Her Rebel Heart (19 page)

“Leave it,” Deliverance said.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“I want to leave it there to remember...” she began, but couldn't finish ‘...
how close I came to death’

Luke picked his way back to the door where he inclined his head and said. “I'll send someone up to board the window as soon as you are dressed.”

She had expected him to come to her, take her in his arms, and reassure her of his love…kiss her…

He was just going to leave her?

“Luke…?” she began but he had gone.

Meg came running in through the door, closely followed by Penitence.

“Thank the good Lord, you are safe!” Penitence threw her arms around her sister. They may not have been the arms she longed for but they would do.

After a moment she pushed her sister away with a brusque, “Don’t fuss, Pen. Meg, find me some shoes and my clothes, and organise some help to clean this room.”

As soon as she was dressed, Deliverance went in search of Luke. She had hoped to find him in the library but the room was deserted. She wandered over to the old oak table, which had been cleared of all but a pen and ink stand and a scattering of papers.

A cup of wine had been spilled across the table, spoiling the papers and she wondered why no attempt had been made to clean it up. She righted the cup and picked up the still sodden papers, recognising Luke's handwriting.

The door opened and Luke walked in. He stood frozen in the doorway, his hand still on the latch.

“Deliverance. What are you doing here?”

She set the paper down and smiled. “Looking for you.”

“I’m very busy.” He shut the door but didn’t advance any further into the room.

Deliverance came out from behind the table and walked over to him. She laid her hand on his chest and leaned forward, intending to kiss him but he took a step back gently disengaging her hand.

“Deliverance.” He took a breath. “We can’t go on like this. I am here to do a job, not dally with Sir John’s daughter.”

She blinked in disbelief. “What do you mean?”

“There will be no more dalliance.”

Deliverance stared at him as she tried to understand what he had just said.

“You don’t want me anymore? Is it something I did?” she said, mortified by the crack in her voice.

He didn’t answer for a long moment and his gaze drifted to the table behind her. He shook his head. “It’s nothing that you have done, Deliverance. You are an extraordinary woman. But you must know I have an unsavoury reputation--”

“For trysts with buxom girls from the dairy?” Anger flared in Deliverance’s chest.

A look of surprise crossed his face. “No…yes…but that’s not it. It’s you I am concerned for. Deliverance, I am a soldier. I could be dead tomorrow. I don’t want to leave anyone grieving for me, so whatever feelings we may have begun to entertain for each other, we must put to one side and work together for the common cause in which we are both engaged. Now, I have matters to attend to.” He bowed stiffly. “Good day, Mistress Felton.”

Deliverance stood in the middle of the floor staring at the door as it shut behind him. She sank down on her father’s chair, buried her head on the table and wept as if her heart would break.

Her heart had broken, into a thousand razor-sharp shards.

“Liv, what’s happened? Are you all right?” Deliverance raised her head. Penitence stared at her with a look of horror on her beautiful face.

Deliverance shot to her feet and walked to the window, keeping her back to her sister.

“It’s nothing.” But her voice sounded thick from weeping and Penitence was no fool. “Just very tired.” She cleared her throat, hastily wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “I need a little time alone today.”

Penitence crossed to her sister, putting her arms around her shoulders. “You're doing a wonderful job, Liv, but no one will blame you if you sometimes have to seek some solitude.”

“That’s it exactly, Pen.” She leaned her head against her sisters. “Just leave me here for a little while.”

“Are you sure?”

Deliverance nodded.

She waited until her sister had left the room, closing the door behind her. From the window she could see Luke deep in conversation with Ned and Melchior over the latest damage to the west wall. At the sight of the familiar silhouette, her heart turned a somersault. She closed her eyes and allowed herself the shameful indulgence of remembering how he had held her, how he had kissed her and then in the chapel how—

She shook her head as if by doing so she could dispel the memories. She had behaved like a hoyden, and he had repaid her by pushing her away.

She had cried her tears over Luke Collyer like a foolish lovelorn maiden. That would never happen again.

Below her the castle bustled with soldiers and the household staff, all going about their business as if everything was normal. Their world had not been turned on its head. Hers was the only broken heart within these walls. She sniffed back the threatening tears. Broken hearts mended.

A cannonball slammed into the Hawk Tower and the castle shuddered and groaned as if it were a living being. She wondered how much longer the walls could withstand the battering. Should she surrender now before her home was completely destroyed?

Surrender now and Luke Collyer would be gone from her life. That would solve one problem. She turned, glancing up at the portrait of her father above the fireplace. No, she couldn't surrender Kinton Lacey, not for such a pathetic reason.

Next time she saw Luke Collyer she would be cool and polite. Their relationship would revert to one of pure professionalism. She would not give him the satisfaction of letting him see how he had hurt her.

She searched her pile of books and sank down on to the chair opening her copy of “The Exercise of Armes” at the marked page. But the words blurred and she sighed. She couldn’t blame Luke. He had been right. To indulge in a romantic liaison had been a foolish thing to do in the middle of their current predicament. They both needed clear heads, untrammelled by attachments that could never be sustained once the siege was over.

