Книга - Royalist On The Run

Royalist On The Run
Helen Dickson


The fugitive colonel!Years ago, Colonel Sir Edward Grey broke off his engagement to Arabella, destroying their chance for happiness. Now, the English Civil War has thrown them back together, and, fleeing for his life, Edward needs Arabella’s help to protect his son.Lady Arabella Fairburn is reluctant to aid the man who once spurned her, yet sees he is still honourable at heart. Together, they escape to France, and Arabella must decide if she can a take a chance on Edward–and their rekindled passion–once again!







‘Arabella … Any minute now I may forget that I shouldn’t be here, alone with you.’

‘Please don’t go.’

At that unequivocal invitation, without restraint he closed the distance between them. His arms curled around her and once again she felt the immense thrill of being held against him. She was overcome by a passionate desire to surrender herself to him.

As his lips touched hers, despite the roughness of his beard which brushed her face, a sharp intake of breath betrayed her longing for him. The force between them had grown powerful and impatient, and the longing could no longer be denied.


Author Note (#ulink_c2748964-86b4-5b7c-a388-463b71e293dd)

The English Civil War in the seventeenth century, which saw almost ten years of conflict, upset the lives of people in England profoundly—and in ways they could not have envisaged. There were strong differences of opinion, and those loyal to the King found the concept of a country without a monarch at the head of its social order virtually unimaginable.

The war saw the execution of a king, followed by the establishment of a military dictatorship under Oliver Cromwell. It gave rise to new ideas, political and religious, but following years of repression and the death of Cromwell the people called for the monarchy to be restored.

I have always been fascinated by this time, and have chosen to focus this story on the Royalist cause, with my hero and heroine on the same side.




Royalist on the Run

Helen Dickson







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


HELEN DICKSON was born and still lives in South Yorkshire, with her retired farm manager husband. Having moved out of the busy farmhouse where she raised their two sons, she has more time to indulge in her favourite pastimes. She enjoys being outdoors, travelling, reading and music. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure. It was a love of history that drove her to writing historical fiction.


Contents

Cover (#uddfb1621-4a4c-543f-8905-85f36714da4f)

Introduction (#u95551353-ea4f-5c5c-9d1a-dc4d4aba3703)

Author Note (#uc30d387f-bd04-5673-86be-76b5c477a576)

Title Page (#u1884423b-bde0-5896-acfa-97a688b814d4)

About the Author (#u7d6a2387-31e6-556a-a286-ab3642eb2d93)

Chapter One (#u8db649e8-1ba9-5399-865d-0a2575d1fb6c)

Chapter Two (#u4a922f24-a4d9-53f3-a1aa-e46649ed15d8)

Chapter Three (#u2856419e-0dd6-528a-9102-2771c22e8ee5)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_7381acd0-4e63-5078-9d69-bc56f4e58fc4)

Arabella couldn’t say if it was the children crying in the room next to hers that woke her, the hard-edged rain pelting the windowpanes that sounded like stones, or a shutter banging against a wall in the far reaches of the house.

Opening her eyes, she listened to the wind blowing and moaning like a tortured soul over the land. She prayed the shutter wouldn’t blow off. And then she realised what it was that had disturbed her—the rhythmic beat of horses’ hooves approaching the house.

Soldiers. Who else could it be?

Closing her eyes, with foreboding in her heart she prayed they weren’t about to have a repeat of what had happened in the past, when Parliamentary soldiers had sacked the house.

‘Are the vultures about to gather again?’ she muttered, knowing she should pray hard and fast that it was not so, but she was too weary to do what had proved useless in the past. With her heart racing and shivering with cold, she got out of bed and went to the window and looked out. Rain was falling hard, but the moon between the swirling clouds was full and bright, illuminating the sturdy walls of this fourteenth-century manor house in the county of Gloucestershire. Four riders, Royalist soldiers—the wide-brimmed hats with swirling plumes worn by two of the men indicating this—were riding through the gatehouse. They halted in the courtyard, but for King or Parliament it made little difference. They would want feeding and there was little food at Bircot Hall to be had. The soldiers were dismounting, staring about them with a confident air.

Pulling on her dress of deep blue which she had shed earlier, one of the few dresses left to her after the Roundheads’ purge of the house in search of anything worth stealing, she heard a loud persistent hammering on the stout oak doors. Wind shook the house as she hurried from her room and the darkness seemed charged with energy. Every fibre of her being was on alert. She had a throbbing in the base of her skull all the while, for there is nothing as contagious as panic.

The atmosphere of acute anxiety was rife when she arrived in the hall, with the few servants—Sam Harding, his wife, Bertha, and their son, Tom, who remained loyal—and family standing close together, all with strained eyes and drawn faces, not knowing what to expect. Even Alice’s children, aware of the tension, were fretful and clinging to their mother’s skirts.

Arabella looked at them, at Alice, her sister, aged beyond her thirty years by the trials and tribulations the Civil War had wrought. In the absence of Robert, Alice’s husband, who had fought for the King and was now in exile in France, Alice had withstood the invasion of the Parliamentarians into her home and shown herself capable of gallantry at least equal to that of her husband. But she was weary with all that had befallen them and trying to keep her children fed.

Then there was Margaret, even tempered, calm and rational. She was Alice’s twenty-year-old sister-in-law. Holding deeply religious convictions, Margaret had no desire to complicate her life with a husband and children, preferring to devote herself to her family and to prayer. It would take more than the Civil War to break Margaret’s composure and her faith in God. But Alice had told Arabella that she was not totally convinced by her sister-in-law’s convictions. Margaret had led a sheltered existence for most of her life and Alice held a firm belief that Margaret would eventually succumb to the male sex when the war was over and the world was opened up to her.

Sam, an old and faithful retainer, glanced anxiously at Arabella.

‘Shall I open the door?’

Arabella looked at Alice, who nodded, trying to calm her three children. ‘I think you should, Sam,’ Arabella said, ‘and then maybe you should build up the fire. We cannot begin by offending them. Better to placate them—although being Royalist troops, they are not our enemy.’

When Sam had drawn back the bolts and opened the door, an officer strode briskly into the hall with his high, leather, silver-spurred boots ringing on the stone flags. The gust of frigid air was not much of a shock compared to the man standing there. Arabella stared at him, feeling something dark pass through her, like a cloud heralding a storm. Beads of rain clung to his eyebrows. Having removed the wide-brimmed hat from his head, with his long riding cloak hanging from his shoulders, a sword at his hip and the long dark hair curling about his ears, he had a dark, satanic look.

He was tall, his hair catching the glow from the few beeswax candles in wall sconces, which did little to lighten the gloom of the hall with its walls of dark-oak panelling. He was clean shaven, his skin swarthy, his face with its sharp cheekbones slashed with eyebrows more accustomed to frowning than smiling, which he was doing now. His mouth was hard and firm, the chin beneath it square, tense and with an arrogant thrust.

He was totally unconscious of himself or the effect he might produce on those gathered in the hall. Behind him came two of his men. His gaze passed over the inhabitants, as if searching for something—someone.

Arabella’s shock at the sight of him showed in sudden startling contrast, as her skin blanched, her eyes darkened and she put a hand to her throat as though it had become constricted. The room seemed to shrink around her.

Unaware of the stir he was causing in the young woman’s breast, he halted in front of the small group of habitants. He inclined his head slightly, not with anything which might be called humility, and his voice rang out in the vaulted hall.

‘I am Colonel Sir Edward Grey of His Majesty’s army.’

All Arabella could do was stare at Edward Grey, a man to whom she had been pledged when she was nine years old by their respective parents. At seventeen years of age, Edward had agreed to the contract, but as a man of five and twenty he’d been less interested to consider courtship and marriage to seventeen-year-old Arabella. After three years of war and the onset of fresh hostilities between King and Parliament, and Edward Grey’s infatuation with another woman, he renounced the requirements of the contract he had made with her father. Arabella would have found his breaking of their betrothal less painful had he not been so handsome—and in maturity, leaner, taller and more virile, he was far more so.

As a child she had adored him. He had been the hero of her girlish fantasies, in every way her shining knight. He had made her child’s heart pine for want of him, and on reaching seventeen she was sure she was in love with him. She recalled the nights she had lain in her bed unable to believe how lucky she was and, when the war came and he went to fight, she had been unable to endure the thought of his being wounded in battle.

When he cast her over the world had become a darker place. It had been five years since she had last seen him. Despite the war and all its hardships he was little changed. There was still the same masterful face and he had not lost his aura of pride. It was in his stance, in his bearing and in his eyes as they passed over those gathered. Neither time nor war, it seemed, had any power over Edward Grey.

Arabella had followed his exploits over the years, of how as a quick-thinking and energetic cavalry officer his bravery and confident attitude kept up the morale of his troops. His victories were much talked about and tales of his exploits, true or false, believed by all who listened to them.

She had thought of him often in the past and now he had thrust himself, a solid, real presence, into her future. She felt the trembling in her knees quivering up her thighs and into her stomach. She would faint in a minute if she didn’t get a hold of herself, but still she stood, enduring a cold and sickening shock. She experienced anger, outrage, bitterness, all the strong emotions which stiffened her spine. How dare he come here? How dare he insinuate himself into her presence after the callous manner in which he had treated her in the past?

Colonel! So, he had been promoted. He wore his new position well.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to think clearly. ‘I know who you are,’ she said quietly but firmly, moving slowly out of the shadows towards him. ‘Do you not recognise me, Edward?’

He stiffened, brought up sharp by her words. He suddenly swung his gaze to her and held her in the dark-blue depths, his eyes narrowing in masculine predatory appreciation. Suddenly she was the captive of those fathomless dark-blue eyes and, while doubtless those around them went on breathing, Arabella felt as if she and this man were alone in the world. She felt as if something inside her had moved, subtly but emphatically.

Recognition dawned and he took a step forward, a puzzled frown creasing his brow. ‘Arabella?’

Staring into those enigmatic blue eyes that had ensnared her own, Arabella felt as if she were being swept back in time. ‘Have I changed so much?’

The tantalising lines in his cheeks deepened as he offered her a smile that seemed every bit as welcoming and persuasive as it had once been. ‘You are—changed. Forgive me. It is you I seek. I was told I would find you here.’

