Reckless Angel

by Jane Feather

  The presence of a young woman on a rawboned piebald gelding caused no remark. She was just part of the crowd. At sunset the order came to halt the march. Bivouacs were made in a cornfield, prisoners and escorts sank down with relief, but the prisoners were dependent for their supper upon the kindness of the countryfolk. The young woman, no longer mounted, moved amongst the men with a basket of apples, bright chatter upon her lips; she was one of many.

  Daniel took a crisp green apple. “My thanks, mistress.” Her eyes raked his face, took in the lines of fatigue and pain sharp etched around his eyes and mouth. She looked around the busy field. The setting sun threw long shadows.

  “Soldier…your pardon, sir.” She called to one of the soldiers escorting Daniel’s party. He strolled over to her.

  “Aye, mistress?”

  “Sir, I know this man,” she said. “His name is Bolt. He is a friend of my brother’s. I wonder…I wonder…since he is wounded, if I could offer him hospitality in my house for the night. ’Tis but a step down the road. He’ll be better for a mattress and a good supper. And you, of course, sir, since he’ll need escort.”

  The soldier considered this. The prospect of a decent night’s lodging and a good supper was tempting, and he had nothing against the prisoner, who was a gentleman after all. “Well, I take that most kind in ye, mistress,” he said. “I’ll just inform the captain.” He loped off in the direction of the officers’ bivouac.

  “Ye’ll find it easier to walk with the aid of a stick,” Henrietta said evenly, handing Daniel a heavy blackthorn that she had concealed in the folds of her skirt.

  So, it presumably fell to his hand to dispose of the escort, Daniel reflected, hoping that he still maintained sufficient vigor in his right arm to wield the blackthorn usefully. He leaned heavily upon the stick and tried to look as if he were drawing upon his last vestige of strength. It must have been convincing. When the soldier came back with permission for the visit, he looked with great sympathy at the prisoner and made no objection to the walking stick.

  “Eh, sir, ye’ll be much better for a decent bed this night.”

  “Aye, he will that,” Harry said. “Follow me, if ye will.” She set off across the field, leading them away from the camp. “’Tis quicker cross-country,” she called cheerfully over her shoulder as she dived through a gap in the far hedge.

  Her companions followed more slowly, since Daniel did not think he could convincingly increase his speed whilst leaning on a stick. Harry, in her enthusiasm, had clearly lost sight of this.

  “Just along this field and then over the stile,” she said, pausing to wait for them. “The house is on the other side of the lane.”

  “I thought ye said it was but a step,” grumbled the soldier, looking behind him at the distance they had traversed.

  “A big step.” She offered him a ravishing smile, then set off toward the stile, where again she waited for them.

  Her eyes flicked toward Daniel. “Perhaps ye’d better go first, sir.” So it was to be here. His hand tightened around the blackthorn, then with genuine awkwardness he clambered over the obstacle.

  Henrietta gathered up her skirt, climbed onto the first step, swung her leg over the top rung, teetered, then half jumped, half fell, landing in a heap on the grassy verge. Her cry was but barely issued when the soldier sprung across the stile to her assistance.

  “Eh, mistress, be you hurt?” He bent over her.

  Daniel raised the blackthorn, brought it down, and the soldier tumbled inert beside Henrietta.

  She scrambled to her feet. “’Tis a great shame. He is such a nice man. Ye’ve not killed him, d’ye think?”

  “I trust not,” Daniel said, bending to lay a finger against the artery in the soldier’s neck. “Nay, the pulse beats strongly. He may not be out for long.”

  “Then let us make haste. The piebald is tethered in that spinney.” She set off at a run toward a clump of trees at the far side of the field.

  Daniel tossed aside the blackthorn and followed, catching her easily. The exhilaration of the escape combined with the sharp spur of danger to banish his exhaustion, at least for the time being.

  Henrietta looked up at him and grinned. “I told you I had a plan.”

  “Aye, so you did.” He touched the tip of her nose with his forefinger and returned the grin.

  They plunged into the dark seclusion of the spinney and Daniel breathed a little more easily, although he knew the illusion of safety was just that. The unconscious soldier could be discovered at any moment and the hue and cry would begin. They were far too close to the camp for any real security.

