Her Rebel Heart (12 page)

Penitence put her arm around the girl and led her from the room. Meg followed, carrying the basin.

Luke crossed to stand by the window, looking out over the darkened castle, his shoulders tense and his back ramrod-straight. Ned sat down at the table and began tapping his fingers on the table.

Deliverance addressed Luke's rigid back.

“What are you going to do?”

“The first thing I am going to do,” he said slowly. “Is verify the girl's story for myself.”

“Don't be a fool, Luke.” Ned rose to his feet. “Byton is an hour's ride away and Farrington could be anywhere between us and Byton.”

“Farrington will be back in Ludlow,” Luke said.

“How do you know?” Deliverance asked.

Luke turned to face the room and shrugged. “I'm guessing that Farrington's returned to Ludlow to report to his father, celebrate his success and gather reinforcements before he marches on us. Ned, send out a scout to report if he's left a guard on the castle. If he's just marched away we will go and see for ourselves at first light.”

Ned rose to his feet and left the room.

“It could be a trap,” Deliverance said.

A thousand thoughts crossed her mind. If he were to be captured on this escapade, what would become of the castle? Of her? She could not imagine how she could sustain a siege without Luke Collyer. He had taught her to depend on him and that thought caused a rush of anger. Before Luke she had managed quite well. She had never been dependent on anyone else in her life and the thought frightened her more than the threat of Farrington.

“Don't argue with me, Deliverance,” Luke said. “I'm not in the mood.”

“No, you're feeling guilty,” Deliverance said. “You're thinking that you should have gone to Byton's aid.”

She could see from the anguished twist of his mouth that she was correct.

“You wouldn't have achieved anything,” she said. “You said yourself Farrington's men outnumbered anything we have to throw at him and you were right. We had no choice but to stay here. Stay safe.”

He scowled. “Safe? Deliverance we have less than a hundred men to hold this castle.”

“Yes, but we have something Byton didn't have and that is ample supplies and a clean water supply and we're well prepared. We can hold out until help comes. If you're riding out into a trap we are losing the only other thing we need...you.”

To her surprise he laughed. “I thought you would be pleased to see the back of me?”

She sniffed. “You are quite good at what you do and I've grown rather accustomed to having you around.”

He crossed over to where she stood and placed a hand on her shoulder. Beneath its warmth and weight, the gesture gave her a curious comfort.

“You've read all the books, Deliverance. There is no science to shutting the door and letting Farrington knock away to his heart's content. I doubt your father will let Kinton Lacey go unrelieved for any length of time. Good night.” He pulled his hand away and turned for the door, walking with a slow heavy step as if he, not she, carried the world on his back.

Deliverance touched the place where his hand had rested. She had to stop him, whatever it took.

As he reached the door she blurted out, “Luke, you've heard Lovedie's story. What are you going to accomplish by riding out to Byton?”

He stopped at the door and turned to look at her. “Peace of mind,” he said.

Chapter 8

T
he scout Ned sent out reported back that Byton castle appeared to be deserted. The man admitted that he hadn't gone right up to the ruins, and Luke decided to see for himself.

They set out before first light and encountered no enemy on the road from Kinton Lacey. The acrid smell of smoke reached them even before the former stronghold of Byton loomed out of the dawn mist, grey and ominous. He remembered how he had last seen it, golden and soft in the summer sun, a family home not a fortress. Now the broken, jagged teeth of the walls reached to the sky from a mire of trampled gardens and destruction.

He drew rein, his nose twitching. Over the stench of burning from the slighted castle, even from two hundred yards distant, he could smell death. He dismounted and led his horse across the battlefield to the ditch that lay before the castle, steeling himself to look down.

He counted twenty eight bodies lying in the inadequate defensive ditch below the castle walls. Just as Lovedie had said, the men of Byton's garrison had been tied in pairs and their throats savagely cut. Farrington hadn't even spared the powder for a merciful bullet.

Luke's own men dismounted and stood beside him looking down at the carnage, the horror on their faces undisguised. The man beside him turned away, retching and two went down on their knees, their hands clasped in prayer. Luke reflected, with some gratitude, that at least they had not heard Farrington's message. ‘
Kinton Lacey will be next’

Even as they stood there, the sound of women's voices and weeping came from the broken building and a group of four women appeared in the gateway. They walked towards him, past the shattered remnants of the gate hanging drunkenly from its hinges, their hands outstretched beseeching the newcomers to retrieve their menfolk for decent burial.

Without the necessity of him giving the order, Luke's men set to the gruesome work retrieving the bodies and giving the dead some dignity in their last resting place.

Luke left the men to their grisly task. With his pistol primed and at the ready, he entered the ruined stronghold. Farrington had set charges and brought down the towers and much of the curtain wall. Byton would pose no more threat to the royalist cause again. He thought of Kinton Lacey and the fate that awaited it—that awaited the garrison—if they should fail to hold it.

An attempt had been made to torch what was left of the place but the fire had not taken hold completely. In the remains of the hall, he stepped over the charred and still smoking timbers, and climbed the stone stairs to the upper level of the only tower that had survived the destruction.

A rattle of stone above him, alerted every nerve in his body and he softened his step, his hand tightening on the stock of his pistol.

The stairs opened out into a square room that had apparently been used as quarters for the garrison. Straw mattresses had been piled in a corner with neatly stacked blankets. He scanned the room, and in the soft morning light caught the faintest flicker of movement from behind a buttress.

He braced and cocked his pistol, levelling it in readiness.

“Come out,” he said.

“Please don't fire.” The voice sounded young and frightened.

