His Rebel Bride

by Helen Dickson

  With a frightening cry, reaching out, Catherine leapt towards Harry, and as she did so he fell forward and toppled wearily from the saddle. The effort sapped the last of his waning strength and he fell to his knees.

  ‘Harry! Oh, Harry, you are hurt!’

  Catherine reached his side and fell on her knees beside him, racked with her own emotion. As she looked down at the pain-filled face, for an anxious moment she steeled herself against panic. His skin was dry and stretched like parchment across his cheekbones. She laid her palms on either side of his face as a tear ran down her cheek, dripping on her dress. She wiped her wet face resolutely, for this was Harry, her love, and it did no good to weep for him when he had need of her help.

  ‘What has happened to you? What have they done?’

  Somehow Harry managed to draw his head back and look at her. His face was haggard, his eyes bleak and sunken with pain. ‘I found your horse, Catherine. Remember? I promised I would bring her back if I found her. She was running loose on the battlefield—Sedgemoor.’

  For the first time Catherine looked at her horse. Tears started to her eyes once more when she recognised her beloved Melody. The mare was weary and one of her front legs had a gash on it, but otherwise she seemed all right. Seeming to sense she was on familiar ground and that sweet fresh hay and oats were not far away, Melody walked off in the direction of the stables.

  ‘A musket shot got me in the side,’ Harry gasped. ‘Thanks to your horse—my own horse was shot from under me—after the battle I managed to increase the distance between myself and my pursuers.’

  Catherine was about to stand up when she heard voices, male voices. Three of them. The voices were low, the words indistinct. She felt a tug on her sleeve. ‘Catherine,’ Harry started to say. She clapped a hand over his mouth, her expression urging him to be quiet. Please don’t come closer, she begged as she heard them approach. Go away. Please go away. Her silent pleas were ignored, for the voices came closer, she could hear them quite clearly now.

  ‘This is where Lord Reresby lives,’ one of the men said. ‘Military man—with Churchill. No sign of any rebels hereabouts.’

  Shoving Harry down into the undergrowth and holding a finger to her lips for him to be quiet, Catherine stood up and walked forward to meet the three mounted men splashing along the muddy road that led to Taunton. They carried themselves proudly, with the air of professional soldiers. Panic threatened, but she steeled herself against it, knowing it would do neither of them any good if she broke beneath the terror that bound her chest tightly. When the riders were close they paused, eyeing her suspiciously.

  ‘Can I help you, gentlemen? I’m Lady Reresby of Saxton Court.’

  One of the men rode forward, inclining his head with a modicum of respect. ‘Captain Simmons of the King’s army,’ he said by way of introduction. ‘We’re rounding up rebels who fled the battlefield at Sedgemoor.’

  ‘As far south as this?’

  ‘’ Tis only ten miles or so, Lady Reresby. Intent on escaping across the Channel, some of them will be trying to make for the coast. Have you seen any strangers, anyone asking for food and shelter?’

  ‘No, no one. What will happen to the rebels if they are caught?’

  ‘There’s severe punishment in store for men in arms, those who levied war against the King. Any who proclaimed Monmouth King may be hanged without bringing them to a formal trial. Examples will be made.’

  ‘I see,’ Catherine said stiffly. ‘Then I will not hinder you in your search any longer. Good day.’

  With tremendous relief she watched them ride on, and not until they were out of sight did she deem it safe to return to Harry. Turning from the road, she paused, her gaze drawn to the wood where she thought she saw something move. Her heart pounding, she stood perfectly still, her eyes fixed on the trees. The depth of darkness was impenetrable, then a gentle breeze stirred, moving the tall grass and swaying the boughs. She turned away, telling herself that her heightened senses were making her imagine things. But as she returned to the place where she had left Harry, she did not see the black horse, and on his back a shadowed being, calmly observing her every move.

  ‘They’ve gone, Harry,’ Catherine said, kneeling beside him. ‘It’s safe, but not for long. We have to find somewhere to hide you, and then I’ll take a look at your wound.’

  ‘You can’t, Catherine. It’s too dangerous for you. I must be on my way.’

