Beloved Enemy, page 11
The hand on her shoulder seemed to wake her before she had even fallen asleep. “It is time to rise, mistress.” The serving wench placed a ewer, from which rose a comforting wisp of steam, on the dresser beside the window. “You are to break your fast in the small parlor by the east door.” She left a candle burning on the mantel before departing as softly as she had come.
Yawning, Ginny slid to the floor. There was not even a streak of gray in the sky, and Amelia Hammond barely stirred as Ginny washed gratefully and dressed again in her riding habit. In her befuddled, sleep-soaked state, it seemed as if she had only just taken it off. She braided her hair as best she could in the dim light of the single candle, which she then took with her as she let herself out of the chamber. However sleepy some of its inhabitants, the castle was very much awake at this unearthly hour. Soldiers strode purposefully across the courtyards, servants scurried through the corridors, and Ginny found one willing to direct her to the breakfast parlor.
Alex and Diccon were there, examining a map. The aide-de-camp was standing by the table, gnawing on a chop; Alex, perched casually on the corner of the table, was gesturing with a pewter tankard as he cut a wedge of cheese from an enormous round. They both looked up as she entered, and Diccon mumbled an embarrassed greeting through a mouthful of meat, wiping his greasy hand hastily on his britches.
“Good morning, Virginia.” Alex looked, to Ginny’s jaundiced eye, as if he had passed a long and peaceful night. His eyes were bright, complexion fresh, clothing as neat and tidy as always. “You slept soundly, I trust.”
“Not long enough,” Ginny returned, a slight edge in her voice. She had been somewhat unsure as to how she would greet him after last night’s abrupt departure, but annoyance and fatigue seemed to be providing the answer.
“You will feel stronger when you have broken your fast,” Alex replied in soothing tones that irritated her even further.
“It is too early to eat.” Ginny filled a tankard with ale from the jug on the laden table. “Pray do not let me disturb you. You were clearly engaged on some vital military matter.”
“Are you always so ill-tempered in the morning?” Alex inquired, spreading golden butter thickly on a slice of wheaten bread. “You are making poor Diccon feel most awkward. I am sure he thinks he is in some way responsible. Eat this.”
Ginny, feeling a little ashamed of herself, took the bread and butter and smiled at the aide-de-camp who did, indeed, look rather uncomfortable. “Do not mind me, Diccon. I did not sleep soundly or long enough last night, a fact for which you can hardly be held accountable.” The lieutenant offered her a radiant smile and his eyes glowed. Ginny blinked. Such a simple apology surely did not deserve quite such a degree of warmth? Alex, interpreting the smile correctly, gave an internal sigh. Life was already sufficiently complicated without young Diccon being smitten with a case of calf love.
“If you have breakfasted sufficiently, Lieutenant, would you make sure Jed and the horses are ready and waiting at the gatehouse? We take horse in ten minutes.”
Diccon flushed as he recollected himself, saluted smartly, and left the room.
“I do hope you will become accustomed to early rising,” Alex murmured. “Being subjected to a fit of the sullens every morning will prove tedious, I fear.”
“I do not object to rising early, if I gain my bed equally early,” Ginny retorted. “And you are entirely responsible for my disturbed night.”
“How so?” he inquired with more than casual interest. Ginny bit her lip crossly. She had not meant to refer to the wretched tossings and turnings of deprivation, or to her dismal reflection that Alex would not be obliged to suffer in that manner. “I meant nothing.” She took a gulp of ale.
“You did mean something,” Alex insisted. “You cannot make such an accusation without explaining it.”
“Oh, do not make me say it,” Ginny begged. “It is so mortifying.”
Alex chuckled. “Shall I guess?” Reaching for her hands, he drew her between his knees. “You were, perhaps, eager for love?”
“And you were not, I suppose,” Ginny mumbled, feeling his knees pressing her thighs warmly through the material of her habit. “Or if you were, there was always something you could do about it.”
“Like what?” His eyebrows lifted. “You are not, I trust, going to say something very shocking.”
