Reckless Angel (5 page)

Daniel dismounted and she slipped from the charger into his waiting arms. “Of course I was not very nice to her either, but I think she could have tried to understand that I was afeard, d'ye not agree? She was six and twenty, a widow, and she brought her three children to live with us too.” She stood rubbing her shoulder and looking down into the ditch. “Is it dry, d'ye think?”

“Dry enough,” Daniel said, taking a small animal skin container from his knapsack. “Settle down and take some rest now. I do not wish to tarry here overlong.” He encouraged her down the little slope to the bottom of the ditch, saying over his shoulder to Tom, “If we turn the horses loose to graze, they'll not draw attention.”

He sat on the grass, leaning against the sloping side of the ditch, stretching his legs in front of him. “Lie down and put your head in my lap. I would look to your shoulder. The goodwife gave me some ointment to rub in if it became sore.”

Henrietta obeyed a little awkwardly, resting her head and shoulders on muscular thighs, looking up into the face bent concernedly over her. She moved to unbutton her shirt, but he brushed her hands aside with the calm injunction to be still. Her shirt came undone and he slipped the sleeve of her shift off the injured shoulder. The warm air stroked her bared skin, and for some reason Henrietta shivered.

“Are you cold?” Daniel asked, taking the top off the
small skin container. “'Tis warm enough, I would have said.”

“Nay, I am not cold,” she denied rather weakly. “'Tis fatigue, I expect.”

“As like as not,” he agreed, dipping a finger into the strong-smelling ointment. “I will try not to hurt you, but I must press hard if y'are to feel the benefit.”

She closed her eyes because it seemed easier and less awkward if she did not have to look up at him. Gently but firmly, he massaged the ointment into her aching shoulder. It hurt and she inhaled sharply, biting her bottom lip. The pressure did not diminish, however, as Daniel steeled himself to complete his task. But at last it stopped and her eyes opened.

“Nay, do not look so reproachful,” he said softly. “'Tis sometimes necessary to cause a little pain in order to do good.”

“This pains me more than it does you? Is that what you would say?” She smiled ruefully. “That has been said to me many times, Sir Daniel, but I have never found it convincing.”

Chuckling, he buttoned her shirt. “Nay, I do not subscribe to that thesis. 'Twas said to me also many a time, and I could never understand why those who wielded the rod should suffer more than those who felt it.”

“Exactly so,” Henrietta agreed fervently. She sat up, flexing her shoulder. “'Tis easier,” she said. “If ye wish to continue the journey, sir, I am certain I am strong enough.”

“Mayhap you are,” he said. “But there are those amongst us who are not.” He gestured a little way down the ditch to where Tom and Will lay prone. “We'll all be the better for an hour's respite, and there's less danger of discovery if we travel under the moon.” He lay back against the side of the ditch, closing his eyes. “Ye may find it more comfortable to use my legs as pillow. Twill provide support for your shoulder.”

Henrietta looked a little doubtful, but he appeared
quite relaxed and the bare ground was certainly bumpy and unyielding. She resumed her former position; the sun bathed her eyelids, creating a warm red darkness; aching fatigue yielded to languour; the living flesh beneath her head embodied safety and reassurance. Henrietta slept.

Daniel listened to her soft, regular breathing; felt the heaviness of her unconscious body; sensed her unquestioning trust, and hoped mightily that the trust was not misplaced. He would not have chosen to flee the lost battlefield of Preston with a weakened maid and her reluctant swain in tow. A rational man would not have pledged himself to protect a runaway maid from the legitimate wrath of her parent. Yet for the life of him, he did not know how else he could have acted. Daniel Drummond slept.

“Y'
are a milksop, Will,” declared Henrietta in disgust, picking dirt from beneath her fingernails with the sharp end of a twig. “I am certain that if you defy your father, he will admire ye for it in the end. He may be difficult at first—”

“Oh, you live in cloud cuckoo land,” Will interrupted. “There is nothing feeble about facing reality. Is there, Sir Daniel?”