  ‘And just how far do you think you’ll get in your condition, and with the King’s soldiers swarming all over the county? I can’t take you to the house—the servants will talk, but I must hide you somewhere. The stables are close by. I think that’s the best place for now. Can you stand? Here, I will help you. We must hurry before someone else comes this way.’

  With Catherine’s hands under both his arms, aware of the need for urgency, Harry stumbled to his feet, and with her support they managed to make it into the stable yard. They paused, and holding the swaying Harry, Catherine glanced around. A creaking sound of an opening door came from the direction of one of the stalls. Glancing towards it, Catherine saw a man emerge from the doorway. She expelled a sigh of relief when she saw it was Archie. At least he could be trusted.

  Being shortsighted, Archie craned his neck to see who it was that stood in the yard. ‘That you, Lady Reresby?’

  ‘Yes, Archie. Please help me. Hurry. This gentleman is hurt. I must get him inside—out of sight.’

  Archie came quickly. The limp figure covered in blood told its own story. He asked no questions and took most of Harry’s weight.

  ‘Where to, my lady? The big house?’

  ‘No, it’s too dangerous. No one must know he’s here, Archie, and I cannot depend on the servants to remain silent. I’ll hide him in the stables for now.’

  Without reservation or objection, Archie helped Catherine support the wounded rebel and between them they managed to get him inside. Propping Harry against one of the wooden stalls that had once held some of Marcus’s finest horses, Catherine’s eyes darted to a low door in the corner.

  She went and peered into the dark hole. ‘What’s in there?’

  ‘Nothing but straw and rubbish. Used to hold tack until the old master had the new tack room built across the yard.’

  ‘It will have to do for now. At least it smells dry.’

  ‘Aye, but there’s no window in there.’

  ‘All the better. If we can get him inside we’ll hide the doorway as best we can.’

  Together they hoisted Harry into the small, dark room, not big enough to stable a pony. Harry slumped down onto the straw on the floor. Breathing hard, his head thrown back and his eyes closed, he yielded to his tenuous grasp on consciousness, to the peace and security of the stable, however temporary.

  Archie produced a lantern and set it on a box, its yellowish glow making long eerie shadows on the walls festooned with years-old cobwebs. Catherine unfastened Harry’s coat and pulled the blood-soaked shirt free of his breeches, rolling it up to reveal a gaping hole in his side where the musket shot lay embedded. Blood oozed slowly from the wound. Her hands shook as she ripped a length of cloth from her petticoat and bound him tightly with Archie’s help.

  ‘It’s not satisfactory, but it will have to do for now,’ she said, sitting back on her heels and surveying her work with a critical eye.

  ‘The wound’s not too serious,’ Archie pronounced. ‘I’ve seen worse. The shot’s in a fleshy part—not close enough to have damaged one of his organs. I’d say he’s suffering from loss of blood and exhaustion more than anything. When the shot’s out and he’s slept off his fatigue, he’ll be better.’

  ‘I hope so, Archie. I’ll fetch Alice. Her knowledge of such things is far superior to mine. She’ll give him the necessary medicine to combat any infection and aid his recovery. I’ll also get some food and blankets. Lord knows when he last ate.’

  Archie looked at her gravely. ‘’ Tis not my place to tell you what to do, my lady, but he’s a re
bel soldier. You have to think of the consequences—to you, to all of us at Saxton Court, if the young gentleman is found. ’ Tis a dangerous thing you are doing hidin’ him.’

  ‘This whole situation is dangerous, Archie. The young gentleman is known to me. His name is Harry Stapleton. He is a dear friend whom I have known my entire life. I cannot leave him to die in a ditch and nor can I let him be taken. If he is found, I will take full responsibility and insist you had no knowledge of his presence.’

  ‘What of Lord Reresby? He’ll be home now the battle’s over and won. He’s eyes like a hawk, has his lordship. You’ll not hide a rebel from him—he’ll smell him. Before long the entire western counties will be crawling with fleeing rebels and King’s soldiers trying to flush them out. It’ll be a cat-and-mouse existence for months till they’re all rounded up. Mark my words, my lady, they’ll leave no stone unturned. They’ll be sending out patrols right and left, and ’ twill fall hard on you—on all of us—should it be discovered we’re harbouring a fugitive.’

