The Rebel Captain's Royalist Bride Page 6

  ‘Lost in thought, Mistress Babette?’ he asked. ‘I hope you are not planning to slip away to meet your lover tonight.’

  Provoking creature! Did he imagine his mockery was amusing? The sparkle in his eyes was so attractive it made her angry. Did he think himself so charming that he would have her eating from his hand if he smiled at her? She would have liked to wipe that smug smile from his lips, but caution warned her to hold her tongue.

  ‘You like to mock me, sir. I have no lover—and if I choose to visit a friend I think it no business of yours.’

  ‘In times of war everything becomes the business of a careful commander,’ he said, and his eyes took on the colour of wet slate.

  ‘Excuse me, sir. I have work to do.’

  For a moment she thought he would forbid her, and her heart raced, but then he stood aside.

  ‘I must not keep you—but remember my warning.’

  Babette drew her breath. She must be careful. She must not quarrel with him lest he have her confined to her room while he stayed in the house. Yet she could not allow him to intimidate her. John would be waiting for more food and the cure she’d made and she could not let him down. Inclining her head, she walked past Captain Colby and into the kitchen.

  * * *

  Dinner seemed to drag on for ever that evening. Babette ate her portion and rose to clear the dishes but her uncle motioned her to sit down and ordered the servants to clear the table.

  ‘Remain with us in the parlour, Niece,’ he said as his wife followed the servants from the room. ‘Your aunt reminded me that you were born a lady and it was remiss of me to expect you to do chores more properly assigned to servants. Sit and listen. You may hear something of interest.’

  Babette looked longingly at the parlour door, but she could not defy her uncle. To claim a headache two nights running would appear rude to their guest. She was forced to sit and listen to the two men talk of the war, of how it seemed to have reached a stalemate these past months.

  ‘Neither side was truly prepared for it,’ Captain Colby said. ‘Tempers were raised and men threw down their ploughshares and took up swords, but most had no idea how to fight. What we need are trained soldiers and Cromwell is the only one of our commanders who sees how it must be done at the moment. His troop is the best equipped and the most disciplined of our troops.’

  ‘Surely it would be better to make peace?’ Sir Matthew said. ‘Cromwell seeks to win a war with soldiers that are trained to fight—but it is still brother against brother and cousin against cousin. It would be better if the King could be brought to the table on some agreeable terms.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Colby agreed and frowned. ‘Yet there are too many hotheads that will not listen on both sides. They say Prince Rupert struts like a young cockerel and speaks of teaching the rabble to know their betters—such talk does not bode well for peace.’

  ‘Will the King not listen to sense?’

  ‘Why should he when he thinks he is in the right?’ Colby asked. ‘Had he been less stubborn, more inclined to listen to the views of those who understood the mood of the people, we should never have come to this situation.’

  Babette sat, twisting her hands in her lap. She wished she had some sewing or perhaps a book of sonnets that might concentrate her thoughts. This talk of war and the allusions to the King were little short of treason to her mind. She felt like protesting, but bit her tongue, keeping the unruly thoughts from becoming speech. She would offend her uncle and their guest if she spoke what was in her mind—but oh, how angry she felt to hear such falsehoods. She was sure that the King was not half so stubborn nor yet as intransigent as he was made out—but why should these men try to dictate to him when he was King by divine right? They should know their duty to his Majesty...

  ‘You are very thoughtful, mistress?’

  Babette glanced up as Captain Colby looked at her, his fine brows arched mockingly.

  ‘I was thinking that I promised my aunt I would help her prepare the oatmeal for breakfast,’ she improvised. ‘Forgive me, Uncle. I shall not be long—and when I return I shall bring my sewing.’