Daniel regarded the squabbling pair wearily. They had been at it all afternoon and he was heartily sick of it. Outside the barn where they sheltered, the rain fell in a cold, drenching sheet. Now and again a gust of wind would drive an icy wave through the unglazed window and fling the door back on its hinges. There were holes in the roof and the water dripped steadily onto the already damp straw. The horses stood, heads hanging in resigned misery; the humans huddled against the wall, cold, tired, and hungry. The odors of wet horseflesh, moldy straw, and none-too-clean people filled the dank air, adding to the desolation.

“I do not see why you should have to appeal to Sir Daniel all the time,” complained Henrietta. “Why cannot ye make up your own mind for a change?”

“I have made up my mind,” snapped Will. “You will just not listen to sense. My father would never forgive an elopement. He does not object to the match, but he will not permit me to marry you against your
father's will. You convince Sir Gerald to permit it, and then there will be no difficulties.”

“Oh, you know that is impossible!” Henrietta cried. “He would see me dead rather than happy. If we were wed, we could find work, couldn't we?”

“But I do not wish to find work,” Will said, sighing heavily. “I wish to be Will Osbert, Esquire, of Osbert Court.”

“Oh, I do not think you love me the least little bit!” Henrietta exclaimed. “You have no romance in your soul, and no courage.”

“There are times,” Will said deliberately, “when I do not even like you.”

“That is the most dastardly thing to say!” Henrietta flung herself upon him, rolling in the damp straw.

With an exclamation of exasperation, Daniel grabbed the belt at the back of her britches and hauled her off her opponent. “If you do not behave yourself, Mistress Ashby, you will find yourself out in the rain!”

“Then I shall get the ague,” she objected. “And I shall have the fever again, and—”

“Quiet!” But his lips twitched despite his ferocious tone. “I do not wish to hear another word out of you.”

Henrietta slumped into her corner again, hugging her knees, shivering in baleful silence. The rain dripped monotonously and the wind howled; the horses shuffled on the straw; a rat scurried across the barn floor. This dismal state of affairs continued until the door was flung open to admit a dripping Tom.

“There's bread and cheese and ale,” he announced, dumping his packets onto the floor. “There's more Roundheads in town than fleas on a dog. A man can't move without a pass.”

“Why do we not try to acquire passes?” Henrietta asked, her usual sunny humor restored as she fell upon the bread and cheese. “We have been a week upon the road and this hiding grows monstrous tedious.”

“Was it an adventure ye were expecting?” Daniel inquired dryly, taking a deep draught of ale.

“I did not think it would be quite so uncomfortably
tedious,” she said through a mouthful. “But if we had passes, we could travel openly and stay in inns, could we not?”

“Of course we could,” said Will, who had still not recovered his equanimity. “But we are hardly traveling in this fashion through choice. Are you suggesting we present ourselves at the nearest military post and ask politely for passes?”

Daniel raised his eyes heavenward as he waited for the explosive response to this heavy sarcasm. It did not come, however.

“I am not suggesting
you
should,” she said thoughtfully, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “But if Tom could procure me some women's clothes, those of a servant girl would be best, I might be able to spin a tale to the officers that would suffice.” She looked at Will. “I am quite accomplished at spinning tales, am I not?”

He nodded and a reluctant grin spread across the freckled face. “Aye, that y'are. 'Tis an accomplishment that has saved ye from many a scrape.”

“And you,” she said. “What think ye, sir? I will say that I wish to visit my sick father—a good Parliamentarian—in London. And that I would be accompanied by…by…” She frowned, one hand gesturing vaguely as if she would pluck the words from the air. “By my grandfather and my brother,” she finished triumphantly. “And Tom has kindly offered to provide escort since my grandfather is rather feeble, and just one man cannot offer sufficient protection against marauding Cavaliers and highwaymen.”

Daniel struggled to grasp the role of enfeebled ancient that had clearly been allotted him. “I am to grow a white beard, I assume, and adopt a shambling gait and toothless mumble.”

Henrietta laughed. “Nay, I do not see why that should be necessary.”

“What a fortunate man I am,” he declared.

