Her Rebel Heart (15 page)

“And what do you know of love, Captain Collyer?”

“More than you I warrant, Mistress Felton,” he replied.

She snorted. “What you think of as love, most people would call lust.”

His eyebrow twitched but he gave no other sign that her barb had gone home, until he spoke.

“You are harsh, Mistress Felton.” His voice dripped with ice. “If you want to learn about what it means to love, ask your sister. One day there will be a man who will teach you the difference. Now if you'll excuse me, there is work to be done.”

He strode past her, so close she could smell the now so familiar tang of soap and leather.

Deliverance watched him go. She wanted to run after him and tell him she regretted her impetuous words but he wouldn’t thank her for demeaning herself. She sank back into the chair and rested her chin in her cupped hands.

Before Luke Collyer had come into her life, no man had affected her the way he did. When he walked into a room, she wanted him beside her. When he looked at her, her guts clenched, and when he smiled at her, she just wanted him to fold her in his arms.

She closed her eyes and prayed.
‘Oh, dear lord, make these feelings go away. I want to go back to how I felt before. I don't need this distraction.’
Her eyes, brimming with unshed tears, opened. ‘
But don't let him be killed, I would die..
.’

She laid her head on the table. Love...lust...whatever it was she suffered from, it afflicted her badly and now she had to endure possibly weeks of incarceration with a man who clearly saw her as nothing more than a nuisance.

The clock in the great hall had struck twelve midnight, but Luke still prowled the castle, checking and double checking that everything was in order, making certain the sentries were awake and that no possible chink existed in the castle's defences.

Since Deliverance's message had been sent to Farrington the besiegers had redoubled their preparations. Those within the castle could do nothing except watch as earth bastions were thrown up, wicker palisades erected and the great gun manoeuvred into position beyond the reach of the small cannon mounted in the castle's towers.

By chance, Luke glanced up at the Hawk Tower and caught a fleeting movement as the cloud parted from the moon. He frowned. He had not, to his knowledge set a sentry on that tower.

Drawing his sword he took the stairs lightly, emerging on to the platform of the tower undetected by its sole occupant. Deliverance, dressed in her normal drab gown, stood leaning against the wall looking out at the flickering campfires below her.

He sheathed his sword and at the hiss of the weapon, she jumped, looking around.

“Luke! You gave me a fright. I thought you abed.”

“The same could be said of you, lady.”

He joined her at the wall, leaning on the old, grey stone ramparts. A cold wind rose from the river, lifting Deliverance’s hair and whipping it against her face. She pushed the strands back, trying unsuccessfully to tuck them behind her ear, while not shifting her gaze from the enemy encampment.

“How many men do they have out there?”

“Ned and I estimate that they have about four hundred foot and at least fifty horses.”

“And that awful gun!” Her fingers twisted the chain of a gold locket she wore around her neck. She looked up at him, her brow furrowed in anguish. “Luke, have I done the right thing?”

Luke considered the question and probably mistaking his silence for reproach she continued. “I have prayed and hoped that God would give me some indication that I have chosen the right course.”

“If,” Luke spoke slowly, thinking through every word, “it had been me, I would have made exactly the same decision.”

“But there are innocent souls within this castle. What if the same fate befalls them as did the defenders at Byton?”

“Sir Richard Farrington has more sense than to allow that to happen again. Or at least I hope he does. What his son did runs contrary to every rule of war. Your father is not like that fool at Byton and the repercussions should any harm befall either you or your sister would not be worth the effort. Byton was meant merely as a warning, to scare us into early submission.”

Even as he spoke, he hoped he was telling the truth. This was war, there could be no certainty.

“I never thought it could be this hard,” Deliverance's voice shook as if she struggled to control her emotions. “When Farrington came the first time, it seemed easy. I'd read the books, I knew what to do but Byton changed it all. Now I don't feel very brave.”

Without conscious thought, he reached out and pushed one of the dark, wayward strands back behind her ear, allowing his hand to fall to her shoulder.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and dark in her shadowed face.

“You are the bravest woman, I have ever met,” he said. “I am afraid you are going to need every ounce of that courage in the next few weeks.”

“Weeks?” Her voice shook.

He shrugged. “Maybe months. If relief can't reach us from Gloucester.”

She turned her face away, the shoulder beneath his hand tensing with suppressed emotion. She had accused him of mistaking lust for love, but she had been wrong. He knew the difference.

Lust was Betty Jones in the dairy, an object of physical desire he had steadfastly resisted since his arrival. Love was reserved for someone deserving and there had been other girls with whom he had known love but the spark that had lit when he met Deliverance Felton went beyond all previous experience. The unknown emotions terrified him far more than Farrington.

He gently squeezed the slender bone beneath his hand, resisting the urge to run his hand around the back of her neck and pull her against him. Desire stirred, quickening his breath. It would be so easy to hold her tight, kiss the dark hair and tell her it would be all right.

He moved closer to her, smelling the soft, sweet smell of lavender that wafted from her clothes as she turned beneath his hand to look at him. Her lips parted and her large eyes glittered in the pale light of the waxing moon.

“Luke,” she whispered.

The breath caught in his throat and he dropped his hand, taking a step back.
Dear God, she felt the same way!

A vision of impending disaster flashed into his mind. Within the close confines of the castle with over a hundred people watching their every move, they needed to maintain the distance. Whatever might be developing between them, they could not afford to step over that invisible line that separated Sir John Felton’s daughter from her captain of the guard.

“It's late,” he said, a noticeable crack in his voice. “Go and get some rest while you can, Deliverance. I fear tomorrow may be a difficult day.”