“Like kitchen maids,” Ginny snapped, pulling at her hands.
Alex disconcertingly burst out laughing. “Kitchen maids! You ridiculous girl! If it wasn’t funny, it would be insulting. I’m not some rutting stud, whatever you might think.”
“Oh, do let me go.” She pulled at her hands again. “I do not see why you should mock me.”
“You deserve it for making such an outrageous suggestion. What would you say if I suggested you could always go down to the barracks to relieve your needs? It comes to the same thing.”
“It does not!” Ginny protested. “But I do not wish to talk of it anymore. I have not yet finished my breakfast.”
“Then you had better do so with all speed.” He opened his knees before releasing her hands. “At some point, Ginny, we must talk of what you said last night.” He spoke seriously. “I beg your pardon for being so brusque. I should not have packed you off to bed quite so abruptly, but I found the truth somewhat unpalatable.”
“I do not,” she said quietly. “It is a fact I am happy to live with. I do not care if the whole world knows of it.”
“You are speaking without due thought,” Alex said with a sigh.
Ginny spun round on him, saying fiercely, “It is my fate, Colonel, and I will embrace it as I choose. You have a care for your reputation and your career, and leave me to manage my own.”
Alex inhaled sharply, and that telltale muscle twitched in his cheek. “You are going to have to learn not to talk to me in that fashion, Virginia. Unfortunately, I do not have the time to teach you at the moment. Finish your meal and be at the gatehouse in five minutes.” Swinging on his heel, he marched from the room, leaving the door open.
Ginny felt the prick of tears behind her eyes. She had been outrageously rude in the face of his apology and genuine concern about a matter that did involve them both, and the irritability of fatigue was poor excuse. She simply wanted him to accept that the opinion of the world was of no importance to her and, while they need not flaunt their relationship, Alex need not exercise an unnecessarily chivalrous restraint that would deprive them of something that fate could wrench from them at any moment anyway.
Abandoning the breakfast table, she made her way to the gatehouse where Alex, Jed, and Diccon waited, already mounted. Diccon swung to the ground the minute she appeared, ready to assist her to mount Jen. In her anxiety to avoid the colonel’s eye, she smiled her thanks rather more warmly than the help warranted, and was both comforted and amply rewarded by the lieutenant’s glowing response. To Alex, it looked as if she were deliberately encouraging his aide-de-camp, and his lips tightened. There was nothing he could say or do at this point, however. Diccon was behaving in a perfectly appropriate fashion, for all that he looked like a soulful puppy, and Virginia had only smiled after all.
Dawn was breaking as the silent group clattered through the arched gateway, over the drawbridge, and onto the road to Newport, leaving at their backs the sorrowful image of Carisbrooke Castle and its royal prisoner. An hour later, they rode into Newport, the main town on the Isle of Wight. Even at this early hour, the prosperous market town was bustling as storekeepers raised their shutters and inn servants hurried through the paved streets. The air was laden with the mingled smells of fish, tanning, and hops from the breweries, fisheries, and leather manufacturers who made up the town’s main industries and accounted for much of its prosperity.
Visits to Newport during her childhood had always been a great treat for Ginny, particularly when she was allowed to accompany her father about his business, or when he sat as magistrate at the assizes. The town seemed little different now, the older buildings, half-timbered and plaster-fronted, standing side by side with the newer ones of brick and timber. But where once there had been only farmers, goodwives going about their household business, fishermen, and storekeepers, there were now soldiers. Tankards in hand, they lounged outside the inns. Officers strode down the streets, spurs clinking. Ginny waited for some sign from the slovenly looking soldiers that they acknowledged their officers but saw none, just as the officers appeared not to notice the slouching men.
Alex gave vent to a disgusted exclamation as a foot soldier reeled against the wall, then spat in the gutter. “Have they no pride? No discipline?” Spurring his horse, he descended on the knot of tavern leaners who jumped to alarmed attention as Bucephalus reared over them. They were subjected to a blistering tirade from the colonel, who told them in fearsome detail what their fate would be were they under his command, then ordered them back to their brigade. Grim-faced, he returned to his own companions. “If I had time to find their officers, this town would jump,” he declared furiously. “How can we expect to win a war when there is no pride in the uniform, no cohesion, no sense of self-respect? I’d like to have every man jack of them under my command for twenty-four hours!”
