Read Just Beyond Tomorrow Online
Authors: Bertrice Small
Just Beyond Tomorrow (33 page)
“I take up a good part of the bed,” she said, laughing.
“I'll be anxious to see just how much,” he replied.
They finished their meal. Flanna poured hot water from a kettle on the hearth, mixing it with some cooler water from a bucket, into a basin in the stone sink and washed the dishes and spoons. Patrick, taking up a cloth, dried them and replaced them in the cupboard. He then set aside an iron basin of live coals in the ashes of the fireplace for the morning. Flanna was already slowly climbing the stairs to the hall, and then to the bedchamber on the floor above that. He came behind her with the bucket and the kettle, so they would have water in which to wash before retiring.
Outside, the sky was coloring with the sunset and the twilight to follow. It was a simple bedchamber they entered, with a large bed, a small bedside table, and a trunk at the bed's foot. There was a single tapestried chair by the fireplace, which had been lit by Aggie before her departure. Flanna sat wearily upon the large bed. It was hung with dark blue velvet draperies dangling from ancient brass rings.
“It isna the lord's chamber,” she told her husband, “but I can see the loch from the windows,” Flanna explained. “I love looking out on the water. It changes so often and so readily. Will ye help me get my boots off, Patrick?”
He knelt and, with some difficulty, drew each of her ankle-high boots from her feet which were very swollen. “Lord, lass!” he exclaimed.
“They get that way when I hae been on my feet all day,” she told him matter-of-factly. Then she stood up. “Unlace me, please.”
He quickly unlaced the back of the shapeless gown that she had been wearing and helped her out of it. Flanna then padded across the room in her bare feet and, filling the basin with a mix of the water, washed herself as best she could. Then, wearing only her chemise, she climbed into bed. Removing his clothing but for his shirt, which came down over his buttocks, he washed and joined his wife in the bed.
Her belly was huge. Propping himself up on an elbow, he studied her carefully. He tried to think back to when his mother had been full with his brothers. He didn't recall that she had gotten so big.
“Put yer hand on my belly,” she said to him. “The bairn is moving about, and ye'll be able to feel it.”
Reaching out, he touched her gently and was startled when his hand was distinctly pushed. Looking down, he could have sworn that he saw the outline of a foot, or at least the toes. “ 'Tis a laddie,” he told her with a grin. “No lass would hae such a big foot.”
She smiled. “He is healthy, and active, and that is all I want him to be,” she replied.
He couldn't resist her fertile beauty. His big hand smoothed over and about her belly with the blue veining so prominent now, even through the thin fabric of her chemise. “I fear to leave ye until the bairn is safely born,” he said honestly.
“Ye canna wait for me,” she told him. “Any day the king will begin his trek down into England. Ye must bring Charlie back to Glenkirk if that is what yer mam desires. She must hae loved his father deeply to so fear losing him. I will hae my bairn whether ye are here or nae here, Patrick. Yer brother hae offered to remain. I hae the Brodies if I should need them. Ye must go.”
“I thought ye would be angry,” he said.
“I am nae happy about it,” she admitted, “but ye canna go against yer mam in this, Patrick. What if Charlie were killed? At least if ye try to bring him back, yer conscience is clear. I dinna want to live wi' a man who will spend the rest of his life feeling regret.”
“Ye're an amazing woman, Flanna Leslie,” he responded. “And when I return, we willnae be parted again. Will ye agree to that, lass?”
“Aye, my lord, and my love, I will readily agree to it,” Flanna told him. “Now, go to sleep. Ye've lulled the bairn, and he is quiet now. We should be, too.”
He took her hand in his, and they slept.
