Beloved Enemy (23 page)

To her inexpressible relief, the explanation seemed to
satisfy him. "It is as hot as Hades in here," Alex observed. "If
you are still desirous of taking the night air, I will accompany you."

"But I have my nightgown on," Ginny protested, even
as she recognized the olive branch.

"That is easily remedied." Alex smiled, catching
her hands and drawing her against him. "It is simply removed." His
fingers undid the ribbon at the neck, before he taught up the skirt of the
gown, lifting it up her body with slow deliberation. "Mmm," he
murmured appreciatively, tossing the garment onto the bed. "I fancy a
different form of exercise, I think."

"It is too hot," she whispered in faint protest.

"Will you defy me again,
little
rebel?" His hands slipped to cup her shoulders, pulling
her nearer. He lowered his lips to hers, a sheen of mockery in the green-brown
eyes for him and for her. His mouth tasted of wine and desire, arms enfolded
her against the lean hardness of his body where the coarse linen of his shirt
prickled her bare breasts and the leather of his britches stroked her naked
thighs. The sensation sapped her will completely as his mourn brushed her
cheek, scorched along the curve of her jaw, moved aside the cascade of chestnut
hair to nibble the soft vulnerability of her bent neck. Ginny stood still, for
once quiescent in his hold, allowing her mind to encompass only sensation as hi
s
hands moved upon her body, tantalizing, feather-light
with their stroking caresses, mounting a delicate assault on all her senses so
that, when he turned with her to the narrow tumbled bed, draughts of treachery
and rebellion were vanquished, and she was conscious of nothing but the
perfection of the moment.

Ginny awoke to the peal of church bells interspersed with
the call of the bugle. She was lying on top of the
sheets, quite naked, her skin stroked by the cool morning air drifting in
through the open casement. For a moment she lay, luxuriating in her body
'
s relaxation and her mind's recreation of the night.
It was not possible to have enmity for one who at such times seemed indivisible
from herself. But if she loved him as she knew she did, how could she plot
against him as she was doing every waking moment? This morning, by hook or by
crook, she was going to work against everything Alex believed in and worked
for. She was going to evade his guard, deceive him absolutely, and if she was
discovered, their love would be in the gravest jeopardy. It would be so much
simpler just to yield, to accept that the king's cause was lost, as, in her
heart of hearts, she knew that it was. But there were men —
m
en like Edmund Verney and Peter Ashley—
a
ll over this land who refused to accept defeat, who
were still prepared to give their lives, if necessary, as her father had done.
She could not do less.

Downstairs,  she found the unhurried atmosphere of a Su
n
day morning. Breakfast was a leisurely affair, and
everyone delicately refrained from any reference to her abrupt departure of the
previous evening. Then Major Bonha
m
d
ro
pped the bombshell.

"We have church parade at eleven, Mistress Courtney,
and
the padre will conduct the service at eleven-fifteen
on the village green. The men put on a brave show; it will be something
pleasant for you to see after yesterday."

Ginny gulped.
"
Your
padre will conduct the service according to the new prayerbook, will he not,
Major?"

"But of course," Major Bonham said.
"
The New Model Army does not subscribe
to the superstitions of the old service."

"No," Ginny said. She had not thought of this
complication. Parliament's forces would not worship in the old manner in the
old churches. The traditional rituals were castigated as papist in origin and
therefore dangerous. Most of the old churches had already been destroyed in the
fervor of fanaticism, the silver melted down for arms, the paintings and altar
cloths destroyed. The new priests were dour men, the new services plain to a
fault, and there would be no taking of communion. Alex Marshall's brigade would
not be worshiping with the townsfolk this Sunday morning, and where would that
leave Parliament's ward? Would she be allowed to attend the service of her
choice?

"Where is the colonel this morning?" she asked
casually.

"Here," came Alex's cheerful voice from the door.
"I give you good day, Ginny."

"Good day, Colonel." She offered him a distracted
smile. "I must speak with you in private." She twisted her hands in a
gesture of distress, keeping her eyes lowered. This game she must play to the
hilt if she was to achieve her object.

"But of course." Alex looked concerned.
"Something has happened to trouble you?" He held the door for her and
followed her out into the passage.

"It is a matter of church," she said directly.
"You will allow me the freedom to worship in the way of my father?
"
Alex was silent, and she went on
swiftly.
"
It is a matter of conscience, Alex.
You would not force me to participate in a service I find abhorrent."

"
You
will have to get used to it
,
" he said
carefully. "In a short while, the Puritan way of worship will be the only
one allowed. All pageantry and superstition will be forbidden."

"That is not yet certain," she responded
stubbornly. "And even if it were, is that not even greater cause to permit
me to attend the service of my choice while there is still a choice. I wish to
take communion as I have done every Sunday since my confirmation."

Alex punched a clenched fist into the palm of his hand,
frowning deeply. "You make it devilishly difficult for me, Ginny.
Personally, I have no objections to the old services, but in my position I
cannot condone it. In fact, I would be within my rights and duties to prevent
the conduction of such a service in the town; however, I had already decided
that I would turn a blind eye. But if I permit you to attend, I must send
someone with you, and I cannot command one of Parliament's soldiers to do such
a thing."

