Royalist On The Run
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‘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
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.