Arabella stared at him. After all they had once meant to each other, when he had come to her home and they had walked and talked together, she had thought she was the most important thing in the world to him. When he had talked about the future they would have, how rosy that future had seemed to them both. And now, didn’t that past camaraderie allow them more than the stilted decorum of strangers?

For years she had imagined what it would be like if they should meet again, how she would spurn him as he had spurned her, yet now her heart beat a gentle tattoo in her breast like a besotted maid. She did not know whether to be angry, relieved or disappointed that he had sought her out, after all this time, but she suspected that whatever it was that had brought him did not bode well for the future.

A wry smile curled her lips and when she spoke her voice was noticeably lacking in warmth, conveying to him that she still bore a grudge, that she had not forgotten what he had done to her.

‘But you did not recognise me. It’s hardly flattering, though not surprising. Five years is a long time and much has changed. You have seen Stephen?’ she asked, eager for news of her brother, who had fought side by side with Edward Grey throughout the years of war.

He nodded. Tossing his hat and cloak on to a chair, he came to where she stood apart from the rest. He towered over her, but she was fearless. ‘He told me where I would find you. He is to join me—within hours, if everything goes well.’

Arabella’s heart lifted with joy. ‘Stephen is to come here?’ She looked at Alice. ‘That is good news, is it not, Alice?’

Trying to soothe her four-year-old daughter Nanette, Alice nodded, her eyes filled with gladness.

Edward’s gaze swept Arabella from top to toe. He lifted a dark winged brow and a faint smile touched his lips.

‘Look at you. You’ve no flesh on you.’

Turning from her, he went to the hearth where he stood, warming his hands. The logs Sam had fed into the fire sizzled as the flames ate into them.

‘Times are hard,’ she returned coldly, offended by his glib comment, but determined not to show it. ‘Rations are scarce and have been for many months. Look around you. You see how things are here. You are looking at a sacked house and starvation.’

He frowned, his expression showing his concern. ‘You have had trouble?’

‘We did have some uninvited guests, yes,’ she replied drily.

‘You have no men to protect you?’

‘Only a handful of servants—however ill equipped—and you have seen the house. It offers no defence against a hostile army.’

He looked at her hard. ‘And you? Did they harm you?’ She bit her lip. ‘Come now. This is war, Arabella, and I know well the atrocities done to women by the hands of a triumphant enemy.’

‘No—they left us alone. You were a captain when we parted company and now you are a colonel. I have nothing to say against your appointment, but if you have come here to commandeer livestock and foodstuffs with which to feed your army, insisting that military necessities come first, then you are going to be disappointed.’

‘That is not why I am here, and there are only four of us—five when your brother gets here. What happened here?’

‘Some months ago the Roundheads took over the house. Their behaviour was indefensible. The soldiers were quite out of control. Despite their puritan tendencies and without the steadying presence of proper leadership, the majority of them were drunk from dawn to dusk. Our Parliamentary brethren are not all as pious as they would have us believe.’

‘Were any of you molested in any way?’

Arabella shook her head. This was a conversation he should be having with Alice, but her sister was still trying to console Nanette, who was crying and clearly afraid of the fearsome-looking men who had burst into her home.

‘We were unharmed, but the war goes on and we live in constant dread that it will happen again. The Roundheads were here for four weeks. As you see they did not treat us or the house well. Doors were broken down, panelling ripped from the walls as they searched for places of concealment, hoping to find Royalists evading capture. Horses, sheep and cattle and all other livestock were rounded up along with the deer in the park. The granaries were emptied—along with cellars of ale and wine. It will be a long time before the land gives a return.’

Arabella looked beyond him to the door where a young woman had entered and, perched on her hip, she held a child. The infant, a boy, was about two years old. He hid his face in the woman’s shoulder, his thumb firmly in his mouth, seemingly afraid to look about him, to be curious as small children are. Puzzled, she looked from the child to Edward.

‘Who is this? Whose child is he?’

Edward beckoned the young woman forward. ‘Dickon is my son, Arabella. This is Joan, his nurse.’

Arabella dragged the air into her tortured lungs, fighting for control, and as she did so the boy lifted his head and his thumb plopped from his mouth. Turning his head, he looked directly at her. She was unprepared for the pain that twisted her heart. It was like looking at Edward. The boy had the same startling blue eyes framed with long black lashes. His hair was dark, the curls framing his exquisite face. She could not tear her eyes away from him. Even at so young an age he had the same arrogant way of holding his head as his father, the same jut of his chin. Yet there was a distress in him, an anxiety that was unusual for one so young.

Tearing her eyes away from the boy, she fixed them on his father. ‘I heard that your wife died, Edward.’ So deeply had Arabella loathed the woman Edward had married that even though she had died the bitterness Arabella held still remained and she would choke if she allowed her name to pass her lips.

‘Yes. Anne died shortly after giving birth to Dickon,’ Edward uttered, his voice flat.

She stared at him, searching for an emotion that would tell her how he grieved the loss of his wife. But there was nothing. ‘I am sorry for your loss.’ Her voice was as emotionless as his had been, but she could not pretend to emotions she did not feel.

‘And I for yours. Your husband was killed during the battle at St Fagans, I believe.’

Her expression tightened on being reminded of John Fairburn. His body had been brought back home in a coffin for burial. Having no wish to look on John’s dead body and being told he had been so badly wounded she wouldn’t recognise him anyway, she had buried him with the rest of his ancestors in the churchyard.

‘Yes. I am a widow—but that is none of your concern. Whatever the reason for your being here, I want you to know you are not welcome. You and I have lived our separate lives for a long time now and I would like it to remain that way. When you married Anne Lister you severed all ties between us.’ The expression on his face seemed to tell her that nothing she might do or say could reach him.

‘I will, of course, do as you wish, Arabella, and leave when Stephen gets here, but it is also imperative that I find a temporary home for my child.’

Arabella began to shake her head from side to side, for it was beginning to penetrate into her dazed mind what he had in his.

‘You cannot mean that you expect me to...’ Her expression was appalled. ‘No—no, I will not. How can you ask this of me? Have you not done enough to...humiliate me in the past? You cannot, in all conscience expect me to—to take him in.’

‘There is nowhere else, Bella—nowhere that is safe—no one else I can trust.’

Bella! He had called her Bella! No one else had called her that since he... Angrily she thrust such sentimental thoughts from her. ‘There has to be. You have a sister—Verity. Surely...’

‘With England under the rule of Parliament, Verity and her family have sought exile in France.’

‘Then why didn’t they take your son with them?’

‘I was too late.’

‘But why me? Why bring him to me?’

‘I have need of an ally in whom I can place complete trust. I sought you out because I thought that person might be you. There is a heavy price on my head. To lay their hands on my son would be a coup indeed for the Parliamentarians. Already the homes of my family and my estate in Oxfordshire have been invaded and torn apart by Parliament’s search for me and my son.’

‘And what of our safety?’ she demanded, her eyes burning with righteous anger that he could demand this of her. ‘By coming to this house you have endangered us all. To give succour to your son would count as treason to Parliament. They would hang us all.’

‘Not if you were to pass him off as your own should the need arise.’

Appalled, Arabella stared at him. ‘You ask this of me?’ she gasped. ‘Have you no heart? I had a child, too, Edward—a daughter.’ Tears pricked her eyes and her throat drew tight as she thought of her own dead daughter. ‘She was called Elizabeth. She died of a fever just one year after I received news of my husband’s death.’

‘I am truly grieved to hear that,’ Edward said, compassion tearing through him. ‘Stephen told me about your daughter.’

‘Did he indeed? I am only surprised you remembered I existed at all. And now you come here and dare to ask me—a woman you have not seen in five years, a woman you had so little care for you broke our betrothal—to pass your son off as my own?’ Her words carried with them all the raw emotion she felt over the death of her child.

Her words brought a look of pain to his eyes. ‘You are wrong, Arabella. I did care for you—deeply. I must confess that my conduct towards you at the time has been a cause of enormous regret for me and I hope that my manners have improved over the years.’

Arabella was outraged, her eyes burning. ‘I wouldn’t know anything about that, but I suppose because you believe you have acquired some manners, you thought it would be all right to come here when my brother suggested it. How dare you presume! How dare you think you could do that to me—to place me in such an impossible position?’

‘I do realise the gravity of the situation. It was not my intention to cause you hurt, Arabella.’

Arabella’s emotions came rushing to the surface and the anguish of the last few unhappy years were released in one sweeping moment. ‘I don’t care. The answer is no. How can you do this to me—to ask me to take care of your child when I am still grieving for my own? I am not made of stone. How can you put me in a position where I must turn a child from the house?’ she cried with unutterable sorrow, deliberately not allowing her gaze to fall on the child in the woman’s arms. ‘But I must. I really cannot possibly... I cannot allow your child into my life...after what I have suffered—after what you did...’

‘I am sorry.’

‘You are sorry? Being sorry is not enough.’

His audacity took the breath from her body. She wanted to shout at him, to express all the heartbreak, pain, anger and the hatred and jealousy his alliance and marriage to Anne Lister had caused her. She prided herself on her calm dignity, her upright head and steadfast refusal to allow him to see how much he had tortured her spirit and her flesh. She would not, but she would dearly like to shout to the world of her outrage, her bitterness and revulsion at the idea and his nerve in bringing his child, Anne Lister’s child, into what she now considered to be her home. The loss of her daughter was with her for ever. In her sleep she dreamed of her. She would awaken with wet eyes, her face tearstained.

‘Dickon is my son, Arabella,’ Edward said, a fierce light in his eyes. ‘I have to make sure that he is safe.’

‘Why? Is there to be more strife? Is that what brought you here?’

She knew this must be true since there had been a shifting of troops towards the west for some time now. Sam told of the Parliament army moving in great swathes towards the River Severn, with oxen and carts pulling canon and laden with deadly loads of powder kegs. Everyone was thankful they didn’t come within distance of Bircot Hall.

‘It is likely. I am to join the King’s army. Malcolm Lister will not rest until he has my son in his clutches.’

Arabella stared at him, understanding at last why he was so desperate for her to care for his son. ‘So the two of you are still at loggerheads.’ She remembered Anne Lister’s brother. She had never liked him. There was a slipperiness about him and he possessed a streak of ruthlessness and an iron control that was chilling. Because Edward was a King’s man he had done his utmost to prevent him marrying his sister, but Anne had been determined. ‘I thought war would make a good substitute for private quarrels. You are a wanted man. You have put us all in grave danger by coming here.’

