Reckless Angel (36 page)

“God's grace, Harry! How d'ye know these things? How did you get in here?”

“I fell into a faint outside headquarters,” she explained. “I think 'twas because I had not eaten and I was very tired. The soldiers were most kind to me. I've been sitting in the guardroom all night, listening.”

“You swooned?” Daniel found his fatigue fade under a wash of anger at this cheerful admission. “How
dare
you not take care of yourself at this time!”

She regarded him with a stubborn turn to her mouth. “Y'are not strong enough to be vexed.”

He closed his eyes. “Just wait until I am!”

“Daniel, I had to come,” she said. “I could not know you were in such danger and not be there.”

“We seem to have had this discussion on some other occasion,” he murmured wearily. “But y'are right, I've not the strength to take you to task for it, and am in no position to enforce my commands. I can only beg that you will behave with circumspection.”

She chewed her lip for a minute. “I must return to the guardroom. They will wonder what has happened to me. 'Tis an unconscionable long time to spend in the privy.”

Daniel's lips curved involuntarily. “That's where y'are supposed to be, is it, my elf?”

She nodded. “Listen to me, Daniel. When they ask for your name, you must give them a false one. Ye can be Daniel Bolt again.” She saw prideful refusal on his face and spoke with angry intensity. “You
must
do as I say! I will not have this child born without knowing a father. Either they will execute you or you will die in prison, if not of examination! D'ye think I do not know what will happen to you? You owe it to all of us to take this one chance for escape.”

He did, for all that he knew the chance to be minuscule. But he could be no worse off, and when he was recaptured his pregnant wife would be excused her attempts to save him. It would be accepted as a brave example of wifely duty. “Very well.”

“Look for me on the road,” she whispered, her eyes
shining with relief. “I will be riding a piebald gelding. I will come up with the march.”

“And then what?” Some of her enthusiasm and vigor spilled over to him, and he felt stronger, no longer gripped by the sapping quality of helpless resignation.

“You will see.” She kissed him again, but this time with much less hesitation. Then she was gone, slipping amongst the recumbent forms of his fellow unfortunates, offering an insouciant wave to the guards, returning to the guardroom and her preparations.

A
surgeon came into the barn at dawn. Harry's makeshift bandaging had afforded Daniel some relief during the remainder of the night, but he welcomed the more expert attentions. They were not offered with much gentleness, it was true to say, but his wrist was splinted, rebandaged, and a sling provided. Once he had recovered from the faintness engendered by this care, he found he could view the day with a degree of composure.

There was breakfast, also; a meager offering of dry bread and weak beer, but it brought renewed strength as he realized that it was the first time he had broken his fast in two days. He lay back against the wall of the barn and closed his eyes. Just what did Harry have in mind? He knew her to be ingenious and determined in her planning, but even if she could succeed in spiriting him away from the line of marching prisoners, how did she think a wounded man was going to elude capture between here and London, when the entire countryside was crawling with search parties?

He must have slept a little, because the sun was high when a foot nudged his thigh and he looked up into the face of a Roundhead officer, holding quill and parchment. “Your name?” the officer demanded.

Daniel Drummond, Baronet, of Glebe Park, in the village of Cranston, in the county of Kent; His Majesty's most loyal servant
.

“Daniel Bolt, Esquire, of Lichfield,” he replied heav
ily. The officer scrawled on the parchment and moved along the line.

An hour later, they were herded out into the sunny courtyard. Daniel blinked in the brightness and wondered if he could endure the humiliation of being bound on this long march to imprisonment. But the officer directed him to one side of the yard, where were gathered the walking wounded. The able-bodied were roped together, but presumably it was assumed that the wounds of the others would have a sufficiently prohibitive effect.

It would certainly make Harry's task easier, Daniel reflected, and it further lifted his spirits. They were marched out into the street. He looked around, for the moment stunned at the scene. There were hundreds of prisoners gathered for the walk to London, Scots and English, in torn clothing, some without shoes, some still bloodied, all grim-faced with the despair of defeat. Many of them would already have marched from Scotland with the king, he knew. Exhausted by that journey, by the depredations of battle, and now another forced march, how many of them would fall by the wayside?

There was much milling around, much shouting and arguing amongst the military authorities, and the lines of prisoners stood under the sun, weary and resigned. But at last the order came to move out. Daniel offered his good arm to his neighbor, who hobbled from a pike wound in his thigh.

People came out of their houses to watch them as they passed. They stood in doorways and lined the streets. One or two ran up to them with cups of water and milk, hunks of bread and cheese. There were many words of comfort and loud calls of encouragement. Not everyone in this land was happy to accept Parliament's rule, and many wept for the king, whose whereabouts were still unknown. He had fled the field, but had he reached the safety of one of the Channel ports?

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

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

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

“Aye, mistress?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We are going to Wheatley,” Daniel said.

“But that is not what I planned.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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