Embrace The Dawn
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She squinted her eyes knowingly. “You’re a gull if you think I’d allow you to take any liberties with me. I’ve heard the kitchen maids whisper of what you soldiers do to a maid who forgets to keep up her guard.”
Nat reached out and caught her by the waist with his left hand while he cupped her chin with the other. “I’m not some randy soldier...” His dark brown eyes flashed. “I’ve never had to beg a lady’s favor, and I’m not about to begin with you.”
Ignoring his boast, she jerked her chin free, then her gaze dropped to his hand at her waist. “Perhaps, but please let me go, should you decide to change your technique.”
He chuckled as he released his hand and watched her spread out her skirt becomingly on the garden bench. “You’re a tempting morsel, little mermaid,” he drawled. Brushing aside her skirts, he sat down beside her. “All I had in mind was to ask you what happened to make you cry.”
Anne gazed up at him with those incredible eyes. For a disorienting moment, he felt bewitched by their promise—huge liquid jewels fringed by dark sooty lashes. It must be the heavy scent of the roses that was weaving a spell over him, he decided.
Her delicate brows furrowed, her lips pursed as he watched her. She looked so vulnerable that, for a brief instance, a surge of wanting to protect her shot through him.
“It’s a private matter,” she said. Then, as though reconsidering, she added, “It’s... that sometimes...I—I miss my father.”
Nat remembered that Anne’s betrothal would be announced later tonight. No doubt she was torn by her desire to marry Twining and being disloyal to her father. He felt a flash of regret at her judgment, but he cast it aside. It was no business of his, he reminded himself. “Your father is Jonathan Lowell?”
“You’ve heard of him?”
He caught the flicker of wary surprise on her lovely face. “Every Roundhead knows of the fearless Colonel Jonathan Lowell,” he said in truth. “His name strikes fear into his enemies’ bones whenever the king’s men yell his name like a battle cry. With a price on his head, your father must be far away from England.” No need to worry her if she was unaware of the many Royalists who had fallen by their swords at last week’s battle at Worcester.
She shook her head. “Nay, he’ll never stop fighting until Charles Stuart returns to the throne.” Fresh tears glistened in her eyes.
“I see,” Nat said gently. “It’s natural for you to miss him.” A pang of regret washed over him again as he thought of all the separation and suffering of innocent lives since the civil war. Yet he couldn’t help thinking that if Lowell had died at Worcester, it might have been more merciful than to discover his daughter was betrothed to as cruel an enemy as Twining.
She brushed an errant copper tendril from her cheek. “When I was little, my father would listen to my childish troubles and offer his wise advice,” she said wistfully.
He remained silent, watching her. After a while, he took her small hand in his large callused palm. “Now, you’re a young woman. If your father were here, I’m certain he’d encourage you to make your own decisions.”
Anne met his eyes. Her lovely face appeared so profound it nearly took his breath away. “Aye, I think he would,” she said finally.
He considered encouraging her to go on, in fact, he would have enjoyed listening to her dulcet voice all evening, but it was time for him to leave. He knew he should offer her a simple solution: Forget her father and remember the solid future with one of the most powerful men in the Commonwealth. Besides, it would prove dangerous, if not impossible for Twining’s wife to hold overt loyalty to the king.
“When I have a weighty matter to decide and I’m not certain what to do, I find that if I...” He watched her expectation grow, and for some strange reason, he couldn’t encourage her to forget her father. Instead, he offered her what was in his own soul. “I find that if I listen to my heart the answer will always be there for me.”
“But what does that mean?”
“It means the answer is within you, along with the courage to carry it through.”
“But how?”
“You’ll know.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. Her hand felt warm and soft in his and she made no move to release it. “It’s time I must leave.”
“You’ve given me much to think about,” she whispered. “Much to think about.”
Nat smiled. “I’d escort you back to the manor, but my orders are to...to stay with my troops. They’re expecting me.”
“Of course.” Anne stood for a moment, her heart fluttering beneath her breast like a captured bird. What a strange man! This handsome lieutenant was her enemy, her father’s enemy, yet he had spoken of her father with respect, without judgment. She might never see this lieutenant again, but she’d always be grateful to him for that.
