| |
Several days later, Charity walked along the forest road, returning from the village where her aunt had sent her to deliver a message to the rector’s wife. Her mind was elsewhere.
Each day Edward took his sword into the woodland beyond the manor building. She imagined him practising his swordsmanship, his muscles rippling under the linen shirt, as he rebuilt his strength. They had hardly spoken since he returned from Lymington.
A clatter of jangling metal, creaking leather, and hooves dully sounding on the overgrown road signalled the approach behind her of a troop of cavalry at a canter. She hurried from the roadway into the trees, hoping she hadn’t been seen. From deep in the shadows she watched them stream past, heading in the direction of her aunt’s house.
Her heart lurched in her chest. Edward was there! He mustn’t be seen.
She must get back and somehow hide him before they reached the house. She sprinted across country along a rough track. Scattering grazing forest ponies, she ran until her chest heaved with each gasping breath and she could run no more.
Holding her side, she stumbled onwards, driven by her desperate need to protect him.
She reached the rear door to the kitchen just as she heard the troop approach the front of the house. Gasping for breath she raced to the rear chamber that Edward occupied. He sat at a desk near the open window.
“Edward,” she panted, “Soldiers. You must hide! Quickly.”
He glanced at the other side of the room.
Her aunt stood there. Tall and straight-backed, she looked forbidding. Oh God, Edward was a dead man. Aunt Phoebe would hand him over to the Roundheads!
***
Charity gulped air into her searing lungs. Edward rose and looked with inquiry at Aunt Phoebe.
Phoebe strode towards the door beckoning for Edward to follow, commanding him with calm authority, “Quickly, come with me!”
“What do you mean to do, Aunt?” said Charity, fear clawing her innards. “You must not give him up!”
She chided, “Foolish girl. Give him up? I will hide him. Charity, bring his weapons and armour. Be quick!”
Startled and uncomprehending, Charity hurried to comply.
Phoebe led them up the rear servants’ stairs to the first floor and into the main bedchamber. She felt behind a curtain along the window’s architrave and released a hidden lever. A narrow door beside the bay window clicked open.
Aunt Phoebe stood back gesturing for Edward to enter it. With calm determination on her face, she passed him the weaponry from Charity’s arms. “When all is clear I will knock, like this.”
She tapped a rhythm. “Do not move until you hear that.”
She closed the door and turned to Charity. “You had better tidy yourself. Straighten your cap and wash your flushed face. Join me in the drawing room if I call you.”
“But Aunt!” There were so many questions Charity wanted to ask.
“We will talk of this later. For now, do as I say, or all will be lost.”
Cold seeped into Charity’s skin as she followed in her aunt’s wake, separating from her at the top of the stairs to enter her chamber. She stumbled through the door on legs like jelly, to sit on her bed. Taking up a small mirror in a shaking hand she finger-combed her flyaway hair into place and fixed her cap neatly onto her head.
Gulping deep breaths to steady her nerves, Charity washed and dried her face, then sat near the open window listening to the conversation of the troops astride their horses outside the garden gate. Her hands clasped and unclasped in her lap.
Were those footsteps on the stairs? Were they searching the house?
Would Edward be found?
When a light knock sounded on her door, Charity jumped in surprise. “Come in,” she called.
The young serving girl put her head around the door to say Mistress Ashton requested her presence in the parlour.
Charity followed the girl downstairs on numb legs, her teeth clenched together to stop them chattering.
The maid knocked on the door and opened it. Charity raised her chin and stepped into the room.
There stood Captain Frankston, his features grizzled and pocked, just as she recalled. No smile crossed his face. Charity attempted one, but it could only have looked forced. She must relax!
“Charity, I believe you know Captain Frankston?”
“Yes, Aunt, I do.” She turned to the officer and tried to greet him with warmth.
He interrupted. “I have come about Jacob Goodwyn.”
Her blood ran cold. What did he mean? Had Jacob’s body been found and identified? Or did he mean that he knew that Edward was impersonating Jacob? She stared at him, mute.
“I didn’t expect to find you here, Mistress Goodwyn. I thought you were on your way to East Anglia.”