  “Here we are.” Henrietta stopped in a clearing, where the piebald grazed placidly. She leaned against a tree trunk and closed her eyes for a minute.

  “Henrietta, are you feeling all right?” Daniel caught her chin with his good hand, lifting her face.

  She nodded. “Quite all right. ’Twas just the excitement.”

  He examined her upturned face and exclaimed in worried frustration, “God’s grace, but I wish you’d stayed at home as I told you to! This is no proper business for a pregnant woman.”

  “I do not think ’tis proper business for anyone,” she retorted. “But you would go to war again, so what else was I to do?” She pulled free of his hold. “Come, we must change our clothes.”

  He was obliged to accept that recriminations were both futile and time-wasting in the circumstances. “What have you in mind?”

  She shot him a look both mischievous and uneasy, her moment of dizziness forgotten. “Well, it seemed to me that they will be looking for a woman and a wounded man, not for a lad and his old granny.” She pulled a package from the saddlebag. “See, these are for you.”

  Daniel’s jaw fell and he stared aghast. She was holding out a voluminous print gown with a calico petticoat, and a heavy, hooded cloak. “You are not serious?” he said slowly.

  “Oh, do not be so prideful,” Henrietta snapped, having expected this reaction. “Y’are not going to start talking of the honor of the Drummonds, are you? You are fleeing for your life, Daniel! ’Tis no time to consider your dignity. D’ye think the king is?” She shoved the garments into his arms and turned back to the saddlebag, pulling out a smaller package.

  “Hell and the devil!” Protest made, Daniel shook out the gown, regarding it with revulsion. “Where did you acquire these, Harry?”

  “Off a washing line, very early this morning,” she informed him. “I did feel a little guilty at stealing them, but there did not seem any alternative.”

  “No, I suppose there wasn’t,” murmured Daniel, watching as she began to take off her own gown and petticoat. She shivered in her smock, yanking on a pair of woolen britches, her head bent as she struggled with the hooks at the waist.

  “This is absurd,” she exclaimed in chagrin. “I seem to be getting fat. I made sure they would fit me, but I cannot do them up.”

  “Your shape is changing,” he reminded her evenly, struggling one-handed out of his doublet. “Leave the hooks undone.”

  “I suppose I must. I will leave the shirt hanging outside to cover the muddle.” She suited action to words, then moved to help Daniel, dropping the petticoat over his head, fastening the tie at his waist. “I trust your britches will not show beneath. D’ye think you should take them off?”

  “No, I do not!” he declared forcefully. “I am not racketing around the countryside in my drawers!”

  “Oh, I think y’are ridiculous!” She dropped the gown over his head, gently maneuvering his wounded arm into the sleeve and hooking up the bodice. “There, what a splendid granny you make.” Laughter bubbled in her voice, sparkled in her eyes, and despite the desperate predicament Daniel could not help his own reluctant amusement as he imagined the picture he must present.

  “For God’s sake give me the cloak,” he said. “At least I may hide my shame beneath that.”

  “You must keep the hood over your face and walk bent over,” she instructed, pulling
the hood over his head. “With luck, ye’ll not have to do much walking. But you must ride sidesaddle.” She pulled on a rough woolen jacket, tucked her hair beneath a close-fitting knitted cap, and bent to grab a handful of mud from the ground at her feet.

  “Smear my face with this. ’Twill make me look more like an urchin.”

  “You are an urchin, you ramshackle creature.” He took the mud and spread it liberally across her cheeks, dabbed a smudge on the end of her nose, and then bent to kiss her. “I trust that at some point in the not-too-distant future, I’ll have the time and opportunity to do that properly.”

  “Well, you will not if you waste precious time grumbling at my plans.” But her voice caught, and the smile trembling on her lips held both promise and regret. “Can you mount one-handed?”

  “If I were not hampered by petticoats, I could do so with ease.” He managed nevertheless and stretched down his sound hand to Harry. “Put your foot on my boot.”