‘There was nothing else I could do. I will not surrender to them. Malcolm Lister knows that, which is why he will use my son, knowing he is the only reason I would give myself up to Parliament.’

‘Malcolm Lister is your brother-in-law. He would not hurt his nephew.’

‘I sincerely hope not. He married in the summer before the King raised his standard at Nottingham, all of nine years ago. It appears that his wife is unable to bear him a child so he has focused on Dickon. He hates the thought of him growing up a Royalist. As siblings Malcolm and Anne were close—he adored her and, for that reason and because of my allegiance to King Charles, he never forgave me for marrying her. He harbours some burning desire for revenge. He would take Dickon from me if he could and see me hanged. Do I have to remind you that the man is a Parliamentarian?’

Without another word he turned on his heel to speak to the two men who accompanied him, his long legs eating up the ground with each stride. Arabella thought she never knew of any other man who could in so short a time fill a room with his presence and become the master of a house as if he owned every stick and stone of it.

Arabella saw he had grown more worn, his face lined—the result of the endless anxieties that pressed upon him, but it was all still there: his self-assurance, his arrogance, his strength and his overbearing will which would let none cross him. There was still the twist to his strong mouth, that powerful, passionate certainty that though Edward Grey might be against the rest of the world, the fault was theirs, not his.

Having deliberately refrained from looking at Edward’s son, Arabella now looked at the woman holding the boy. She was young with dark hair and a wide mouth. While she was hardly a beauty, she had a wholesome look. She also looked weary, the child heavy in her arms. Her unease on trying to hold on to the boy was evident. His gaze was steady and grave, although his rosy mouth trembled with tears that were not far away.

Nanette’s tears had ceased and Alice seemed to take hold of herself. She spoke to Margaret. ‘Will you take Joan upstairs, Margaret—and see what you can find in the way of a bed and some food for her and the child? They must be tired and hungry.’

‘Thank you,’ Joan uttered, her voice soft and strained. ‘We’ve been travelling all day. Something to eat and somewhere to lay the child would be welcome.’

‘Sir Edward,’ Alice said when he returned to them. ‘I am Alice, Stephen and Arabella’s elder sister. I can understand if you don’t remember me—it has been a long time.’

‘Of course I remember you,’ he said, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. ‘How could I forget? Our families were close before the war. When you visited your father in London, you were always welcoming and charming as I recall.’

‘It’s kind of you to say so. I bid you welcome to Bircot Hall.’

Arabella bristled at her sister’s words. Edward Grey had destroyed her trust once, she was not so hasty to invoke such favour for a man whose motives she could not discern.

‘I am sorry that you see my home in a state of turmoil.’ Alice’s eyes shone with tears, but she did not acknowledge their presence. ‘Without our menfolk, as my sister explained, we have suffered greatly at the hands of the Parliamentarians. We have had several Roundhead patrols since. Mercifully they left us alone, but that does not guarantee that they will the next time. Robert, my husband, holds you in high esteem. It is indeed an honour to have you in our home.’

Edward inclined his head. ‘Thank you. Your hospitality is greatly appreciated.’

Arabella almost choked on the words that rose and stuck in her throat. How could Alice betray her when he had treated her, Arabella, so badly?

As if sensing her anger, Alice gave her a look of reproof. ‘Calm yourself, Arabella. This is war and no time for private feuds.’

So chastened, though unable to conceal the resentment she continued to feel for Edward Grey—a resentment that increased when she observed the amused twitch to his lips—Arabella dutifully clamped her own together.

‘We have had no news of my husband for months, Sir Edward,’ Alice said. ‘All I know is that he is in France.’

‘I am sorry I cannot help you, Lady Stanhope, but if he is in France then he will be safe.’

‘I thank God for that. It will be good to see Stephen again. If you are to stay overnight, the stables are at your disposal,’ Arabella was quick to say. ‘At least they are warm and dry.’

‘Arabella, where are your manners?’ Alice chided her once more. ‘Sir Edward and those with him are our guests. The house may be in a sorry state, but it has more rooms than we know what to do with.’ She smiled at Edward. ‘They are at your disposal. Now please excuse me. I will arrange for them to be made ready. The hour is late and I must put the children to bed.’

Having removed his cloak, Arabella gasped when she saw a dark stain on Edward’s jacket.

‘You are wounded.’

‘I received a sword thrust in the shoulder during a skirmish with a small band of Roundheads on the way here. They were spoiling for a fight. Fortunately we fought them off—although Stephen held back to make quite sure we weren’t followed. It’s a common enough wound. One of the men dressed it, but it continues to bleed.’

‘Come with me and I will tend to it,’ she said curtly.

Taking up a candle, she walked across the hall to the kitchens, through which the still room was located. It was where Alice liked to mix her own remedies. Arabella often helped her. It was clean and quiet and fragrant with summer smells of thyme, rosemary and lavender, berries and seeds, and herbs that were readily available in the hedgerows.

Glad of the opportunity to speak with her alone, Edward followed her. Her skirts swayed gently as she walked and the line of her back was straight and graceful. Removing his jacket, his sling and his sword, he slipped his arm out of his shirt sleeve to expose the not-so-clean bandage covering his injured shoulder. Sitting on a stool, he waited for her to proceed.

Trying to barricade herself behind a mask of composure as she held up the candle, Arabella’s gaze was reluctantly drawn to his exposed flesh. Lighting two more candles better to see, carefully she cut away the blood-soaked bandage. His bare, muscled arm and shoulder gleamed in the soft light. It was excruciatingly intimate to touch his flesh. It was warm and firm. He was strong, sleek but not gaunt, all sinew and strength, his muscles solid where her fingers touched.

Forcing herself not to think about his manly physique and to focus on the raw wound, which drove such thoughts away, she inspected it carefully. It looked angry, a thin trickle of blood oozing from the lacerated flesh. Tentatively she felt the surrounding tissue with her finger. He winced. It was obviously painful to the touch.

‘The wound appears to be quite deep. It has to be cleaned. You say it happened earlier today?’

‘Hopefully it won’t have had time to fester.’ Watching her as she lit more candles, filled a bowl with water and gathered cloths with which to wash the wound, he said, ‘You have changed, Arabella.’

‘War does that to people,’ she answered, her manner brusque as she proceeded to clean the wound, her pale hands working quickly and efficiently.

‘I am sorry you’ve had to endure its hardships.’

She shot him a look. ‘Why? You did not start the war.’

When she began to wash the wound his expression tightened and he gritted his teeth. Her heart wrenched, having no wish to cause him more pain. Yet she was quietly pleased by the sight and it gave her some satisfaction of him being less that formidable.

‘How long have you been at Bircot Hall?’ he asked.

‘Two years now. We really are quite impoverished. We have managed to put some of the house back to some kind of order. The property will be restored later, when it can be afforded—when the war is over. We hope it will be soon—although when King Charles was executed we thought it was the end of Royalist hopes.’

‘Not when the Scots proclaimed his son King of Great Britain and after Cromwell routed the Royalists at Dunbar.’

‘You were there?’

Edward nodded, as memories of that bloody battle slashed like a blade through his mind’s eyes. ‘I was there. I was one of the lucky ones. I managed to escape over the border and back into England, where I made my way south.’

‘We have heard that King Charles is heading south with a Scottish army. Is this true?’

He nodded, avoiding her gaze. ‘It is. I will join him when I know Dickon is safe.’

There was a stillness in the air, a foreboding that sent a cold shiver down her spine. ‘I can’t bear to think there is to be more fighting.’

‘We are all weary of it. There have been times when we were defeated, but we are not destroyed.’

‘And new plots are being devised to continue the fight every day. If you are killed? What then?’

‘If you agree to let Dickon remain here for the time being, should the Royalists be defeated, then I would ask you to take Dickon to my sister in France.’

‘I see.’ Pausing in her task, she cast him a wry glance. ‘Your audacity knows no bounds. You ask too much of me, Edward.’

He met her gaze steadily. ‘I know. I am desperate, Arabella,’ he said softly. ‘My property has been confiscated. My son is all I have left. I have to know that he is safe. The war will end—but not as you or I would like. The way Cromwell has trained his army is something else. Never in England, until now, has there been an army like it. For the first time soldiers are properly trained. They proved how well at Dunbar.’

Looking into his eyes, she saw there were haunted shadows and she guessed that, like every other soldier who had survived, the ugliness of the wars had left lasting scars on his mind. ‘So—what are you saying? That there is no hope?’

‘Unless the King can produce a miracle, the cause is doomed.’

‘I fear we are all doomed whatever the outcome.’

‘You sound bitter, Arabella.’

She gave him a cold look. ‘Bitter? I remember those months after Marston Moor, when everyone thought the war must end. It seemed impossible then that it would start up again. How soon they were to be proved wrong. And now look at me. My husband is dead—along with our child. My father was killed at Naseby and my brother is preparing to prolong the fight. I have no home to call my own and I have been forced to throw myself on my sister’s charity, whose house has been violated by men who care nothing for the cause but only for what they can plunder from the homes of decent people without respect to their persons. Yes, Edward, I am bitter. Bitter that there are those not satisfied and continue to stir up the ugly storm of war, determined to drag it out to the bitter end.’

‘No corner of England has remained untouched by the evils of war, Arabella. In every shire and every town, families have been divided and much blood spilled. With the failure to find a political solution all England is in confusion. Many remain loyal to the king.’

‘As a man or as a symbol?’

‘The latter, I think. When the end comes there will be no recovery.’

‘King or Parliament—it’s not as if war decides who is right—only who has the power to rule.’

‘I fear you are right. Royalists are fleeing in their hundreds to the Continent like rats deserting the sinking ship.’

‘If they loved their homes more, they would stay behind and share the burdens of defeat with their womenfolk.’

Edward was silent while she wrung a bloodied cloth out in the bowl of water, then, ‘Do you bear malice toward me—for what happened between us?’

‘Malice?’

Briefly Arabella closed her eyes. It was painful to recount such memories, especially when she had become so accustomed to burying them—or trying, for no matter how hard she had tried she had not succeeded. Secretly she had missed him more than she would have believed possible, for how could she ever forget how volatile, mercurial and rakishly good looking this man was?

She recalled the pain she had felt when told he had renounced their betrothal, the horror and humiliation of it. She had promised herself that never again would she allow herself to be so treated.