Charity drew a deep breath. “We set out for home, but Jacob was too ill to travel that far, I realised after reaching our friends to the south of Oxford. Aunt Phoebe was so much closer than East Anglia and I knew she would take us in.”
There was a long pause as the captain didn’t answer. Was that scepticism that flickered across his harsh face?
Charity almost blundered on with her story but Aunt Phoebe cut in. “I was just telling the captain that your husband is out riding in the forest this morning, but we will inform Jacob of his visit and no doubt he will seek the captain out.”
“I’m sure you’re correct, Aunt.” Charity was able to recover her equilibrium although her heart still pounded in her chest.
Frankston interrupted. “If I may, I will return to see Captain Goodwyn later in the week. I fear I will not be back in this direction until then. I bid thee farewell. I look forward to talking with him soon; it has been a long time since I’ve met my old friend.” He gave a tight smile, nodded briefly to them both then exited the room, following the maid ordered to escort him to the front door.
In horror, Charity looked at her aunt and whispered, “What shall we do?”
Her aunt stood immobile for a moment. Charity swallowed, fearful of what she would say.
“The first thing we shall do, Charity, when we are sure Captain Frankston and his men are gone, is release your husband and devise a plan to get him away from here, and perhaps you too.” Aunt Phoebe’s face looked grim. “I hope your explanation is fulsome and compelling.”
She led the way up to her bedchamber at the front of the house, where Edward was hidden. From the window Charity and Aunt Phoebe watched the troop recede down the track back towards the main road. At Phoebe’s insistence, they allowed a little more time to elapse in case a trooper doubled back to watch the house.
When they were confident all were gone, Phoebe freed Edward.
He emerged coated in dust and spiders’ webs; his expression questioning.
Seeing his condition, Aunt Phoebe gave a tight smile. “I had better clean the priest hole if it is going to come into further use.”
“The least of our problems at the moment,” said Edward. Careful that he could not be seen from the roadway, Edward peered out the window. “Whose men are they? Are they stationed in the forest now or passing through? It can hardly be a coincidence that troops have been on this road twice in the last week.”
“Let us halt all our discussion for now. I will ask Martha to prepare a light picnic for us so we may enjoy the good weather. We will take the cart, which you can drive, Jacob...or whoever you are.” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Wait for me here.”
Aunt Phoebe hurried off to make the arrangements.
Edward turned to Charity. “I owe you my life. Again.”
She glanced at him then looked away, concerned he might read her fear for his safety on her face. “I did my duty.”
He stepped closer. “Is that all it was, Charity?” he asked. “I had time to think as I sat in that bolthole, waiting to be discovered then taken for interrogation and trial.”
Charity imagined him dragged from his refuge by the soldiers. She shivered at the thought of what could have followed. He took her hands in his. Heat coursed up her arms and her chilled fingers began to thaw in his warm hands.
She looked into his eyes trying to read his intentions. He gazed steadily back, unflinching under her scrutiny.
Why did she doubt his sincerity?
She wanted to believe he cared for her as much as she loved him, but how could she know?
“Charity...” he said. The words forming on his lips remained unsaid as Aunt Phoebe approached them.
“Come along you two. You must hurry.” Phoebe ordered them in her usual brisk manner.
Edward released Charity’s hands and a pang of disappointment ran through her at the interruption.
Phoebe lowered her voice to a whisper. “Josiah is hitching the pony to the cart and Martha will soon be finished preparing our luncheon. Charity, help Edward collect all his belongings and meet me in the stable yard as soon as possible. I have a plan. Please just follow for now.”
What was her aunt planning? Could she trust her? There was no choice but to do so. The alternative was capture.
They packed Edward’s armour and weapons between his few clothes and tied them in two bundles. Within minutes Edward was helping Charity and her aunt into the cart.
“I took the liberty of having Josiah saddle your horse,” Phoebe said to Edward. She pointed in the direction of the stables.
He strode over to take Fortitude’s reins from Josiah. Charity watched him mount the cavalry horse and follow their vehicle from the courtyard onto the roadway.