“If I spin the tale aright,” Henrietta explained, ignoring the pointed irony, “there is no reason why any
of you, except perhaps Tom, should have to show yourselves. They will issue the passes in the names I give, and once we have 'em no one will question them. If I say that you are nine and seventy and they put that upon the pass, then we may easily fashion a two out of the seven.”

“Sweet Jesus,” groaned Daniel. “Nine and seventy!”

“I do not think you are taking this seriously, sir,” Henrietta said indignantly. “I am quite in earnest, I assure ye.”

“'Tis a nonsensical plan.” Daniel broke off a hunk of barley bread from the loaf. “I understand you would have done with our present discomfort, but nursery games of make-believe are not the way.”

Henrietta flushed at this dismissal. “'Tis not a nursery game. I know I can make it work if I but have the clothes. Tom may accompany me. There is nothing to say that he is for King not Parliament, and I am sure he will agree to say that he is for Parliament. Would you not, Tom?” She looked in appeal at the trooper, stolidly eating bread and cheese while the debate raged around him.

“If'n it'd serve a purpose,” he agreed. “But Sir Daniel has the right of it. 'Tis a crazy plan…moon-mad.”

Henrietta said nothing, but her mouth lost its soft curve and her jaw took on a rather determined set that Will at least recognized with a stab of foreboding.

They remained in the barn throughout the sodden afternoon. Daniel attempted to soften his dictatorial rejection of Henrietta's plan, but she seemed impervious to all conversational tacks and all suggestions as to lighthearted ways in which to pass the time. In the end he gave up and lapsed into gloomy reflection. He could not accuse her of sulking, he decided, watching her through half-closed eyes. It was more as if she were deeply distracted by something.

Indeed she was deep in thought, making and discarding plans with a cool calculation. Without help, she would be obliged to carry out the scheme alone and in
her present guise, but perhaps she could turn that to advantage. Suddenly aware of Sir Daniel's covert scrutiny, she closed her eyes, yawning mightily as she leaned back against the barn wall, praying that he would not notice the betraying color she could feel creeping into her cheeks.

Daniel closed his own eyes. Sleep seemed the only way to pass the interminable hours until the rain should cease and they could start out again. Both Will and Tom had followed Harry's example and there was little point in staying awake by himself. Within ten minutes, his deep, rhythmic breathing mingled with that of the others.

Henrietta's eyes shot open. Stealthily, she got to her feet. Sir Daniel's purse lay beside his saddlebags. Her furtive fingers extracted two crowns. She had no idea how much the passes would cost, but she could not appear to have great sums to spend. For a maid in her position a crown would amount to some considerable sacrifice—one that should convince the officers of her authenticity and genuine plight.

Tucking her hair into her knitted cap, fastening her leather jerkin and turning up the collar, she crept out of the barn into the gathering dusk where the rain had turned to a dismal drizzle. She ran across the barnyard, her booted feet squelching on the mud-puddled cobbles. The abandoned farmhouse, its blackened walls and roofless condition evidence of the fire that had driven away its inhabitants, loomed squat and slightly menacing in the misty gloom. She veered away across the fields toward the city of Nottingham lying some three miles distant.

Daniel was at first not alarmed by Harry's absence when he awoke a half hour later. Reasoning that she was either visiting the still-intact privy at the rear of the farmhouse or stretching her legs now that the rain had slackened somewhat, he strolled outside himself. The sky was black with cloud, not a glimmer of moon or starshine, and an autumnal chill struck hard in the dank air.

A pitch-dark night was ill for traveling, he reflected, particularly when they were obliged to keep to the fields and woods. It was all too easy for a horse to miss his footing in a fox hole or blunder into the gorse and tear the skin of a hock. Mayhap they would be better advised to spend the night in this cheerless hole and risk a daytime journey on the morrow.

Frowning as he tried to make up his mind, he returned to the barn and was surprised to find that Harry had not returned. “Wherever could she have gone?” he demanded of the air and his two companions.