Chapter
15
15
O
n the twenty-ninth of July, the Duke of Glenkirk departed his home, leaving his pregnant wife behind in the care of his eldest brother. He did not know that the king's army was already on the move. They crossed into England on the thirty-first of the month. The duke had no choice but to follow, and so he did. He had promised Henry that he would find Charlie and attempt to convince him to come back to Scotland. If he could reach Charlie before the army penetrated too deeply into England, or there was any significant battle, perhaps he might change his Stuart brother's heart and mind.
n the twenty-ninth of July, the Duke of Glenkirk departed his home, leaving his pregnant wife behind in the care of his eldest brother. He did not know that the king's army was already on the move. They crossed into England on the thirty-first of the month. The duke had no choice but to follow, and so he did. He had promised Henry that he would find Charlie and attempt to convince him to come back to Scotland. If he could reach Charlie before the army penetrated too deeply into England, or there was any significant battle, perhaps he might change his Stuart brother's heart and mind.
The duke was garbed simply in woolen breeks, a pair of old boots not worth stealing, a shirt, and leather jerkin. He didn't wish to attract anyone's attention, although his horse, a large dappled gray stallion with a coal black mane and tail, was magnificent. Only his clan badge, displayed on his tam, could identify him as a Scot. His length of dark green Leslie plaid was rolled up and tied behind his saddle.
The worn leather saddlebag he carried was packed with oatcakes. The duke wished to avoid public houses. There wasn't a Highlander alive who couldn't survive on oatcakes and whatever he could catch. Patrick also carried a small flask of wine and a larger flask of water. He had his flint and steel and would be able to make a fire should he want it. He was well armed with both pistols and sword. He was self-sufficient.
Patrick Leslie had spent almost all of his life in Scotland, unlike his more traveled siblings. He had been to France once as a child. It had been a brief visit, but he had met his scandalous grandmother, Lady Bothwell. His mother had taken him to England twice, but other than that, and the little time he had spent at the university in Aberdeen, and in Perth seeking his wife, Patrick Leslie had never been away from Glenkirk. Now he followed the rumors south, attempting to catch up with the king's forces, and with his brother, the not-so-royal Stuart.
Within a few days, he was dodging the scouts from Cromwell's army, which was but a week behind Charles II. Patrick had not bargained for this, and he grumbled silently to himself as he rode. It was to have been a simple errand. Go to the king's encampment and try to get Charlie to return with him. Now, instead, he found himself crossing over into England. Ahead of him rode the too few forces of the king. Behind him came the great army of Oliver Cromwell. And in the middle of it all rode Patrick Leslie, Duke of Glenkirk, on a fool's mission. Still, he pushed deeper into England. He had given his word. And then it hit him. He had given his word.
Just like his father!
Just like his father!
He wondered what his mother would have said, but then, it was his mother who had insisted he go after Charlie. Or had she? Was Henry just using their mother in an effort to get Charlie out of harm's way? In an attempt to protect his own family should the connection between the Duke of Lundy and the Marquis of Westleigh be made by someone in a position to cause difficulties? Then he put such thoughts from his head. Henry might be a careful man, but he would never deliberately put one of his siblings in danger to protect his own. It simply wasn't in his nature.
The king's army moved with unbelievable swiftness. Having departed his Scottish encampment, he was over the border in only six days. Once in England he called again upon his countrymen to join him, promising to reform the Church of England according to the Covenants he had agreed to in Scotland, promising a newly elected and free parliament, and recompense to all except those involved in his father's death. Having made these public promises on English soil, he was then proclaimed King of England and Scotland before his forces with a great flourish of trumpets and a volley of shots.
Although the city of Carlisle refused to open its gates to him, the king was cheered and welcomed in the other towns and villages through which he passed. In another ten days, he was deep into England, reaching the river Mersey. Behind him, the Duke of Glenkirk rode hard, but he was always just a day behind. When Patrick reached the bridge at Warrington, he learned that a small force of Cromwell's allies had put up but a token resistance. They then retired. The king claimed victory and again called upon his countrymen to hurry to his banner.
