Lord Greville's Captive. Nicola Cornick

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СКАЧАТЬ little. ‘Tell me,’ he added casually, returning to a thought that had struck him as soon as she had entered the room that night, ‘are all men afraid of you?’

      She looked at him. Her eyes were so dark and her face so shuttered that for a moment it was impossible to read her thoughts.

      ‘No,’ she said. ‘A few are not.’

      Simon laughed. ‘Name them, then.’

      ‘My father.’ Her face went still, as though mention of the ailing Earl of Grafton was almost too much for her to bear. ‘And your brother, Sir Henry, treats me as though I were his elder sister.’ She looked up again and met his gaze. ‘And then there is you, my lord. I heard tell that you were afraid of nothing.’

      ‘That is a convenient fiction to encourage my men.’ Simon spoke shortly. He was surprised to feel himself disconcerted by her words. ‘Only a fool is not afraid on the eve of battle.’

      She nodded slowly. ‘And surely you are not that. One of the youngest colonels in the Parliamentarian army, renowned for your cool strategy and your courage, a soldier that the King’s men fear more than almost any other…’

      They looked at one another for a long moment, then Simon moved away and settled the logs deeper in the grate with his booted foot. They broke apart with a hiss of flame and a spurt of light, spilling the scent of apple wood into the room. Inside it was shadowy and warm, giving a false impression of intimacy when outside the door the snow lay thick and an army of men prepared for battle.

      ‘I was very sorry to hear of your father’s illness,’ Simon said. ‘The Earl of Grafton is a fine man. We may not support the same cause, but I have always admired him.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Anne pushed the dark hair back from her face. It was drying in wisps now, shadowy and dark about her face. She looked pale and tired.

      ‘Will he recover?’

      Anne shook her head. ‘He lives, my lord, but it would be as true to say he is dead. He neither moves nor speaks, and he takes little food. Nor does he recognise any of us any more. It is only a matter of time.’

      Simon nodded. It was very much what he had already heard from the talk in the village. The Earl of Grafton had been ailing for years and it was no surprise that the King had recently sought to reinforce Grafton with troops from Oxford, under the control of General Gerard Malvoisier. Grafton was ideally placed to keep the route from the West Country to Oxford open for the King, and it had been strongly equipped with arms and men. The Parliamentarian generals also suspected that there was a quantity of treasure hidden at Grafton, sent by Royalists in the West Country to swell the King’s coffers. Therefore General Fairfax had sent Simon, with a battalion of foot soldiers and a division of cavalry, to take Grafton from the Royalists once and for all.

      It was King Charles himself who had ordered the betrothal between Gerard Malvoisier and Anne soon after war had been declared in 1642, and Simon therefore had all the more of a grudge against the Royalist commander. Grafton had been promised to him—and so too had its heiress, before the King had intervened. Simon had always despised Gerard Malvoisier, whom he considered nothing more than a thug who tried to conceal his brutality beneath a cloak of soldiering. When he had thought Malvoisier had murdered Henry, he had hated him even more. As for the idea of Anne’s betrothal to him, it was repugnant. The thought of Malvoisier claiming Anne, taking that slender body to his bed, breaking her to his will with all the brutality of which he was capable made Simon feel physically sick.

      Looking at her now, with her hair drying in the warmth of the fire and the candlelight casting its shadow across the fine line of her cheekbone and jaw, he felt something snap deep within him. Malvoisier would never have her. Unless…Simon paused. Perhaps it was already too late. Rumour said that Gerard Malvoisier had made sure of Anne by following up their betrothal with a bedding immediately after. She was in all likelihood already his mistress.

      There was a knock at the door and Standish stuck his head around.

      ‘The wine, my lord.’ He withdrew silently and the door closed with a quiet click.

      Simon poured for them both and passed Anne a glass. His hand touched hers; her fingers were cold. A strange feeling, part-anger, part-protectiveness, took him then, once again piercing the chill that had encased him since Henry’s death.

      ‘Come closer to the fire,’ he said abruptly. ‘You are frozen. It is a bad night to be out.’

      She shot him a quick look, but drew her chair obediently closer to the flames. Now that they were alone with no further interruption, she seemed to have withdrawn into her own thoughts. The vivid spirit that had burned before was banked down, invisible, leaving nothing but the outward show of beauty. Simon took the chair opposite and studied her for a moment, until she lifted her gaze to his.

      ‘What can we make the toast,’ he said, ‘given that we support different causes now?’

      ‘All men’s loyalties are tangled and confused by this conflict,’ Anne said. ‘It spirals out of our control. I know not where it will end.’ She hesitated. ‘I had heard that you were estranged from your father because of your allegiance—’ She broke off, colouring slightly.

      ‘You heard correctly,’ Simon said abruptly.

      Anne looked away. ‘I am sorry,’ she whispered.

      Simon felt her grief touch his own heart. His estrangement from his father was never far from his mind. Less than five years before he had sat beside Fulwar Greville in Parliament. Looking back, it seemed that the country had slipped almost insensibly into civil war. Fulwar had not approved of the King’s arrogance towards his subjects, but he had served the crown for forty years, had broken bread with his sovereign and could not forsake his allegiance now. Simon, on the other hand, had seen only a monarch who had gathered an army to fight his own countrymen and whose power had to be curtailed. When he had signed the militia oath to protect the Parliament he had seen his father’s face grow old before his eyes. They both knew what it meant. Did he honour his father or his country? His loyalty was torn for ever.

      ‘Perhaps the only true toast can be to loyalty itself,’ Simon said, ‘though it may mean different things to different men.’ He touched his glass to Anne’s and a moment later she smiled and raised her glass in silent tribute, taking a small sip of the wine.

      ‘Loyalty,’ she said. ‘I can make that my pledge.’

      A flush crept along her cheek, rose pink from the fire and the warming effects of the drink. It made her look very young.

      Simon sat back. There was no sound, but for the brush of the snow against the roof and the crackle of the fire in the grate. For a moment the room was as close to peace as it could come.

      Then Anne broke the silence. ‘So,’ she said, ‘will you stand down your troops, Lord Greville? Do we have an agreement?’

      ‘No,’ Simon said. ‘Not yet.’

      Anne started to get to her feet. Her hand moved to take the dagger from the table, but Simon was too fast for her. He caught her wrist in a bruising grip.

      ‘You are too hasty.’ His tone was smooth, belying the fierceness of his clasp. ‘There are questions I wish answered before we strike a bargain. Stay a little.’

      He released her and Anne sat back, rubbing her wrist. Simon picked up the knife and turned СКАЧАТЬ