Читать книгу Satan's Mark - Anne Herries, Anne Herries - Страница 6
Chapter One
ОглавлениеAnnelise paused to glance over her shoulder as she heard a burst of raucous laughter. Three men had come staggering out of the inn behind her, their arms about each other’s shoulders; they were obviously in high good humour, seemingly the worse for strong drink as they laughed and shouted at some jest of their own.
Such behaviour was frowned on by her uncle and his friends—but these men were surely strangers?
Her heart raced wildly, nerves fluttering in sudden apprehension. They were Royalists! Cavaliers, soldiers, newly returned from wherever their wanderings had taken them these past years. She knew them by their extravagant manner of dressing, so different from her own much plainer garb, which was the simple gown and cap favoured by those of the Puritan persuasion.
The men were indulging in friendly horseplay, pushing each other as though they would fight a mock battle and creating a great deal of noise. They were obviously intoxicated, she thought, her face freezing into an expression of distaste as the tallest of them swept his hat off, making her an elegant bow; his action brought another burst of merriment from his companions.
‘Have at it, Justin—the wench is worth the bedding, I’ll vow.’
Annelise turned away, her cheeks flushed with annoyance as she realised the laughter concerned her this time. If this was how the new King’s supporters meant to behave after their long exile, her uncle was right—England would soon return to the bad old ways!
Sir Hugh Featherstone had been a close friend of Oliver Cromwell long before he had become the Lord Protector. Sir Hugh and Cromwell had fought together in the wicked Civil War, which, her uncle maintained, King Charles I had inflicted on his people, and the great man’s death had been truly mourned in the Featherstone house.
In her heart, Annelise had not really liked the Lord Protector, though she had respected him as she ought. She had found him a solemn, stern man, despite his kindness to her whenever they had met, and…
‘Mistress Woodward.’ The woman’s cry brought her from her reverie. ‘Pray wait a moment. I would have you carry a message to Lady Prudence.’
Annelise stopped at once, waiting for the woman to come up to her. She could hear the men laughing loudly just behind her, but refrained from looking back, suspecting that yet again some of their merriment might be on her account. She would not let them guess she had heard their wicked remarks about her person. Shame on them for their immodesty!
‘Goodwife Hale,’ she said with a smile as the woman arrived, puffing slightly from the effort. ‘What may I do for you?’
Mistress Hale was the wife of the village parson, a good, devout woman, though somewhat dour and stout of person. Beneath her plain black gown, with its collar of white linen, her more than adequate figure bulged and struggled for freedom, so that she resembled nothing so much as a bag of turnips tied up in the middle.
‘I wondered if…’ Mistress Hale halted as the three men passed by on their way from the inn, one of them brushing his arm carelessly against her basket. ‘Have a care, sir,’ she cried, glaring at him. She crossed herself fearfully. ‘Your kind are not welcome here. The mark of Satan is upon you.’
The Cavalier she had addressed could not hide his astonishment, for his carelessness had surely not warranted such a tirade. His brow creased, and for a moment Annelise thought he might strike the parson’s wife, such anger was in his face.
He was a large man, with a florid complexion and narrow-set eyes. Annelise felt a shiver run down her spine. Mistress Hale was surely unwise to speak so harshly to such a man? He and his kind were in command now, and no one could yet be sure how King Charles II would behave towards the followers of the men who had so cruelly killed his father. Better to tread carefully, to avoid confrontation.
‘Hell’s bells!’ the man muttered. ‘May a man not walk in the street now without being accosted by a shrew? A sorry place these Puritans have made of our merry England. I’ve a mind to teach you better manners, witch!’
‘Mistress Hale meant no harm,’ Annelise said quickly as she saw the older woman’s expression of indignation and feared a further outburst. ‘She was but startled, sir.’
The man’s dark eyes came to rest on her. Despite the plainness of her gown and headdress, nothing could deny the girl’s beauty. Only a few wisps of golden hair showed beneath her linen cap, but her eyes were wide and clear, more grey than blue, her complexion so delicate and perfect that the man’s jaw dropped.
‘Come, Ralph,’ another voice commanded. ‘We have business, remember?’
It was the tall man, who had made Annelise a mocking bow. His words had a powerful effect on the man called Ralph. He nodded, some of the anger fading from his face.
‘You are right as always, Justin,’ he said. He bowed his head to Annelise, a rueful twist to his lips. ‘You are fair of tongue and face, mistress—’tis a pity you wear the colours of a crow.’
‘Forgive him,’ the second man said, causing Annelise to look at him more closely.