  She did so, his fingers clasped hers tightly, and she sprang upward, swinging astride the saddle in front of him. “The horse is quite fresh and should carry us to Oxford. I will take him back to the livery stable there and reclaim the mare, who will carry us to London. We should reach Oxford by daybreak and can be in London by the evening.”

  “We are going to Wheatley,” Daniel said.

  “But that is not what I planned.”

  “Maybe not,” he calmly replied, “but that is what I have planned.”

  “But surely it makes sense to make all speed to London. The longer we linger over the journey, the greater the danger. I do not see why you should take over the planning when I have done so well so far.” She sounded greatly injured.

  “If you think I am going to permit you to ride all night and all day, you must think again, madam wife,” Daniel returned, still perfectly calm. “You had no sleep last night, fainted once already with fatigue, and enough is enough. Even if you were not with child, I would not permit it. We go to the Osberts, and if y’are going to argue with me, just remember that I still have one strong hand.”

  She twisted her head to look at him over her shoulder. There was laughter in her brown eyes, glowing in her dirty face, but it could not hide their tiredness. “You are so ungrateful!”

  “Nay, elf, never that,” he said, suddenly soft. “Come now, let us be on our way. I would have you tucked up in bed as soon as possible.”

  “I trust you’ll be tucked up with me,” she said, leaning against him for a moment, before she shook the reins and the piebald moved out of the spinney, carrying its double burden.

  The banter was but disguise for the very real fear Daniel felt for her. He held her securely with his one arm. It would look to anyone as if the old woman riding pillion was hanging on to the youth for support, but they both knew the reverse to be the case. His own exhaustion he had dismissed by an effort of will and now concentrated on relieving the slight body in front of him of the need to hold herself upright, or to do anything but guide the gelding through the night.

  They steered clear of the roads, where they might run into a troop of Parliament’s soldiers on the lookout for any suspicious traveler. An old woman and a lad riding at night would be certain to draw attention, although not as much as a wounded man and a young woman. But fortune smiled upon them, and the closest they came to a dangerous encounter was chancing upon a troop of soldiers camping in a field. They managed to see the troop in time to turn back and skirt the field unnoticed, but the incident left them both with sweating palms and fast-beating hearts.

  Daniel’s anxiety grew apace as dawn streaked the sky and they circled Oxford. They would need to take the open road from this point and Henrietta was slumped against him, barely conscious. He now held the reins himself in one hand, the arm in its sling concealed beneath his cloak.

  “Sweetheart,” he whispered, “you must sit up and take the reins while we are on the lanes, in case we are stopped.”

  She struggled upright. “I beg your pardon. Did I fall asleep?” She stiffened as they rounded a corner. A troop of soldiers were striding ahead of them.

  “Ride straight through them,” he instructed softly. “We are on our way to assist at a birthing in Headington. I think ’tis the next village.”

  Her back straightened, her head came up. She pulled the knitted cap lower over her brow and pressed her knees against the gelding’s flanks, urging the weary beast into a trot. Daniel hunched forward, his hood concealing his face, and adjusted his skirts so that they completely covered his boots.

  They came up with the soldiers.

  “I give ye good day, good sirs,” Harry called down, her voice strong and cheerful.

  “Where be you off to at such an hour?” demanded a trooper.

  “Why to a birthin’ in Headington,” she responded. “’Tis a breech, and old granny ere is the best midwife fer miles.”

  The trooper raised a hand in acceptance and he and his fellows stood aside to let the gelding through.

  “’Tis to be hoped they do not realize how the horse is flagging,” she muttered, kicking the animal into a canter until they were out of sight. “In another couple of miles, we can take a shortcut over Shotover Hill. Perchance there’ll be no one but poachers abroad there at this hour.”

  She sounded relatively robust, Daniel noted with relief, even as he summoned up his own last reserves of strength. Twice more they were hailed by soldiers and Harry produced the same explanation for their dawn journey. A cheeky, begrimed urchin and a silent, shrouded old woman on such an errand gave rise to no suspicions, and at last they were able to turn off the lane and onto the common land of Shotover. The horse stumbled in a rabbit hole, but recovered, whinnying unhappily, laboring up the bracken-covered slope. They crested the rise, and Harry suddenly sighed, her shoulders sagging.