  Before her uncle could refuse her, she rose and left quickly, though she saw Sir Matthew frown and knew he had wanted to keep her with him in the parlour. He had never required her company before, which meant he thought she should make the most of the time Captain Colby remained as his guest. Guessing that he was hoping their visitor would offer for her, she felt a surge of temper. How dared he interfere in her life? She would wish to marry one day, when John introduced her to a man she could like and admire, who would offer for her—but she would not be pushed into an arrangement that did not suit her. She would never, never wish to be the wife of a man like Captain Colby!

  Escaping to the kitchen to find her aunt absent, she took oatmeal from the larder and put it to soak in a big earthenware bowl, then filled a linen bag with bread, cheese, the remains of a cheese and onion pasty and some cold cooked bacon. She added a flask of ale and the small bottle of fever mixture and fled before Aunt Minnie could return.

  * * *

  Glancing over her shoulder to make sure she was not observed, she had run swiftly to the appointed place. John was waiting at the gate that led to the orchard.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he hissed. ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’

  ‘Be careful. Stay in the shadows,’ Babette warned. ‘The soldiers’ leader is suspicious. Sir Matthew kept me after dinner and I made a weak excuse to escape them. I must go back quickly or Captain Colby will think something is going on and he may have men watching for me.’

  ‘Give me the food and medicine.’

  Babette thrust it at him. ‘Just a small dose every few hours—there is enough for two days. Do not use it all sooner or you might damage your friend further.’

  ‘He is a little better since you tended him.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it, but the fever may return.’

  ‘Go back to the house. Send Jonas to the hut with food tomorrow, but do not risk it yourself. I will come for you when it is safe. Take care, Sister. I would not have you suffer for our sake.’

  Babette thanked him and ran back to the house. Finding the kitchen still empty, she went through it and up the stairs to her room; she gathered her sewing, hurried back downstairs and re-entered the parlour, breathing deeply. Captain Colby looked at her hard, deep suspicion in his face. His look made her quail inwardly, but he made no comment. After a few moments, she thought she saw frustration enter his eyes. She thought it might be because her uncle had kept him talking longer and he had not been able to follow her and see what she did. Bending her head over the seat cover she was embroidering, she matched her threads and began to make the tiny neat stitches that made her work so attractive.

  ‘You are industrious, mistress,’ Captain Colby said, watching her intently. ‘Do you enjoy your work?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I like to be busy. I have been embroidering a set of cushions for the chairs in my aunt’s bedroom. She finds my patterns pleasing and I wished to thank her for making me welcome here. I hope to have the set finished before I leave—’ Breaking off abruptly, she cursed her slip.

  ‘You are leaving us?’ Sir Matthew frowned at her. ‘Does your aunt know? This is the first I have heard of this.’

  Babette berated herself silently for her mistake. She’d spoken without thinking, because she had not meant to mention her intention to leave until her brother came for her.

  ‘I came only for a visit, Uncle,’ she said, a little lamely. ‘I must return to my home in time.’

  ‘Perhaps—’ he frowned ‘—though my wife is your only blood relative, I think?’

  ‘I have a brother, Uncle. If—if John returns home, he will expect to find me there.’ She was feeling warm and uncomfortable, her skin flushing all over her body as she felt both Sir Matth
ew’s and Captain Colby’s eyes on her.

  ‘Should Lord Harvey return you would have to go home,’ Sir Matthew said, ‘but until then, you must not think of leaving us—unless it was to a home of your own. It might be that I was able to arrange a respectable match for you.’

  Babette kept her eyes downcast and held her silence. She did not wish to speak defiantly to her uncle unless she were forced—especially in front of Captain Colby. She wished Sir Matthew would not interfere in things that did not concern him. Her brother was the only one who could legally give her away, and she hoped she might persuade him to wait until she met someone she liked well enough to marry. Indeed, she believed he would be happy to have her remain single for the moment, at least until Alice had given birth to her child. Time enough to think of her marriage then. Now that John was back in England he would bring friends and fellow officers to the castle when he visited Alice—and perhaps Babette would meet a man who could make her heart race and her body tingle in a way that gave her pleasure.