Impulsively she stood on tiptoe, only thinking to brush her lips to his. But the moment their lips touched, a jolt slammed through her and his mouth seized hers with an urgency that caused her heart to thunder. She went still with shock as a strange sensation poured through her.
His mouth felt firm and warm. Her heartbeat quickened when his lips moved over hers, deepening their kiss.
She drank in the smell of him. It reminded her of a cedar forest filled with sunshine. Her arms rose timidly around his neck, her fingers lacing the dark hair at his nape.
She felt her cap loosen and her hair cascade down her back. His hands roved up and down her spine, his fingers tightening the rebellious curls. She felt her breasts yield against his hard chest and her body trembled with delightful sensations she had never experienced before. She should beg him to let her go, but she didn’t want to move. She wanted to remain like this, forever.
Her hands timidly explored his face. She heard him moan softly when her fingers lingered on the scar along his cheek. His breath shuddered as he lifted his mouth to kiss a line across her cheek, down toward her neck.
“I’ve wanted to taste those lips ever since I saw you at the river, little mermaid.”
Her head buzzed with a light-headed feeling. Then suddenly, he released her. “And now, I’ll always know your taste of honey, warmed with sunshine.” His dark eyes glinted with something she didn’t understand. “But if I don’t leave immediately...”
Anne’s swirling senses returned and she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She lowered her lashes at his warm stare. Her fingers shook as she brushed her collar, straightened her skirts and snatched her cap from the bench.
A song thrush flew to an overhead vine. The throaty warble was answered by its mate nearby.
Nat reached up and plucked a rose from the bower and placed it in her cupped palm. “Farewell, little mermaid.”
She clutched the rose and, with bittersweet longing, watched him disappear into the shadows and out of her life.
She sat back on the bench, not trusting her shaky legs to support her if she were to stand. Besides, for a few more minutes, she needed to gather her wits.
Never had she imagined a kiss could be so thrilling. She smiled, drinking in the fragrance of the roses as she trailed the blossom along the path of his kisses, across her cheek, down to the soft hollow of her throat, and her heart skipped a beat.
But never had she been so bewildered by her conflicting emotions. He was a soldier of Cromwell’s New Model army. What would her father say if he knew? God’s bones, it would kill him, as readily as if she fired the shot herself.
But she must be honest with herself. She had wanted to touch his sun-bronzed face, feel the shine of his tousled hair, the sinewy, corded muscles of his arms. She had wanted the enemy officer to kiss her.
Even though he was the enemy, Nat had helped her work through a difficult decision, without even knowing it. Without his gentle coaxing, she might have made a fatal mistake.
The acknowledgment gave her the jolt back she needed. Aye, she had made the decision. The answer had been in her heart all along, just as the lieutenant had said. How could she have forgotten that her proud father would never want her to bargain for his life? “Twining be damned!” he would have shouted.
For the next few minutes, she clutched the rose while she planned her escape from Wycliffe Manor, the first step in her journey to find her father.
And her only regret was she’d not be there to see Twining’s pompous expression fade to surprise when he discovered she would refuse him, after all.
Chapter Three
By the time Anne returned to her chamber, she had decided how to put her plan into motion.
She smiled as she carefully pressed the pink rose in between the pages of her favorite romance novel. Her fingers lingered over the faded book cover for a moment before tucking it inside her bulging traveling valise.
“If you listen to your heart, the answer will follow,” Nat had said. It was true. Her father would want her to follow her heart and search for him. To remain at Wycliffe Manor and cave in to Twining’s threat was the coward’s way out.
Her fingers shook with excitement as she tied the straps on the valise and lifted it from the bed. She would hide upstairs in one of the vacant bedchambers until dinner, then she’d sneak through the back stairs to the barn where her mare waited.
But first, she had to slip the note she had written to Mrs. Herrick under her door. Once Jane read that Anne had developed a megrim and had taken to her bed, even the callous Colonel Twining would realize his odious threats had made her ill. At dawn, when the maids would discover her missing, she’d be far away, searching for the king’s scattered army and news of her father.
Surely someone would have heard of Jonathan Lowell. Then once she found him, they would sail for France with the other exiled Royalists until Cromwell’s armies were driven into the sea and they could return to England. Hope surged through her.