Reaching deep inside herself, she pushed thoughts of his rejection of her away. Thinking like this served no purpose. There was nothing to be gained from these haunting thoughts. Shaking the shroud of the past from her, she set herself firmly to this one task of tending his wound. Besides, she had other matters on which she must focus now—his child and what she was going to do about him.

‘Why should I bear malice? I can understand it must be a grim prospect indeed for a man who is compelled to exchange marriage vows with an unappealing woman merely to satisfy his family. You wanted Anne Lister, I knew that. Despite her family being for Parliament, the moment you were introduced you were smitten by her.’

He nodded gravely. ‘That I cannot deny.’

‘You merely married the woman of your choice.’

‘Aye. And look how that turned out,’ he replied, his lips twisting bitterly, seated on the stool at the side of the table.

‘I heard and I am sorry.’

‘Are you, Arabella?’

‘I believe she left you.’

‘After eight months of marriage she went back to live with her brother—her father having been killed at the beginning of the war.’

‘I—also heard that she wanted some kind of judicial separation.’

‘She was carrying my child. I refused to give her one.’

Lowering her eyes, Arabella wondered how he had felt when his wife told him she wanted to leave him. Had Anne’s rejection of him hurt him as much as he had hurt her, Arabella, when he shattered all her hopes and dreams?

‘If she had not been with child, would you have let her go?’

He nodded. ‘I would not have kept her with me against her will. She was not like you, Arabella. Commitment was not much in her thoughts when she married me.’ He studied her face closely. ‘I should not say this, I know, but I did miss you when we parted.’

‘No, Edward, you should not. You left and for me nothing was the same any more. What we have to share is no more than a distant memory, as old and useless as the lame nag the Roundheads left behind.’

‘I hurt you.’

‘You made a promise you did not keep.’

‘No, Arabella. My parents made a promise on my behalf. As yours did.’

‘That does not alter the fact that you let me down. I got on with my life when you married Anne Lister. I believe the wedding was held in the presence of the King.’

She smiled thinly, remembering how beautiful Anne had been. The Listers had been known to Arabella’s family, but because of the Listers’ allegiance to Parliament they were never friends. As the only daughter of doting parents and the sister of three adoring elder brothers—two of whom had lost their lives at Naseby—Anne had been spoiled and indulged all her life. She harmed everything she touched. With a sly look and a mere inflection of her voice she could cause pain to the happiest of hearts.

Arabella had often asked herself why Anne was like she was, inflicting cruelty for its own sake, taking a sensuous delight in seeing another’s pain. Arabella could see her now—those slanting green eyes beneath the brown hair, that hard, red-lipped mouth. It seemed incredible to Arabella that anyone could have been deceived by her. Yet her power to charm had been overwhelming. People fell under her spell like skittles knocked over.

But Arabella had not been taken in, not for a moment. The moment they had laid eyes on each other, both of them had been aware of a mutual hostility. It hadn’t mattered to her one iota that Edward was a King’s man—indeed, she had preferred the rich trappings of royalty than the spartan, puritanical way of life her family tried to force on her.

But Anne would have none of it. She had been determined to have Edward and married him without her brother Malcolm’s consent when he was away with his regiment. Once she had what she wanted she flaunted herself shamelessly when in the company of Edward’s friends. Edward’s appeal was diminished and she was entirely without mercy. Their heated quarrels were notorious and it was no secret that Anne had begun to look elsewhere for her pleasure.

‘Anne had a large inheritance from her mother,’ Arabella went on. ‘So, yes, Edward, you married well. When you ended our engagement when the first conflict was over, like many more Royalists who had no intention of abandoning the cause, you needed funds to raise a troop of horses. You would have been a fool if you had let her slip from you and didn’t seize her fortune for yourself.’

His face hardened. ‘You think I am that mercenary?’

‘You gave me no reason to think otherwise.’

‘However you interpret it, it served my purpose. At the time the whole future of England was at stake. Desperate means called for desperate measures.’

‘Are you saying you didn’t love your wife?’ she ventured pointedly.

‘I thought I did. I was wrong and you were right. I needed money. Emotions did not count.’

‘Emotions, but not honour. Your actions were not exactly subtle and did you no credit in my eyes.’

He looked at her for a long considered moment before saying, ‘You are a different person, Arabella. I feel I am meeting you for the first time.’

‘And do you approve?’

‘I approved before—however badly I behaved towards you.’

‘Then why did you leave me?’ She looked at him steadily as she waited for him to answer, yet not wanting to hear it. ‘Please don’t tell me. I knew Anne. She was very beautiful—and exciting. No man could resist her. You were no exception—and I was very young and inexperienced in the ways of the world.’

‘But now you are a woman.’

‘I had to grow up quickly when I married John.’

‘Were you not happy with John Fairburn?’

‘Marriage is not always what we expect.’ More than that she would not say, but with her head bent over her task so he could not see her face, she thought of silent meals, of the brutality she had been forced to endure in her cold bed, of John constantly chastising her for any transgression, however small, and she said nothing.

‘After John died followed so soon by our home being sacked and burned when the Roundheads came calling, with Stephen away and London being an unsafe place to be, I came to Alice.’ He was watching her intently. Arabella could feel the heat of his gaze burning through the fabric of her dress. ‘I shall be a while longer,’ she said, struggling to sound casual and unconcerned. ‘Are you comfortable?’

‘Perfectly.’

She jumped at the sound of his voice so close to her ear. Her eyebrows sloped gently above her eyes and furrowed slightly as she continued to clean away the dried-on blood from around the wound. Her hair fell across her eyes in such a way as to provide a drape from his penetrating gaze that so disturbed her.

‘Please put your head to one side. This is very precise work.’ She was finding it difficult to concentrate with him so close, close enough for her to breathe in the smell of his skin.

‘Is it in your way?’

‘Yes, it is. It’s blocking the light.’

He tilted his head back. ‘Is this enough? Can you see now?’

‘It’s fine.’

The cold of the still room was welcoming, but it could not keep pace with the heat building up inside Arabella’s body. She had not seen him for five years. She should be immune to him by now and it angered her to know he still had the power to stir her deepest emotions.

She remembered how, before he had ended their betrothal, he had teased her and playfully tugged her hair as though she were still a child, unaware how her blood thrummed in her veins and her heart beat quickened in her breast, as she yearned for him to look at her the way he looked at Anne Lister.


Chapter Two (#ulink_18154cdc-516c-55d2-9e02-6a015ece877f)

Edward noticed how Arabella gnawed her bottom lip with her small white teeth as she became absorbed in her task. With her head bent he wanted to place his hand on it, to feel her warmth, to touch her skin. He wanted to ask her more about her life. He saw something different about her, something that had not been there before. It was a look that comes with maturity and suffering.

Suddenly she looked up and a pair of velvet amber eyes met his. They wrenched his heart for they were filled with sadness and soul-searching vulnerability that spoke of her loss and made him wonder just how deeply the ugliness of war had affected her. No one was immune to the loss of loved ones, but to see it on one so young affected him deeply.

Had she found happiness in her marriage? Her brief reply to his question told him she had not. Edward had never met John Fairburn, but he had the impression from others that he was not a likable man and harsh in his treatment of others. When Arabella had spoken about the death of her daughter he had seen a look of total desolation in her eyes. It was the sort of look that could break even the hardest heart. It had taken everything in him to stop his hand reaching out to her, to tell her again how sorry he was for her loss but, all things taken into account, it was wiser to sit still while she tended his wound—and watch and listen to her breathe.

He couldn’t believe how changed she was. The awkwardness had gone and even though she was as slim as a willow sapling, she was the most stunning creature he had seen in a long time. No matter how his eyes searched her face and form, he could not find that gangling girl from before they were betrothed, who had hid behind her mother’s skirts and skittered shyly away when he approached.

In the past, of course he had seen her, been aware of her, had always enjoyed her company once she had lost her shyness of him, but he had never really looked at her, not properly, not deeply, as he was doing now. But he had not forgotten how bright her eyes were, how soft and generous her mouth and the small, tantalising indentation in her round chin. Nor had he forgotten the softness of her heart, her genuine warmth, and the trust he had seen in her eyes when she had looked at him. They were the things he had remembered when, in his desperation to find somewhere safe for Dickon, he had thought of Arabella. Dickon was the most important person in his life. He would sacrifice or endure anything for his son.

Even after everything that had happened in the past, he knew she was the one person he could trust with his son.

From the moment he’d recognised her in the hall, he’d found her nearly impossible to keep from openly staring. Her red-gold hair tumbled freely about her shoulders, a shining, flaming glory to the torch that was her beauty. Her amber eyes had called to him. Her smooth, creamy skin, glowing beneath the softness of candlelight, beckoned his fingers to touch and caress.

Edward, wallowing in his own misery over his failed marriage to Anne, didn’t know why it should be, but when he had heard of her marriage the thought of Arabella in the arms of another man had made his gut twist. That was when he felt the impact of the mistake he had made.

At the time Anne had seduced him with her beauty and her body. She was exciting, enticing and their coming together had been as swift and as wild as a summer storm, their impulsive wedding the act of a desperate man. He had been unable to resist her. But happiness had eluded him. Just two months into their marriage their passion had burned itself out. He’d known her body, but he’d never managed to touch her soul. Nothing had prepared him for the shame or the pain at her subsequent betrayal.

Meeting Arabella after five years, who would have thought that she would have grown to such beauty? Normally self-assured, strong and powerful, Edward felt a certain unease at the way she made him feel off balance and hungry for something he couldn’t put a name to. She stirred something in his soul, a sense of wonder and yearning that he’d forgotten was possible. The hunger was soul deep and it scared him.

Arabella stood back. ‘There, it is done. The wound will leave a scar, but it should not trouble you much.’

‘Damn the wound. What about us?’ His words were impulsive, spoken in the heat of his roiling emotions and without thought.

She met his gaze levelly, cool, composed and in complete control of the emotions raging inside. ‘Us, Edward? How dare you suggest such a thing? I am no longer that awkward, sensitive girl you knew. I have changed. We both have. You made your choice five years ago, and if you were any sort of a gentleman you would leave me in peace.’

‘Come now, Arabella. The prospect has a certain allure, you must agree.’

‘I am sure you find allure in most things, Edward—and most women.’

‘You accuse me unjustly. I only ask that you do not block your heart against me.’