Tom shrugged, but Will chewed his lip and looked uneasy. “D'ye have some idea, Will?” Daniel asked, examining the young man carefully.

A pink flush stained Will's cheeks, conflicting dramatically with the shock of red hair. “I beg your pardon, sir, for saying this, but ye shouldn't have spoken as ye did to her. Harry doesn't take kindly to having her ideas dismissed in such fashion, not when she's set her heart on something and believes it will work.”

“Now, just a minute,” said Daniel in a slow, horrified realization of what Will was implying. “Are you trying to tell me that she has gone off in a passion?”

“Nay, sir.” Will scratched his head uncomfortably. “Not exactly. I think she has probably gone into Nottingham to try to acquire passes.”

“God's good grace!” Daniel stared, horrendous images jostling in his head: Henrietta in her britches providing merry sport for a troop of lewd Roundhead soldiers in Nottingham Castle; Henrietta forced into revealing her true identity and that of her fugitive companions, together with their whereabouts; the imminent arrival of a troop of Roundheads bristling with pikes.

“A wild, hoity maid,” adjudged Tom, sucking on a piece of straw. “We'd best be away afore she brings the 'ole New Model down upon us.”

“We cannot leave, Tom,” Daniel said sharply. “We cannot risk her returning and finding us gone.”

“I will stay for her,” Will spoke up. “'Tis my re
sponsibility, when all's said and done. If it hadn't been for me, she'd not have been here in the first place.”

Daniel gave a mirthless laugh. “I am not convinced of that fact, young Will. Mistress Ashby had no intention of accepting the destiny planned for her. Following you provided romantic excuse to flee.”

Will looked startled, as if such an idea had never occurred to him. “D'ye think she is not in love with me, then, sir?”

“I think she believes she is,” Daniel said. “I do not mean to prick your vanity—”

“Oh, no, sir, you have not,” Will hastened to reassure him. “I confess 'twould be something of a relief if it were the case.”

In spite of his present dismay, Daniel could not help smiling at this frank statement. Master Osbert was no stricken swain but the hapless victim of a considerably stronger will. He strode to the door, peering out into the blackness. An owl screeched and a small animal screamed in pain and fear. They were not reassuring sounds for hunted men. “Tom, you and Will ride from here some five or six miles to the south. Find some concealment and wait for me. If I do not come up with you by mid-morning, then ye must make shift for yourselves. I will remove from the barn and find some place where I may watch for her return. There is no reason why we should be caught like rats in a trap.”

They went their separate ways, Tom and Will trotting into the darkness, leading Harry's nag. Daniel turned his charger loose in a field behind the farm and found himself a broad oak tree. It was an uncomfortable resting place; although the rain had ceased, the leaves dripped dolefully down his neck, his leg muscles cramped rapidly, and his mind turned to the savage contemplation of reprisals when and if Mistress Henrietta Ashby deigned to reappear.

 

Henrietta reached Nottingham Castle just as the great portcullis was being dropped for the night. “I pray ye, sir, let me through,” she said, genuinely out of breath.
“I would have speech with the officer who issues passes for safe conduct.”

The soldiers in the gatehouse stared in astonishment. The voice was that of a country girl, the garb of a lad. “What be ye?” one of them demanded roughly. “Art wench?”

“Aye,” she agreed, pulling off her cap to free the corn silk-colored mass that tumbled in profusion down her back. “'Deed I am, good sir, but I've need of this habit. 'Tis not safe for a maid along the roads in these times.” She shuddered. “There's Royalists and all sorts about, armed to the teeth and ready to make sport with a simple wench.”

The soldiers laughed uproariously. “Aye, I'll be bound. Y'are a sweet morsel, wench. Come ye in, then, if'n y'are coming.”

They opened the postern gate, and Henrietta slipped by them, stifling a squeak as a hand came down in an intimate pat on the curve of her backside. “I beg ye, good sir, take me to the captain in charge of passes.”

“All in good time.” The soldier chuckled. “Ye'll be glad of a cup of ale on a night like this. 'Tis lonely in the guardroom, is it not, Jack? We'd be glad of a little company.”