She caught her breath. How attractive he was! He had taken off his hat once more and his long dark hair shone like the wing of a raven as it hung on his shoulders. His eyes were very blue and at that moment seemed to be laughing at some private jest all his own. She did not think she had ever seen such a well-favoured man in her life, and her heart had begun to beat very oddly.
How foolish! Annelise scolded herself mentally for her thoughts. She had been taught to disregard the vanities of life, and, though she had often rebelled inwardly at the strictness of her uncle’s rules, was accustomed to accepting his word as law. She went to church every Sunday, morning and night, listening to the long, dull sermons without complaint—and if she did smuggle a book of poems into her bedchamber, to read by the light of her candle, there was no harm in it. At least as long as her uncle did not discover her fall from grace.
‘I fear Ralph’s manners have not been what they ought,’ the man went on, bringing her wandering thoughts back to him. ‘He was clumsy. But, though we have broken our journey at yonder inn, we are not drunk on wine, only the pleasure of being home again. Nor does poor Ralph carry the mark of the devil, despite his looks, which, God knows, do not favour him!’
Annelise sucked in her breath. Her eyes opened wide. Was he insulting his companion? What would the man he called Ralph say now? Her heart raced with a mixture of apprehension and something else…something she was far from understanding.
‘Damn you, Justin!’ Ralph said, glaring at him. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. ‘I should call you out, knave that you are—and I would if I did not know it to be useless.’
Justin Rochefort laughed, his white teeth gleaming in the sunlight. He had the alertness and vitality of a man used to living by his wits—the look of a battle-hardened soldier. But when he laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners, Annelise glimpsed another, very different character. There was a charm about him then that made her heart skip a beat.
‘No, no, my friend, I beg you,’ he said. ‘Why should I kill the best companion I have ever known over a mere trifle? I do not mind your ugly face—but I fear you have distressed this lady.’
Suddenly both the other men laughed. ‘Ralph is a clumsy bear as always,’ the third and youngest said. He swept off his hat and made the ladies an elegant bow. ‘Forgive us, ma’am, mistress. We have been remiss. I am Sir Robert Harris, the son of the late Sir Richard of Longton Hall, come to reclaim my inheritance—and my friends Colonel Ralph Saunders and—’
‘Nay, nay, Rob,’ Justin put in, cutting off his flow. ‘We tarry overlong. Pray let us be on our way without more ado. Forgive us, ladies, we are already late.’ He bowed to Annelise once more.
His will seemed to be the other two men’s law. He turned away and they followed, laughing at some private jest as they mounted their horses and rode off.
‘Well!’ exclaimed Mistress Hale with a sour look after them. ‘So that is Sir Richard’s son. He was no more than a youth when his mother took him to France to join his father, after the estate was sequestered at the end of the war. I had heard his father had died, and that the estate had been restored to Sir Robert by the King. Much good may it do him!’
‘It has stood empty for two years now, has it not?’
‘Since Matthew Clarke died. God rest his soul!’ Mistress Hale crossed herself piously. ‘He was a good man and kept the estate well…but after his wife and son died of a fever he had no will to live.’
Annelise nodded. Matthew Clarke had been her uncle’s friend and a constant visitor to the house: she had liked him and his wife very well—indeed, there had once been a suggestion that the two families should be united by marriage, joining their estates as one. If David Clarke had not died, she might have been his wife even now—and waiting in fear to be cast out of her home! For no one could be sure what would happen now that the King had come back and the old order had been turned upside down.
Matthew Clarke had bought the estate fairly after it had been sequestered by Parliament, and perhaps it was best that he had died, leaving no heir, before all the wrangling began.
King Charles II had returned to England in May of that year, making a glorious entry into London and welcomed by people who had grown tired of the rigid rules laid down by Parliament and the Puritan faction, who had forbidden so many of the pleasures enjoyed by simple folk. Now that Charles was restored to the throne, there were many who lay abed at night and trembled. Some were in possession of estates taken from their rightful owners by dubious means, and could only wait to discover if they would be turned out by returning exiles. Others had paid good money for their land and were prepared to fight for their right of ownership.
Despite the outward rejoicing, England was still an uneasy land, with many still holding a grudge in their hearts and old hatreds simmering just beneath the surface. People spoke in whispers of godly men dragged out of their homes to face a beating or violent death, for many of those who had returned with His Majesty had come with a lust for vengeance against those who had caused their downfall.
Annelise was thoughtful as she left the village and began to walk towards her home. The Woodward estate, since it had belonged to her father, was, she supposed, hers by right. Lord Henry Woodward had fought for the King, leaving his beloved wife and only child alone in the huge house the Woodwards had owned since the days of the Tudors, to be cared for by their faithful women and a few men who had been too weak to march to war.