A few minutes later, Anne arrived at the back stairs landing. She peeked down the passageway. No one was in sight. She tiptoed along the creaking floorboards toward Mrs. Herrick’s room, the third doorway on the left. As she knelt to slip the note beneath the portal, she heard a hushed voice coming from inside the chamber.
“...searching the roads for her,” Jane whispered. “Hurry, we must leave.”
“Curse the luck,” a male voice growled. “What if we’re found before your husband gathers the horses?”
Anne stared, dumbfounded. What was Jane Herrick doing with a man in her chamber who was not her husband?
Anne pressed her ear closer to the door.
“...might prove too dangerous to warn him,” the man continued in a low whisper. “Maybe Wilkens and I should...”
Unable to hear every word, Anne shifted against the wood. The board beneath her foot creaked loudly. She froze.
In a flash, the door flew open. A bald, barrel-chested man in a green uniform frowned back at her, then he grabbed her arm and pulled her inside the room.
Jane Herrick leapt from a corner chair and stared in astonishment, her face pale.
A young manservant, not much older than Anne, sat cross-legged upon the bed. “Who’s this pretty thing?” His hooded black eyes twinkled as his gaze raked her up and down.
“She’s Anne Lowell, the young woman I told you about.” Jane folded her arms across herself and scowled at Anne. “How long have you been eavesdropping outside my door?”
“I—I wasn’t eavesdropping.”
“Sweeting, tell the truth and no one will harm you,” offered the impertinent manservant, his black eyes glinting.
Anne felt herself redden at his insolent manner. A servant speaking to her like he was...an equal! She shot him a haughty look and directed her attention to Jane Herrick. “I came to your chamber to slip a note under the door.”
The bald-headed man picked up the folded parchment from the floor and waved it in front of her. “This note?”
“Yes.”
Anne reached for it but he handed it to Jane, who began to read it. After a moment, she glanced up.
“I can explain, Mrs. Herrick. I had only wished that you inform my uncle that I have a megrim and—”
“We can’t take the chance that she might ‘ave ‘eard somethin’,” interrupted the bald man.
She gave Anne a long deliberate stare. “If we let her go, she might try to haggle a bargain from Twining to let her out of the betrothal in exchange for what she’s overheard,” Jane said finally, pursing her lips together. She crumpled the parchment into a ball and tossed it into the roaring fireplace.
The black-eyed servant folded his arms. “She offers us no choice. The lass will come with us.”
Anne’s small fists flew to her hips as she regarded Jane Herrick and the two men. “Will you please stop speaking as though I’m not in the room? Go where?”
Jane crossed to the bed and sat down. “Very well, Anne, but first, there’s something I must ask you.” She motioned for Anne to sit beside her.
Without a choice, Anne obeyed.
Jane put her hand to Anne’s shoulder. “Is it true that you’re devoted to your father’s cause?”
A charge of excitement coursed through her. “Have you heard something of my father?”
“Shh! Lower your voice.” Jane’s gray eyes narrowed. “Your father has risked his life for his beliefs, as many of us have.”
Anne swallowed and tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Could it be that a Puritan like Jane Herrick could hold sympathy for the Royalist cause? Her father had often told her of the secret followers of the king: farmers, weavers, hoopers, you never knew who might be among them. Hope welled inside her. “Mrs. Herrick, do you support our exiled king?”
Jane’s only answer was her smile. “For now, you’ll have to trust me. Can you do that, Anne?”
Anne nodded eagerly.
“And do you believe in your father’s crusade to restore a Stuart to the throne? Or do you merely flaunt his quest to rankle your uncle?”
“I’m devoted to my father’s cause.”
“Would you fight for those beliefs?”
“With all my heart,” Anne answered. “I’d give my life for the young king. My heart breaks when I think of how he’s forced to live in exile while that hateful Cromwell grips England by the throat.”
Jane smiled. “You’ll have your chance to prove it, my dear. You’re going to help us save our king.”
“The—the king?”
Jane swung her around to face the scraggly looking servant who sat in the middle of the bed, grinning at her. “Anne, it is my pleasure to present His Royal Highness, Charles Stuart.”
Anne’s mouth dropped as she stared at the servant. Her glance swept over the tattered leathern doublet, the coarsely woven shirt, the cloth breeches above the travel-stained stockings. “Charles Stuart?” she cried with disbelief when her gaze lifted to his swarthy face.
