, Amy heard the children’s startled breaths. Such lavish use of water was unheard of in the City. She met Kendra’s amused eyes.
“Tell Cook to prepare supper—lots of it,” Kendra called down toward her brother’s dark head. “Then, for heaven’s sake, come up and give me a hand. I’m not the one who volunteered to play nursemaid.”
FOURTEEN
“THE MEWS was over there,” Colin said, pointing through the keep’s glassless window.
The children clustered around him, craning their necks to see out. He felt a small tug on his breeches and looked down. Noon sunshine streamed into the ancient roofless tower, dancing on a small lad’s red-gold mop of curls.
The child cocked his head. “What’s a news?”
Colin smiled at his puzzled look. “A mews,” he corrected gently. “A building where the lord kept his falcons. It was destroyed by the Roundheads in the siege of 1643.”
“The same time the holes in the floor happened?” another boy asked.
“The same time,” he told the child, a sturdy apple-cheeked lad. “But that only makes it more fun for hide-and-seek and treasure hunts, doesn’t it?”
The boy and Colin shared a smile before the boy sobered. “When can we go home?”
“Yes, when?” another echoed.
“Today?” The smallest girl’s blue eyes looked so hopeful in her angelic little face.
Colin gave one of her golden ringlets a gentle tug and watched it spring back into place. “Not today, Mary, but soon, I’m hoping.” As a disappointed silence seemed to permeate the stone walls, he looked away, twisting his ring and searching for the right words of comfort.
“Did you live in this keep when you were a little boy?”
“Heavens, no!” Colin met the large brown eyes of another girl. “How old do you think I am?” She and a few of the others giggled. “No one’s lived in here for centuries. The building was open to the sky long before my boyhood. Would you like to see the wall walk?”
The sound of a clearing throat rang from the doorway. Colin turned, startled.
“’Dinnertime,” Kendra announced.
He frowned. “How long have you been there?”
“We want to hear another story,” piped up a chubby towhead. Davis’s little brother, if Colin remembered right. After a good night’s sleep and cleaned of the soot and ash, he appeared a different child.
“That wasn’t a story,” he told the boy, then looked up at Kendra. “I was just explaining a bit of history.”
“It’s time for dinner now,” Kendra said firmly. “Lord Greystone will tell you another story later.”
“I will?”
“Yes, you will.” Kendra shot him a diabolical grin. “You brought them here, you’re responsible for their entertainment. You owe them a bedtime story, at least.” She motioned to the children. “Come along, you all need to wash before eating.”
“But I promised to show them the wall walk,” Colin protested.
“Oh, very well, but quickly. You know how sulky Cook gets when her lovely meals grow cold.”
Beckoning, Colin led them all into the stairtower and down the winding steps to the archway. The children ran out along the top of the crenelated wall, shrieking with delight.
“Not too far,” he yelled after them, “and be careful!”
“Dunderhead,” Kendra chided. “When did you ever know a child to be careful?”
“Never,” he said with a sheepish smile.
They both turned and faced outward. Resting their forearms on top of the ledge, they gazed out over the River Caine and the fields and nearby woods. Like most medieval castles, the tower at Cainewood was built on a tall motte—a huge mound of earth. Up on the wall walk they could see for miles in all directions.
“You’re marvelous with the children,” Kendra said quietly.
Colin shrugged. “I remembered playing in the keep—it was so much fun. I just wanted to bring it to life a bit for them.”
Kendra sighed wistfully. “I never got to play in the keep.” The war had begun years before she was born, and as well-known Royalists, the Chase children had been whisked to the Continent shortly after their parents’ deaths. Sadly, even that had failed to stop Cromwell from bringing his wrath down upon their family home.
But now the days of war were long over. It was peaceful up here.
“How is Amy?” Kendra asked suddenly.
“Still sleeping. Sixteen hours.”
“She was exhausted.” Kendra slanted him a glance. “I saw you shaking her when I walked by her chamber.”
“To no avail. She’d rouse for a few seconds at most, then drop back into sleep.” He shook his head. “I thought she’d be wanting some dinner. She’d eaten but a few spoonfuls of broth, though her chocolate cup was empty.”
“And her hand?”
“Blisters, but no red streaks of infection, thank the Lord. I changed the bandage and applied fresh honey. I believe it will mend without incidence.”
Kendra cocked her head. “You like her, don’t you?”
“Of course, don’t you?” he said a mite too quickly.
Her lips curved in a knowing smile. “I meant you really like her.”
“Not like that.”
She gave an unladylike snort. “I was there that day in her shop. I’m not blind, you know. I’ve noticed the way you care for her. Worry about her. And you put her in the Gold Chamber.” The beautiful room was usually reserved for honored guests. “Colin—”
“I’m betrothed,” he stated firmly.
“But—”
“No buts, Kendra. I—”
“I hate it when you say that!”
