RIDE IN THE WOODLANDS
Arabella straightened up on her horse, feeling her heart thump with apprehension. She glanced sideways to where the strange English officer was riding beside her. She shivered.
I don't like him. Not at all.
She had never felt such a sense of menace of anyone before. The man had an air of threat that seeped out of him. Moreover, the way he stared at her, his eyes lingering at her dress, where the bodice met her breasts, made her feel endangered and discomforted.
“About an hour of riding ahead of us, milady,” Richard said. She jumped.
“Oh!” she said, looking across to where he rode out of the stables. “Sorry – you scared me. I didn't see you there.”
He smiled. “Sorry, milady. I was behind you where the path was narrowed.”
“I know,” she smiled. She felt a blush creep into her cheeks despite herself. She knew he was behind her because she had sensed his gaze on her. Once or twice, she'd caught his admiring glance on her when she turned round. How it made her glow!
It is remarkable how different it feels to when that man looks at me.
The major's gaze seemed to belittle and shame her, where Richard's made her feel worthy, proud, and warm inside. She flushed.
“Milady?” Richard said gravely. His voice was like satin and Arabella shivered, feeling it like the touch of satin on her skin.
“Yes?” she asked, swallowing hard.
“I just wondered if I had done aught to upset you. You looked sad.”
“No, I...I wasn't,” she stammered. “Nothing upset me.”
All the same, she couldn't help noticing the Major halting his horse just ahead of them. She must have betrayed something on her face, because she saw Richard turn to her, a frown on his face.
“I'll look out for you, milady,” he said.
Arabella swallowed hard. “Don't speak Scots to me,” she whispered, as they'd lapsed back into that tongue, thinking themselves out of earshot of the man. “I think he can hear us.”
She looked ahead, noticing that the major was sitting bolt upright, a sort of tension about him. She could imagine he was straining to hear what they said. She shivered.
“So, my fellow travelers,” he called over his shoulder, turning to face them with those flat, cold eyes. “You seem very quiet.”
“We were discussing the state of the camp,” Richard said tightly. “And whether there was much work to be done by the women.”
The instant she saw the major's smile, Arabella knew he'd picked on the worst possible topic. She tensed.
“There's always work for idle hands, sir,” the major smiled. “I'm sure Mrs. Hal will be sure to find some useful employment.”
Arabella swallowed. “I can look after bairns, sir,” she said.
He smiled. “Oh, I'm sure we'll have plenty of useful things for you.”
She looked down at her hands on the reins as he laughed. Beside her, she felt Richard go still. She glanced up at him, saw his whole face taut with rage.
“You...” he hissed. His throat was working, hands tight on the reins. He looked like a man about to fight.
“Whist,” she whispered. “Leave him be.” All they needed was for Richard to fight with his superior officer. He would be court-marshaled, maybe shot. She would be left alone with Rowell.
“I cannot just let him say such things,” he sighed, though she noticed he relaxed and some of the tension seemed to drain from him. “You're right, though. I ought to.”
“Indeed,” she murmured. She saw the major tense again, and knew he was straining to hear their words.
“Come on, you two!” he called. “Keep up! These woods are full of vagabonds. And who knows who the Jacobites might have enlisted to their aid? Look lively.”
Arabella felt herself stiffen as if he'd slapped her. It sounded like a test. Was he suggesting she might be a Jacobite spy? She felt her face go pale. She looked round, seeking a possible escape.
“Don't worry,” Richard whispered. “I think he suspects naught.”
“Don't be too sure,” Arabella said, white-lipped. “I don't trust him.”
Richard chuckled grimly. “Nor do I, milady. But still, I think it's safe to say you did well.”
They rode on as they talked, the woods misty and still gloomy, despite the day's advancement.
“All the same,” Arabella said. She glanced at the man again, and swallowed hard. The last thing she wished to do was give him any excuse at all to pay any mind to her.