His black eyes twinkled with obvious amusement at her disbelief. “My fair and lovely subject.” He reached for her hand and kissed it.
Anne snapped back and wiped her hand on her skirt. “Anne!” Jane gasped, horrified. “By divine Providence, this is our king! The sovereign every true subject serves.”
Anne stared in shock while Jane pushed her into a curtsy.
“It’s quite understandable, Mrs. Herrick.” The king stood and touched Anne’s chin with his fingers. “It’s best she behaves as though I’m a servant. In fact, our very lives might depend on it.” The hooded eyes glinted. “But what is to become of her once we reach Bristol?” The gleam in his eye reminded Anne of a ferret.
“I’m more concerned that we reach Bristol,” Jane said.
The king’s black gaze lingered reflectively on Anne. “She might make a lovely addition to the French court,” he said. “What would you think of that, sweeting?”
Anne tried to comprehend that this unkempt servant was the one man she had always fancied would restore everything right in her world once he regained the throne.
“My cousin, King Louis, and his court would certainly be enlivened by your sparkle...and so would I,” the king added.
“Your grace,” interrupted Jane. “May I remind you that each moment we dally endangers your safety.”
“Right you are, my dear. But please, remember to call me Will Jackson.” His swarthy face became serious. “It might save our lives if another curious ear be pressed to the door.”
Jane’s face flushed. “Of course...Mr. Jackson.”
“But you don’t understand. I—I can’t go to Bristol,” Anne said. “I’m running away to find my father.”
Jane turned slowly and drew a deep breath before she spoke. “Either way, you must leave Wycliffe Manor. The woods will be teeming with soldiers once they discover you’re gone. With us, you’ll have a greater chance to succeed than by yourself.”
“How will you explain your disappearance, Mrs. Herrick?” Anne asked. “Won’t my uncle wonder why you’re not at dinner, too?”
Jane smiled. “We’ve already thought of that, my dear. My husband will deliver an urgent message to your uncle very soon, calling me to my mother’s sickbed.” Her smile broadened. “Don’t look so puzzled, Anne. My mother, who’s in very fine health, wrote the note long before we left for Wycliffe Manor.”
The bald servant named Wilkens glared at her. “Besides, you ‘ave no choice. You’re leavin’ with us, tied and gagged like a goose, if need be.”
Anne bit back any further argument. She had no choice but to obey, and as sure as the sun rises, she’d be better off with them than to remain.
Wilkens gave her a sharp look before he hoisted the saddlebags and carried them to the door.
“If I’m a servant, then that’s my chore, Wilkens,” said the king. He swung the bag over his shoulder.
Jane lit two tapers from the burning candle on the table. “Take the back stairs and go behind the barn where my husband waits with the horses. Remember the story we’ve agreed upon if you’re stopped. Anne and I will follow in a few minutes.”
Both men nodded. Jane pressed her ear to the door before opening it, then peeked quickly into the passageway. “Godspeed,” she said, giving each man a candle as he slipped out the door.
After the men left, Jane reached under the bed and pulled out a small bundle of clothing. Within minutes, she had selected a pile of assorted garments and tossed them to Anne. “Slip these on, and hurry,” she instructed.
“But I’ve already packed a valise of my things. It’s in my room. I’ll get it,” Anne offered.
Jane shook her head. “There’s no time. Besides, it’s safer if you’re dressed as a man.” She helped Anne pull an enormous muslin shirt over her gown.
Anne’s fingers shook with excitement as she removed her unyielding underskirts before stepping into a pair of men’s linen breeches that hung to above her ankles. The breeches were so baggy she could only hope the sash tied about her waist would hold them up. Next came the stiff leather jerkin. Finally, the disguise was completed with a red cap pulled down over her ears.
Jane frowned. “I’m afraid it will have to do.”
After Jane tossed a black woolen traveling coat around her shoulders, she glanced about the chamber. “Put this on,” she said, tossing the woolen blanket from the bed to Anne.
Anne wrapped the scratchy blanket about herself and followed Jane to the door. The latch creaked open, and she felt a rush of air as Jane nudged her into the hall. Her heart was in her throat while Jane led her toward the back stairs, their heels clacking along the creaking wooden planks.