“Well, I hate it when you argue with me! As I was about to say, I know you dislike Priscilla, but I am marrying her. And nothing you—or Amy—could say will change my mind.”
“But why? I’ve seen you with Priscilla—you don’t love her, I can tell.”
“I don’t want to love her; I’ve told you that. She’s wealthy, she’s pretty, she’s—”
“Cold.”
Colin ignored that. “—she’s titled—”
“As though we care about such things. We’re titled, and what did it get us? Nothing! We were paupers on the Continent, dragged from Paris, to Cologne, to Brussels, Bruges, Antwerp—wherever King Charles wandered. We had no home, no one who really cared about us. People are what matters. Titles are worthless.”
“But that’s where you’re wrong. That title kept us fed, allowed us to tag along with the court, obligated them to take us in. It was all we had, the only thing of value our parents gave us. My children w
ill have no less—and a lot more.”
“Of course they will—you’re an earl, for heaven’s sake! If the king hadn’t granted you the title, I’d understand your view. As a second son, you’d have had to marry an heiress or else make your own fortune somehow. But Charles owed a debt to our parents, and he gave you the earldom. Your children will inherit. You have a title—you’ve no need to marry one.”
Colin’s jaw was set. “My children will have titles from both sides. They’ll never know a day of insecurity.”
“What a bunch of blatherskite! You’re using this as an excuse to avoid caring about someone—someone like Amy. The Chases know it’s what’s inside that counts. We don’t care about titles.”
“This Chase does.”
Kendra stamped her foot. “Oh, you’re so stubborn!”
“No more than you are, little sister. It runs in the family.”
“Hmmph!” She crossed her arms and turned from him, facing outward.
“Hmmph!” Colin did likewise, in imitation.
She burst out laughing.
But his attention was already diverted elsewhere. “Good heavens!” he exclaimed. “Kendra, look!”
She turned and squinted in the direction he was pointing. “What? I see nothing.”
“Exactly. It’s London. Not burning.”
Sure enough, although a dark cloud of smoke still hung over London in the distance, it seemed to be lifting, and there were no visible flames underneath.
“Oh!” Kendra’s voice went up an octave in excitement. “Ford and Jason are on their way home already, I’ll wager.”
“And I’ll take the children back to London first thing in the morning. We can only pray we won’t have trouble locating their families.”
“And Amy? Will you return her to London as well?”
“Of course,” he snapped.
He was relieved when Kendra didn’t comment on his temper. “Come, our dinner is getting cold,” she said instead. “Let’s bring the little ones inside and deliver the good news.”
He led the way down from the tower. Once in the quadrangle, the children ran ahead, racing noisily to the entrance.
Crossing the lawn more sedately beside Kendra, whose fashionable high-heeled slippers discouraged running, Colin suddenly stopped in his tracks.
“Now where am I supposed to find a story, I ask you? No one found time to tell me fairytales when I was little, you know.”
“Oh, you’ll think of something.” Kendra flashed him an arch smile. “I have complete and total faith in you, big brother.” Then she took off across the grass, running anyway.
FIFTEEN
COLIN GENTLY tucked the bandage and set Amy’s hand on top of the quilt. It looked tiny and delicate lying alone, with the rest of her buried beneath the covers. He licked a bit of honey off his finger, watching her heart-shaped face. She’d missed dinner, and now supper…he glanced behind in case his sister might be watching, then, feeling foolish, shook Amy’s shoulder again.
Nothing.
He rested a hand on her forehead. Still cool, and he could tell by the rise and fall of her chest that she was breathing. He felt beneath her chin for a pulse. Nice and steady.
He sighed and flicked open his pocket watch. The children were waiting for that story he—no, Kendra—had promised them. One story, then he’d take everyone back to London in the morning. Surely Amy would be awake by then.
And by tomorrow night, his life would be back to normal.
The children waited on the drawing room’s black-and-coral carpet, sitting with their backs to the fire. Weary after the strain of the past two days, their bellies full of Cook’s good hot supper, they watched him walk in with eyes that were already drooping.
Their chatter died down as Colin seated himself facing them in one of the coral-colored velvet chairs. Kendra sat off to the side in its mate, her head bent to her embroidery.
The castle was cool and drafty in the evenings. Kendra hitched herself closer to the fire and struggled to thread her needle. Colin was amused to see her engaged in such a ladylike occupation. It was quite foreign to her nature, but he supposed she considered embroidery a fitting pursuit for a lady passing the evening surrounded by children.
He hoped she’d stick herself in the finger.
The children shifted impatiently on their bottoms. “My lord, what story are we to hear tonight?” Davis asked.
Colin glanced up at the carved wooden ceiling, but there was no help from above. All around the room, large gilt-framed portraits of solemn ancestors watched over him, waiting for him to prove himself a worthy entertainer of children.