  “There is Osbert Court.” She gestured toward a stone gatepost. “We are here.” She slumped against him, finally defeated.

  Daniel tightened his supporting arm around her waist and simply took the reins again, guiding the horse through the gateposts. As if he sensed journey’s end, the gelding lifted his drooping head and stepped out along the driveway to the long, low, thatched house at its end.

  “They’ll still be abed,” Harry murmured weakly. “Go around the back to the stables.”

  But as he turned the horse, the front door swung open. “God’s grace, Harry, but I thought ’twas you from the window, although I could not credit it.” Will, in his nightgown, ran out. “The messenger brought news of my son from my mother. But, oh, Harry, I do not know how to tell ye of the battle…I have not been able to sleep, worrying…” Then his voice died as he took in Harry’s extraordinary companion. “Sir Daniel…Can it be…?”

  “One of Harry’s brighter ideas,” Daniel said dryly, resigned to the inevitable reception. He shook back the hood of the cloak and slid to the ground. “Lift her off, Will. I cannot with one arm, and she’s too fatigued to manage alone.”

  Will’s beam would have melted the Arctic snows. “I cannot believe y’are safe. Tom and I were to leave this morning for Kent. We thought it safe enough, since we’ve not been disturbed by troops here, and there’s none to suspect we’ve been at the battle. Tom has been so wretched. Oh, Harry, how did ye contrive it?” He lifted her down gently. “Come within.”

  Esquire Osbert, summoned from his bed, arrived in the parlor just as Sir Daniel Drummond, with Will’s help, was divesting himself of a voluminous print gown and calico petticoat.

  “Good God!” he ejaculated.

  “Quite so, Osbert,” Daniel said with a tired grin, holding out his good hand. “We must impose upon your hospitality for a short while, I fear.”

  “For as long as ye care to. We’ve had no visits from Parliament’s men and no reason to expect any, so the house is safe enough.” The squire, taking the hand, looked from the grubby urchin slumped on the settle to the wounded man. “But I understood ye to be taken prisoner, Drummond…Henrietta?”

&nb
sp; “Aye,” Daniel affirmed, and his smile shone with pride and tenderness. “Henrietta…reckless as ever upon her errands of mercy…contrived my escape. I owe her my life.” He bent to brush her forehead with his lips. Then he returned briskly to the matter uppermost in his mind. “She’s to be put to bed immediately. D’ye have a woman who could assist her?” He gestured to his useless arm. “I would do so myself, but, as you see…”

  “I will fetch old Nurse,” Will said promptly. “She has known Harry since we were children.”

  “I do not need to be put to bed.” Henrietta spoke up, her voice sounding strangely stiff and distant. “And I do not care to be spoken of as if I were not here. When do we start for London?”

  “You are going nowhere, my elf,” her husband said firmly.

  “Eh, Sir Daniel…eh, but I can’t believe my eyes!” Tom’s voice, hushed with astonished wonder, came from the doorway. “I was sure ye’d be a prisoner by now.”

  “So he was,” Henrietta said. “Until I came along.”

  Tom stared. “Well, I never. I said you was a wild hoity maid when we took you off the field at Preston.”

  Daniel laughed softly. “That good deed has brought me more blessings than one man in one lifetime is entitled to, Tom.” He turned back to the still figure on the settle. “Sweetheart, I want you in bed, now.”

  “But I shall be fit directly I have had something to eat,” she enunciated, frowning hard in concentration as she picked her words. “Then we can go to London to the girls. I have been thinking that we could borrow a cart. ’Twould be easier for your arm. You can keep your granny disguise and I will drive the cart. If we fill it with produce, then we will draw no attention, and once we are in London no one will ever question us.”

  Her plan was received in disbelieving silence, a silence broken by the arrival of an elderly woman in cap and apron who seemed to find nothing untoward at this strange gathering in the early morning. “Well, now, Miss Henrietta, what have you been up to this time?” She bustled across the room. “Fair peaky, ye looks, even under all that dirt.”