In what seemed like the longest ten minutes of Anne’s life, she and Jane arrived without incident at the outside entrance of the manor. The evening air hung heavy with the familiar animal odors drifting from the milking barn nearby.
A few minutes later, after they had crept around the back of the barn, Jane paused, her eyes searching the fields beyond the pasture. “There!” she whispered, pointing to a grove of willows beside the hedgerow path. Jane took Anne’s elbow and hurried her along. Only when they reached the hedges did Anne see the three riders hidden in the shadows—the king, Wilkens and another man whom Anne assumed was Jane’s husband, Dr. Herrick.
Clasping the blanket with her right hand, Anne yanked up the baggy pants with the other and ran the final few yards toward the waiting horsemen, her heart thumping wildly.
* * *
The full moon cast silvered light about the countryside as Anne and the riders charged along the high road that led from Wycliffe Manor toward the town of Bristol. Anne sensed that Jane had chosen the longer route rather than the shorter middle road because of the soldiers’ camps fortified along the more widely used route. The horses’ hooves splashed through mud puddles from yesterday’s rain, tossing up mud clods along the way.
Dr. Herrick rode as scout and had a five minutes lead of the group. Anne rode double, behind the bald-headed servant, Wilkens. For what she thought might be an hour, she jolted back and forth, bouncing against the pillion that fastened behind the saddle. Wilkens lashed the reins in a futile attempt to keep up with the powerful bay stallion racing ahead, carrying Jane Herrick and the king.
As Wilkens spurred the horse faster, Anne held on with a ferocity that matched his and fought back the thought she might catapult off her seat and be left in the road. Good riddance, Wilkens would think and not even glance back.
Anne peered above his shoulder at the dark uncertainty of the road ahead and she felt torn between fear and exhilaration. She’d always known that someday she would leave Wycliffe Manor. It was one of her favorite daydreams to imagine her father’s magnificent high-lacquered coach clattering up the driveway. Six white horses would prance impatiently while the footman helped her into the coach where her father waited. Together, they would bound away toward their new life, far from the strictures of Wycliffe Manor.
Instead, she was holding on for dear life, plunging headlong into the unknown. What if soldiers stopped them and forced her to return to her uncle? Colonel Twining would make certain she was punished and she knew she’d lose her father.
But if Jane Herrick was to be believed, each pounding hoofbeat brought her one step closer to her heartfelt dream. How she wanted to believe it, but her thoughts twisted in misgivings. Mrs. Jane Herrick, the fine Puritan woman Uncle George idolized, was nothing like he had imagined. Although the fact pleased her, it also provided a very dubious structure on which to build her hopes, Anne mused.
Suddenly a golden halo of light appeared up the road. Wilkens reined back on his horse and trotted alongside Jane and the king. Uneasily they waited for the lone rider to arrive.
“It’s Dr. Herrick,” cried Wilkens. Anne drew a sigh of relief as she peered out into the soft glow of the lantern the doctor held above his face.
“Roundheads,” he warned, drawing rein. “A full squad riding off the middle road and they’re coming straight on us!”
“We can’t hide the horses,” Jane said, twisting around in the saddle. “The trees aren’t thick enough along this stretch.”
“Aye,” the king agreed. “It’s too late for that.” He pulled his wide-brimmed hat low over his face. “We’ll talk our way out of this.” Anne thought she heard him chuckle. “If our tongues fail us, we’ll give them a taste of our metal.”
Anne spied a small group of bushes a few rods from the road. “No, wait!” Anne cried. Four surprised faces turned her way. “If soldiers are riding from the middle road, they’ve been sent by my uncle. They’re searching for me.”
“She’s right.” Wilkens interrupted, shifting uneasily in the saddle. “The middle road cuts north through Wycliffe Manor.”
“I’ll hide in that copse over there.” She started to slide down from the pillion.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Wilkens reached out and caught her wrist. “We’re on to yer tricks. You’ll run out when the soldiers git ‘ere and tell ‘em ‘bout the king.”
“Release her, Wilkens,” Jane ordered. “I’m sure Anne realizes if the soldiers take her back to her uncle, she’ll never see her father again.”