Aunt Phoebe drove in the opposite direction from the one taken by the troops. Within minutes they were deep in the forest, following an overgrown track. When it petered out, Aunt Phoebe guided the cart into a thicket.
After alighting from the vehicle, Charity collected the woven luncheon basket and blankets from behind the seat.
Edward dismounted. “I’ll take Fortitude with me, in case I need to leave quickly,” he said as he patted the tall horse’s neck.
Charity, then Edward, carrying their luncheon basket and leading his horse, followed Aunt Phoebe as she walked further amongst the trees. Charity could not recall ever being so deep into the woods.
They halted in a clearing beside a trickling stream, where Charity spread the rugs before they sat to eat the lunch things she unpacked from the basket.
“Well, Aunt Phoebe, why are the troops suddenly here en masse. Did you find out?” Edward asked.
Her mouth formed a pursed line of disapproval. “The Parliamentary army is hunting for Charles Stuart, who has been traced to the area.”
Edward grimaced. “Then he still has a chance to escape. That is welcome news.”
Aunt Phoebe gave a small, tight smile. “Yes, welcome news to a Royalist, but not to Jacob Goodwyn. You had better tell me who you are.”
Charity recognised her Aunt’s “don’t try to fool me” look.
Aunt Phoebe glanced over at Charity, “I presume my niece already knows, but why she should be assisting a Royalist and passing him off as her husband has me confused.”
“Aunt, I can explain –” said Charity.
“– and you shall have that chance soon. But first I want to hear, from this man, exactly who it is that I have been sheltering in my home for the last month, endangering not just myself but my whole household. We would all be held accountable for harbouring a wanted traitor.” Her voice was calm but implacable, but her blue eyes bored into his, revealing her determination to have answers.
“Aunt Phoebe...Mistress Ashton, I confess that yes, I am a wanted man for my part in the recent battle at Worcester, but I am no traitor. Rather I support the true king, who should be reinstated. He shouldn’t need to enter the country with an army of invasion. It’s a terrible disappointment the people did not rise up in support.”
“So, you are a Royalist soldier, but which one? What is your name?”
“I am Edward Longshanks. That is the name I have told Charity and I see no reason to inform you any differently.”
Aunt Phoebe’s mouth curved ever-so-slightly upwards. “You must have a sense of humour then.”
Edward quirked an eyebrow at her. “How so?”
“Edward Longshanks was the name for Edward the First – ‘The Hammer of the Scots’ – as I presume you well know.”
She turned to Charity. “Did you not suspect he was having fun with you, giving himself that name?”
Charity now felt she had been foolish not to demand that Edward disclose his real identity. “Aunt, I knew it was not his true name. He told me he did not wish me to know his name, so I would not have anything to tell should I be questioned. I believe I am much safer not knowing the truth, so I have not pressed him for it.”
Aunt Phoebe was silent, Charity presumed, to consider their responses. “Yes, I see the logic of your behaviour. However, now we know most of the truth about who you are, Edward, and that a troop of Roundheads is in our neighbourhood, we must take more precautions for your, and our, safety until we can get you onto a boat for France.”
Edward gave a quick bow of his head. “I would be much obliged to you for any assistance, although I cannot understand why you, a Puritan woman, would help me!”
“Really? After my niece has saved your life?” She levelled a fierce look at him, her eyebrow raised.
Edward looked sheepish. “I apologise for my prejudice, Mistress Phoebe.”
Aunt Phoebe nodded in acknowledgement then said, “I left the confines of my Puritan background when I married Mister Ashton almost thirty years ago. The dear man passed away two years since, but the influence of his moderate thinking hasn’t died.”
Edward directed a white-toothed grin at her aunt. “For that I’m truly grateful!”
Aunt Phoebe repressed a smile and turned her attention to Charity. “And now, kindly inform me what has happened to your husband, Charity. Perhaps it is a case of your having joined the Adamites and Edward’s wife is now with your husband?”
“Aunt! No!” Charity said. A blush accompanied her gasp.
Edward answered before Charity could draw breath to say more. “I believe that is my story to tell.”
