Her Rebel Heart (7 page)

“Who whipped your useless men all the way back to Ludlow,” Luke cut in with a half-smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

Deliverance, forgotten, swung her basket at Charles Farrington’s knees, dropping him to the ground. In that moment Luke launched himself at Jack, knocking the hand that held the pistol. The weapon discharged, shattering the window of the nearest shop.

Luke seized Deliverance by the right arm, and they turned towards the gate. Beneath her bodice her heart hammered and her lungs felt as if they would burst. Her shoes slipped on the cobblestones but he dragged her on, his fingers biting into her arm.

Behind them she heard Charles shout, and the sound of other men's voices and heavy boots on the stones as Farrington gathered his men in pursuit of the fugitives.

The crack of pistols reverberated off the walls of the houses lining the narrow street. Innocent bystanders pressed themselves into doorways, too shocked to obey Farrington’s command. “Stop them!”

A fiery jolt ran through her left arm and she gave a yelp, stumbling in her headlong rush but before she fell, Luke had his arm around her waist, lifting her into the air.

“Fortune favours us. Up here, my lady.”

As the world spun giddily around her, he threw her across the bow of a saddle leaping up behind her.

A man shouted, “Hey! That's my horse...” and the world went black.

Luke put his heels to the horse and careened down the High Street towards the gates. The soldiers on duty, alarmed by the cries of their comrades, had started to close the massive gates. However even the bravest was not prepared to stand his ground before a madman on a galloping horse, and leaped aside as Luke, riding as though the fiends of hell were after him, passed out of Ludlow onto the open road that led back to Kinton Lacey.

With one arm securing Deliverance, he forced the horse onwards, not daring to slow until he was certain that his pursuers had fallen behind. Only when he could find a secure place to rest the lathered beast did he stop. The horse, a fat, bay gelding that had probably never been called on to perform such a wild duty in its life, dropped its head, its flanks heaving.

Deliverance slumped against him, quite limp, her eyes closed and her face ashen. Her hat and respectable cap had been lost in the flight and her dark brown tresses tumbled loose over his arm. Impulsively he tightened his arms around her slight figure. It had been his mad suggestion to go to Ludlow. What perverse fate had put the Farrington brothers in their path? Now Deliverance had been hurt and he was to blame. He shuddered to think what Sir John Felton would say when he heard about his daughter’s injury.

“Deliverance?” he whispered. “Where are you hurt?”

Receiving no response, he flung himself off the horse, and lifted her down on to the soft grass of the clearing. Her cloak fell away. The sleeve of her left arm was dark and wet with blood. He swore under his breath. If Deliverance Felton died as a result of his reckless action not only did he risk Sir John hanging him on the spot but he would never forgive himself.

Fumbling for a pulse in her neck he held his breath. “Thank the Lord,” he said aloud as the slow, steady beat pulsed beneath his fingers.

He steeled himself and with shaking fingers he undid her cuff and without ceremony tore the sleeve to the shoulder, revealing the wound left by Charles Farrington's pistol ball.

Mercifully, on close inspection, it appeared to have only grazed her arm and the bleeding had all but stopped. He set about manufacturing a bandage torn from the hem of her petticoat.

A stream flowed through the clearing and he tore some more cloth, wet it, and bathed her face, silently exhorting her to wake up. It seemed like an age before he was rewarded by the fluttering of her eyelids and a little colour flowed back into her ashen cheeks.

“Welcome back,” he said gruffly.

“Ow!” Her brow puckered when she tried to move her arm. “What have you done to me?”

“A pistol ball nicked it. You'll live,” he said.

She frowned. “A pistol ball?” She struggled to sit up and looked around her. “Oh, I remember. The Farringtons…have they followed us? Are we safe? Where are we?”

“To answer your first question, we got away, although undoubtedly they will be searching for us and will have the road to Kinton Lacey well patrolled. As to the second, I don't know where we are. I just put heels to the horse and fled. You'll have to show me another way to get back to the castle without running into the Farringtons.”

She squinted at the horse. “That's not our cob!”

“No, I borrowed a better looking horse that just happened to present itself at an opportune moment.”

Deliverance ran a shaking hand through her tangled hair. Her shoulders heaved, and she let her hand fall before turning to look at him. Her mouth drooped at the corners and tears filled her eyes, clouding the sky blue to a dreary grey.

“There’s something I should have told you.” Tears glinted on her eyelashes. “Jack and Penitence were betrothed before the war.”

Luke rose to his feet. With his hands on his hips he glared down at her. “Why didn’t you tell me this from the first? It changes everything.”

Her mouth trembled. “How? I just saw it as unfair that two people who loved each other had to be torn apart by this cursed war.”

He shook his head. “It betrays a weak link, Deliverance.”

“But Pen is utterly loyal, Luke. She would never betray us.” She looked up at him, the tears rolling down her cheeks and regret for his harsh tone plucked at his conscience. “Will it be all right, Luke?”