Annelise had been little more than a babe when the war began. She vaguely recalled a man’s laughing face as he kissed her and told her to mind her mother until he came home again, but though she’d wept when she had learned of his death at Naseby, she had not truly mourned him. How could she mourn a man she’d hardly known?
In truth, what she’d truly mourned, had she but known it, had been the absence of laughter in the house. Where there had been joy, music and happy faces, there was now only duty and solemn words. She had once been a merry child, a little naughty sometimes, but blessed with a sunny nature that made her truly loved. Over the years Annelise had come to accept the teachings of her uncle and aunt, but somehow in her heart she retained the core of joy that had been her birthright. Sometimes she rebelled against the doctrines forced on her and longed for that other life. Yet she could not but be grateful for her uncle’s care of her.
When at last the war had ended, her father’s estate might have gone the way of many others had her uncle not stepped in to help his sister. He had claimed his right to be Lady Woodward’s protector—and, because he was a close friend of Oliver Cromwell, had been granted the stewardship of her husband’s estate. He and his wife had come to live at Woodward House, and when Annelise’s mother had gradually died of a broken heart had assumed the guardianship of his niece.
Annelise had never had reason to complain of her uncle’s behaviour towards her. He was a stern man, but honest and fair in his judgements. Nothing had ever been said of her inheritance, but she supposed that would happen when negotiations for her marriage were begun. She knew her uncle had recently started to consider the idea again—indeed, had it not been for the Lord Protector’s death in 1658, it would probably have been arranged long before this. She was almost twenty years of age, and more than old enough to be married.
Sir Hugh had been greatly affected by the Protector’s death, which had followed that of Matthew Clarke by a few months, and was spending more and more time alone, reading from the Bible and neglecting the affairs of the estate. Annelise knew her aunt was worried about him, but there was nothing they could do—Sir Hugh had never been a man to take kindly to helpful suggestions from his wife.
Annelise frowned. She had not given much thought to marriage before this, but now found herself wondering what kind of a man her uncle would choose to be her husband. She hoped it would be someone she could like and trust.
For a moment the picture of a man’s laughing eyes flashed into her mind, but she dismissed it at once. It was unlikely that her uncle would choose a follower of the King he despised. Besides, she could not wish for such an alliance. She had been taught to think ill of such men, though now and then she rebelled in her heart. Her own father had been one of them, and her dear mother had died of love for him, so they could not all be as evil as her uncle claimed, could they?
How wicked she was! No, no, she would not consider the idea for a moment; it could only bring unhappiness. A good, sober man of her uncle’s choosing would surely make a comfortable companion and she would be a fool to ask more.
Indeed, she did not expect to meet the stranger again. She thrust the memory of his handsome face from her mind and hurried into the house to give Aunt Prudence the message from Mistress Hale.
‘My God, Justin,’ Ralph muttered as he threw himself down on an oak settle and took up the tankard of ale Robert’s man had poured for him. ‘This is a sorry homecoming for that young scamp. ’Pon my word, I never expected to find the estate so neglected.’
The two of them were alone in the parlour, the only comfortable room in the house, their host having gone off for a walk to cool his temper. Which, considering the neglect they had found, was perhaps the best thing Robert could have done.
‘I dare say it is as well,’ Justin remarked wryly. ‘Had it been flourishing, Rob would have found himself fighting through the courts for possession.’
‘As you must,’ Ralph said, nodding. ‘It is fortunate that you have not been idle these past years, my friend. At least you do not need to be a burden to your companions.’
Ralph Saunders had lost everything he had left behind. A devoted supporter of Charles I from the first, he had beggared himself by giving away his plate and gold in the King’s cause. His house was in ruins after a fiercely resisted siege, and the land had been neglected so long it had gone wild. Due to the generosity of Justin he was not a pauper, but it irked him to live on another’s charity.
‘We may be able to do something about your house,’ Justin said, frowning as he saw the flicker of anger in the other man’s eyes. ‘No, no, don’t poker up like that, Ralph. I have more than enough for my needs. If your house can be restored, I shall lend you the money—and you may repay me at your leisure.’
‘Damned good of you, but I don’t like it,’ Ralph muttered. ‘The Black Boy has promised to give me a pension, but God knows when I shall get it—you know he is surrounded by petitioners on all sides.’
Justin smiled at the irreverent description of the King; those who had shared Charles’s exile during his years of wandering had many a name for him.