She turned back to Edward. “Indeed?” Her expression showed her surprise.
He tapped his chest. “I’m the reason Charity is husbandless and here seeking asylum with you.”
Aunt Phoebe raised her chin. “How so?”
“I killed him.”
Aunt Phoebe flinched but made no response.
Edward quickly related the scene from the time of his being cut off behind the enemy’s battleline.
When he had finished, Aunt Phoebe looked to Charity for confirmation. She nodded her head.
“So you left your husband’s body on the battlefield?” Aunt Phoebe looked incredulous.
A painful lump formed in Charity’s stomach. She knew she had done the wrong thing in so doing. But what other choice had she at the time? “Yes, Aunt, I did.”
“The man who had taken you into his family and provided for you as for himself? You did that?” Her frown of disapproval was harsh.
“Aunt Phoebe,” said Edward, “you do not know the whole. From all Charity has told me, and I have seen the marks on her back, he was not a husband worth calling that name.”
“Why so?” she demanded.
“Did you know he beat her? Often?”
Aunt Phoebe gasped. “Is this true, child?”
Charity nodded her head in humiliation at having to tell, again, of those terrible times. Hot tears filled her eyes.
“Had you done ought to desire such treatment?” her Aunt demanded
“No, Aunt. I was a dutiful wife,” she whispered.
Edward took Charity’s hand in his and held it tight. “Mistress Ashton, I cannot believe you would condone such ungentlemanly behaviour in any man. That Charity should be treated in such a way...is appalling. You cannot think otherwise, surely?” Edward’s voice showed his disgust that anyone could think such behaviour appropriate.
“Edward Longshanks, I know the kind of thinking that excuses such behaviour in certain circumstances. I definitely don’t condone it.”
He looked her in the eye, straight and steady. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Aunt Phoebe put her arm around Charity’s shaking shoulders. “You poor child. And I expect your father would do nothing to help you? I never liked him.”
“I daren’t ask him, Aunt. He would not help. The marriage was his idea. I approached my mother the first time it happened and she told me to go back to my husband and ask for proper instruction, as I must be a deficient wife.”
A sob escaped her.
Her aunt’s arms held her comfortingly. “You will never have to go back, Charity, if I have anything to do with your fate.”
Although tears ran down Charity’s face, the weight of guilt fell from her body. For the first time in many weeks the burden of her unhappiness and the secret of Edward’s identity lifted from her. Charity dried her eyes and smiled with relief.
Aunt Phoebe patted her back gently, but turned her attention to Edward. “We must get you away as soon as possible.”
Charity’s heart plummeted. She knew he must leave for his own ‒ and their ‒ safety, but the future without him seemed bleak.
Edward replied, “While in Lymington I looked around for a boat that might give me passage, but dared not approach anyone without an introduction. Do you know someone who may be willing to take me?”
Aunt Phoebe paused before answering. “Perhaps old Ezra would take you if I asked him. He comes some way up Beaulieu River to moor, which would make your embarking less obvious than from Lymington.”
“That would be a better plan. How do I contact him?”
“He’s Josiah’s brother, so I’ll have him introduce you.”
Edward rose and paced before them. “I’d rather wait to hear of the King’s fate than leave immediately. I must know what has happened. If he is still in England, I can assist him. He gave me a commission I cannot fail to fulfil.”
Charity shook her head in disbelief. As much as she didn’t want him to leave, she didn’t want him to stay and risk his life. “But Edward, it would be so unwise. Now Captain Frankston is sure to return, you cannot stay at Ashton Manor any longer,” said Charity.
“I’m not proposing to remain there. I will live rough in the forest for a while, until I hear.” He sounded confident of his ability and sure of his judgement.
What foolishness! “You are risking your life for nought ‒ for what may be a word of idle gossip. There are rumours aplenty about his whereabouts, all of them false!” Her face burnt like a winter’s fire. She placed a cooling hand on her cheek as she tried to stare Edward into submission.
He jumped to his feet. “There must be some truth to his being in the vicinity to warrant a troop of dragoons patrolling the forest.” Fervour glittered in his eyes.