Ginny glanced at Jed and Diccon. They seemed quite unperturbed by their colonel’s vehemence, in fact were nodding in agreement. She herself, while she had known this side of Alex existed, found herself fervently hoping that she would not have to witness such a display again. And, even more fervently, that she should never find herself on the receiving end. It was hard, though, to avoid making the mental comparison between the men in the streets and what she had seen of Alex’s brigade, where the men stood tall and proud, went about their work with smooth efficiency, snapped to attention at the mere glimpse of an officer. If it took that scalding tongue to turn them into the effective, single-minded fighting machine that would ensure their safety inasfar as it was possible, what right had she to question his methods?
On reaching the quay, they found Major Bonham, calm, complacent even, Ginny thought, surveying the flat-bottomed ferries where the horses were tethered in rows, each one attended by a foot soldier. The remainder of the brigade were embarked on similar craft, clearly at ease, until a bugle called at the sight of their commander and the loose ranks became stiff columns. Alex acknowledged the salute. “Stand them at ease for the crossing, Major.” He dismounted, reaching up to lift Ginny from the mare the instant before Diccon offered his hand. “Jed will see to your horse. Come.” His palm was in the small of her back, the pressure gentle but firm as he moved her toward the ferry where stood his officers.
Ginny resigned herself to being hurried along in this proprietorial manner. That he was still annoyed with her, she was in no doubt. She could almost feel the coolness radiating from his hand.
On reaching the edge of the quay, however, she twitched away from his guidance, catching up her skirts and springing nimbly across the yawning gap between the quay and the ferry. Alex, in spite of his annoyance, could not help a tiny smile at this renewed evidence of her ease with all things nautical. She shook out her skirts and went over to the port rail from where she could watch her beloved Isle of Wight recede in the morning mists. If the mists cleared rapidly, once they were well out into the Solent, she would be able to see the house that was no longer her home, standing on the cliff top above Alum Bay. Perhaps such an indulgence would not be wise. To break down, here amongst these men, was unthinkable. One should look forward, after all, not back. But she could not move as the anchor chains rattled, the mooring ropes were tossed into the ferry, and the wind caught the broad sail as the helmsman swung the wheel. The ferry moved out into the Solent on the swelling tide, and Ginny rested her chin on her elbows propped on the rail.
“I could not leave you behind, Ginny.” Alex spoke softly, suddenly behind her, touching her shoulder in brief comfort. “Even had I the inclination to lose you, my duty demands that I keep you under my guard. You understand that, do you not?”
She nodded and sniffed, feeling in her pocket for her handkerchief. Her fingers closed over the king’s document, and with the feel of the stiff parchment her tears dried. What right had she to lament the loss of her home when the king had lost his freedom and so many had lost their lives in the cause? And besides, would she not rather be here, locked in passion and conflict with the man who aroused her to such peaks of glory, offered such an expanse of wonder to be explored.
With a decisive movement, she turned from the rail. “I have done with grieving, sir.”
Alex looked at her, a frown in his eyes, then inclined his head in brief acknowledgment. As he began to move away, she said softly, “I crave pardon for my earlier discourtesy. It was inexcusable.”
“Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “It was. You will be wise to ensure that it does not happen again. But I will pardon you, on this occasion.”
And for that small mercy, Ginny supposed, she should be grateful.
It was mid morning when the procession of ferries turned into Lymington estuary. The river was as busy as always with small craft plying backward and forward between the flat marshes on either side. As the leading ferry approached the cobbled quay, men and boys, clustering around the bollards and leaning against the low stone wall, leaped forward to receive the mooring ropes thrown from the ferry by a sinewy ferryman whose bare torso was burned a deep mahogany. The helpers on the shore would expect to be paid, and Ginny wondered whether Cromwell’s army did pay for such services rendered, or whether they came under the heading of expected loyalty to Parliament. The ferries were all docked side by side, and the complicated process of disembarkation began.