She stared at him across the distance that separated them, a multitude of desires hanging in the air, a multitude of doubts filling the chasm between them. How could she believe him? How could she believe anything he said? She did not trust this intimacy—it was her own response to it that she feared the most.

‘My heart is my affair, Edward. But where we are concerned, I advise you to look elsewhere.’

Turning on her heel, she swept from the room.

* * *

Returning to the hall, Arabella felt her spirits lift considerably when she saw that her beloved brother Stephen had arrived. Her face broke into a wide smile as she ran into his arms and felt his close about her.

‘Oh, Stephen!’ she said laughingly, drawing back and looking up into his familiar face. ‘I cannot tell you how delighted I am to see you again. It has been too long. Far too long.’

It was three years since last she had seen him and she observed how those years had taken their toll. Of medium height and with light brown hair that fell to his shoulders, he was leaner than she remembered, his eyes not so merry as they had once been and his face lined with worry. But with a moustache and small beard in the style of the executed King Charles, he was still a handsome man.

‘It has, Arabella.’ He studied her closely, his eyes tender. ‘How are you?’

She smiled gently. ‘Things could be better, but we get by.’

‘And you have suffered much.’

‘Yes, but I had Alice to help me through it and I’ve had much to occupy my time here. Have you seen Alice?’

‘Not yet. She’s settling the children. Thank God when the Bircot estate was sequestered she was allowed to continue living here and receive a percentage of the income. I gather this is the case with many of the wives of men who fought for the King and continue to support the cause.’

‘That is true, but as you will recall she had to go to London to plead for it personally before the committee concerned at the Goldsmiths’ Hall. Robert may have fought on the King’s side, but wherever Alice’s sympathies are directed, she did not. She has done no wrong and cannot be held responsible for what he did—there can be no guilt by association.’

‘We must be thankful for that.’

‘There have been times when she has been quite desperate.’

‘She is not alone. The taxes and fines imposed upon anyone who supported the king are extortionate. Is she able to pay them?’

‘Yes. I was able to help her there. John’s lawyer managed to save a small property he owned in Bath from sequestration. When I came to live with Alice and the fines on Bircot rose to such a degree that she could not pay them, I sold the house in Worcester to help.’

‘That was indeed generous of you, Arabella. But when your husband’s house was destroyed in Wales, why did you not go to Bath and live there?’

‘I had a child to care for. Alice suggested I come to Bircot. Having no wish to live by myself, I agreed. Alice wrote, telling you that the Roundheads were encamped at Bircot and took almost everything we had. There was also an incident when Alice and the children would have been turned out and the house occupied by a Roundhead officer had smallpox not been rife in the area. One of her children was ill with a fever at the time. Mercifully it turned out not to be smallpox, but Alice did not enlighten the Roundhead intent on taking up residence at Bircot Hall and casting her out. For this reason she was allowed to remain in the house and he left with great haste.’

‘Has she talked about going to join Robert in France?’

‘Of course she would dearly love to join him, but it’s likely they would lose the house and land were she to do that. She finds it hard. Separation from her husband adds a further distressing element to her life.’

‘Poor Alice. I hope it is soon over and some form of order returns to England so those in exile can return.’ He glanced around the hall. ‘Where is Edward? You have spoken to him?’

Arabella’s expression became cool. ‘I have just been tending his wound in the still room. No doubt he will appear when he’s donned his shirt.’

Stephen glanced at her sullen features. ‘I am sorry, Arabella. I know what you must be thinking, but I had no choice but to bring him here. Do you still bear him ill will?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose I do, but it doesn’t matter any more. Too much has happened to me in the last five years to spare a thought for Edward Grey.’

Stephen studied her serious face, unconvinced by her remark. ‘Marriage to John was not an easy time for you, was it, Arabella?’

‘No,’ she answered, seeing no reason to hide the truth from Stephen, who had known what John was like. ‘But he is dead now and he can’t hurt me any more.’

‘I blame myself. I was the one who brought him to our home. Had I known Father would seize upon the opportunity to marry you off to him, I would not have done so.’

‘You have nothing to blame yourself for, Stephen. It wasn’t your fault.’

‘It is generous of you to say so.’

She smiled. ‘I mean it.’

‘I—hope you don’t mind Edward coming here, Arabella. He is worried about his son. There really is no one to care for him. It would be a great help if he could remain here for a time—with you and Alice. It will be good for Dickon to be among children.’

He turned suddenly when Alice appeared across the hall. Striding to meet her, Arabella watched the touching and emotional scene between brother and sister as they greeted each other after so long an absence. Margaret was upstairs settling the children.

‘I’m sorry to hear about the troubles you’ve had, Alice,’ Stephen said as they approached Arabella. ‘I’m proud of the way you are coping.’

Alice smiled. ‘I do my best, Stephen, although I confess it isn’t easy without Robert. It’s a comfort and a great help having Arabella at Bircot Hall, and Margaret is a great help with the children.’

‘I look forward to seeing them. They will be well grown, I imagine.’

‘They are and my eldest, Charles—he is seven now—favours you in looks, Stephen.’ Giving him a sidelong look, she said, ‘But is it not time you had a brood of your own? You have been a bachelor too long.’

He laughed, tweaking her cheek playfully. ‘When I meet a woman with your beauty and attributes, dear Alice, I shall, but until then I shall remain single and free.’

Alice sighed in mock surrender. ‘What are we going to do with you? You are strong and handsome and you have many fine qualities, Stephen.’

‘Thank you, Alice. But I am not handsome like Edward, I fear.’

‘Are you not?’ she remarked with a twinkle in her eye. ‘As I recall when we were all at home, the serving maids didn’t think so. Speaking of Edward, have you seen him?’

‘Not yet. I will go and find him.’

‘I trust you and those with you are hungry. We have limited provisions, but I will soon put something together.’

‘That would be appreciated. We haven’t eaten since early morning. And you and Arabella must join us. England may be a dark and dreary place under the rule of Cromwell, the luxuries and amusements we so loved in the past denied us, but we will sit and eat and be a happy family whilst we can.’

‘You are not going to stay long?’ Arabella asked, unable to hide her concern.

He shook his head wearily. ‘We cannot. We only have a few hours here.’

She looked up at him with fear-bright eyes. ‘You are going to join Charles Stuart?’

‘I must, Arabella. I remain loyal to the end. It is my duty.’

Alice expelled a deep sigh as she watched their brother walk away. ‘It is so good to see him again, Arabella—and to have a man in the house once more.’ She searched her sister’s face anxiously. ‘How badly is Sir Edward hurt?’

‘He shall live,’ Arabella replied, sinking wearily into a chair by the hearth and resting her feet on the fender. ‘The wound is clean and will soon heal.’

Alice nodded, sitting across from her. ‘And you, Arabella? Seeing Edward after all this time must have come as a shock.’

‘Yes. I thought I would never see him again.’

‘What will you do about the child?’

‘What can I do? I am left with little choice.’ She looked across at her sister. ‘If I refuse to look after him, you will, won’t you, Alice?’

‘If necessary, yes.’

‘Then it seems he is here to stay for the time being.’

‘The child has lost his mother. So many lives have been ruined by this war. We must do what we can to help.’

‘Yes,’ Arabella uttered quietly. ‘I suppose you are right.’

The two sisters sat silent for a long moment, each with her own thoughts. At length Alice sighed softly and stood up.

‘They’ll be hungry. I asked Bertha to prepare food before I took the children to bed. I’ll go and help her.’

* * *

They dined in the large dining parlour off the hall. A branch of candles stood on in the middle of the great oak table and cast a reasonable light in the high-ceilinged room.

It was a subdued meal charged with emotion. Stephen sat at the head of the table with Alice and Edward seated next to each other across from Arabella. The two gentlemen who accompanied them were introduced as Sir Charles Barlow and Laurence Morrison. Both had seen much action in the King’s service. It was decided that they would sleep in the rooms above the gatehouse, where they could keep watch on the road should unwelcome guests approach the house.

Having already eaten, Arabella and Alice sat and watched the gentlemen hungrily devour the mutton stew, jugged hare and vegetables. Having refilled the drinking bowls, Arabella studied her siblings, wishing that they could be together like this for always. Margaret joined them, slipping quietly into a chair at the table, her eyes wide with awe and more than a little admiration, Arabella duly noted, as they remained fixed on Stephen throughout the meal. It was a long time since visitors had graced their table and, if the rapt expression on Margaret’s face and the vivid bloom on her cheeks were to be believed, never one so handsome.

It was inevitable that with four military men about to ride off and join Charles Stuart marching south in what appeared to be a last attempt to regain his throne, the conversation turned to military matters. Edward, his dark brows drawn together in a frown, contributed little to the conversation as he stared moodily across the table at Arabella. Sitting back in his chair, he studied her with unnerving intensity, the blue of his eyes having turned indigo in the dimly lit room, heavy black locks spilling to his shoulders.

Despite her efforts Arabella felt weakness within as she gazed at that handsome face, the taut cheekbones and that full lower lip with its hard curl. Meeting his eyes, she saw something slumberous and inviting in their depths. He seemed to be reading her mind. Heat suffused her. Immediately she looked away, trying hard to ignore his brooding gaze.

* * *

Later, back in her bedchamber, Arabella eyed her bed without enthusiasm. Tired as she was, she felt no urge to sleep. Her thoughts kept straying anxiously to Edward and what it was he expected of her. Her thoughts and emotions were a jumbled mass of confusion. How dare he put her in this position! How presumptuous he’d been, to assume she would take his child as her own! And seeing him now, after all this time, only served to bring back the anger and confusion she had felt by his rejection.

His appearance had also resurrected unpleasant memories of her marriage to John. Fair haired, reasonably handsome and with pale wide-set eyes, on first sight she had been dazzled by him and hung back shyly. When her father had ushered her forward, John had laughed and said, ‘Modest, I see.’

‘Aye—and dutiful,’ her father had replied, happy with the impending match. When Edward Grey had thrown her over he had worried that he would have trouble finding a marriage for her, so he’d been unable to believe his good fortune when Stephen had brought John Fairburn to their home and John had shown an interest in her.

Arabella remembered how she had smiled and curtsied, prepared to be ruled by her father’s counsel, but when John raised her up and she felt how cold and flaccid his hand, she had shrunk back. Immediately she had misgivings about the match. John had felt her recoil and, apart from a narrowing of his eyes, he had let it pass. When she had voiced her unease to her father, he had told her John Fairburn was a good match and all would be well, but it was up to her to make sure that it was. If John Fairburn did not take her, then there was little chance of anyone else. There was no dowry. After three years of war and support of the Royalist cause, her father had nothing left.