‘And it does not suit your pride to join them?’ Justin mocked, the light of battle in his eyes. ‘Well, my finicky friend, we must find you a rich heiress to marry.’
‘Now don’t start that again,’ Ralph protested, throwing up his hands. ‘No woman of fortune would take me—why should she? I’m damned near forty, too heavy, and set in my ways—and I never was a catch, even as a young man.’
‘You wrong yourself,’ Justin said, smiling at his companion of many years. ‘You are no beauty, but you have a good heart. I am sure we can find you an honest widow, who will be willing to share both her fortune and her bed with you of a cold night.’
It was now that the character Annelise had glimpsed won through. To strangers, Justin might at times appear stern, distant, but to his friends he gave generously of both his money and his self.
Ralph scowled at him. ‘Mock me if you will, wretch! If you were not such a damned fine swordsman I would call you out—speaking of which, what did you think of the Puritan wench? Now if she would glance my way, I might consider marriage. I have seldom seen such a beauty, even at the court of France.’
‘You would compare her to Mademoiselle Dubonnet?’ Justin asked with raised brows. ‘Or the Comtesse Migonet? I thought her a pretty little sparrow but she cannot compare to Mirabelle Varennes.’
‘Your chère aimée?’ Ralph lifted an eyebrow. ‘Few women can compare with her, Justin. She will be missing you. I dare swear she expected a proposal of marriage from you now that her period of mourning is over.’
Justin frowned, his eyes narrowing in thought. ‘Yes, I imagine you are right. Mirabelle’s temper will not have improved since we left Paris. I am not sure that I want to marry her, Ralph. She is beautiful, charming, sophisticated—everything a man could desire in a wife—and yet I hesitate. It was in my mind to ask her, but I was reminded that I had a duty here and I decided to settle that first.’
Ralph looked at him curiously. ‘What are you going to do about that—the girl, I mean? Her father’s will makes you her guardian and custodian of his estate, but it was meant to be your father who stood guardian, Justin. Woodward could not have known that the date he wrote out the document was two weeks after your father was killed—that he was in fact making you his daughter’s guardian. You were not much more than a lad at the time.’
‘If he had written down the third Marquis Saintjohn, the will would have become void,’ Justin said, his brow furrowing. ‘He must have written it in a desperate state, knowing he was dying, forgetting that my father was the third Marquis Saintjohn and that I would be the fourth. If he had made his wishes plain, I should not be in this awkward position. All reports of Featherstone say that he is an honest man—and was a true friend of Cromwell, who you know I admired, despite his misguided actions in regard to His Majesty’s father.
‘Had the will been clear, I should not have sought to interfere—but I feel obliged to at least make sure she is being properly cared for. The estate is hers by right. Her mother’s brother has no claim to it, despite the stewardship granted by Parliament. If I chose to fight him through the courts, I should undoubtedly win.’
‘But you are not sure you want to do that—is that not so?’
Justin took a turn about the room, glancing out of the window at the neglected drive. He had promised Robert help with restoring his estate. It would take weeks of hard work to bring this place back to its former state, and that time would give him an opportunity to look about him, to make discreet enquiries and discover what he could of Mistress Annelise Woodward and her guardian.
‘I am thirty-four,’ Justin said at last with a wry smile. ‘Half my life has been spent abroad. I have made a fortune from a trade some would call piracy—though I sailed under the French flag and had a licence from the Crown—and now I am back in England I must fight to gain my rightful lands. If I am to have an heir I must marry soon. I have little time to dance attendance on a young girl. She has no husband. Her guardian has been remiss in this: he could surely have found someone to take her with an estate of that size?’
‘She must be nineteen or twenty by now,’ Ralph said. ‘Not so very young. You could do worse than wed her yourself, especially if you seek an heir. At least you could be certain the child was yours, for she’s hardly likely to have had a lover; these Puritans keep their women close.’
‘She is probably as plain as a pikestaff,’ Justin said, his sense of the ridiculous coming to his rescue. He chuckled deep in his throat. ‘Indeed, she must be, or Featherstone would have matched her long ago. No, no, Ralph. Spare me that sorry fate, I beg you. If I marry, it will be to a lady of the court—a woman in her twenties, a widow, perhaps—who will understand my ways and give me a son without expecting me to love her. I have no time for courtship and pretty words.’
‘You are asking much,’ Ralph said, lifting his brows. ‘Most women desire at least a show of tenderness. Even I know that!’