Jed came over to Ginny. “Colonel wants you to stay on board, mistress, until the brigade’s reformed.”
“Why?” She frowned in puzzlement. “I can wait on the quay.”
Jed shuffled his feet on the wooden deck. “I think as ‘ow Colonel feels you’ll be safer here, beggin’ your pardon.”
“I will not be able to run, you mean.” She shrugged easily. “I do not think I would get very far, do you, Jed?”
“Not if Colonel doesn’t want you to,” Jed concurred. “Doesn’t want you to try, though. Could be awkward.”
Ginny had little difficulty believing this laconic statement and settled down on a coil of rope to watch the disembarkation. It could have been chaos with the horses, unnerved by the voyage, stamping and tossing their heads, the two hundred men milling around unloading the carts of supplies; instead, everyone seemed to know exactly what they were to do, officers were everywhere, playing as active a part as their men, and Alex, Ginny decided, seemed to have the gift of being in ten places at once. She watched him closely, noticing how he never seemed to be interfering, was not averse to putting his shoulder beneath a particularly awkward bundle, how the men joked and laughed around him. Yet she knew the awe bordering on fear in which they held him.
The sun was warm, the ferry rocked gently on its mooring, the ropes creaked with the sound that to Ginny was as soporific as a lullaby. Her eyes drooped as a wondrous lethargy spread through her. She curled up on the coil of rope, pillowing her head on her hand, inhaling the sun-soaked fragrance of the wooden deck, the faint oily smell of the rope, the salt-fish river marsh smell.
Colonel Marshall’s brigade formed up in orderly ranks on the quay, cavalry at their head, baggage carts neatly loaded at the rear. The sight seemed to please their commander since, after roll call and inspection, an hour’s liberty was announced. A low cheer rose from the ranks at the prospect of the freedom to roam the street of Lymington town. An hour was not long, but if the wenches were willing and the ale strong, much could be accomplished.
Alex turned with his officers toward the Ship Inn on the quay. “Fetch Mistress Courtney, Diccon, will you? She will be as much in need of refreshment as the rest of us, I daresay.” He shook his head with a slight smile as Diccon, transparently eager, set off back to the ferry. It was probably best to let him work out his own problems. Keeping him away from Ginny would most likely only exacerbate his tendre; besides she would be more than capable of dealing with any inappropriate behavior on the part of the lieutenant without the colonel’s interference.
The taproom was crowded, but the landlord was more than willing to supply a private parlor abovestairs for Parliament’s officers. Apart from anything else, he didn’t want any trouble, and there were many of his regulars who wouldn’t take kindly to drinking in the company of Roundheads. Ale, bread, meat, cheese, and fruit were brought and, to the landlord’s relief, promptly paid for. One could never be too sure these days whether what was provided would be considered a contribution to the army’s well-being.
Alex went over to the tiny, diamond-paned window looking down on the quay. Diccon was loping across toward the inn, and he was alone. Alex’s back stiffened. She could not possibly have managed to evade Jed’s eye on the ferry. But if she had, in the melee on the quay, she could easily have slipped away. Controlling his impatience, he forced himself to wait until Diccon bounded into the room.
“Where is Mistress Courtney, Lieutenant?” he demanded softly.
Diccon looked stricken. “It’s—it’s rather awkward, Colonel, you see she . . .”
“She what, Lieutenant Maulfrey?” There was total silence in the dim, heavily paneled room as Diccon struggled for words to express his embarrassment, having no idea what it was that the colonel suspected.
“She’s—well—asleep, Colonel,” he stammered. “I—I did not know whether to wake her or not. She looked so peaceful, you see, and—and she did say this morning that she had not slept well last night. Shall—shall I go back and wake her?”
Alex visibly relaxed, and the rest of the men followed suit. “No, Diccon. We will leave her for a little while; then I will go myself, since she must eat before we move on.”