‘He is handsome enough,’ he had told her, ‘an only son with a fine house where you will be mistress. What more do you want?’

Deep-blue eyes, warm firm hands, deep laughter. Someone to swell her heart at the sight of him, to make her senses sing. Edward Grey, she had thought bleakly.

And so she had married John Fairburn. Every time he touched her she shrank away. He boasted of her beauty and everyone said how lucky she was, but no one knew how she suffered in the great bed she shared with her husband, how he would control her every thought.

When she found she was with child it had altered everything. A child, she thought, a child of her own she could love. Desperate for a son, John had left her alone, taking his perverted pleasures elsewhere. When Arabella had produced a daughter, uttering his disgust he left to join the Royalist army.

For the first time since her marriage Arabella had been happy as she held her daughter in her arms and she did not shed a tear when news was brought to her of John’s death. Tragically her happiness was destroyed when her daughter died shortly after she came to live at Bircot Hall.

The pain had almost ripped her in two. She had loved her daughter so much and she missed her. Her arms were empty, her life was empty. In her wretchedness she had told herself there was nothing more to live for. She had prayed that the feeling would pass, that she would learn to live and to love. But Edward’s cruel betrayal, followed by the cruelties of her marriage to John and the loss of her beautiful Elizabeth had left their mark. It would be a long time, if ever, before she would allow herself to be so hurt again and to put her trust in a man enough to marry him.

Restless, her arms aching for her child, knowing there would be no sleep for her this night, she turned her back on the bed and went out. The door to the room where Margaret had put Joan and the child was ajar. Arabella paused and stared at it, her heart beating a tattoo in her chest. On hearing a faint whimpering coming from inside the room, unable to help herself she tentatively reached out and pushed the door open just enough for her to peer inside. A candle had been left burning on the dresser and a fire burned low in the grate.

Joan was fast asleep. She was breathing deeply, little snores coming from between her parted lips. The child beside her was clearly distressed. On seeing Arabella he slid off the bed, wobbling towards her and holding out his arms. Not without human feelings and unable to resist an unhappy child, she knelt and looked into his tear-soaked eyes.

There was so much emotion in that face and the sobs coming from the little mouth wrenched her heart. As if it were the most natural thing in the world to do, she picked up the weeping child and cradled him in her arms. Taking up a spare blanket and murmuring words of comfort, she wrapped it about him, the ache in her breast as acute now as when her own child had died.

Holding him close, she crossed to the fire and sat down with him in her arms.

‘Shush,’ she murmured, placing her lips against his curly head. ‘You are safe now, so go to sleep.’

The silky head nestled of its own accord against the warm breast in a gesture so instinctively caressing that it took Arabella’s breath away. The child’s brooding dark-eyed gaze was working its way into her heart, and when a quiet, rare smile crept across his face it was a thing of such beauty that it wrung her heart. As though a window had been flung open, something inside her took flight and she was flooded with so much joy that it brought tears to her eyes. She remembered how it had felt to hold her own daughter so close and, remembering her loss, she experienced an emotion that was almost painful in its intensity.

Shoving his thumb in his mouth, after a short while Dickon quietened and his eyelids fluttered closed, his thick lashes making enchanting semicircles on his pink cheeks. The warmth of the fire and the security of her arms soon sent him to sleep. He was going to be handsome, she thought, just like his father. Instantly there was a resurgence in her of the magnetism that drew her whenever she saw Edward. It burned into her ruthlessly, making her heart turn over. Her eyes continued to caress the child—Edward’s flesh and blood—and she acknowledge him for what he was.

Reluctant to carry him back to bed, she relaxed with him in her arms. The curtains hadn’t been fully drawn and the moon shone through a break in the clouds into the room. She began to think of the strangeness of her life, of her marriage to John and how Edward Grey had come back into her life, a stranger to her in many ways. There had never been a physical closeness between them, but there had been a closeness in other ways. He had always sought her company, but because he was eight years her senior, she had sometimes felt shut out from his thoughts. Clearly she had disappointed him otherwise he would not have cast her aside for Anne Lister.

The tugging of her heart twisted into an ache that flared every time she remembered. She wanted to be more understanding about what he had done, that he had gone on to have a child while her own had died, but she couldn’t no matter how hard she tried.

Suddenly an image of John came to mind and a chill slithered over her flesh. Marriage to John had not been what she had dreamed of. There was no wild searing passion, which, as young as she had been, she had known she could feel for Edward.

* * *

Arabella did not hear the loose wooden floorboard on the landing creak, so absorbed was her attention on the child.

Edward stood in the doorway, transfixed at the sight of Arabella with his son cradled in her arms. There was something so intimate, so ethereal about the scene that he found it difficult to look at the expression of wonder on Arabella’s face. He hesitated a moment, watching as the flickering light from the fire shone on her hair, which hung loose and fell over her face as she bent over his son. He admired the colour and the texture. Her body had the requisite warm softness and she still had the firm-fleshed litheness of youth, the languid grace which awoke his all-too-easily-awakened carnality.

She was unaware of his presence until he walked quietly into the room and stood looking down at her. She started, clearly surprised to see him there.

‘Edward!’ she gasped, her eyes flitting from him to his son, hot colour springing to her cheeks, as though she had been caught out in some misdeed. ‘I—I heard him crying. His nurse is asleep and I did not wish to wake her. See, he is asleep now.’

A ghost of a smile lit his face—his expression softened slightly. ‘How could he not be, cradled in such soft arms? Here, let me take him.’

‘Don’t wake him.’

With infinite care Edward took his son from her and carried him to the bed, placing him beneath the covers. His face was creased with concentration as he performed his task. He stood looking down at him for a moment before moving back to Arabella.

‘Dickon is a lovely boy,’ Arabella said. ‘He favours you.’

‘Yes, I know. I thought I would look in on him before I go to bed. Arabella, I wish to apologise.’

Standing up, she studied him, her eyes, big and luminous in her pale face, inquisitive but cautious. Her head was raised proudly as she looked at him, keeping her hands folded tightly before her. ‘Apologise? For what? That you renounced your promise to me for another woman, or that you have disturbed me here at Bircot Hall?’

‘Both, I suppose,’ he said, combing his hair back from his brow with his fingers. ‘I wronged you, Arabella. I acknowledge it freely. I swear to you—’

‘Oh, no! Do not swear! When you came here you no doubt thought I was ready to forget and forgive what you did to me. In all that has happened in the intervening years, I believe I had forgotten—but you reminded me the moment you walked in the door.’ She gave him a level stare and, not knowing that her words were like knives being thrown at him, she said, ‘There was a time when I trusted you. I was so young and filled with girlish fantasies that I believed we could build a happy life together—something quite wonderful. But you, ruled by an overweening arrogance and pride, betrayed me. I can only say how glad I am that you strayed before we spoke our vows. It spared me a lot of heartache. I weathered the pity of my friends and family because I had lost my intended husband. The humiliation would have been intolerable indeed had you begun an affair when I became your wife.’

Edward had paled, the flesh drawn tight over his cheekbones. Her words created an agony inside him. He wanted to comfort her, to hold her, to say her name, for the thought of her suffering made him wish he hadn’t acted so foolishly over Anne and left her so brutally. ‘I would not have done that.’

‘How can you know how you would have behaved?’ she cried, the pain in her unconcealed. ‘Men make fools of themselves over beautiful women all the time. Anne Lister could not bear not being the centre of attention. Every man had to look at her. All she had to do was cast her eyes at you and you were ensnared.’

He shook his head. ‘Arabella, listen to me.’ Reaching out, he gripped her shoulders and stared down into her face before he went on. ‘With every beat of my heart I regret what I did. I know that you’ve had double your share of troubles for your years. But believe me, I would never wish you harm. Sometimes I can’t help wishing I could go back and do things differently—but then I wouldn’t have Dickon. We cannot change the past.’

She shook his hands from her shoulders and took a step back. ‘I know.’

‘I hurt you. I see that.’

‘I cannot pretend that I wasn’t hurt. I was—very much,’ she said, a sliver of remembered pain spearing her.

‘When I arrived at Bircot Hall and saw you, I was taken aback by how much you have changed. I know I have changed, but I hadn’t expected you to change, too.’

What he said was true. He still had the face of a man in his prime, but the careless good humour had gone from his eyes. They were wary now, with a certain hardness and seriousness in their depths. The change was brought about by all he had seen and done in the long years of war.

‘But I have, in many ways,’ Arabella said. ‘When you left me I thought I would not recover. But I did. I was well and alive. I was determined to put it behind me—I thought of myself as a phoenix, risen from the ashes. Then I was lucky—at least, that was how I thought it was at the time. I met John and I had a child, only to lose them both.’

Tentatively Edward moved a little closer to her, but she stepped back, determined to keep her distance. He could almost feel the tension of her body. Her stillness was a positive force, like that of an animal poised for flight. One false move and he would lose her. He could read nothing on her closed face. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed, but apart from this she was watchful and utterly still.

‘I realise I might have caused you trouble coming here. Believe me, I would not have done so had there been an alternative. When I heard my property was to be confiscated, concerned about my son and despite the risk of capture, I went to London. I found Dickon alone in the house with the servants.’

‘You told me your estate in Oxfordshire has been confiscated.’

He nodded. ‘No doubt the house in London will have been seized by now. All activists have had their estates confiscated. As you know, since Parliament came to power, all lands granted by the King to landlords are now illegal and the laws set by King William have been removed.’

‘And what is to happen to the land that has been taken?’

‘It will be returned to the people. That is what the Commonwealth means—a common wealth for all. Everything of value that I owned went to fund the Royalist cause. This war has made a pauper of me.’

‘This war has made paupers of us all,’ Arabella uttered bitterly.

‘It will be returned when the King comes into his own.’

‘If the King comes into his own. I am not optimistic about that. From what we have heard, few are prepared to join the royal standard. The King, after all, is at the head of a band of Presbyterians. If anything, the patriotic revulsion of the English against the Scots has increased.’

‘You are right, Arabella. But it is a cause I will die fighting for if necessary.’

‘So, with nowhere else to turn, you thought you would bring your son here.’