  Catherine was unable to stop the shudder that gripped her body. ‘I know. I also know there are people in the house who have no sympathy for the rebels. If a price is put upon their heads and they find out about Harry, they will lose no time in informing on him.’ Leaning over Harry’s prostrate form, she rested a hand on his unshaven cheek. ‘Harry, can you hear me?’ He nodded, his eyes flickering open before closing again. ‘I’m going to leave you now, but I’ll be back soon. I promise.’

  Helping Archie to drag old cartwheels and fencing and anything else that could be found to cover the low portal, Catherine lost no time in returning to the house in search of Alice. Her heart pounded with urgency of what she must do for Harry—Harry, with whom she had laughed and loved. Harry, whom she had shared sweet, wonderful memories for as long as she could remember. No one would hurt him. She would not let them. She could not bear to lose him again. She would fight to the bitter end to save him. And so she became focused on making him safe, to restoring him to health whatever the cost, and the fact that she was another man’s wife did not trouble her then.

  Running up the steps, she entered the hall just as someone came down the stairs. It was Marcus, pulling off his riding gloves and flexing his fingers as if they were stiff. Absolutely taken by surprise, Catherine stared at her husband in disbelief. There was no denying the reality of that achingly familiar face. Joy exploded in her heart, obliterating all memory of that past hour she had spent with Harry. Marcus was alive and the sight of his handsome face almost sent her to her knees. He came slowly down the stairs, a faint smile lingering on his lips, and it seemed to Catherine as if his eyes never left hers.

  Mentally she reached out to touch his beloved face, but then she remembered Harry, and her entire expression froze. For a moment she was thrown into such a panic she could not think coherently. She wanted to turn to run from the house, and yet she was unable to move.

  ‘Marcus! What are you doing here?’

  In the light that slanted through the high windows, Marcus’s eager expression changed as her words sliced through him. Disappointed and offended by her tone, he said with bitter sarcasm, ‘If I had any hope that you might be pleased to see me, that response would have taught me.’

  ‘I—I fail to see why. You appear without warning, and then you are surprised when I ask you what you are doing here.’

  ‘I apologise if I surprised you,’ he replied sardonically. ‘Next time I will give you fair warning.’ He frowned. What was wrong? She hadn’t been like this when he had ridden away to battle and she had shown such tender concern for his safety. He sensed that all was not well with her and in the hope of finding out what it was he made an effort to overcome his ill temper.

  ‘There has been a battle, Catherine, a hard-fought battle. Is this how to greet a returning warrior? You are supposed to tell me how sorely you’ve missed me, fling yourself into my arms and weep tears of joy at my safe return.’

  Catherine could see his hands were clenched, as if he were holding himself in check. She could see the harshness in his taut features and sighed with helpless understanding. She was shocked to see how strained he looked. His look of exhaustion was real, as if he, too, had gone through a great ordeal since she had last seen him. She gave a faint smile, guilt-ridden and ashamed of her ill-chosen remarks, though she made no move to go to him.

  ‘You are right to reproach me, Marcus. I have missed you, truly. I am so sorry, and of course I am relieved to have you return home safely. Just because we have been apart does not mean you were absent from my thoughts.’

  ‘Unfortunately the same cannot be said for Dickon.’

  ‘Why, what has happened? He—he is dead?’

  Marcus nodded. ‘At Sedgemoor. He didn’t fight in the battle, but his horse was startled by the noise of the guns. He fell from his horse and tripped over the sword he was carrying. There was nothing anyone could do.’

  Through Catherine’s mind flickered memories of Dickon, with his dark auburn hair, sunny open features and large grey eyes. Sadness at his loss filled her heart. ‘I’m so sorry, Marcus. He will be missed. You were fond of him, I know.’

  ‘Dickon was a fine young man. He served me well. I could trust him with my life.’

  ‘Have you notified his family?’

  ‘Not yet. I shall notify them, of course, but I intend to deliver his personal possessions to them myself. It’s the least I can do.’

