by Jane Feather
“I will not allow any harm to come to you,” he repeated.
A puzzled frown drew the arched eyebrows together. “I do not see how you can prevent it if I must go home. I am my father’s daughter when all’s said and done. He may do as he pleases with me.”
“Do not be too sure of that,” he said with a confidence that alarmed him. The girl had spoken only the truth after all. Who was he to interfere in a man’s jurisdiction over his family? But he’d made the promise. Hopefully the means for fulfilling it would come to him when necessary. Her eyes were still fixed upon him, expressing mingled trust, hope, and doubt. Smiling, he kissed the corner of her mouth, telling himself that it was a salute of the kind he would have given Lizzie or baby Nan when they were in need of reassurance. It did not seem quite the same, though.
“Put on your britches,” he said, suddenly brisk, drawing away from her. “I’m not minded to sit here waiting for Parliament’s troop to return.”
Henrietta turned away from him, stepping into the garment, tucking her shift into the waistband, fumbling with the hooks. Her face was unaccountably hot and for once she found herself at a loss for words. Will had kissed her often, but it hadn’t made her feel like this—hot and quivery. Perhaps the fever was returning.
“Horses are saddled, Sir Daniel,” Will called from the bottom of the stairs.
“I am coming,” Daniel called back. “Sit on the bed, Henrietta, and I’ll help ye with your stockings. You do not wish to wrench your shoulder.”
She obeyed, somewhat reassured by the crisp tone that restored matters between them to their former footing. “You had better become accustomed to calling me Harry again,” she said matter-of-factly, holding out her foot. “Henrietta in britches is a contradiction in terms.”
He chuckled. “Aye, y’are right.” He smoothed the stockings over her calves and helped her into her boots. “We must ride as far from here as possible before dark. ’Tis to be hoped your strength will hold.”
Three hours later, Henrietta knew that she had reached her limit. She sat astride the big black charger, trying not to lean against the broad back of Daniel Drummond in front of her. The charger’s gait had seemed easy enough at first, but now, as fatigue softened muscle and sinew, it began to feel like balancing on a rolling wave and her shoulder started to ache unbearably.
They were traveling cross-country, keeping to the woods and the shelter of hedgerows wherever possible. There had been one heart-stopping moment when a troop of Roundheads passed on the road on the other side of the hedge while they cowered, scarcely daring to breathe, praying that one of the horses would not betray them with a whinny or a jingle of bridle.
Daniel’s expression grew grimmer after this incident. The only way they would have a chance of reaching London unchallenged would be to ride by night and hide by day. Night riding was inevitably slower, and a three-week journey was going to be stretched to four weeks or more. At least Tom, in his anonymous garb, would be able to enter towns and villages to buy provisions or take a horse to the farrier if one of them threw a shoe. Not for the first time, Daniel sent a swift prayer heavenward for the loyalty and devotion that had kept Tom at his side.
So lost in thoughts and calculations was he that he only slowly became aware of the weight against his back. Henrietta had yielded the struggle to keep herself upright and now flopped against him, her head resting on his shoulder. “Harry?”
Instantly, she drew herself upright again. “I do beg your pardon, Sir Daniel. I felt a little sleepy, but I am quite awake now.”
“Ye do not appear to be,” Will said, looking anxiously across at her. “Y’are as white as whey, Harry.”
Daniel reined in sharply, twisting in the saddle to look over his shoulder. “Foolish child! Why did ye not say something?” Anxiety informed the exasperation, but Harry was too exhausted for analysis. Tears filled her eyes and fell without restraint.
“There is no need for tears.” Daniel swung down and lifted her to the ground. “Is your shoulder paining you?”
“Aye.” She sniffed desperately in an attempt to regain control of herself, then sat abruptly on the stubbly earth of the newly harvested field.
“We’d best rest a while, sir, ’till the maid feels stronger.” Tom looked around a landscape illuminated by the mid-afternoon sunlight. “Not much shelter hereabouts.”
“There’s a ditch,” Will suggested, gesturing with his whip toward the far side of the field. “’Tis away from the lane and the hedge will offer some concealment.”