‘Anne’s brother was in London. It was only a matter of time before he came and seized the child. Before he fled London, knowing my situation, your brother suggested I bring him here, to you. I understand your reluctance to agree to look after Dickon for me, but there is nowhere else I can take him. Will you do it?’ He saw the indecision on her face before she turned to gaze down into the fire.

She turned from him, but not before he had seen a flicker of pain in the depths of her lovely eyes before she looked away. ‘You ask too much of me, Edward. It is too much responsibility.’

‘Come, Arabella. You have just held him in your arms. How can you refuse me this?’ he persisted. ‘Have the courage to help me—or else you are not the woman—’

Spinning round, her face was set stubbornly, the light in her eyes fierce. ‘Your meaning does not escape me. You were about to say I am not the woman you thought I was. If I refuse to do as you ask—which is a perfectly natural thing considering your betrayal—you will think ill of me.’ She shrugged. ‘If you do, why should I care? For too long I have known you do not see me in an attractive light.’

‘That is not true. You are one of the finest people I know. You know my decision to renounce our betrothal was because of my foolish infatuation with Anne, rather than anything to do with you.’ His hand came up to touch her tumbled hair, then he drew a caressing finger down her cheek. Feeling her flinch from his touch, he dropped his arm. ‘I wronged you. At the time I was too stubborn to admit my error. I am asking for your forgiveness, for I know well that you must hate me and in all fairness I cannot blame you. I blame myself—more than you or anybody else possibly could. I’ll never stop blaming myself until the day I die. Which is why, perhaps, it’s so important to me that you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I have grief enough, Arabella. I am saying that I hold you in the highest regard and that my feelings for you may surprise you. Laugh if you will and that will be my punishment. But it is true.’

Arabella’s look was scornful. ‘Please do not make any declarations of devotion that do not exist. It would be an embarrassment to us both, so pray do not continue with this jest. Considering what has gone before, I consider it to be in bad taste.’

‘It is no jest. A thousand times or more I have cursed myself for a fool for ending our betrothal,’ he said softly, his eyes holding hers, full of contrition. ‘Don’t hold it against me. I can’t change what I did and, if it’s any satisfaction to you, I’m paying the price for it. What I did was impetuous and cruel.’

She stared at him, her eyes telling him that she was unable to believe what he was saying. Surely she could hear the truth of his words in his voice? But he could see she refused to be moved by his words. Forgiveness did not come easily to her and in truth he could not blame her. She stepped away from him.

‘Yes, it was, but I have no wish to revisit the past. Do you forget why you are here? You came here to ask me to take care of your son.’

‘And what have you decided?’ Edward tried to keep calm as he waited for her answer, yet the vein in his right temple beat hard against his skin. Arabella had captured his senses without even trying. His interest she had already stirred, but interest turned to intrigue with startling ease. For the first time in months—perhaps years—a feeling other than anger at the war preoccupied him. It was strong, alive and it touched him in a primeval way. He never swayed from winning his desire. Where women were concerned he was patient and the most determined. He deeply regretted the years they had been apart and felt a need to be with her.

‘Very well.’ She sighed, surrendering unconditionally. ‘I will do it.’

Relief washed over him. ‘Thank you. I cannot tell you how grateful I am—what it means to me knowing he will be safe.’

‘I think I can imagine.’ She looked at him, hardening herself. ‘But I still don’t understand why you feel you have to risk life and limb to continue fighting for a cause which by all reports is lost. Why, Edward? Is it that you enjoy the fighting so much that you leave your son with strangers instead of taking him to France to keep him safe? What if anything should happen to you? If I need to take Dickon to your sister in France, how will I know where to find her?’

Reaching inside his jacket, he produced a sealed letter and handed it to her, preferring to leave her questions unanswered. ‘I have written everything down. It is my hope there will be no more fighting and I shall return, in which case I shall take him away with me.’

‘And Joan? Is she to remain with him?’

‘Dickon is attached to Joan, but it is only fair to tell you that she came with me unwillingly. She has family in Bath. Do not be surprised if she leaves to go to them.’

‘I see. That is entirely up to her, but I hope she doesn’t. I would be glad of her help.’ She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘The hour is late. It is after eleven. It has been a long day. I must go to bed.’ She walked to the door. He followed her.

‘Goodnight, Arabella. I trust you will have a restful night.’

For some reason he could not fathom, he reached for her hand and pressed a kiss on her fingers. A subtle gasp, barely a whisper, passed her lips and he smiled into her eyes.

* * *

Arabella turned and left him then. He was watching her go, this she knew. His eyes were so very compelling that she wanted to turn and look back at him, but she forced herself to carry on walking. His fingers, firm and warm, had squeezed her hand gently, as if for comfort. Suddenly she had been intensely aware of him, his body, his warmth, the scent of him. Something had flooded through her—desire, she thought, quickening her breath, heating her blood.

A terrible, unfamiliar heaviness rested in her heart as she returned to her chamber. She undressed and climbed into bed and, because she was so weary, she managed to sleep a few hours, but, on waking, she could not stop turning over in her mind the events of the previous night and the changes Edward’s arrival had brought to her life. How could she have agreed to take care of his son? But when he had asked her, when he had waited for her to answer, there had been a challenge in his voice, in his eyes as well.

Nor could she deny that the sensations that had stirred within as he pressed his lips to her fingers had been alarming indeed. When he had entered the room and caught her holding his son, she had tried to ignore the nearness of him, the smell of him, the feelings and emotions that had been overwhelming despite all her efforts to stem them.

When she was young, she had been in awe of the man her parents had told her she would marry. She had also been almost afraid of the force and sheer power in him. Everything about him had been larger than life and she had thought marrying him would be the equivalent of riding into battle on a spirited, powerful horse.

She had been deeply hurt and humiliated when he had discarded her and made up her mind to forget him. But he was not an easy man to forget. When he had entered the house with that enormous pride, and thrust himself back into her life, she’d known that same sense of reckless excitement she’d experienced all those years ago.

By coming to Bircot Hall he had brought disruption to her life. She was resolute in her determination that not until she had been reassured of his benevolence would she grant him her friendship.

* * *

The morning was bright with sunshine, the sky a cloudless blue, the rain clouds that had been present the night before having disappeared with the dawn. The land was still wet and glistened in the bright light, and the trees were thick with dark-green leaves.

After eating a hasty breakfast and eager to be on their way, Stephen and Edward would take their leave of Alice and Arabella in the courtyard. The two gentlemen who accompanied them were already mounted, their horses restless. Edward had not yet appeared, for he was saying farewell to his son.

‘God go with you,’ Arabella said tenderly as she kissed her brother. ‘I beg you take care.’ She could not dismiss the fear in her heart, or her sense of dark foreboding that she might never see him again. ‘Where exactly are you bound?’

‘We have learned that the King has entered Worcester. We will join him there. It is the only Royalist stronghold left. It will be the King’s last attempt to gain his throne and he needs every man he can get. It’s his last hope.’

When Arabella stepped back and stood beside Margaret, who was quietly watching the scene with tears in her eyes, Alice threw her arms around her brother’s neck in a final farewell. As Stephen looked over Alice’s shoulder, his eyes rested on Margaret. Gently detaching himself from Alice’s arms, he went to the young woman and, taking her slender hand, raised it to his lips.

Margaret’s pale face flushed with pleasure at receiving attention from a man whom from short acquaintance she had come to admire intensely, a man she found appealing to her senses. Her eyes smiled her appreciation. Arabella couldn’t hear what he said, but she was glad Margaret had not gone unnoticed by Stephen.


Chapter Three (#ulink_0fee98a0-1ded-59ae-b68d-ef68cae6f654)

When Edward came out of the house Arabella looked towards him. There was an air of melancholy about him. He scarcely seemed to notice what was going on about him as he dabbed his brow with his handkerchief and strode to his horse. Arabella wasn’t so insensitive and heartless as not to realise how he must be feeling on parting from his son. She could well imagine how difficult that must have been for him. The leave-taking had clearly affected him deeply. She found she could not bear that withdrawn look on his face and went to him.

‘You have said farewell to Dickon?’

He nodded, his expression grim. ‘Alice’s children are amusing him. He will hardly know I’ve gone.’

‘I’m sure that is not so. He will miss you. But...tell me, Edward—is Malcolm Lister likely to come here looking for you?’

He gave her a penetrating look. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘When he finds Dickon is not in London, what then? Will he not enquire as to his whereabouts?’

‘The servants saw me. Malcolm will know I have taken him.’

‘Which is a father’s right. But you are a fugitive. As Dickon’s uncle he will want to know where you have taken him. With your close relatives either dead or in France and knowing you and Stephen are close friends, will he have reason to come here? I ask because I am concerned.’

‘Understandably so and I have reason to believe that Malcolm will go to any lengths to find him. It is not beyond the bounds of possibility that he will remember that you and I were once betrothed. It would not be difficult finding out that you are living with Alice and that he will come here. I advise you to be on your guard at all times—although at this present time with the Commonwealth army marching towards Worcester, I can only hope he will be occupied with military matters.’

‘What I recall of Malcolm Lister is that he is a man to watch and he has the long nose of a bloodhound. We must hope he does not come here.’

‘It cannot be ruled out. Perhaps we will meet in armed combat. If not and we both survive the battle, I can guarantee he will seek me out afterwards. He wants to hurt me. He thinks he can do that by taking Dickon and seeing me hang.’

He was looking at her intently and his magnetic eyes stirred her painfully. ‘I pray that does not happen.’

Edward’s eyes creased with pain. ‘It grieves me to have to leave my son. But I must go. I have striven for peace, but still I must fight. If there is to be another battle, then so be it. It is the price men like me have to pay to bring the King into his own. I would have contempt for myself if I did not do my duty towards my King and country.’

Her eyes suddenly moist, Arabella lowered her head, not wanting to dull the edge of his courage with her fear. ‘I know and I understand your duty well. Should Malcolm Lister come here I will do my utmost to hide Dickon. That I promise you. Be assured he will be well looked after.’

His eyes flickered in appreciation and the corners of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile. ‘I know you will—and he will have young children to play with. His life so far has been peopled with adults—it is not good for him. If there is to be yet another battle, which I fear there will be, in my darkest hours your kindness and loyalty to my son will comfort me.’