I would rather he quietly forgot I existed. Not that I think that's likely, mind.
Again, the major stopped and turned to face them.
“Almost there,” he said. “Just about halfway. When we get there, you should report to Sergeant Brigway. He'll send you to the women's encampment.” he smiled at Arabella.
“Don't,” Richard hissed as they rode on.
She frowned.
“Brigway is his man,” he whispered. “He'll have spoken to him before he reaches you. If he comes to seek you out, don't go with him.”
Arabella swallowed hard. “You think he...” She couldn't bring herself to even state what she thought he meant.
“I want to believe I'm wrong,” Richard said flatly. “But the man's wicked.”
Arabella said nothing. She just looked down. Her fingers where white where they clutched the reins, the forest floor a good five and a half feet away. She swallowed, wishing she could just rest here in the forest. Just stay out here in the cold and the mist and never see or speak to anyone again.
I have no home now.
Her father had betrayed more than just the army. He had betrayed her trust, too. Her belief in him. She felt tears prick her eyes.
Stupid fool I am, she sniffed. I shouldn't have believed him.
She glanced sideways to where Richard rode beside her. His profile calm and handsome, he seemed so remote and cold, but so upright, like a knightly figure from a childhood fairy tale. He wouldn't betray anyone, she thought fiercely. Would he?
She shook her head, feeling foolish. How would she know? She had only just met him!
Her mind turned to more immediate worries. Where was she to go? How would she reach home again?
“When we reach the camp,” she whispered to Richard, who rode close by. “What must I do?”
“Come with me,” he murmured back. “I'll give you coin and directions. Mayhap Stower can guide you back? He's my man.”
“Oh.” She swallowed. “Would he know I'm...” Her words stopped. Would he know I am an enemy. That was what she wanted to say. The daughter of a man who had your men killed? The daughter of a murderer?
“He'll not know you're Scots unless I tell him,” he smiled. “You speak our tongue like a native. I would ask how, but that's none of my business.” He grinned.
“I would ask how you came to speak passing Scots,” she quipped, smiling despite herself. His grin worked through her like balm on sore limbs, making her heart warm with its merriment. “But I'm sure it'll be a long story to tell?”
He laughed, showing white teeth. “Well, probably not,” he said. “I picked it up the usual way, on campaign. A word here, a word there. And a cleric taught all of us a little. Just to get by, when we're encamped here.”
“Oh,” she raised a brow. “You learn quickly.”
“Slowly,” he countered. “I've been billeted in Scotland for years.”
“Why?” she asked, despite herself.
He laughed. “As a native to this place, you have limited faith in its charms it seems?”
She laughed too. “Well, I suppose I don't notice them anymore. I wonder that you're here simply for the local charm?”
His face went serious then, and she wondered why. He said nothing for a long time, just looked down at his hands. She saw him flex the knuckles, noting the scuff and scarring on the skin.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I didn't mean to say aught amiss...”
“You didn't,” he said. He looked into her eyes and she looked back, and suddenly it was difficult to breathe. Their sorrow and their joy mixed, tore at her, a bitter sweetness in the gaze that met her own. He cleared his throat, seeming about to say something, and she flushed with warmth.
“We're stopping at the brook, for the horses,” a shout broke their silence.
Richard jumped. “Oh, no. We should go,” he added, looking round. “We can't fall too far behind. He'll suspect something.”
“True.” Arabella nodded, looking over to where Rowell had halted his horse in a space between two tall trees, his face an inquiring stare.
“You two sharing secrets?” he called back as they rode up. Arabella paled.
“The lieutenant was giving me directions,” she said. “To the village nearest the encampment.”
“Oh! Capital,” he smiled. “A helpful lieutenant, eh?” he gave Richard an inquiring stare. “Just be careful what sort of information you give out, Lieutenant,” he said. His voice lost all its humor. Arabella tensed.
He suspects something.
