Jackie Summers - Embrace The Dawn

She gasped, fear tightening her words. Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears as her mind fought back the one thought she could never bear. For how would she endure if she were to lose the hope of seeing her father?

Anne caught the look of satisfaction on Twining’s face and realized he knew he had won. He released his grip.

She squared her shoulders before she glared back defiantly, then clutched her skirts and ran from the room.

George came beside Colonel Twining, who stared after Anne. “I’ll send for Mrs. Herrick. She’ll know what to say to her—”

“It won’t be necessary, old man.” Twining faced him, his thin brows arched with triumph. “You see, Mistress Anne is like a beautiful, high-spirited filly. Reckless, perhaps, but she has a fine head on her shoulders.” Twining flicked at an invisible fleck on his crimson sleeve.

Even the small gesture, George noted, the colonel did with a self-styled assurance. The coarse black hair styled in the bowl cut of the Roundheads gave him a striking demeanor, and did nothing to dispel the man’s aristocratic bearing. Maybe it was that haughtiness some women found attractive. For a man of forty-five, his virility was well-known. Rumor had it several married women had risked their reputations with him, and it was fact that the colonel kept several mistresses in London.

“Your niece realizes what’s at stake,” Twining said with conviction. “That proud filly will come back of her own volition.” He crooked an eyebrow. “Care to wager, old man?”

The thought of the dire consequences of denying this man anything brought a well of dyspepsia to George’s throat. “I’m not a betting man, Colonel,” he managed, his damp fingers pressing against his white collar. “But I’m certain my niece will do exactly as you foresee.”

Twining responded with a smug lift of his shoulder, then turned and strode out the door.

After he had gone, George sank back in his chair and let the relief flow through him. God’s teeth, Twining still wanted to marry his niece and he was pardoning Jonathan to boot!

For as long as he could remember, his older brother had been a bane upon his life. In one fracas after another, Jonathan’s reputation would have been ruined if their father’s influence hadn’t squelched the gossip. There had been some gossip involving Twining, now that George thought about it, but he never knew the details. God’s teeth, but what did it matter now?

And another question struck him, just as it had when the colonel first offered for Anne. Why would such a powerful man as Twining desire a hellion for a wife?

* * *

Nat crept around the corner of the manor house and paused in the shadows of the dense ivy that clung to the outer stone wall of the buttery. The last of the afternoon sun slanted across the diamond-shaped panes along the gabled front, mirroring the courtyard in its golden likeness. He glanced at his reflection in the windows, then he pulled the helmet down across his forehead, straightened the crimson sash across his chest. Finally satisfied, he stepped out upon the worn path toward the kitchen.

Ahead, the sound of spurs jingling alerted him to the two Roundhead privates before they approached from around the corner. Nat returned their hasty salutes as he marched past them.

The tantalizing aroma from a dozen meat pies cooling on the open windowsill filled the air. Nat’s mouth watered, but he brushed aside the thought that he hadn’t eaten since daybreak.

Parting the thick vines, he peeked inside the window. At least ten servants bustled about the vast room. A side of mutton sizzled noisily as it turned on the jack above the fire. Several black iron cauldrons bubbled softly.

Nat crept to the next window. In the small storage room, he saw Twining’s valet, Babson, hunched over a table, unpacking candles. Nat tapped on the leaded glass.

Babson’s snowy head shot up and his eyes widened with recognition. “Quickly,” he whispered, waving him inside. “Soldiers everywhere.”

“Don’t worry.” Nat gave the old man a crooked smile while he climbed through the window. “In this lieutenant’s uniform, I’ll fit right in.”

Babson’s worried frown melted into a wry grin, as though appreciative of Nat’s boldness.

“Do you have the maps?” Nat grabbed a shiny red apple from a wooden crate beside the table and crunched a bite.

“Aye,” Babson whispered, “an’ news, too.” He glanced over his shoulder before continuing. “The maps an’ notes are ‘ere.” He pulled the folded parchments from his green tunic.

Nat took them and rolled the papers inside his jacket.

Babson lowered his voice. “Last night, while I served brandy to Twining an’ ‘is aides, I ‘eard ‘im say that Cromwell believed the king would probably be ‘eadin’ back to France through Scotland.” Babson’s face beamed with satisfaction.

“Good they think it.” Nat took another bite out of the juicy fruit. “Anything else?”

“Aye. Twining said Cromwell ‘ad agreed to the requisition for extra troops. ‘E plans to stretch a trap to catch the Black Fox.” Babson’s eyes twinkled. “Later, I snuck back an’ copied the marked locations of the roadblocks from ‘is charts.” A smile crossed his thin lips. “‘E thinks I can’t read or write.”

“Good work, my friend.” Nat patted him on the shoulder. “It would seem the colonel hasn’t forgotten the night I lightened his purse in the name of Charlie Stuart,” he added.

Babson chuckled. “That pompous ass speaks o’ nothin’ else.”

“The added note I found in your purse, Babson, was well received. The list of the locations of their ammunition depots were clearly marked.” Nat’s expression became serious. “It’s a brave thing you’re doing, as well as a dangerous one.”

Babson beamed with pride. “I’m honored to serve our king any way I can, Nat.”

Nat nodded, feeling the familiar tug of kinship for the people who risked their lives for their king. “It’s almost time for me to leave. If you need to get in touch with me, you know how.”

“Aye, Nat, an’ God be with you.”

* * *

Nat had no sooner crept around the rear of the manor on his way to the stables than he heard footsteps pounding along the path. He darted back into the shadows and flattened himself against the shrubbery. The footsteps grew louder. Suddenly a young woman hurried past toward the rose bower nearby.

Anne Lowell! Nat frowned as he watched her dash across the leaf-strewn lawn, her gray skirts billowing behind her like a bell. Reason told him to ignore her. He had a job to do, and he didn’t believe in allowing personal feelings to get in the way of duty. Yet something he couldn’t quite explain drove him, instead, to want to follow her. It was more than the liking for clouds of coppery hair and blue-green eyes. She had gotten the best of him, and he couldn’t help admiring her for that. He glanced across the courtyard at the stables nearby. Aye, he had a few minutes before it was time to leave. Enough time, surely, to satisfy his longing to see her for one last time.

A sweet fragrance drifted from the last of the summer roses and invaded Nat’s senses as he approached the heavily entwined bower. The sound of muffled sobs came from the hidden bench; his heart went out to her, but he fought back the unreasonable response. She hadn’t heard him approach, and for a brief moment, he watched her weeping, before he spoke.

“Rather far from your flock, aren’t you, lass? Your sheep must be scattered all over the hillocks by now.”

Anne lifted her white-capped head. “You?” she gasped, straightening. Her cheeks pinked at the realization he knew by her proper dress she was obviously not a shepherd maid.