She straightened, her chin coming up in that small gesture of defiance he had come to know so well. “You're right. Nothing is served by standing here in the cold worrying. Good night, Captain Collyer.”

Without a backward glance she turned for the stairs, leaving him alone. The cold wind whipped the Felton standard above his head. He glanced up at it, and then out at the twinkling lights of the watch fires.

No, he didn't need the distraction of entertaining feelings for Deliverance Felton. He leaned against the wall to give time for his ardour to cool, and smiled at the irony of his situation. Of all the women he had ever met, why this small, determined virago should have wakened a hitherto unknown emotion in him, he had no idea.

God really did move in mysterious ways.

Chapter 10

A
massive explosion followed by a jolting crash of stone, rocked the residence. Deliverance sat bolt upright in bed, her heart hammering as the drum within the castle grounds beat ‘Stand To’.

Beside her Penitence sat up and Meg, who like Lovedie, slept on a pallet in the bed chamber, began to scream. “We'll be murdered in our beds.”

“Don't be a fool, Meg.” Deliverance swung her feet out of bed. “That is just the Thunderer roaring her disapproval and I am afraid this is how it is going to be. Find my clothes.”

Resisting the temptation to don her breeches, Deliverance fretted while Meg dressed her. She looked around for the musket and remembered Luke had confiscated it on the first day.

“That man,” she muttered as she raced down the stairs and out into the courtyard.

In the grey light of the early morning she could see that the garrison already lined the east wall at the action position. Behind them, Luke stood in conversation with Ned Barrett and Sergeant Hale. As another explosion rocked the castle, she saw him instinctively duck, one hand going to the hat on his head. As the massive cannon ball crashed into the Hawk Tower, spraying the courtyard with bits of stone, he straightened.

Deliverance raced across the courtyard.

“Don't just stand there,” she screamed. “Do something!”

He looked at her. “What, exactly, do you think I should be doing? Calm yourself, Mistress Felton. They are just softening us up but please go inside and ready yourself for casualties. I expect a full scale assault shortly.”

Deliverance snorted with exasperation, and turned for the curtain wall. Even as she reached the stairs, from beyond the walls came the crackle of musket fire and bellowed orders reached her. Above her Sergeant Hale shouted the order to fire and the Kinton Lacey muskets flared, the smoke bathing the soldiers in a ghostly light.

She started up the stairs, only to be dragged back by Luke's hand on her arm. “Where do you think you're going?”

“I need to see what is happening.”

“I don't want you getting shot. We have everything under control, Deliverance Felton. Go back to the house.”

She shook his hand free, and bolted up the stairs to her familiar vantage point. Even as she peered over the wall, a musket ball hit the stonework just inches from her. She sank down with her back against the wall.

A shadow loomed up behind her. “I told you to leave the battlements, Deliverance. Do I have to carry you down myself?”

She glared at Luke. “You cannot tell me what to do and I would appreciate the return of my musket. I am as good a shot as any man on this wall. I took my turn on the last occasion.”

Luke's eyes narrowed. “Were you standing there the night we relieved the siege?”

A musket ball sang over his head and he ducked, crouching down to bring himself down to her level.

Deliverance glanced away. There could be no denying it. “Yes, what of it?” she said with a careless shrug of her shoulder.

Luke's eyes widened for a moment. “You are responsible for this?” He whipped his hat from his head and put his finger through a hole in the crown.

Deliverance swallowed. “How was I to know who you were?”

Luke stared at her “You could have killed me!”

“I did point out her error, sir.” Melchior had come up behind Luke during the exchange, making her mortification complete.
Et tu
, Melchior, she thought.

To her surprise Luke began to laugh.

“God save me.” He stood up and replaced the hat on his head. He threw his hands in the air. “I give up. Stay if you must, Mistress Felton. If you can knock the hat from my head at that distance then you are as good a shot as any man here but we don’t have time to go looking for your weapon. Just stay down and out of the way.”

He turned away from her and glanced over the battlements. He turned to Melchior. “Blakelocke, bring fire to bear on that party of men. They are carrying petards.”

“What's a petard?” Deliverance asked, cautiously rising to her feet again.

“If you'd read your books, you would know it is a metal object shaped a bit like a hat, that is full of powder. Our friends would like to nail it to the gate. They will then light the fuse and duck as the gate is blown in. Here they come in force.” He raised his voice so it could be heard along the length of the wall. “Fire at will!”

The attacking force carried long, sturdy ladders that spanned the ditch with its vicious stakes. The sheer press of men overwhelmed the musket fire of the defenders and Deliverance heard the cries of her men go up as two of the ladders swung up against the walls. They were quickly pushed away, accompanied by the screams of those foolish enough to already have put their feet on the rungs.

Deliverance sank down on her haunches again. This was nothing like the pathetic attempt Farrington had made only a few short weeks ago. That had been a tame affair where Farrington had simply sat his troops down just out of range. A few musket shots had been exchanged but no one had been hurt and nothing had been damaged...except Luke's hat.

She put her hands over her head as the Thunderer roared again, the ball flying high and crashing down through the roof of the residence. A few of Farrington's men had gained the curtain wall, swinging their legs across the ramparts as the Kinton Lacey men, their weapons to slow too load, swung their muskets like clubs.

She looked around for Luke. He had his sword drawn, engaged with a soldier wearing Farrington's blue and she realised with a jolt that Luke Collyer was all that stood between her and the melee on the curtain wall.

He had been right. Far from being a help, her presence presented a very real danger to him and to every one of the defenders. She swallowed and looked around for a way to remove herself but her only exit was blocked by Luke. She had no choice but to stay put, frozen with fear and weaponless. She crouched down low, while the battle raged across the wall.