‘Tenderness?’ Justin arched his brows mockingly. ‘I am not sure I know how to love, my friend. I have been too busy staying alive these last years to have time for tenderness. What do I know but fighting? I have been a mercenary and a privateer, taking comfort from a willing woman where I found it. Besides, what is love? My mother took lovers even before the war, while my father lived. Most women I have known are as inconstant as the moon.’
‘Oh, ye foolish one!’ It was Ralph’s turn to mock now. ‘I’ll take a wager with you, Justin—one day you will find a woman who will show you what love is, and then you will fall hard. Believe me, you will suffer then. She will twist you round her dainty finger!’
‘A hundred gold guineas says you’re wrong,’ Justin replied, mouth twitching at the corners. ‘If I marry, it will be for a son and no more.’
‘Where have you been?’ Lady Featherstone asked as Annelise entered the parlour. ‘I have been looking for you this past age.’
‘What is the matter?’ Annelise asked. She could see her aunt was really upset. ‘What has happened to trouble you so, Aunt?’
‘Your uncle has locked himself in his private room and will not come out,’ Lady Featherstone replied. ‘I have called to him, but he will not answer me and I know he is not well.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Master Blackwell told me he turned pale after reading a letter come this morning from London. Apparently, he cried out that the mark of Satan was come upon this house and rushed away to his sanctum, locking the door after him. He has since been heard to moan and cry out strange things.’
‘What could have been in the letter?’
‘I do not know, nor even who sent it,’ Lady Featherstone said, shaking her head. ‘Your uncle has never discussed his affairs with me. When I have tried to question him about…about his recent neglect of things, he has turned from me.’ There was a catch in her voice. ‘I do not know what is happening to him, Annelise. He seems…’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I worry about him. Sometimes I think he might be losing his mind.’
‘Oh, no!’ Annelise cried. ‘Never say it, Aunt. It cannot be so. Let me go to him, let me talk to him…he may be recovered from his distress by now.’
‘Yes, please do so,’ Lady Featherstone said, looking relieved. ‘He will sometimes listen to you.’
Her uncle had always been a cold, distant man, with strong views, but clear in his thinking and fair in his treatment of others. Annelise thought it unlikely her uncle really listened to her, though sometimes if he was in a good humour he would permit her to give him her opinion. He did not relish interference from either her or her aunt. Yet she must try to help him if he was ill.
What could have upset him so much?
She paused outside her uncle’s door, knocking softly. ‘May I come in, sir?’
There was silence for a moment, but just as she was about to knock again the door opened. Her uncle stood there, looking much as always. His thin lips parted in a smile.
‘Yes, child—what may I do for you?’
‘Are you well, sir? I heard that you had been unwell earlier.’
‘Unwell?’ He seemed surprised. ‘Who told you such a tale? I am perfectly well. I have been busy working at my accounts and did not wish to be disturbed, that is all.’ He stood back, indicating that she might enter.
‘I am so relieved.’ Annelise followed him into the rather dark room with its crowded shelves and heavy oaken table, at the end of which was a chair with a high back. It was here that her uncle had been working. She could see the rolls of parchment, his quills and the pewter inkwell. ‘Is there anything I can do to help you, sir?’
‘No, thank you, Niece. I have finished now. I believe everything is in order.’ He hesitated, staring at her oddly. ‘I have not taken as much care of your estate recently as I ought. I beg you will forgive me, Annelise.’
His apology surprised her. ‘I am sure there is nothing to forgive,’ she replied. ‘You have been a good and faithful guardian to me.’
‘And you would say as much to anyone?’
‘Yes, indeed, sir.’
He smiled at her, reached out and patted her cheek. ‘What a good child you are: the daughter your aunt was never able to have. You will always care for her, I hope?’
‘Yes, of course, Uncle—and you.’
‘Then perhaps all will be well,’ he said, and turned away. ‘Leave me now. I have much to think about.’
‘Will you not come to the parlour for your dinner, sir?’
‘No, I am not hungry—but your aunt may send in a warm posset when it suits her. I shall sit quietly by the fire and think…Yes, I must think of what is best to do for the future. Satan’s mark must not fall on you or your aunt…’
‘Satan’s mark, sir?’ Annelise felt a cold chill at the base of her neck. ‘What can you mean?’
Something was different. It had happened in the space of a heartbeat. She sensed it and felt chilled. For a moment her uncle’s eyes seemed to hold a strange glitter. He was ill! If not in body, in mind.
‘There is evil all around us,’ Sir Hugh said, a new wildness about him. ‘When he died I felt it strike here.’ He beat at his breast in anguish. ‘There is no one to do God’s work, no one to intercede for us. The evil has come back to this land—and the mark of Satan is upon us all. But I shall not let it fall on you. No, not if it costs me my life.’