Chapter 15

A
s if God sensed the heaviness in Deliverance's heart, the weather turned foul. All that day and through the night driving rain poured relentlessly through the holes in the walls and roofs of the castle buildings and the courtyard turned to a quagmire.

After a sleepless night, during which she had smothered hot, shameful tears in her bolster, Deliverance leaned on the castle wall in the grey, dreary light of another dawn looking out over the enemy encampment. She took some consolation in the equal misery the weather imposed on the besieging force. Rain had dampened their powder and the cannons had fallen silent.

“Mistress Felton,” She turned at the sound of Melchior's voice, hearing a note of urgency in it she had never heard in the usual phlegmatic steward.

“Melchior?”

He stood behind her, his chest rising and falling as if he had just run to find her. Sudden fear gripped her. Melchior Blakelocke never ran.

Her hand instinctively went to her throat. “What is it?”

“It's our food supply, Mistress Felton,” Melchior said.

“What about it?”

“I think you need to come and see for yourself,”

With a sinking feeling, Deliverance followed her steward to the cellars, below the residence, where the carefully hoarded food supplies had been stored.

Her mind rushed over the possibilities. Had the rain flooded the cellar? Had rats got into the flour?

Melchior stopped at the heavy oak door and turned the key he carried. Deliverance stepped inside, allowing her eyes a moment or two to accustom to the gloomy light that came from several small window embrasures high in the wall.

Even before she could make out the extent of the damage, her nose told her something was amiss. The smell of ale, mixed with other food smells such as flour rose to meet her.

Melchior lit the lantern that sat on the ledge outside the room and holding it high, he stepped around her, illuminating a scene of devastation. Deliverance gasped.

Every flour sack had been cut open, spewing their contents on to the floor where the white powder mixed in a lake of ale from the broached casks. Tubs of apples had been upended and the cheeses hacked apart and thrown to the ground to mingle in a gelatinous mess.

“How...? Who...?” She leaned against the door jamb to gather her breath as the enormity of the destruction and what it meant for everyone within the castle sunk in. “Melchior, what are we going to do?”

Melchior shook his head. “See what can be salvaged and clean up the mess,” he suggested, ever practical.

“You better fetch Captain Collyer. He needs to see this,” she said sinking on to the bottom step.

It took at least ten minutes before Luke clattered down the stairs. She had gone out of her way to avoid him for the last twenty-four hours but seeing him so close, the familiar skip of her heart, accompanied by an almost physical pain threatened to betray her.

Part of her just wanted to put her face in her hands and cry—and not for the ruined food.

Luke had been awake most of the night, pondering on the most urgent repairs to the castle, and had just managed to find a quiet moment in the library to close his eyes when Blakelocke had burst into the room without knocking. One look at the man’s face had told him something had gone seriously wrong.

His first thought had been for Deliverance but no, she sat on the bottom step her chin resting on her hands, her shoulders slumped. She didn't bother to look up or to speak, just waved a hand at the cellar.

Luke’s chest tightened as he took in the extent of the devastation. Someone had done a comprehensive job of destroying their food supplies.

He responded by blaspheming volubly and sank down on to the step beside her. “Is it all gone?” he asked at last.

“I don't know what can be salvaged yet.” She looked up at him. “Who could have done this?”

“Someone within these walls,” Luke said. “Someone who does not have our interests at heart.”

She blinked and said slowly, “You mean there is a traitor?”

“Yes,” he said, his mouth a grim, tight line. “Do we know when it happened?”

She shook her head. “I always check the door before going to bed. It was locked last night”

“And this morning?”

She looked up at Melchior. “Who found this?”

“I did, ma'am when I came to dole out the day's rations. The door was locked.” Melchior shook his head. “I blame myself.”

Luke rose to his feet. “Don't be a fool, Blakelocke. This isn't your doing. Someone had access to a key. Who else, besides yourself, holds keys, Mistress Felton?”

If she noticed the deliberate use of her formal name, nothing in her face responded. She stood up and faced him.

“There are only two keys. I have one and Melchior the other.” She held up her ring. “It doesn't leave this ring.”

“Has anyone borrowed the key?”

Deliverance frowned. “I have given it to a few people who had need to access the cellar for food preparation but it has always been returned to me.”

“Who?”

Deliverance named the cooks and several of her household staff, adding, “They have all been with our family for years and I would stake my life on their honesty. Surely you don’t suspect--”

“War changes people, Mistress Felton.” Luke ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair. “We won't be able to keep news of this disaster quiet. See what you can do to mitigate it and also what can be saved. Blakelocke, come with me.”

He found his way blocked by Penitence who stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at her sister.

“Oh, this is terrible. What are we going to do, Liv?” Penitence said.

Deliverance looked up at her sister. “Gather the maids. We are going to clean up as best we can and salvage what can be salvaged. The cheeses can be washed and dried, the apples may be bruised but they are still edible. There is still some flour in the bags and ale in the vats.”

“But surely not enough to last us more than a few days?” Penitence added unhelpfully.

“We are just going to have to ration ourselves. Save every ounce of flour that can be saved,” Luke said as he passed Penitence, thoughts whirling through his mind.