"So you are saying I may not?"

"I am sorry," he said with genuine regret.
"But you see my position."

"Then let me go alone." She looked at him directly.
"At least, let me enter the church alone. The escort could remain outside,
and I will give you my word that I will make no attempt to evade his
guard." T
e
chnically, that would be true, she
told herself in a vain attempt to quiet a clamoring conscience.

Alex gave vent to a series of soldier's oaths that accurately
expressed his dilemma. Ginny, aware that they were not specifically directed at
her, remained silent, admiring his fluency, hardly breathing lest she betray
herself in some way.

"
Very
well." Alex made up his mind with his usual decision. "You may go,
since I suspect it will be the last opportunity you will have. Next Sunday, we
shall be in London where none would dare practice the traditional
ritu
als. I have your word that you will go into the church
and
come out of it promptly at the end
of the service by the same door?"

"You have my word." Her heart skipped with relief,
even as she felt as if she had just emerged from the midden, soiled by deceit.
How would she have answered him if he had asked for her word that she would
engage in no subversion during the service?

Jed accompanied her to the church door. The soldier was
monosyllabic, even more laconic than usual, giving Ginny
the
unmistakable impression that he disapproved mightily
of this expedition. He took up his stance on the porch, legs parted, pike
planted in front of him, eyes staring rigidly ahead, and ignored the townsfolk
who hurried past him with
lowered eyes at this
powerful reminder of Parliament's strength and the knowledge that they were
worshiping today on sufferance.

Ginny walked boldly into the church, nothing in her demeanor
indicating the turmoil o
f
excitement and
trepidation roiling within. She received sidelong, curious glances as she
walked up the aisle, looking for a vacant pew.

"Mistress, this way." The sidesman appeared in
sober cloth, gesturing to a front pew immediately beneath the pulpit. Across
the aisle sat Goodwife Brown and her family, all of whom acknowledged Ginny with
the briefest inclination of the head. although the church filled rapidly, no
one joined Ginny in her pew, and she wondered whether this was by accident or
design. The latter, probably, she decided. Anyone traveling with Parliament's
army, regardless of status, would be a dangerous person to know.

The church had been stripped bare of ornaments, paintings,
and silver, but the font had been left standing, as had the altar and the deep,
dark-oak communion rail. The stained glass in the windows was still intact, and
the priest, when he appeared, wore cassock and surplice as if the war had
wrought no changes. Who or what was the red fox, Ginny wondered again as the
service,  comforting in  its familiarity, began.

The great oak door creaked on its hinges, and she looked
behind, down the aisle to see Jed closing the door behind him. He marched up
the aisle and took a position at the end of Ginny's pew. Had the colonel
ordered him to keep Parliament's ward under surveillance at all times? Or wa
s
Jed taking it upon himself to exceed instructions?
Either! way, it was a damnable happenstance. Supposing he insisted on
accompanying her to the altar? Ginny forced herself to concentrate on the
service, to keep her eyes on her prayer book although she knew the responses by
heart. She must not give any indication that Jed's presence disturbed her in
the least, must keep her eyes from sliding around the church, looking fearfully
for some involuntary reaction that would betray them all.

Sweat trickled down from her armpits, beaded her upper lip,
made her fingers slippery and awkward on the thin, precious paper of her prayer
book. She could always take the coward's way out: attend the service and give
no message. But she had promised the king to seize any opportunity, to do all within
her power, and if the red fox was still prepared to risk his life by hearing
the message, then would she deliver it.

The sidesman appeared beside Jed at the end of her pew,
inviting her to approach the communion rail where the priest stood, a humble wooden
cup replacing the customary silver chalice clasped in both hands. She stepped
out of the pew, brushing past Jed, wondering if he could smell the sweat of
fear, feel the tremors setting her limbs a-quiver to such a degree that she
wondered if she would be able to walk steadily. Would he follow her? She trod
up the shallow steps of the railing; Jed remained where he was, staring ahead.
Other communicants followed, and as they knelt, the worshipers in the body of
the church lifted their voices in the Psalm of David. The magnificent words of
strength and comfort swelled, and as Ginny took the cup, tasting the wine, she
heard the priest murmuring the traditional words,
th
en some others, his voice low and swift.

"If you would speak with the red fox, do so."

Under cover of the chanting voices, she gave King Charles's
message, laying emphasis on his statement that he would not abandon his people,
that he was not contemplating flight to France, that the cause was just and the
fighting must continue. As she lifted her head, opening her mouth to take the
bread the priest laid upon her tongue, she saw his eyes shining with joy, his
expression uplifted with confirma
ti
on,
and she knew that the message was a vital one and she must continue to pass it
on at whatever personal risk.

As if reading her
thought
s, the priest whispered, "You will find the red fox wherever you go
about this land, if you have the courage to seek him out." Then he passed
to the next communicant, and Ginny rose from her knees and returned to her pew,
head bowed in an attitude of reverence as she slipped past Jed, filled with an
overwhelming relief. Until their next halt, she was freed of the need for
plotting, for
deception, for fear.