A slight figure stepped out from the narrow space formed by the buttress and the wall, holding shaking hands above his head. He fell to his knees and looked up at Luke. The boy could not have been more than about thirteen, a scrawny youngster, his dirty face streaked with the tracks of tears.

Luke lowered his pistol. “It's all right, lad. I'm not one of Farrington's men. We're from the garrison at Kinton Lacey.”

The boy gave a choked sob and slid down against the wall. He wrapped his arms around his legs, lowered his head on to his knees, and began to rock back and forth.

Luke crouched down next to him. “I don't need to ask you any questions, lad. I've eyes in my head. Can you tell me your name?”

The boy sniffed and said in a muffled voice, “Toby, sir. Toby Brown.” He raised his head and looked into Luke's eyes. “They're all dead, aren't they? I heard them screaming.” His face crumpled. “I hid meself. I should’ve been out there with them.”

Luke laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. “And you would be dead too. Nothing you could have done would have changed anything, Toby. You're alive. That's what matters.”

The boy continued to rock back and forth, locks of red hair covering his face.

Luke squatted down. “You wouldn't be related to a Lovedie Brown would you?”

The boy stopped his rocking and looked up. “She's my sister. What's happened to her? I thought her safe in Ludlow with our aunt.”

Luke regarded him for a moment. “Why would you think that?”

“She escaped from here not long afore the final assault.”

Lovedie had not made it to safety. Farrington had caught her.

“Is she dead?” The boy looked up at him, his face stricken.

Luke held up a placatory hand. “Don't worry. She's safe at Kinton Lacey.” How she had got there and the grim message she carried was for Lovedie’s telling, not him.

The boy closed his eyes. “I prayed for her so hard.” He raised his face to the ceiling. “Thank you, Lord.”

He held out his hand, raising the boy.

Toby swallowed and ran a hand through his hair. He took a deep breath. “Where are they? I've got to see for meself,” he said.

Luke knew he meant his murdered friends and he didn't argue. He followed the boy down the stairs and out of the stinking ruin. The bodies of the slain had been laid out and it made grim viewing. Luke told the corporal about the blankets in the tower room and the man nodded, gesturing for two of the men to go and fetch them.

The boy looked down the line of slain men. The women knelt beside the bodies of their menfolk, the keening of their grief almost too much to bear. Luke placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and Toby turned to look up at him.

“Can I go to Lovedie?” he asked.

“Of course, but first tell us who the dead are so we can give them proper burial.”

Toby nodded and they walked the line of the dead, giving the grisly corpses the humanity of their names. These men who twenty four hour earlier had walked, talked, and laughed with the boy. Luke had little time for monsters like Charles Farrington. He would see him dead before this affair was over.

They could not do much more than lay the bodies back in the bottom of the ditch and cover them with earth. Sergeant Hale said prayers over the dead, and with the morning sun high, the men mounted their horses and turned back for Kinton Lacey.

An uneasy feeling prickled at Luke. It had all been too easy. It gnawed at him that Charles Farrington had apparently just walked away from Byton. The dramatic flourish of dumping Lovedie with her message only made him more suspicious. He wondered if this was what trout felt after it had been tickled and had taken the bait.

Dearly as Luke would have loved to have put his heels to his horse and ridden hell for leather back to the safety of Kinton Lacey, a soldier's natural caution held him back. Small party though they were, he sent a scout out in front and proceeded at a leisurely walk. An hour's ride would take a little longer but he had to ensure they all arrived back in one piece. He could not afford to lose a single man.

He rode with every nerve on edge. Behind him, his men rode in single file down the narrow country lanes, each man lost in his own thoughts. The horror of what they had dealt with that day reflected in their grim faces and their silence.

To reach Kinton Lacey they had to cross a bridge over the River Teme. They were quarter of a mile from the bridge when the forward scout came galloping down the lane toward them. He drew rein, his face white.

“Soldiers,” he said. “Cutting off the bridge.”

Luke took a deep breath and uttered a silent prayer of thanks that he had not given in to emotion. Farrington had guessed, rightly, that Luke would respond to the situation at Byton and had laid the ambush for his return, certain in the knowledge that the parliamentary troops would be caught off guard.

“How many?”

“A hundred maybe more.”

They stood no chance against those odds.

“Were you seen?”

The man hesitated. “I don't know.”

Of course he had been, Farrington would have his own scouts out and they would have seen them all coming.

“Fight the bastards,” one of the men growled.

“Not today,” Luke said. “Split up. Half of you go around to the north and half to the south. Get across that river and we will meet back at Kinton Lacey.”

Even as he spoke, a musket ball whistled overhead and he heard the pounding of galloping horses. Farrington must have realised his ambush had been sprung and was coming after them.

Without need for further discussion, Luke's men turned their horses in the narrow lane and they galloped for the nearest crossroad where they split up. Luke, Hale, with the boy Toby riding pillion behind him and three others went north with a squadron of horsemen in the Farrington livery of blue coats hard on their heels.

One of the men with him was local, and he turned them across country down towards the river but even as they reached the bank, he could see more blue-coated soldiers on the far bank.

“There's a ford about quarter a mile further on,” the young man said as they paused with blue soldiers closing in on them from behind.

Luke nodded and they followed the river bank, the men on the far bank keeping pace with them. The occasional pistol shot slowed them but failed to hit any marks. A heavily wooded copse on the far bank slowed their pursuers and the parliament men put their heels to their horses in the knowledge that if they could get across the river before the soldiers on the far bank reached the crossing, they stood a chance of making it to Kinton Lacey, two miles further on.