She met his eyes, wondering if he would return. Ever since the war began, life had been one long series of partings. Tears shone in her eyes. Why did she care so much? He might have wronged her in the past, but she could not deny the physical attraction she felt for him. And then there was his son. Already Dickon was beginning to steal his way into her heart. That poor child had been through so much already. Anne Lister might have been low down in her estimation, but she had been his mother. Having been blessed with the most wonderful mother in the world, Arabella could not begin to imagine the pain of being raised without a mother’s love. Please God, don’t let him lose his father, too. Suddenly she knew that it mattered terribly that Edward came back safe—for Dickon’s sake, if not for her own.

‘You will come back. Have no fear,’ she said, her voice light, hiding the pain filling her mind. ‘Do not concern yourself about us. I will keep Dickon safe.’

Edward glanced across at Stephen, who was mounted and ready to go. He glanced back at Arabella with his disconcertingly blue eyes. When a smile tugged at her beautiful mouth, unable to resist the temptation to taste its sweetness, he bent his head and kissed her hard and fast on the lips, a kiss of anger and need and lost possibilities, the pressure of his mouth lingering longer than was customary.

When he released her his eyes were still on her, gauging her, watching for every shade of thought and emotion in her.

‘Take care, Bella,’ he said, his voice husky with emotion. He touched her cheek with his finger, as if commending her visage to memory against the moment when they must part, then turning from her he walked to his horse. Taking the reins, he looked back at her. His face was drawn and bleak in the harsh sunlight. ‘What you said to me last night—that I must enjoy the fighting—you are wrong. I do not enjoy what I do. An army is a harsh and brutal world to inhabit. Death is constant and soldiers carry their lives in their hands and look death in the face all the time.’

For another second they looked at each other, silent in the stillness of the morning. Arabella was overwhelmed by the urge to go to him, to reach up and touch his face. Immediately she pushed the feeling away, angry at her weakness. Then he hoisted himself into the saddle and was riding after the others through the gatehouse.

She watched him disappear from her sight, touched by an inexplicable sensation of loss. For all its intensity the kiss had been brief. The touch of his mouth on hers had sent a jolt through her system, which had for a moment left her incapable of coherent thought. She was unable to banish the memory of his mouth on hers. Her lips were warm and tingling from the farewell kiss, confirming it had actually happened, that and a heart full of unfamiliar emotions simmering inside her.

Putting her fingers to her lips, she stared after him. She had not expected him to do that. It was strange, she thought, how she could still feel it long after it had ended. At that moment it seemed to her that she had been set upon a stormy sea of emotions that had left her breathless and confused.

Clearly he had not changed. Not his reckless attitude or, to her dismay, the way he made her feel. She’d been alive to his touch, filled with a sweet longing that seemed to promise something wonderful that was just beyond reach. The way he had looked at her. The tone of his voice when he said her name. He had wanted her. The signs had all been there.

She looked down as something white fluttered at her feet. It was his handkerchief. She picked it up, holding it close to her chest, and his scent, a blend of wind and rain and leather and horses, was everywhere. She wanted to run after him and call him back and have him kiss her again with the ghosts of the past all around them. But she could not and so let the opportunity slip through her fingers. She felt empty and alone once more.

How could she have allowed such a thing to happen? With her emotions running high she had foolishly allowed herself to be borne away on a wave of passion. She despised herself for succumbing so readily to his coercive masculinity. Did he think he could go to another woman and come back and take up where he had left off?

Having witnessed the kiss, Alice came to stand beside her, her eyes fixed on the gatehouse.

‘So, Arabella,’ she said quietly, ‘if the kiss I witnessed is an indication of future expectations, it would seem Sir Edward’s intentions to court you are about to be resumed.’

Arabella was strangely reluctant to speak of Edward, for reasons that were hardly formulated even in her own subconscious, but she could not evade Alice’s questions. ‘Yes, he kissed me and I let him. He—he is a soldier going to fight. He might not come back. But it meant nothing. Edward left me—rejected me for another woman. It’s a long time ago, I know, but I have not forgotten—nor have I forgiven him.’

‘Do you remember how angry Father was when he renounced the betrothal—and Stephen, come to that? But they seem to be staunch friends now.’

‘It’s the war, Alice. The conflict has thrown them together in ways we could not have imagined before that. Both our families have lost so much—loved ones and our homes.’

‘Yes, we have. It will be hard for all of us when this is over. Nothing will be the same again.’

* * *

Riding with his companions towards Worcester, Edward found his thoughts wandering to Arabella. It was painful leaving Dickon behind, but he was shocked to discover how much he would miss Arabella. He had vowed that after Anne, with her treachery and deceit, his emotions would never again be engaged by a woman. But Arabella was not Anne.

He’d had to lose her to appreciate the prize he had lost.

She had been naïve, an innocent, and he had brought shame on himself for hurting her as he had. He felt a profound remorse that he had given her reason not to want him. He despised himself for the callousness with which he had broken off their engagement and he desperately wanted to make amends, to close the chasm that had opened up between them.

What Arabella had been through had toughened her. She was hard to read. He had hoped she might have put their past behind her, but they had parted bitterly all those years ago and he sensed a wariness about her now for which he could not blame her. But there was something about her, something that made him feel more alive than he had felt in a long time when he looked at her.

The kiss he had given her had been spontaneous, shocking him with its sweetness, its intensity. It had never happened to him before—at least, not since he had met and married Anne. Meeting Arabella again—all grown, a woman now—he found her intriguing and fascinating. But she was not ready to give her heart. Where he was concerned she never would be and he could not blame her for that.

* * *

In the days following Stephen and Edward’s departure nothing eventful happened at Bircot Hall.

Arabella watched Dickon running around the hall with Alice’s children. He was laughing and it warmed her heart to see him enjoying the game. At first he had been such a solemn child, so quiet, with a serious way of looking at her with his big blue eyes. This was exactly what he needed, other children to play with.

It was with enormous regret to Arabella that Joan had done exactly what Edward said she might do and left Bircot Hall for her home in Bath. Arabella had thought it would affect Dickon, that he would pine for her, but much to her relief he didn’t seem to mind being without her. Arabella was touched that he turned to her. Dickon had worked his way secretly and profoundly into a corner of her heart. She was the one who watched over him, who washed him, fed him and put him to bed and told him the kind of stories children like to hear. She was the one he ran to when he tumbled over and she brushed away his tears.

Alice had reason to rejoice when she received a long-awaited letter from her husband Robert in France. Like many Royalists who had fled across the water, with little to do he was finding life tedious. He was considering joining the French army, as many English exiles were doing. He made brief mention of several gentlemen Alice might know who were of like mind, including one man by the name of Fairburn who had left Paris before he arrived. Robert had not met the man and knew nothing about him other than his surname and that he came from Wales and, rumour had it, bore a strong resemblance to the John Fairburn who had been killed at St Fagans—which was where Arabella’s husband had met his end. He considered it a coincidence since Arabella had married a man by that name and wondered if he could be one of her husband’s relations.

He asked about the children and while Alice went on reading, Arabella continued to think about the man called Fairburn Robert had referred to with a stirring of unease. Why this should be she couldn’t say. After all, John was dead—he had to be dead. After all, had she not buried him? she thought with a stirring of alarm—and if the man was a relation then it didn’t concern her. On that thought she put it out of her mind, but there were moments when she least expected it that it surfaced to cause her further unease.

* * *

Information began to filter through that there was fierce fighting in and around the city of Worcester. The days were spent in an agony of mounting tension for everyone at Bircot Hall. Passing travellers provided worrying news that Charles Stuart was besieged within its defensive walls by Cromwell’s army. They heard that Cromwell had broken through and of vicious fighting in the streets, which ran with blood.

Arabella felt fear stab at her. Where were Stephen and Edward? She couldn’t bear to think that they might be wounded or lying unattended and in pain somewhere on the streets of Worcester or on the battlefield, or even worse—killed. It was impossible to find out. There was nothing she could do, nothing any of them could do but wait as one anxious day ran into another.

* * *

It was almost dark. The children were in bed and, feeling the need for some fresh air before going to bed herself, Arabella went outside. Everything gleamed wetly after the shower of rain they’d had earlier and a breeze was tearing the clouds apart to reveal glimpses of the brightly shining stars. After strolling round the courtyard she was about to go inside the house, but on hearing the sound of horse’s hooves on the stone paving, she looked towards the gatehouse though which a horse and rider emerged, leading another horse.

‘Edward,’ she whispered, her heart leaping with sudden joy and relief. It was three weeks since they had left—an eternity of waiting. Her eyes passed to the horse he was leading. A man was slumped over its back. Her stomach lurched and she whispered her brother’s name, ‘Stephen.’ He appeared to be unconscious.

Lifting her skirts, she ran towards them in alarm. Bringing the horses to a halt, Edward dismounted quickly.

‘Edward—oh, thank goodness you are back.’ Emotions tumbled within her as, still shaken from his sudden arrival, she was so very glad to see him even though she knew his presence and that of her brother meant danger for them all. Not wanting him to read these sentiments in her eyes, she turned her attention to her brother. ‘Is Stephen badly injured?’

With a week’s growth of beard and his clothes stained and torn with the traumas of battle, the mud and blood having dried on them long since, Edward nodded. His face was grey and strained with exhaustion, his eyes bloodshot, bleak and darkly circled. ‘He has a musket ball in his chest. He’s lost a great deal of blood and needs attending to at once. We managed to escape in the aftermath of the battle. It’s taken us two days to get here. Roundheads are crawling all over the place. He’s been unconscious for the past five hours.’

‘Sam,’ Arabella called over her shoulder. ‘Come and help. It’s Stephen—he’s wounded.’

‘The horses are conspicuous,’ Edward said. ‘Have someone put them out of sight, as far away from the house as possible, and rub them down. If they are found, they will raise suspicion and questions will be asked. They will also be sequestered by the Parliamentary army.’

Together the two men lifted Stephen from the horse, nearly falling under the weight. Tom, Sam’s young son, took the mounts’ reins and led them away as Alice came running out of the house to see what all the commotion was about. On seeing her injured brother being hauled along and the large bloodstain on his buff coat, she assessed the situation immediately.

‘Bring him inside. We must get him upstairs and into bed.’

Managing to get him up the stairs, Edward and Sam set their burden down in a bedchamber. While Alice went to fetch the things she would need to tend her brother’s wound, with Sam’s help Edward worked frantically to remove Stephen’s blood-soaked clothing.





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