  Meeting the cool gaze of the rebel captain, she was aware that her heart was racing wildly and a spasm of something half pleasure and half fear in her stomach made her feel quite weak. The way he looked at her...and the clean scent of his skin as they had ridden through the woods...

  Realising where her thoughts were taking her, she brought them to an abrupt ending. Had Captain Colby been for the King he might have been just what she would like in a husband—but he was her enemy and she must never forget it.

  Chapter Four

  James Colby frowned as he looked out of the window of his bedchamber. It was plainly but adequately furnished and the bed was comfortable, but for the moment he was too restless to lie down. He wondered what it was about the Royalist girl with the bold eyes that had driven deep into his mind, reaching beneath the barrier he had built to keep out the pain.

  He’d thought after his sweet Jane died he would be immune to a woman’s wiles, but for some reason Mistress Babette had pricked him into constant awareness. She was the kind of woman that aroused a man’s senses, but it was not entirely that... No, there was a spark of pride in her eyes and humour, a spirit that had not been crushed by her uncle’s strict rules.

  Despite himself, James liked the way she had stood up to him in the woods, the way she matched him in thought and did not turn down her eyes as most women. There was no false modesty about her; she was prepared to speak out in defence of her beliefs, even though she knew his were opposite.

  She was an industrious, thoughtful young woman, eager to work and help her aunt in the house. Her garden was much as Jane’s garden had been when he’d first met and wooed her after his return from college. They had known each other as children, but it was only on his return from Cambridge that he’d known he wished to wed her. His delight and joy when she promised to be his wife and the promise of their first kiss had been all he’d needed. Jane had wanted to wait until her seventeenth birthday to wed and he had given way to her pleading for a little time, but a week before the wedding she’d taken sick of a fever and died. He’d been with her at the end, holding her hand, trying to give her his strength to pull her through the terrible sickness. As she faded, the life slowly ebbing from her, she’d wept and apologised for not marrying him three months earlier.

  ‘Please do not,’ he begged, emotion clogging his throat as he looked down at her beloved face. She was his dear friend, the companion of his childhood years, now grown up and beautiful, and he had longed to make her happy.

  Her passing had seemed to take all the joy from his life. For weeks he hardly spoke to another person. Life passed him by and he had nothing to live for—and then someone told him that the King had tried to arrest five members of Parliament, all of them good honest men whose only crime was to speak out against unfair laws. Having been the victim of some of King Charles’s taxes—and knowing that a dear friend of his father had been unfairly convicted by the Star Chamber of being a traitor and sent to the Tower to die, when all he had done was to campaign for fairer taxes—James was immediately on the side of Parliament. How could the good citizens and farmers of England accept the rule of a tyrant?

  James Colby was not of the Puritan faith. He believed in God and he disliked Catholic idolatry, but he loved beauty in all things. A beautiful garden, a lovely woman, a pretty gown trimmed with precious lace—or a valuable book bound in fine-tooled leather, silver and gold, pearls and rare jewels, the scent of a woman’s hair... Mistress Babette smelled like honey and flowers.

  The thought brought a smile to his lips and he chuckled as he thought of the way her eyes had taken fire when he’d accused her of being a witch. He had been unfair when he berated her for meeting a lover, for he would swear she was innocent, untouched. The smile left his eyes, because he was certain she was hiding something from him.

  Why had she been out late at night? And then, in the woods, there had been something guilty about her. She was entitled to pick herbs and berries, but that mushroom...he knew it to be poisonous and so did she. So who had picked it? Her servant? Perhaps that bit was true, but surely he would have asked her...unless he was waiting for her while she spoke to someone else?

  She’d told him that she was picking herbs to make a potion to help a friend, and he was inclined to believe her—but who was that friend? Why should she have looked guilty if she had no secret to protect?