Charity twisted her hands in her lap. Her stomach performed somersaults. “Yes, but even so –”
“Leave him be, Charity.” Her aunt spoke quietly but firmly. “He has made his decision. Now we must help him remain undetected until he can leave. You must put your anxiety, borne of love, aside.”
Charity’s cheeks heated. She dared not look at Edward for fear of what she might see on his face.
Would it be pity or amusement at her feelings being so publicly laid bare?
Aunt Phoebe didn’t seem to notice Charity’s reaction. Instead she talked on about where Edward could best hide and suggested a small hut at the furthest corner of the Ashton estate, where the woods were thickest. He could ride there directly instead of returning to the manor.
Their planning completed, they ate their luncheon in near silence.
Aunt Phoebe gave Edward directions to follow the stream north for half a mile then head due east until he reached a certain oak tree. It marked the entrance to the rough cottage hidden nearby in a dense cluster of trees. “We will bring you food each day,” she added.
For the duration of the journey back to Ashton Manor, Aunt Phoebe had Charity recount her discovery of Edward and their journey south. Judging by her questions she listened intently, but she said very little in response.
When they arrived at the manor house, Aunt Phoebe nodded. “You shall help me bundle up food for Edward and accompany me when I take it to him.”
They packed the food into linen bags, which they tied to their saddles before setting off for their ride. “I will show you the way today, Charity, but you must deliver his food every day.” Aunt Phoebe placed a hand on Charity’s arm. “It would raise suspicion if I were to be constantly riding out, when I rarely do so. You have made a habit of it, so it will not be noticed. Take food from the luncheon table each day, so it is not missed. I trust Josiah and Martha, but I cannot be so sure the maids wouldn’t gossip.”
Charity nodded.
In half an hour they had reached the oak tree Aunt Phoebe had described.
Charity looked around her. There was no sign of habitation anywhere. “We shall leave the horses here and walk the remainder of the way,” said Aunt Phoebe.
Carrying the wrapped bread, cheese and an end of ham, Charity followed her aunt towards a dense thicket. Two large rocks stood to one side and it was towards these that Aunt Phoebe strode. Past them was a small gap in the foliage, which Aunt Phoebe pushed wider. Beyond was a tunnel through the undergrowth.
“In you go, Charity. I must return to the manor. I need to go with Josiah to see his brother and arrange ship’s passage for Edward. I will expect you for dinner.”
Before Charity could respond, her aunt disappeared behind the undergrowth.
At the tunnel’s far end Charity crawled out into a clearing in which, to one side, stood a grey-green timbered hut. A small stream ran nearby. Above her the spreading branches of a dozen trees reduced the daylight to dappled splotches on their moss-covered trunks and the forest floor.
Here autumn leaves were thick upon the ground. A pungent smell of rotting vegetation assailed her as she walked towards the ancient structure.
Edward appeared at its doorway to greet her with a sweeping bow. His face was animated by a broad grin. “Welcome to my humble abode, dear lady.”
***
Joy surged through Charity. To be with him again and on good terms. To spend precious time together before he left was all she longed for. “I bring you food enough for a day.”
He smiled. “You bring me more than that, Charity. You bring me hope.”
“Hope?” Bewildered, she paused. “How so?”
He held out his hand for hers. “Hope I will live. Hope I have a future. Hope you love me as I love you.”
She gasped. “What manner of game do you play?”
“No game, Charity. Just my simple dream of your regard for me being even half of what I feel for you.”
His hand took hers in an urgent grip. “Give me hope, if you can.”
She gripped his hand. “What real chance is there, Edward? You are a wanted Royalist. I’m a widowed Puritan. Neither our politics nor our religious affiliations see eye-to-eye.” The hopelessness of their situation gave her voice an edge of despair.
“That is for others, Charity, not us. Surely we now both see, the only way for us and this country to move beyond these distressing times of civil war, no matter what our past beliefs and causes, is to find a middle ground. There must be acceptance of others’ beliefs as a starting point. We have that, surely?”
Charity faltered. “That may be so, but its general acceptance is a long way off. The Parliament has a strong grip on this country now. Your king has been defeated. There is no need for tolerance as yet. We can only hope there comes a time when it will be the case.”