As it happened, he couldn't have been more incorrect – she was not a spy, and nor was Richard dealing double with both sides. However, the fact was, he suspected something. He also wanted to have some reason to harm her.
I don't know why, but I sense that.
She shivered again as she dismounted, and looked to where the major had also. His red coat bright against the dark green of the trees by the brook, Major Rowell stared at her. His smile was slow and predatory as he stared at her, eyes lingering on the low bodice of her dress. She looked at her hands, not knowing what else to do, her throat tight with fear, tension and shame.
“So, milady,” he said, stressing the word. “I never did ask how you came to meet our lieutenant here.”
She frowned. Glanced at Richard, but he was stolidly leading his horse to the waters, not looking round.
“Well, as we said,” she said. “I was at the massacre we told of. I was...” she paused, reaching back in her mind to the story they'd discussed earlier, grappling for the name. “I was with fellows from Hal's platoon,” she said. “We'd been invited to the, um, gathering.” She bit her lip, waiting for the man to find the raw edges where the story didn't quite match up.
If I am wife to an English soldier, how can I be lady of Duncliffe? If I was at the massacre with the English, why am I alive?
“Oh?” he frowned. “I suppose your presence made it somewhat easier for the group to be assimilated?”
“Um, yes,” Arabella nodded. She looked round, desperate to get Richard's attention.
“So,” Rowell said softly, taking a step forward. “I suppose that is why, when the men were all killed, you were spared, yes? That and, of course, that nobody would waste so bonny a lass.”
His hand reached up for her hair and Arabella looked round wildly, searching for an escape.
“Sir,” she said, taking a step back. “Sir. Please...” Her heart thumped and she was, quite plainly, frightened. Here in the woods with no one to stop him except Richard, who was a good twenty paces away and not likely to fight his own commanding officer, there was no stopping him.
He smiled. “You needn't fear me,” he whispered. “I assure you, I am no brute, though my countrymen are.”
Arabella looked round again. “Sir, your countrymen come in two variants.” She stepped back again, desperate for escape. “Those who would assist a woman in distress and those who would take advantage of that distress for themselves.”
He chuckled lightly. “You imply something, I think,” he said. “I will not ask what, though I suspect you are frightened of me?”
She bit her lip, not wanting to betray the fact that she was, indeed, afraid of him. She was still backing away when she heard a step on the grass. Someone spoke.
“You intended to water the horses?” Richard asked. His voice was hard, though he had not raised it. He didn't need to. His fist was clenched, his other hand relaxed where it hung at the hilt of his sword. Arabella could read the tension in every line of him – the readiness for action.
“Well, quite,” Major Rowell said smoothly. “I was about to do so, when you came up so forwardly.”
“I wanted to caution you to haste,” Richard said, blinking mildly. “These woods are full of vagabonds and outlaws, as you said. I thought I heard someone in the thicket there.”
“Very good, Lieutenant,” he said tightly. “We'll move on as soon as the horses have drunk their fill.”
“Yes sir.”
Arabella raised a brow – the trace of sarcasm there was so slim she would barely have noticed it – but it was there to hear, and evidently the major heard it too.
“I'll be back shortly,” he said tightly.
He headed off, leaving them alone.
“When we get to the town,” Richard whispered, “ride back along the road. Go west. Stop in the trees at the Forest-edge Inn. Say to Mrs. Brewster I sent you,” he said. “I've got coin for the stay, if you need it.”
“Thank you,” Arabella whispered. She swallowed hard. She wasn't used to taking aid of any sort, and was about to say “My father will see you recompensed,” when she stiffened.
I will never rely on my father for his recompense again.
Her heart was tight with betrayal and hurt. She never wanted to so much as set eyes on the man again, much less ask for anything. She swallowed hard, thinking of her siblings. She wouldn't want to leave without seeing them again, or she wouldn't be returning home.
“Here,” Richard whispered as he handed her a small leather purse. “Remember. As soon as we reach the town, ride west. Don't follow him anywhere. I don't trust him.”