Hiding in ditches was not a Drummond habit; then, neither was fleeing pursuit like the hare before the hound. But locked up in some Roundhead prison he’d be of little use to his children, Daniel reckoned with grim resignation. “It will have to suffice. Come.” He scooped up the collapsed figure at his feet and put her back on the horse, this time mounting behind her, holding her tightly against him with an encircling arm. “Lie back, Harry. I’ll not let ye fall.”
“I expect you are most kind to your children,” Henrietta observed, settling thankfully against the strong support of his broad chest. “’Twould be pleasant to have such a parent.”
He glanced sharply down at her, ungratified by the observation. Did she really see him as a father figure? “I am far from old enough to have sired you,” he declared.
“Nay, of course not,” she agreed tranquilly. “But I still think it must be agreeable for Elizabeth and Ann to have you for a father. I do not expect you would try to compel them into a distasteful marriage, or believe everything their stepmother might say to their discredit.”
“Your stepmother does not care for you, I take it?” They had reached the far side of the field and Daniel drew in his mount.
“She hates me with a passion,” Henrietta said. “She has done so from the first moment she walked into the house when I was but five years old.”
Daniel dismounted and she slipped from the charger into his waiting arms. “Of course I was not very nice to her either, but I think she could have tried to understand that I was afeard, d’ye not agree? She was six and twenty, a widow, and she brought her three children to live with us too.” She stood rubbing her shoulder and looking down into the ditch. “Is it dry, d’ye think?”
“Dry enough,” Daniel said, taking a small animal skin container from his knapsack. “Settle down and take some rest now. I do not wish to tarry here overlong.” He encouraged her down the little slope to the bottom of the ditch, saying over his shoulder to Tom, “If we turn the horses loose to graze, they’ll not draw attention.”
He sat on the grass, leaning against the sloping side of the ditch, stretching his legs in front of him. “Lie down and put your head in my lap. I would look to your shoulder. The goodwife gave me some ointment to rub in if it became sore.”
Henrietta obeyed a little awkwardly, resting her head and shoulders on muscular thighs, looking up into the face bent concernedly over her. She moved to unbutton her shirt, but he brushed her hands aside with the calm injunction to be still. Her shirt came undone and he slipped the sleeve of her shift off the injured shoulder. The warm air stroked her bared skin, and for some reason Henrietta shivered.
“Are you cold?” Daniel asked, taking the top off the small skin container. “’Tis warm enough, I would have said.”
“Nay, I am not cold,” she denied rather weakly. “’Tis fatigue, I expect.”
“As like as not,” he agreed, dipping a finger into the strong-smelling ointment. “I will try not to hurt you, but I must press hard if y’are to feel the benefit.”
She closed her eyes because it seemed easier and less awkward if she did not have to look up at him. Gently but firmly, he massaged the ointment into her aching shoulder. It hurt and she inhaled sharply, biting her bottom lip. The pressure did not diminish, however, as Daniel steeled himself to complete his task. But at last it stopped and her eyes opened.
“Nay, do not look so reproachful,” he said softly. “’Tis sometimes necessary to caus
e a little pain in order to do good.”
“This pains me more than it does you? Is that what you would say?” She smiled ruefully. “That has been said to me many times, Sir Daniel, but I have never found it convincing.”
Chuckling, he buttoned her shirt. “Nay, I do not subscribe to that thesis. ’Twas said to me also many a time, and I could never understand why those who wielded the rod should suffer more than those who felt it.”
“Exactly so,” Henrietta agreed fervently. She sat up, flexing her shoulder. “’Tis easier,” she said. “If ye wish to continue the journey, sir, I am certain I am strong enough.”
“Mayhap you are,” he said. “But there are those amongst us who are not.” He gestured a little way down the ditch to where Tom and Will lay prone. “We’ll all be the better for an hour’s respite, and there’s less danger of discovery if we travel under the moon.” He lay back against the side of the ditch, closing his eyes. “Ye may find it more comfortable to use my legs as pillow. Twill provide support for your shoulder.”