  Had she been meeting someone in the wood and if not a lover—who? Why had she been so anxious to leave the parlour earlier that evening? Afterwards, she’d returned with her sewing. He’d noticed mud on her shoe. She’d also spoken of leaving, which had been a surprise to her uncle. He would swear it had been a slip of the tongue—but why had it been in her mind?

  Just what was Mistress Babs up to? Again, a smile touched his lips. She had not liked it when he called her thus. Was it a pet name? He felt a touch of jealousy as he wondered again if she had a sweetheart, yet why should he feel jealous?

  His thoughts brought a frown to replace the smile. Had he truly considered making a girl he did not know his wife? He’d known almost immediately that Sir Matthew hoped for the match. He felt himself responsible for the girl in the absence of any other relative—and for some reason he feared that his son might take after the girl when he returned home from his college. He did not wish for a match between Babette and his son, so he hoped to marry her off to his second cousin before his son returned.

  James had thought his cousin’s hints and explanations clumsy, too eager, as if he wished to be rid of the girl—though she had a fair portion, if he had cared for such things. Sir Matthew had told him that her father had left her a small chest of silver and some valuable jewels, which were apparently lodged with the Jews of London for safe keeping until she married. Why did his cousin not think it a good match for his son? James would have thought it an excellent prospect for a young man about to enter the church—Mistress Babette was, in fact, above him in class and fortune.

  Perhaps that was it, James reflected. His cousin lived an honest, hard-working life with few luxuries and little time for frivolity—and perhaps he sensed that such a life would not suit Mistress Babs for long.

  She belonged in a beautiful house with graceful rooms filled with pretty things and should wear silks and velvets rather than the plain gowns that were all she needed for life in her uncle’s house. James’s house was filled with the beautiful things he’d planned to give to Jane—he had not been able to live there since she died.

  His eyes darkened with pain. How could he even think of putting another woman in Jane’s place? Yet in time he must marry and it was true that the Royalist girl had roused him from the depths of his grief. He did not love her, could never love anyone as he loved his sweet Jane...and yet...and yet... Riding with his arms about the girl and the scent of her in his nostrils, he’d felt a stirring in his loins. He had wanted to touch her, to caress her, bury his head in
her hair and lay her down in a secluded glade within the wood to explore the delights of loving...

  He had never made love to Jane in the physical way, never touched her pale flesh or kissed her deeply. How bitterly he had regretted that after her death, but in a strange way he had wanted to keep her on her pedestal to worship from afar. She was his gentle Jane, his love—and to despoil her with a man’s greedy needs would somehow have been wrong. Of course when they married...

  James frowned as he realised that he’d never felt tempted to take Jane down to the sweet earth and ravish her. How strange that he hadn’t realised it before. He had wanted to protect and cherish her, but the powerful need Mistress Babs had aroused... No, he had not felt that with Jane.

  He did not wish to marry the girl, even though he must wed one day to ensure an heir. No, she was not fit to take Jane’s place...and yet...and yet...he could not sleep for thinking of her.

  If it were merely lust that she had aroused, then any woman would supply his needs...but despite his determination that she meant and could mean nothing to him, James knew that she had touched him in some way.

  He wanted her as he never remembered wanting any other woman, her scent and presence in his arms arousing feelings that had lain dormant for too long. Yet it was not only that. Despite himself there was more.

  No, he was a very wretch to think it. A surge of punishing grief pushed through him, and he shook his head. He would not betray Jane by thinking of Mistress Babs.

  When he married it would be for comfort, nothing more....

  * * *

  Rising from her bed the next morning, Babette stretched and yawned. She’d had pleasant dreams, though she could not recall them, but they had left her feeling refreshed and happy. She poured water from her ewer into a bowl and washed her face and hands, then smoothed the washing cloth over her arms and breasts and down her body. Although she could not bathe as often here as at home, where the servants were at her beck and call, she liked to keep herself fresh and clean and her soap, which had been made in France and sent from London, was gentle on the skin and smelled of flowers.