Free The Rebel’s Daughter by Anita Seymour Page A

meal in
peace. Then a maid in a food-stained apron escorted Helena to her
room under the eaves, with a crooked door that hung askew from the
frame.
    The bed bore thin, rough sheets and a
coarse blanket; set lower to the floor than Helena was used to,
bringing images of scurrying rats to mind. At least the bed looked
clean.
    Helena peeled the bodice of her gown away
from her itching skin, letting the skirt fall to the floor. She was
more weary than she could ever remember; and yet proud of how far
she and Bayle had come since morning. Dressed in only her shift,
she crossed to the low window where grimy, diamond-paned glass at
waist level gave onto the road.
    She leaned her hands on the cracked sill
and squinted at the shadowy outline of Bridgwater off to her left.
The smell of grass and wildflowers drifted on the air, combined
with the sharp tang of the stable. She thought of Bayle, bedded
down amongst the hay, hoping he would not be too uncomfortable
sharing it with the horses.
    Her smile faded. Where was Father
sleeping tonight ? Beneath a hedgerow somewhere, or in the Taunton gaol
house? That he may even lay dead on the battlefield was also a
possibility. The thought made her shiver, though the night was
warm. And where were Aaron, and Edmund? Were they together, running
from the troopers? Or had they split up and taken off across the
countryside alone, and could they be on their way home at that very
moment?
    The image of them as chained prisoners was
something she didn’t want to contemplate. She pushed the notion
into the back of her mind. The man downstairs had said captured
rebels were being hanged on the roadsides.
    Helena scanned the horizon, where a cloud
of dust grew larger, then separated into riders, approaching from
the direction of Bridgwater.
    The soldiers sat their mounts with an
arrogant air, leaning over their saddles to stare into windows, and
scattering the villagers, who ran ahead into houses and slammed
shut their doors.
    Helena stepped back, her back pressed against
the wall, her breath held until she heard the thump of her own
heartbeat.
    Loud voices called from the landing
outside her room, followed by the slamming of doors from the floor
below. Shouts and the sound of running feet on wooden boards
reverberated through the building.
    What should she do? Run and fetch Bayle,
or stay where she was?
    The seconds stretched and the sound changed
pitch, then receded until she could hear nothing at all. She
exhaled slowly, dizzy with relief. She crept back to the window and
saw they had ridden past.
    Weak with relief, she climbed into the
creaky bed. Despite her exhaustion, she lay awake for what seemed
like hours, until the tiny patch of sky beyond the window darkened
to black.
    As she teetered on the edge of
consciousness at last, her father’s face swam into her mind,
seeming so real, she mumbled into her lumpy pillow, Stay alive until I
get there, Father .
     
     

Chapter 6
     
    Henry peered round the stable
door as the patrol of twelve soldiers cantered double file
through Loxsbeare's gates, their hooves clattering to a halt on the
cobbles.
    The officer’s glare raked the empty
courtyard, fixing on Samuel who strolled forward, a puzzled frown
on his face, as if their appearance were a mystery.
    The officer dismounted, while Samuel drew
himself up to his considerable height, and returned his arrogant
stare.
    Henry sensed Tobias” presence behind him,
and whispered, “Master Ffoyle is not easily intimidated, is
he?”
    “ Nay,
Henry. Let’s hope they believe his story.”
    Henry was about to ask what story, when a
black-coated figure dismounted beside the officer. Henry glowered
at the sight of the Magistrate who had tried to waylay them outside
the church three Sundays ago.
    “ What
can I do for you, Master Prendergast?” Samuel said, his voice
carrying across the yard. He folded his hands in front of him, a
half-smile of enquiry on his face.
    “ I
apologize for our unannounced presence,