“As long as we have religious tolerance, Charity...it is all we need. We do have a future. We must!”
Her throat constricted as unshed tears welled in her eyes. “You are leaving for France within days. We are not meant to be together.”
“Come with me!”
She was fully in his arms now. His lips were warm on her temple. Her eyes closed in tortured bliss. She wanted to be with him, to feel his loving arms envelope her in their safety forever.
“I can’t,” she whispered, trying to ignore her body’s response to him.
He held her at arms’ length to look into her eyes. “You can. If you love me, you must.”
“I won’t marry again and I won’t live in exile. My future is here. Surely, with all you know of my past, you can understand that?” Tear stung her eyes. She could hear her voice strangled by her constricted throat.
He loosened his hold on her.
The chilly air of the clearing probed her body again.
He stepped back, his hands running down her arms, lingering on her fingers before he dropped those too.
They stood apart, separated by twelve inches of air, but twelve miles of divergence in viewpoints. From his face, she read hurt, disappointment and finally acceptance. Her chest tightened and the massing tears threatened to escape.
What had she done?
Edward stooped to take the bundle from the ground where it had fallen. He raised the offering slightly. “Thank you for bringing this.” He nodded abruptly. “Goodbye, Charity.”
Within seconds he turned and had disappeared inside the hut. She was alone in the clearing again. Its darkness had increased while she stood there. The leaves around her feet rustled as she walked back to the tunnel entrance.
Her heart was lead in her chest. Her future looked as bleak as the distant heath.
She retraced her steps, remounted her horse and walked it slowly towards the manor house. She was nearing the edge of the tall trees of a wood lot when she heard her name called.
Turning, she saw Edward hastening towards her on Fortitude. Her heart turned over at the sight of him. She dismounted, tossing her reins over a nearby bush to restrain her placid horse.
Pulling up near her, Edward leapt out of his saddle and strode to her as she rushed to him.
“Don’t let us part in this way,” he said, taking her in his arms again.
She looked into his brown eyes and saw a longing matching her own. He pulled her close and kissed her open-mouthed, lips questing for her response. She clung to him, plunging her fingers through his thick hair to urge his head closer to deepen their kiss.
The sounds of the world around her receded as the thrum of blood in her ears intensified. His warm masculine scent, his muscular form against hers, his fresh clove taste, dazed her senses. Her body tensed. She longed for him, all of him.
Taking his hand, she said, “Let’s go back. I want to love you.”
His arm around her waist, they stepped towards the waiting horses. From behind them came a shout.
“Goodwyn!”
***
Charity turned immediately in recognition of her name, and Edward saw the petrified look on her face. His muscles stiffened. His mind raced. Whoever it was wasn’t calling for Charity.
Someone expected him to be Jacob Goodwyn. It could only be Captain Frankston.
Edward’s pistol was in its holster on Fortitude, yards away. His hand clasped the sword strapped to his side. Did the captain have a gun trained on his back?
Edward turned slowly.
Frankston was on foot, still quite a distance away. As yet he didn’t recognise Edward as an imposter with his arm around Jacob Goodwyn’s wife.
“Charity, we will walk to the horses now. Get on your mount and go back to the manor.” He waved to the captain in recognition with his free hand, then with his arm still about her waist, guided Charity away towards her abandoned horse.
There was still no pistol shot to mark his discovery.
Edward boosted Charity up into the saddle. With the horse between themselves and Frankston, and his head down, Edward bought more time.
“When I release your horse, you are to gallop to the manor and get help if you can,” Edward ordered.
When the captain was only five yards away, Edward stepped back, smacking the horse smartly on the rump and drawing his sword. Charity’s mount, surprised at the unexpected urging, leapt forward, leaving Edward facing the captain.
The shock on the man’s severe face would have been laughable if the circumstances had been different.
Frankston, seeing a stranger with sword drawn and charging at him, pulled his own from its scabbard. Edward’s attack was met with solid defence.