He knew what she meant. She had remembered the terrible gun and the ruthless efficiency of Farrington’s well-trained troops. Luke resisted a sudden, inexplicable urge to draw her in his arms, kiss away the tears and tell her, yes of course it would all be all right.

He would be lying.

When he didn’t respond, she lowered her head, tears dropping on to her skirts. She wiped her face with her left arm. “Poor Kinton Lacey,” she said in a voice muffled by her sleeve. “It was never built to withstand a weapon like that.”

Luke had no comfort to give her. Kinton Lacey had been built to withstand bows and arrows or at the worse, slingshots, not a siege gun the size of the Thunderer.

He knelt down beside her. “Deliverance,” he said, using her given name for the first time. “Deliverance,” he repeated softly and laid a hand on her dark head. “What do you want to do?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I just can't give it up, Luke.”

He raised his right hand, and touched her hair. She made no protest, leaning her head against his chest. He stroked the dark, tangled locks and she sighed, closing her eyes. This time he surrendered to his impulse and folded her in his arms. She had shown incredible bravery and kneeling on the ground with this strange, defiant little woman in his arms, he made a silent vow to do whatever it took to protect her, save her castle, and make it right for her.

Sir John Felton’s daughter
. What was he doing?

He disengaged her and rose to his feet.

“We have to keep moving, Mistress Felton,” he said. “Farrington’s men will be looking for us. On your feet.”

He took her by her uninjured arm and hauled her to her feet. She sagged at the knees and he caught her before she fell.

In a softer tone he said, “I need to get you home. You’ve lost a deal of blood. Now, can you stand if I let you go?”

She nodded and stood, swaying on her feet as he swung himself into the saddle.

“You will need to ride before me,” he said. “I can't have you fainting and falling off.”

“I don't faint,” she protested, with a touch of old defiance, a smile catching at the corners of her mouth.

“You have already have done so at least once today. Put your foot in the stirrup and I'll lift you up.”

He swung her into his arms. “Comfortable?”

“No.”

As he readjusted her position he reflected that the short rest had done wonders in restoring her normal prickly disposition. She perched in his arms like a steel rod. He sighed.

“Relax, Deliverance, otherwise we are both going to be in for a very uncomfortable time of it.”

She cast him a reproachful glance and taking a deep breath as if this were the most distasteful thing she could think of, she lay back against him. Luke looked down at the dark head, resting against his shoulder. She fitted within the shelter of his arms as if she belonged there. He tightened his grip around her, and gently kicked the horse on.

Deliverance closed her eyes and let the gentle rhythm of the horse's gait soothe her. Her arm burned but the pain was endurable. The close proximity of Luke Collyer was more disconcerting. In the borrowed jerkin he smelled of man and horse, but not in an unpleasant way. She also liked the way his arms encircled her. The hard cast of his muscles flexed against her back, as he guided the horse.

“Tell me more about Penitence and Jack Farrington.” Luke said, the tone that of the soldier not the man who had held her in his arms and stroked her hair.

Aroused from her reverie, Deliverance forced her drowsy mind back into action. “Sir Richard made Jack break the betrothal once father declared his allegiance to Parliament. Take the right turn at the next cross roads.”

Luke fell silent.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I was thinking Jack Farrington seemed a decent enough man.”

“He is. They adored each other. It is so unfair.”

“It is the nature of civil war, Deliverance. And now? Does Penitence still hold a candle for him?”

Deliverance didn't answer for a long time. She hadn't really stopped to consider how Penitence may be feeling. She had just assumed her sister accepted her fate.

“Penitence is a dutiful daughter,” she said.

“What sort of answer is that?”

“She accepted Father's decision on the matter.”

Luke laughed, a low rumble in the chest against which her head rested. “Knowing your father, I can well imagine she had little choice but to accept her fate.”

A few long minutes passed in silence before Deliverance ventured, “I assume you are not married, Captain Collyer?”

“Me? Do I look like a married man?”

“No heartbroken girl awaiting your return from the war?”

“Oh, plenty of heartbroken girls,” Luke said, “but not one in particular.”

His arms tightened around her. She closed her eyes and let herself relax against him. Despite the smell of the borrowed jerkin, she liked the feel of those strong arms and the steady beat of his heart. For the first time in her life, she wondered if this was what it was like to have someone else to rely on or whether the giddiness was simply the effect of loss of blood.

“Deliverance?”

Deliverance’s eyes had closed and she slumped against him, a dead weight against his right arm. Luke put his heels to the horse and urged into a gentle canter. He had to get her to help.

Deliverance stirred at the change of pace, her eyelashes fluttering for a moment but the rhythm of the horse's gait, seemed to soothe her and with a sigh, she drew closer to him, murmuring to herself.

Sleep, or unconsciousness, softened her face and took away the hard edges that the responsibility of her position gave her. He wondered for a moment how she would look in a satin gown and pearls, her hair done up in the fine ringlets the women of his father's household had favoured.