Henrietta looked a little doubtful, but he appeared quite relaxed and the bare ground was certainly bumpy and unyielding. She resumed her former position; the sun bathed her eyelids, creating a warm red darkness; aching fatigue yielded to languour; the living flesh beneath her head embodied safety and reassurance. Henrietta slept.
Daniel listened to her soft, regular breathing; felt the heaviness of her unconscious body; sensed her unquestioning trust, and hoped mightily that the trust was not misplaced. He would not have chosen to flee the lost battlefield of Preston with a weakened maid and her reluctant swain in tow. A rational man would not have pledged himself to protect a runaway maid from the legitimate wrath of her parent. Yet for the life of him, he did not know how else he could have acted. Daniel Drummond slept.
Chapter 3
“Y’are a milksop, Will,” declared Henrietta in disgust, picking dirt from beneath her fingernails with the sharp end of a twig. “I am certain that if you defy your father, he will admire ye for it in the end. He may be difficult at first—”
“Oh, you live in cloud cuckoo land,” Will interrupted. “There is nothing feeble about facing reality. Is there, Sir Daniel?”
Daniel regarded the squabbling pair wearily. They had been at it all afternoon and he was heartily sick of it. Outside the barn where they sheltered, the rain fell in a cold, drenching sheet. Now and again a gust of wind would drive an icy wave through the unglazed window and fling the door back on its hinges. There were holes in the roof and the water dripped steadily onto the already damp straw. The horses stood, heads hanging in resigned misery; the humans huddled against the wall, cold, tired, and hungry. The odors of wet horseflesh, moldy straw, and none-too-clean people filled the dank air, adding to the desolation.
“I do not see why you should have to appeal to Sir Daniel all the time,” complained Henrietta. “Why cannot ye make up your own mind for a change?”
“I have made up my mind,” snapped Will. “You will just not listen to sense. My father would never forgive an elopement. He does not object to the match, but he will not permit me to marry you against your father’s will. You convince Sir Gerald to permit it, and then there will be no difficulties.”
“Oh, you know that is impossible!” Henrietta cried. “He would see me dead rather than happy. If we were wed, we could find work, couldn’t we?”
“But I do not wish to find work,” Will said, sighing heavily. “I wish to be Will Osbert, Esquire, of Osbert Court.”
“Oh, I do not think you love me the least little bit!” Henrietta exclaimed. “You have no romance in your soul, and no courage.”
“There are times,” Will said deliberately, “when I do not even like you.”
“That is the most dastardly thing to say!” Henrietta flung herself upon him, rolling in the damp straw.
With an exclamation of exasperation, Daniel grabbed the belt at the back of her britches and hauled her off her opponent. “If you do not behave yourself, Mistress Ashby, you will find yourself out in the rain!”
“Then I shall get the ague,” she objected. “And I shall have the fever again, and—”
“Quiet!” But his lips twitched despite his ferocious tone. “I do not wish to hear another word out of you.”
Henrietta slumped into her corner again, hugging her knees, shivering in baleful silence. The rain dripped monotonously and the wind howled; the horses shuffled on the straw; a rat scurried across the barn floor. This dismal state of affairs continued until the door was flung open to admit a dripping Tom.
“There’s bread and cheese and ale,” he announced, dumping his packets onto the floor. “There’s more Roundheads in town than fleas on a dog. A man can’t move without a pass.”
“Why do we not try to acquire passes?” Henrietta asked, her usual sunny humor restored as she fell upon the bread and cheese. “We have been a week upon the road and this hiding grows monstrous tedious.”
“Was it an adventure ye were expecting?” Daniel inquired dryly, taking a deep draught of ale.
“I did not think it would be quite so uncomfortably tedious,” she said through a mouthful. “But if we had passes, we could travel openly and stay in inns, could we not?”
“Of course we could,” said Will, who had still not recovered his equanimity. “But we are hardly traveling in this fashion through choice. Are you suggesting we present ourselves at the nearest military post and ask politely for passes?”
Daniel raised his eyes heavenward as he waited for the explosive response to this heavy sarcasm. It did not come, however.
“I am not suggesting you should,” she said thoughtfully, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “But if Tom could procure me some women’s clothes, those of a servant girl would be best, I might be able to spin a tale to the officers that would suffice.” She looked at Will. “I am quite accomplished at spinning tales, am I not?”