The king was now ready to move on to London, but he had few allies in this other than the Duke of Hamilton. They had moved very swiftly down from Scotland, and the men were tired, protested his other advisors. Better to rest a while where they would be safe. Security would be found at Worcester, the cathedral town in the west country. The populace was royalist, as was the countryside surrounding it. The western side of the town was protected by the river Severn and the river Teme. To the east, south, and north were the remains of the fortifications from the earlier civil war battle. These could be repaired and used again. So the king and his army moved south to Worcester, which Charles lI entered in triumph, the mayor of Worcester carrying the city's sword before His Majesty. At the town cross, the mayor proclaimed Charles England's king. He was seconded by the sheriff of Worcester.
While neither the mayor nor the sheriff of Worcester were outright royalists, they had welcomed His Majesty graciously in order to protect the town from being sacked, which it undoubtedly would have been had they put up any sort of resistance. For the next week, the king's army went about the region collecting supplies of food, clothing, horses, and arms. Nothing more than a promise of remuneration was offered in exchange for all the inventory. Cromwell or king. It made no difference, many grumbled to themselves, although several men were hanged for looting.
Patrick Leslie arrived in Worcester on the twenty-seventh of August. Asking directions, he found his way to Charlie's favorite inn, The Swan, which was set on the riverbank. “Is the Duke of Lundy staying here?” he asked the innkeeper.
“And you are, my lord?” the innkeeper asked, bristling slightly at the Scot's accent.
“I am Lord Stuart's brother,” Patrick replied, annoyed. “If my brother is here, I would like to know. I hae ridden all the way down from the north. I am anxious to find him. 'Tis a family matter.”
“Aye, my lord, your brother is here,” the innkeeper finally said, his tone a trifle more respectful now. “I'll take you to him if you will follow me.” He moved off down a narrow hall, finally stopping before a door, knocking discreetly, and then opening the entry to usher the Duke of Glenkirk through into the chamber. Then he quickly withdrew.
Patrick's eyes adjusted themselves to the dimness. There were several gentlemen in the room, but he quickly picked out his brother.
“Charlie!”
he said.
“Charlie!”
he said.
The Duke of Lundy turned from the gentlemen with whom he had been conversing. His amber eyes widened with absolute surprise. “My God, Patrick, is that you?” he said. Then he grew pale. “My children!”
“The bairns are fine,” Patrick quickly assured him.
“Mother?”
“In France planning a wedding for Autumn,” was the answer.
“But why . . . ?” Charlie looked more than a little confused.
“We must speak in private,” Patrick said. His tone was urgent.
“My lords,” Charlie said, “this is my younger brother, Patrick Leslie, the Duke of Glenkirk. He has ridden down from Scotland to speak with me. Considering the times, I can only assume it is serious.”
“Did you see any of the Roundheads as you came, my lord?” one of the men asked Patrick.
“There were scouts everywhere in advance of Cromwell and his army, which is but a day behind me, sir,” Patrick answered.
“Good God! I had best get home while I can, and so should the rest of you,” the gentleman said.
There were murmurs of assent, and the room quickly emptied of its occupants but for Charlie and Patrick.
The Duke of Lundy smiled sardonically, and then he poured two goblets of wine from the decanter tray by the door. Handing a goblet to his brother, he raised it in toast. “The king,” he said.
“The king,” Patrick replied.
“You look battered,” Charlie noted. “Come, and let's sit by the fire. If the children are all right, and Mama is all right, I would learn why you are here, little brother. Knowing how strongly you feel, I realize it is not to add your sword to the king's defense.”
“Henry is at Glenkirk,” Patrick began, smiling at his brother's look of astonishment. “He told the local authorities a small lie in order to obtain the proper passes, and then he came. He is in correspondence with Mam, although how he manages it, I dinna know. Mam dinna want ye in the midst of yer cousin's struggle. She wants ye wi' me at Glenkirk.”
“Patrick,” his brother began, but the Duke of Glenkirk held up his hand to stay Charlie's protest.