Her uncle’s eyes were looking far beyond her, searching for something. She saw him start, as if he saw what he feared, and then he began to shiver, his whole body shaking as with an ague.
‘You are ill,’ Annelise cried. She saw him clutch at himself, clearly in pain. ‘Pray, let me help you…’
She tried to take hold of his arm, to lead him to the settle, but he threw her off, his eyes wild. She was frightened by his strange manner. What could be wrong with him?
‘You are in danger,’ he cried. ‘Do not trust him, Annelise—the man who comes to claim you. He is the devil in disguise. Beware…beware the mark of Satan…’
Even as Annelise cried out for help, Sir Hugh’s eyes rolled upwards and he fell forward against her. She could not hold him, and must have let him fall had his steward not come rushing into the room at that moment.
‘Let me take him, mistress,’ he said. ‘I thought this would happen…I have seen it coming on, feared it.’
Annelise helped him to assist her uncle to the settle. It was clear that he had lost consciousness, though she could see that he still lived. She believed his illness was of the mind, brought on by grief and fear for the future.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked the steward. ‘Has this happened before?’
‘It was not so bad the last time,’ he replied, looking grave and sad. ‘But I see the hand of God in this, mistress. It is a warning. Unless Sir Hugh consents to seeing a physician, the next seizure may be the finish of him.’
Annelise moved away when her aunt came to take her place; servants were summoned and Sir Hugh was carried up to his chamber and laid on his bed.
What had he been trying to tell her? She was sure that he had been frightened for her sake—that he had been trying to warn her.
But of what?
Annelise snatched off her cap, allowing her long hair to flow freely on her shoulders; her silken tresses caught the sunlight through the trees. It felt so good, but she knew it was wrong. Both her aunt and uncle would have disapproved of her removing the headdress, because it was immodest for a woman to flaunt her beauty; it tempted men to sin and was frowned upon by the church.
She breathed deeply, lifting her face to the sky as she ran helter-skelter, heedless for once of propriety. How sweet the air was here in the woods, full of the scents of summer, and how glad she was to have escaped from the house at last.
For the past five days she had felt like a prisoner. Her uncle had been pronounced gravely ill, though he had come back to his senses a few hours after his seizure. It was then it had been discovered that his right arm and leg had been affected, leaving him partially paralysed. He was confined to bed, ordered to rest by the physician.
Annelise had naturally helped her aunt to nurse him, and she had been distressed by the change in Sir Hugh. He seemed to have aged overnight and was prone to fits of weeping. Worst of all had been the way he had clung to Annelise’s hand and begged for forgiveness. She had tried to reassure him that he had done nothing that needed to be forgiven, but his mind was no longer as clear as it had been and he would not be comforted.
The sun was so warm, but beneath the canopy of leaves Annelise felt cool and refreshed. She began to sing as she danced, abandoning all restraint in the knowledge that she was alone. Her song was one of those she had learned at her mother’s knee, a song of love and betrayal, a song that she would never have dared to sing in her uncle’s hearing.
And so, my love, come lie with me…
There beneath the apple tree…
Give me, sweet, your own true lips,
And I’ll not press for…
Hearing a sound behind her, Annelise swung round, conscious that she was being watched. Her song ceased abruptly as she saw the man. It was the Cavalier she had met in the village—the one with the mocking eyes! The one who had made her heart behave so oddly.
‘Forgive me if I startled you, mistress. Your singing was sweet. It is long since I listened to a maid singing in the woods.’
‘You startled me, sir. I had not thought to see anyone here…’ She blushed as she realised she was in fact trespassing: these woods belonged to Longton Hall. ‘Master Clarke allowed me to come here and I had forgotten there was a new owner…’ She faltered as his eyes narrowed. He was angry. What had she said to make him look like that?
‘Say rather the rightful owner has come home. And none too soon, it seems, by what we have found here.’
‘Master Clarke was a good steward for some years,’ Annelise replied, eyes sparking at the criticism. ‘He was a good man, a godly man—the neglect began only after his wife and David died of the fever. And he died soon after, so cannot be blamed for what you have found.’
‘You are staunch in their defence,’ Justin said, his eyes intent on her face. ‘They were perhaps your friends, mistress?’
‘They were neighbours and friends,’ she replied, still on her mettle, her face proud, back stiff. ‘Had David lived only a year or so longer, I might have been his wife.’
‘Ah…I see why you defend Master Clarke.’