Birds rose up from the undergrowth into the sky at the first blow. The slash and counter-clash of their swords rang out in the still forest. The ground thudded as their booted feet lunged and retreated.
Edward felt his disadvantage when a glancing blow cut through his light jacket. His leather coat was far away in the hut. The man in front of him was not so poorly dressed – his buff coat and bridle gauntlet repelled repeated blows.
Edward concentrated on staying close in, so the captain had no opportunity to draw his pistol. By his repeated jabbing attacks he pushed Frankston further into the trees, hoping to back him into one to finish him off.
Frankston didn’t give in easily. A solid man, he threw all his weight behind each attacking stroke. “I’ll have thee and your whore hanging at Tyborn,” he snarled, spittle flying. He pushed Edward from him. “But not before thee feels the interrogator’s branding irons. Then thou shall bleat where Charles Stuart hides!”
He dealt a hacking blow, which Edward just managed to block, but it forced him onto one knee. Edward pushed away from the ground, sword outstretched, and managed to get under his opponent’s guard with his thrusting lunge.
Frankston leapt back. Edward’s sword tore the man’s coat but merely scratched him. He made to sever Edward’s neck with a mighty swing, but they were deep amongst the trees and a low hanging branch obstructed its arc.
The sword sliced harmlessly in front of Edward, who used the distraction to plant his booted foot on his opponent’s knee.
Frankston staggered back with Edward following, harrying him with sword thrusts until Frankston was engulfed in undergrowth beside a trickling stream.
With rasping breaths and fading strength, Edward badgered his opponent towards the water.
Seeing it behind him, Frankston made to turn and jump the watercourse. His landing foot slipped on the muddy bank. He spun as he fell, attempting to keep his sword arm clear for defence, while his other elbow took the fall.
It too slipped and his head slammed back onto a fallen log across the bank. Edward leapt the stream and dealt him a fierce blow to the face with his sword guard.
Leaping out of sword range Edward stood ready, gulping air into his burning lungs, and watched his opponent, expecting to see him rise up, his sword snaking towards him again.
Nothing happened. Frankston remained prone on the ground. Edward stepped close enough to prod the man with his foot.
Nothing.
He lowered his sword and examined his opponent closely. Frankston’s chest rose and fell. He wasn’t dead, just insensible.
Edward prodded him again, this time with his sword, pinking him on his unprotected leg. Still no response.
Chest heaving, Edward leaned on his sword, thanking whichever manifestation of God was uppermost in these confused times.
The sound of horses’ hooves, coming in his direction, had Edward standing alert and sucking in deep breaths, ready for another onslaught.
At the sound of Charity’s voice calling him, Edward slumped again.
After giving his opponent yet another prod to check he was still unconscious, Edward bound the man’s wrists and ankles with the ties from his shirt and stuffed Frankston’s mouth with a linen handkerchief. Edward recrossed the stream to meet Charity.
At the initial scene of his combat with Frankston, Edward found Charity and her aunt. Both carried old muskets. He grinned at the thought of their coming armed to his defence. Whether they could actually fire them he did not know.
“Where is Captain Frankston?” Charity asked.
“In there.” He jerked his thumb in the direction.
“Dead?” asked Aunt Phoebe, her face a picture of shock.
Edward took more steadying breaths. “No, unconscious. I’ve tied and gagged him.”
“You have a habit of leaving fallen Roundheads in your wake!” said Aunt Phoebe. “Now you must leave, Edward. You cannot delay.”
“My only delay will be while Charity packs to come with me.”
Charity stood with her hands clasped before her chest, a look of anguish on her face. “Edward, I cannot accompany you!”
Edward gripped his sword hilt hard. “But you must. Once he is conscious, you will be arrested for assisting a traitor. He swore to see us hang at Tyborn.”
Charity gasped.
Aunt Phoebe cut in. “There would be no need for Charity to leave if you take Captain Frankston with you when you depart in Ezra’s boat. I have already arranged with Ezra for you to sail at the next tide. He will take the two of you, for double the fee, I’m sure.”
Charity turned back to him from her aunt. “So, you must see I cannot accompany you, and now I need not!” She spoke with finality.