Royalist On The Run

‘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

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.