  ‘Please express my condolences, Marcus.’ It was then that Catherine remembered her appearance. Her hair must be untidy. With shaking fingers she smoothed it into place. Marcus advanced towards her, calm, unperturbed and unaware of the tumult raging within her breast.

  ‘I have been home some considerable time. Where have you been? I was about to come and look for you.’

  ‘I—I was in the garden—now the weather has taken a turn for the better,’ she explained breathlessly. ‘I quite forgot the time.’

  As she spoke his eyes dropped to the skirts of her gown. Catherine instinctively looked, too, and as she did so felt, with a sudden stab of horror, as if the ground had opened to swallow her. For on the pale blue of her gown below her knee, was a large smear of blood—Harry’s blood.

  Slowly Marcus raised his eyes to hers. ‘You have blood on your gown,’ he said quietly. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘Blood? I—I—’ Wildly she tried to think of some excuse, some reason why it should be there, and said the first thing that came into her head. ‘Why, the most marvellous, strangest thing has happened. It is from Melody,’ she said, seizing on this as if it were manna from heaven.

  ‘But your horse was stolen.’

  ‘Yes, but she came back—just now. She has a gash on her shinbone. Archie is tending to it.’

  He raised a quizzical brow. ‘How curious. Did Melody not have a rider?’

  ‘No—no, she must have found her own way back.’ Catherine struggled with a feeling of her own guilt. She was shocked that she could lie so blatantly. Marcus was her husband and she loved him, and yet at that moment she felt totally isolated from such emotions.

  ‘What’s wrong, Catherine?’ Marcus asked quietly. ‘Has my wife gone cold on me so soon?’

  Catherine felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. ‘No, of course not.’

  He tipped his finger under chin. ‘There’s something troubling you,’ he insisted. ‘Are you going to tell me what it is? What secrets are you harbouring?’

  ‘Secrets?’

  ‘Yours, Catherine.’

  His quiet, polite calm so unnerved her that she stammered, ‘I—I don’t have secrets.’ Even as she said the words she felt the colour rush to her cheeks.

  Marcus dropped his hand and took a step back. ‘You had best go and change your gown. If the blood dries, then it will be ruined.’

  ‘Yes—yes, I will. It is one of my favourites.’

  He moved closer once more, and, seeing the fear in her eyes stopped short only inches in front of her. ‘Catherine, wh
at is it?’ he asked.

  It was his voice that made Catherine want to cry, that softly deep voice, and his face, that severe, handsome face she had come to adore. In that moment of weakness there came the temptation, so powerful as to be irresistible, to give in, to tell him everything. She needed him so much, his strength and his warmth, but she could not. She was too fearful of what he might do on finding his rival ensconced in his stables. She could not be certain how he would react.

  ‘Are you feeling unwell?’ he asked, frowning and studying her pale face and strained features.

  Grasping the excuse he’d offered, she nodded hastily. ‘I—I haven’t been feeling too well of late. I—have a headache,’ she said now in reply to his question, feeling the guilt of deception when the baby fluttered inside her. ‘I don’t seem to be able to shake it off.’

  ‘Then I insist you see a physician to take a look at you. Although I suppose that without Fenton and with more responsibility thrust on you, it’s understandable. You’ve been working too hard,’ Marcus said with a worried frown. ‘Now I am home I shall see to it that you get more rest.’

  ‘Now you are home? Why, what do you mean, Marcus? Are you not returning to the army?’

  He noted the panic that leapt in her eyes and was puzzled by it. ‘No. My time is finished. I am home to protect Saxton Court from rampaging troops. There is much to be done here. So you see, the army’s loss is your gain, my love—and besides, I have a desire to spend more time with my wife. Now away with you and change your gown.’

  Catherine burst into her bedchamber. ‘Alice, you’ve got to help me.’

  ‘Why, what ails you, Catherine? It’s not good for the baby to be getting so upset. And, goodness, will you just look at your gown?’

  ‘I know, but never mind that now.’ Grasping Alice’s hand, Catherine pulled her down on to the bed and gave her a hurried account of all that had occurred since Margaret had left.