He nodded and a reluctant grin spread across the freckled face. “Aye, that y’are. ’Tis an accomplishment that has saved ye from many a scrape.”
“And you,” she said. “What think ye, sir? I will say that I wish to visit my sick father—a good Parliamentarian—in London. And that I would be accompanied by…by…” She frowned, one hand gesturing vaguely as if she would pluck the words from the air. “By my grandfather and my brother,” she finished triumphantly. “And Tom has kindly offered to provide escort since my grandfather is rather feeble, and just one man cannot offer sufficient protection against marauding Cavaliers and highwaymen.”
Daniel struggled to grasp the role of enfeebled ancient that had clearly been allotted him. “I am to grow a white beard, I assume, and adopt a shambling gait and toothless mumble.”
Henrietta laughed. “Nay, I do not see why that should be necessary.”
“What a fortunate man I am,” he declared.
“If I spin the tale aright,” Henrietta explained, ignoring the pointed irony, “there is no reason why any of you, except perhaps Tom, should have to show yourselves. They will issue the passes in the names I give, and once we have ’em no one will question them. If I say that you are nine and seventy and they put that upon the pass, then we may easily fashion a two out of the seven.”
“Sweet Jesus,” groaned Daniel. “Nine and seventy!”
“I do not think you are taking this seriously, sir,” Henrietta said indignantly. “I am quite in earnest, I assure ye.”
“’Tis a nonsensical plan.” Daniel broke off a hunk of barley bread from the loaf. “I understand you would have done with our present discomfort, but nursery games of make-believe are not the way.”
Henrietta flushed at this dismissal. “’Tis not a nursery game. I know I can make it work if I but have the clothes. Tom may accompany me. There is nothing to say that he is for King not Parliament, and I am sure he will agree to say that he is for Parliament. Would you not, Tom?” She looked in appeal at the trooper, stolidly eating bread and cheese while the debate raged aroun
d him.
“If’n it’d serve a purpose,” he agreed. “But Sir Daniel has the right of it. ’Tis a crazy plan…moon-mad.”
Henrietta said nothing, but her mouth lost its soft curve and her jaw took on a rather determined set that Will at least recognized with a stab of foreboding.
They remained in the barn throughout the sodden afternoon. Daniel attempted to soften his dictatorial rejection of Henrietta’s plan, but she seemed impervious to all conversational tacks and all suggestions as to lighthearted ways in which to pass the time. In the end he gave up and lapsed into gloomy reflection. He could not accuse her of sulking, he decided, watching her through half-closed eyes. It was more as if she were deeply distracted by something.
Indeed she was deep in thought, making and discarding plans with a cool calculation. Without help, she would be obliged to carry out the scheme alone and in her present guise, but perhaps she could turn that to advantage. Suddenly aware of Sir Daniel’s covert scrutiny, she closed her eyes, yawning mightily as she leaned back against the barn wall, praying that he would not notice the betraying color she could feel creeping into her cheeks.
Daniel closed his own eyes. Sleep seemed the only way to pass the interminable hours until the rain should cease and they could start out again. Both Will and Tom had followed Harry’s example and there was little point in staying awake by himself. Within ten minutes, his deep, rhythmic breathing mingled with that of the others.
Henrietta’s eyes shot open. Stealthily, she got to her feet. Sir Daniel’s purse lay beside his saddlebags. Her furtive fingers extracted two crowns. She had no idea how much the passes would cost, but she could not appear to have great sums to spend. For a maid in her position a crown would amount to some considerable sacrifice—one that should convince the officers of her authenticity and genuine plight.
Tucking her hair into her knitted cap, fastening her leather jerkin and turning up the collar, she crept out of the barn into the gathering dusk where the rain had turned to a dismal drizzle. She ran across the barnyard, her booted feet squelching on the mud-puddled cobbles. The abandoned farmhouse, its blackened walls and roofless condition evidence of the fire that had driven away its inhabitants, loomed squat and slightly menacing in the misty gloom. She veered away across the fields toward the city of Nottingham lying some three miles distant.