Justin nodded his understanding. At first he had not been sure that this enchanting creature was the little Puritan wench from the village. Without her cap to hide that hair she was indeed beautiful. Ralph had been right; she was well worth the bedding. A smile touched his mouth as he imagined her beneath him, her body naked as nature intended, her mouth soft, inviting his kiss. Her drab clothes belied the true nature of the wench. Beneath that veneer of modesty lay passion. He’d dare swear there was fire in her, though she no doubt did her best to quench it—perhaps not with her sweetheart, though.
‘Master Clarke’s son was your sweetheart, then. That is why you come here, to remember him and the delights of love he taught you here in some secret glade.’ He moved towards her, feeling the desire stir in him. A surprising thing, since his tastes usually ran to more sophisticated ladies of the Court. She looked up, eyes wide and, to his mind, inviting. He reached out, touching her cheek, his thumb brushing over her mouth, tempted to kiss her. ‘Perhaps you came looking for a lover today?’
‘No, indeed you are wrong!’ Annelise was horrified. Why was he looking at her so strangely? She stepped back hastily, her heart racing like the wind. How could he say such lewd, wicked things to her? ‘You mistake the matter, sir. My uncle spoke of arranging a match—to unite our families and lands, that is all.’
‘To unite…’ Justin frowned as he was struck by a sudden thought. Robert’s lands marched with those of Lord Woodward. Of course, why had he not realised at once? ‘Are you by chance the niece of Sir Hugh Featherstone?’
‘Yes.’ She was puzzled by the immediate change in his expression; the hot, intense look had gone from his eyes and he seemed stunned. ‘I am Annelise Woodward—do you know my uncle, sir?’
‘I know of him,’ Justin replied, his gaze narrowing. He was aware of frustration, of an unreasoning anger. ‘I had not thought him a man to allow his niece to run wild. It is hardly proper for you to be wandering about in this manner, Mistress Woodward. You could be mistaken for…’ He recollected himself. His own behaviour had been less than correct, but he had thought her a village girl. ‘I should have expected a girl of your station to be more closely watched.’
How dared he suggest that she was a hoyden—or worse? Annelise glared at him, her wrath simmering.
‘I have always been safe in these woods until today,’ she said, temper suddenly flaring. ‘Indeed, there were only godly people here—until you came with your friends, sir. My uncle knew me to be safe.’
‘Indeed, mistress, I will bow to your uncle’s superior knowledge.’
Justin smiled inwardly as he recovered from the shock. Damn it! He had come close to seducing his own ward; the knowledge that he had been on the verge of kissing her…of far more if she had been willing…shook him to the core. It was his duty to protect her, to challenge any who would dishonour or harm her—and to see her safely wed to a decent man.
Now that Justin had seen her, seen the beauty and the passion that lay beneath the surface, he knew that her marriage was a matter of urgency. Perhaps she had been safe in this place, but life in England was bound to change now that the old inhibitions had been swept away. The people had been repressed for so long that some were bound to fall into bad ways—he knew only too well the nature of men. He had taken his women where he’d found them, often on the ground, sheltered only by the warmth of a velvet night and a shared blanket. He was not the only soldier to have forgotten that a lady should be treated with tenderness and chivalry. And England would be awash with men who had lost their youth, lost all the finer feelings they had once had, together with their land and houses.
His next thought surprised him. This girl was too beautiful to be left to wither away in a tiny Cambridgeshire village. She should have the chance to live, to shine in the right surroundings—and it was his responsibility, his duty, to see that she had that chance.
She was turning away, her face reflecting the troubled nature of her thoughts. He had frightened her, distressed her. He did not want her to leave with harsh words unresolved between them.
‘Stay a moment, mistress,’ he said, catching at her sleeve. ‘I meant no disrespect, nor did I intend to imply your uncle was at fault. I have been a soldier too long, and my manners leave much to be desired. If I have upset you, I apologise.’
Annelise hesitated. There was something about him that attracted her, even when he made her angry. She sensed the power of the man—a man who had seen too much of war and killing. Yet there was a softer nature, an inner self he kept hidden but which she had glimpsed when he’d teased his friends. She thought she might like that other man very well.
‘There is no need for apology,’ she said. ‘It was my fault for taking off my cap. You thought me something I was not. It is only…that I needed some release. My uncle has been confined to his sick bed these past five days and I have been anxious. It was good to run wild for a moment, to feel free…but it was not proper and I should not have done it.’
The stubborn pride had gone from her lovely face, replaced by a look of shame. Justin felt a surge of anger at himself and those who had trodden down her spirit, making her believe that to live for pleasure was sin. He had scolded her, but in truth why should she not enjoy her innocent pleasures?