“Yes,” Arabella whispered again. “I will remember.”
They mounted and left shortly after.
As they neared the town, it seemed like a brooding silence seemed to fall over their group. Even Major Rowell, who had previously been so talkative, was silent now. Arabella looked around. It was not long now, before she would reach the turnoff. They were almost there.
Ride west. Don't look back.
“We should reach Grayling soon, shouldn't we, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, Lieutenant. Another ten minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
The road changed soon after, going from leaf-strewn forest pathway to cobbled road. Arabella tensed. She looked at Richard, and his handsome head nodded. Ride west.
“So,” the major was saying, in the middle of some earnest discussion, “I was saying that the suppression of native traditions ought to be encouraged. If these gatherings persist, who knows how many of them will turn to massacres? No – take away your enemy's identity and you disarm him.”
Arabella stared at him. She was focused on her ride, but she was still horrified by what she heard. She was about to answer when Richard spoke first.
“These people are not our enemy, Major,” he said tightly. “Jacobites are our enemy. Not Scotsmen.”
“Oh?” the major gave a bitter chuckle. “Well, seems they're much the same thing. Scrape a Scotsman and you'll see the Jacobite underneath. Mark my words, Lieutenant. We'll not have shrift of this nonsense until we've subdued the lot. Now let's see...we're almost ready to go down into the town, are we not..?” he reached into his pocket for something, and Arabella felt Richard's urgent-eyed stare.
Now, he seemed to be saying. While his attention is split.
She swallowed, her heart thumping in her chest. She looked round. There, on her left, she could just see the start of the path- -way west. She glanced at the major, who was riding slowly forward, seemingly consulting a compass.
“So,” he was saying, “I heard from Chedfield that there was a small hamlet not far from the town? If we need produce for the horses, and for victualing, I suggest we replenish ourselves there, not so?”
“Sir, you mean to requisition their goods?” Richard sounded horrified.
“Why not?” he shrugged. “Loyal servants of the Crown? What is theirs is for the army.”
“Sir, I...” Richard sounded outraged as he spoke. “We already levy taxes here. You think the locals will learn to love us anymore if we take also their livelihood?”
He chuckled. “We don't want the locals to admire us, sir,” he said. “Well, mayhap some of them, but...” he trailed off and reached for the compass again, turning left slowly.
Arabella seized her moment. She leaned forward, shifting the direction of her horse. They were already at the edge of the path. Now they stepped off and to her right, merging with the shadows, heading along down the road toward the hills.
“...and so I say that we should...” she heard Rowell's voice, getting fainter, now, as she rode at a slow walk down the pathway into the trees. She held her breath, counting to ten until they were out of earshot. Then she rode quickly.
Breath heaving in her chest, lungs straining, heart pounding, she rode. She felt her hair loosen from the vestige of an up-do, felt her skirts billow on the breeze as she leaned forward, and heard the wind hiss past her ears. She rode.
“Bloody perdition! What in the name of everything wretched is that?” someone shouted.
A shot rattled through the leaves above her head – Arabella almost smelled the stench of a musket ball as she rode. She stifled a scream at the wind of its passing. So close! It rattled through the leaves and must have found a target somewhere, though it missed her and her horse and she rode on.
“Home,” she whispered. “We're riding home.”
She didn't know if she said it for herself or for her horse, or both of them. However, as she went through the darkening, whispering trees, the pursuers falling away as she left the town with its billet further and further behind her, she repeated it endlessly.
Home. We're riding home. Back home.
As the path lengthened, the morning brightened, and she felt exhausted, nearing the inn, Arabella kept on saying it. It didn't convince her anymore, though, with every repetition. She had no home, so where was she going? What would happen when she reached Duncliffe again?
It didn't matter, she told herself harshly. All that mattered now was that she was safe, and alone. As far away from the unpleasant, unkind major with the predatory gaze as possible as well.