“Let me say what I hae come to say,” he told his elder. “I know I hae come on a fool's errand, but I promised Henry, who promised Mam. They both believe that the time isnae now for the royal Stuart to return to his English throne. After what I hae seen this last month as I came south, Charlie, I believe that they are right. Surely ye realize the truth. Yer friends tonight will nae fight for this king, will they? They scurried off to their homes at the mere mention of Cromwell, and they are English born.”
“Why did not Henry come instead of sending you?” Charlie asked.
“Because Henry canna be seen in the company of the king or his army lest he endanger his own family and estates,” Patrick replied. “I, however, am a Scot. It would be expected that I might endorse this king. Besides, I am an unknown quantity to the English authorities, while Henry is nae. Mam knew that, which is why she sent him to fetch me so I might come and fetch ye.” Patrick took a swallow of his wine.
“Henry is always prudent,” Charlie remarked, almost bitterly.
“So were ye until the Roundheads murdered yer wife,” Patrick reminded his brother sharply.
“How could I remain in England without my Bess?” Charlie demanded. “And had I remained, Bess's parents would have taken my children from me, even as they attempted to do. Do you think the bastard-born son of Prince Henry Stuart, the king's own beloved cousin, would have been permitted by the Puritan courts to keep his sons and his daughter?”
“Ye did the right thing in bringing them home to Glenkirk, Charlie. Now come back wi' me yerself. 'Tis true ye're the royal bastard, the charming and wealthy duke, but ye hae nae power like the others who surround the king, nor hae ye ever wanted such power. Mam lost our father in this battle the Stuarts would wage. She does nae want to lose ye, Charlie.” Patrick leaned forward and spoke even more earnestly. “Since ye hae nae power in this fight, what good are ye to yer cousin? Yer bairns hae lost their mother. Dinna throw yer life away so that they lose their father, too. Flanna and I are content to hae yer bairns wi' us, Charlie, but what they really need is their own da. And Flanna has probably already given birth to my heir while I hae been away seeking ye.”
“Ah, Patrick, that I caused ye to miss the birth of yer first child,” Charlie said, genuinely regretful.
“ 'Twould be worth it if ye agreed to come back wi' me,” the Duke of Glenkirk said to his elder sibling.
“I cannot,” Charlie said almost sadly. “You must understand, Patrick, that while I have no power to influence my royal cousin in his decisions, and while I am no military strategist, I am his friend, his kin, and in these hard times, it makes me far more valuable to him than the others. I listen. I console. I tell him the truth. I share memories of our family. I serve a far different purpose than the others, which is why I am tolerated by these men of power. They do not perceive me as a threat to their own influence over the king. There will be no mention of me when the history of this time is written, which suits me, quite frankly. But I must be here for my cousin. I cannot, I will not, leave him.”
Patrick sighed. “The army that follows me is almost three times the size of yers,” he told Charlie. “Ye hae nae hope of winning here at Worcester, and if ye dinna win, what will happen next?”
“I don't know,” Charlie replied.
“I do,” Patrick said grimly. “They'll capture the king, and they'll capture ye. Ye'll both be executed, for ye're royal Stuarts, and this Cromwell is a man who, while hiding behind the merits of morality, righteousness, and virtue, is a power-hungry despot. He oppresses those who disagree wi' him. He sets himself up as judge and jury. If he were truly the man he claims to be, he would offer justice for all no matter their beliefs. But he is nae such a man, Charlie, and I canna believe ye would throw yer life away under such circumstances.”
“If the battle goes against us, Patrick, we'll manage to escape,” Charlie said with a small grin. “If there is one thing my cousin Charles is good at, 'tis escaping Cromwell and his ilk.” He reached out a hand to comfort his brother. “Come, now, and tell me of my children.”
“They are thriving. They hae their lessons each day but the Sabbath. Willy cut off his own curls, however. He snuck into the hall when nay one was there and took the shears from his sister's sewing basket to do the deed. Biddy cried for three days afterward. And then he refused to wear his dresses, so we breeked him. We hae nae other choice. He is a stubborn laddie.” Patrick chuckled.
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