‘You were not at fault, Mistress Woodward,’ he said, and now the softness in his voice sent little tremors down her spine. ‘But perhaps you ought not to come here alone in future—for your own sake. There are men who might be tempted beyond bearing by such loveliness as yours, men who could not be trusted to behave as they ought.’
Annelise bent her head, her cheeks flaming. ‘I have been told…’
‘Nay, I do not mean that you should hide your beauty,’ Justin said. ‘I am not one of those who think beauty a sin, indeed I revere and treasure it. I meant only that these are dangerous times. For your safety I would have you bring a servant with you, to protect you from those who might harm you.’
‘Oh…’ Something in his look made her heart beat faster. She stared up at him, her lips parting on a sigh. ‘You…are kind, sir.’
‘Kind?’ Justin laughed, the devilment leaping up in his eyes. She was an innocent. How little she knew of men! ‘No, mistress, do not deceive yourself. Had you been other than you are, I might have done my best to lie with you this very day.’
Annelise lowered her gaze, her heart racing. His words ought to make her angry. He had no right to say them to her…but somehow she did not mind.
‘I…I think you mock me, sir.’
‘Oh, no, not you,’ he replied, his lips twisting in a wry smile. ‘Myself, perhaps—but not you.’
She looked up at him, the beginnings of confidence in her eyes. Justin drew in his breath. By God, she could be a charmer if she chose. She had been kept close, indoctrinated with a creed he found abhorrent—but what if she were shown another way to live?
His mind began to draw pictures. He saw her at Court, dressed in a gown more fitting to her beauty and station. He saw her beginning to emerge from her chrysalis, developing into the woman she could become—and he felt the laughter begin to bubble inside him.
How amusing it would be to turn this little Puritan into a lady of the Court. She was innocent, malleable—he could make of her what he wished. He imagined himself as her guardian, watching over her education. She could be anything he desired…the mistress of the King!
That was an idea to play with, Justin decided. It would put Barbara’s nose out, and he had never cared for the shrewish temper of Mistress Palmer—or Lady Castlemaine as she was now known. She might think herself invincible and flaunt the honours her husband had received from His Majesty, but Charles was not a fool; soon he must see how avaricious his mistress was—and then he would surely look about him for a replacement. And why not Mistress Woodward?
Justin found the notion amusing. He would not make up his mind just yet, but if this little beauty managed to catch Charles’s interest, it could bring him favour at Court—and yet she surely deserved more.
It was his duty to see her well married. After that the game was all to play. Only a fool would expect fidelity from his wife—and most would be flattered if she were chosen to grace the King’s bed.
‘I should like to call on Sir Hugh soon,’ Justin said, bowing his head to her. ‘When will it be convenient for me to call?’
Annelise was uncertain. She did not quite like the way he was looking at her.
‘I am not sure, sir. I could send word to Longton Hall if my uncle would like to see you—what name should I give him?’
‘Justin Rochefort,’ he replied. ‘It is important that I speak to your uncle, mistress. Please ask him if he will see me as a matter of some urgency.’
‘As you wish.’
Annelise hesitated. He had let go of her sleeve; she was free to go, but somehow she lingered. Though at times he seemed stern, there was a charm about him—something that made her want to know more of him, something that made her foolish heart leap like lambs in the spring.
‘How long will you be staying here, sir?’
‘Until my business is finished,’ he said. ‘After that, I shall be returning to London.’ He looked at her again, taking her breath away. ‘Have you ever been there, Mistress Woodward?’
‘No…no, I have not. A visit was planned, but cancelled after the Lord Protector died.’
‘Should you like to visit there?’
‘Yes…I think so, but my uncle is too ill to travel and my aunt could not take me without him.’
‘I have a house in London,’ Justin said, surprising her. ‘My mother lives there for the moment. Perhaps she would invite you to stay.’
‘Why should she? She does not know me.’
‘No,’ Justin replied, a puzzling look in his eyes. ‘But she knew your parents well. One day you will meet her. I am sure she would like to meet the daughter of old friends.’
‘Your mother knew my father…my mother?’ Annelise was filled with a sudden longing. ‘Oh, if only I could meet her! I should like so much to hear what she remembers of my father. I was a small child when he was killed.’
‘Then I shall do my best to arrange it,’ Justin said, and his smile was so sweet that it reached out to her, seeming almost to embrace her. ‘I shall walk with you to the grounds of your home, mistress—and then I must say farewell. But do not forget to mention me to your uncle.’
‘No…’ Annelise lifted her eyes to his. ‘No, sir. I shall speak to him as soon as I feel he is well enough to listen…’