When his gaze fastened on a newly commissioned painting of his king, inspiration hit. “Tonight, you will hear the story of the Royal Oak,” he announced.
The children scooted forward in anticipation. Kendra looked up with an approving smile.
“After the Battle of Worcester,” Colin began, “our king, Charles II, endured great hardships in escaping his enemies.”
“Were you there?” Davis’s little brother interrupted.
“No, I was only six at the time. But my father and mother were there.”
Colin saw no reason to tell them they’d both died in the battle. They were already worried about their own parents.
“For nearly six weeks, King Charles was hiding and sneaking about,” he continued. “Sometimes he hid with persons of high rank, and sometimes with those of low. He’d been declared an outlaw, you see, and he was hunted for his life. But the people still saw him as their lawful sovereign and willingly risked their own lives to save his.”
“Our king was hunted?” The girl with the large brown eyes looked doubtful. “For real?”
“Yes, certainly. Cromwell wanted him well out of the way.” When the girl nodded, Colin went on. “Charles rode hastily away from the scene of his defeat, in the company of a few faithful friends. Whenever they came within hearing range of anyone, they spoke French to avoid detection. His friends brought him to a lonely farmhouse where five brothers named Penderel lived. It was death to anyone who dared to conceal the king, while a great reward was offered to any who would betray him to his enemies, but these honest farmers cared neither for threats nor rewards.”
“How much was the reward?” Davis asked.
“A thousand pounds.”
“A thousand pounds?” Davis’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
A thousand pounds was an absolutely vast sum, more than the average workman would earn in a lifetime.
“I’m sure,” Colin assured him. “Charles cut off his famous black lovelocks so no one would recognize him. The Penderels dressed him like themselves, in clothes belonging to the tallest brother, for the king is over two yards tall.”
“Like you?” little Mary asked, gazing up at Colin as though he were a giant.
Colin nodded solemnly while quelling a smile. “Yes, Charles and I are almost exactly the same height. He had to wear his own stockings with the fancy tops torn off, because his feet were so big they could find none to fit. And the clumsy country boots they gave him were too small, so he was forced to tramp around all day in great pain.”
“Ouch!” said the apple-cheeked boy.
“Indeed. In fact, King Charles’s memory of those boots is so strong that today he has the largest collection of shoes in the land, each pair made exactly to fit.”
A couple of the children giggled. Colin glanced at Kendra. She was still smiling down at her embroidery. So far as he could tell, she’d yet to complete a single new stitch.
“What happened then?” an impatient little voice asked. The girl had long dark hair and gray eyes, and Colin realized with a pang that she reminded him of Amy.
He gave his head a shake as though to clear it. “I’m just getting to the good part. One day, while the king was with the brothers in the forest, Parliamentary soldiers came upon them. Quickly, Charles climbed up an oak tree and crouched amid the leaves.”
“How long did he
stay there?” Mary asked.
“More than twenty-four hours, a whole day and night. The soldiers were certain they’d seen more men, so they rode back and forth searching all that time.”
“How many soldiers?” Mary asked.
Colin shrugged. “I don’t know, sweetheart.”
“How many?” she persisted.
In a quandary, he glanced again at Kendra. She looked up, biting her lip to keep from laughing.
No help there.
“Seven,” he announced finally. “I’m certain there were seven.”
When the little girl smiled happily, Colin tugged one of her bright gold curls. “Charles slept for a time in the tree. When he woke, the soldiers were directly under him, saying how glad they should be to catch him. Hoping they wouldn’t notice him there, Charles held his breath.”
Hearing the children’s indrawn breaths brought him a ridiculous sense of satisfaction.
“Finally, the next day, the soldiers rode off and left him to get down in safety.” Little breaths were released. “That tree, in memory of the good service it had done him, was afterwards named the Royal Oak, and if ever you go to Boscobel you can visit it,” he said by way of conclusion.
“What happened then?” asked a boy. “How did he escape?”
Colin glanced toward Kendra, but she was smiling back down at her handiwork. “Yes, Colin,” she said to a misshapen embroidered flower. “What happened then?”
“Hmmph,” he said, wishing she were close enough to kick her. “The brothers were afraid the Roundheads would return when they couldn’t find Charles elsewhere, so they moved him to another house, a few miles away. They had to find him a horse to ride there, because he couldn’t walk that far on his aching feet. The boots, remember?”
Nine little heads nodded.
“He hid in a priest-hole in that house, and he was very cramped and uncomfortable in there.”
“Because he’s so tall,” said little Mary.
“Exactly. Charles needed to get to Bristol to catch a ship and escape England,” he continued, “but he couldn’t travel in the farmer’s clothes, since farmers don’t often take to the roads. So they dressed him as a manservant and found a loyal woman named Lady Jane to ride behind him on a horse, posing as his employer. He decided to call himself William Jackson, and they made up a story that they were on their way to a wedding.”