The Least Likely Bride

Chapter Twenty

Olivia took bread, cheese, and cold beef from the supper table, together with an apple, and left the house through the side door.

Eating her makeshift supper, she strolled into the stable yard, ducked casually into the tack room, and took a rope halter from the row hanging on the wall. She held it against her skirts and as casually as before left the stable yard, again drawing little attention from a pair of grooms who were playing knucklebones on an upturned water butt.

She made her way to the pasture where the ponies had been put to graze during the warm summer nights. Her own pony, a dappled mare, was placidly cropping the grass under the hedge a few feet from her.

“Grayling,” Olivia called softly, holding out the apple.

The pony looked up and then walked over to her. Olivia held out the apple on the palm of her hand, and Grayling lifted it off delicately between her thick velvety lips. Olivia slipped the halter around her neck and led her to a tree stump.

Grayling showed no objection to being ridden bareback. Olivia tucked her muslin skirts securely beneath her to protect herself from the pony’s coarse hair and clicked her tongue, guiding the mare to the gate onto the lane.

She hoped she remembered the way to the Barkers’ farm. She hadn’t been concentrating too well the previous time; there had been too many things on her mind. However, she found she recognized a crossroads and knew to take the right-hand lane. It led her through the small hamlet that she remembered as being about ten minutes away from the cattle track that led to the Barkers’ farm.

It was dusk as she rode into the farmyard. It was quiet, no children tumbling on the straw-strewn cobbles, the chickens, ducks, and geese shut away from the fox for the night. But the farmhouse door stood open to let in the evening breeze.

Olivia dismounted and looped Grayling’s halter over a fence post, then she approached the door. She knocked and peered into the kitchen. It was deserted and her heart sank. Were they all abed already?

She knocked louder and then called softly, “Anyone home?” To her relief came the clatter of booted feet from the ladder staircase at the back of the kitchen.

“Who the ‘ell’s callin’ at this time o‘ night?” A man Olivia didn’t recognize came into the kitchen, tucking his shirt into the waist of his britches.

She got a good look as he came closer, and saw Mike’s features in the older face.

“Goodman Barker?”

“Aye, an‘ who wants ’im?” He peered at her in the half-light.

“Olivia Granville. Lord Granville’s daughter,” she added when he seemed at a loss. “Is Mike here? I have to speak to him.”

The goodman regarded her suspiciously and just then his wife’s voice called imperatively, “Who is it, Barker?”

“The Granville miss,” he called over his shoulder. “Wants our Mike.”

Goodwife Barker came down the ladder backwards. She wore a voluminous nightgown; her hair was tucked into a cap. “What’s it you want, miss?” she demanded.

Olivia took a deep breath. “Goodwife, they’ve moved the king to Newport. Anthony doesn’t know it and I know he’s going to Carisbrooke tonight to try to rescue the king.”

The Barkers looked at her in bewilderment as if trying to comprehend what she was saying.

Olivia continued urgently, “Wind Dancer is in danger. They have cannons on the headland to sink her when she sails into Puckaster Cove.” She had the feeling that if she paused for a second, the woman would cut her off and send her packing. “Mike must know how to send a message to the ship so she won’t drop anchor.

“We have to warn the ship!” she repeated, hoping at last to see some light of understanding in the goodwife’s suspicious stare. “And we have to stop Anthony from going to the beach. If someone from here can send the signal to the ship, I’ll go to the castle and warn Anthony.”

Goodwife Barker said, “ ‘Ow d’ye know this, miss?”

“I overheard my father, Lord Granville, talking about it.” She tried for patience, but it deserted her and she exclaimed, “For God’s sake, woman, is Mike here?”

Goodman Barker answered her. “He’s wi‘ the master.”

Olivia used a barnyard oath that she’d picked up from Portia. “Do you know how to warn the ship?”

Both Barkers shook their heads. “Our Mike’s the only one ‘ere what knows the signals,” the goodwife said.

“An‘ he’s wi’ the master,” the goodman repeated, still shaking his head.

Maybe it was too late for the ship, but she could still keep Anthony from walking into an ambush. “I have to go to the castle to warn Anthony.” She was calculating times and distances as she spoke. “Tell me which road to take from here. I only know the way from Chale. There must be a way to get to the castle without going back through Chale. Across the downs… some other route.”

“Our Billy ‘ad better go wi’ you. Over Bleak Down and across the Medina. ‘Tis the quickest way.” The goodman spoke up with what Olivia thought was probably uncharacteristic authority. He turned to his wife and demanded sharply, “Fetch Billy, woman!”

The goodman went past Olivia to the door. He looked up at the sky. “ ‘Tis close on ten. Ye’d best get a move on. It’ll take ye an hour at least.”

His wife was already at the foot of the ladder. “Billy! Our Billy, get down ‘ere quick!”

“Eh, Ma, what’s up?” A sleepy Billy stumbled down the steps in his nightshirt. His eye fell on Olivia still standing by the door. “Lor‘! ’Tis Miss!”

“Ye’ve to show Miss the way to the castle, across Bleak Down.” His mother thrust a pair of boots at him.

“I needs me britches,” Billy protested, turning back to the steps.

“Jest be quick about it.”

He was down again in a minute and sat on the bottom step to pull on his boots.

“Aye. Now fetch an ‘orse. Get goin’!” His mother gave him a shove to the door.

“All right, all right, I’m goin‘!” He ran off, the untucked tail of his shirt flapping behind him.

Olivia’s heart was beating too fast; anxiety coursed through her veins as she waited for Billy to reappear with his horse. She stepped out into the farmyard, her arms crossed over her breast. There was a new moon, a crescent sliver hanging low on the horizon.

Billy on a round cob trotted into the yard, and Olivia ran for her horse. She unlooped the halter and Goodman Barker gave her a leg up. “God go wi‘ ye, miss.”

Goodwife Barker hurried over to them, her face creased with anxiety. “Now, our Billy, y’are not to go to the castle. ‘Tis bad enough our Mike’s there, puttin’ himself in danger and all for nowt. Jest get Miss across the down and over the river.”

Billy looked a trifle disgusted but he shrugged in half acceptance. “Come on, then, miss.” He kicked the cob’s round flanks and the animal broke into a lumbering trot. Grayling followed with a prancing step.

Olivia brought Grayling up beside Billy’s cob as they left the cart track at the end of the farm and turned onto the lane. “Your father said it would take us an hour to get there, Billy?”

“Oh, Pa’s not much of a rider,” Billy said scornfully. “It might take ‘im an hour, but I reckon we can do better than that, miss. We goes this a-way.” He turned his horse to push through a hedge and they were in an open stretch of land where the trees were scrawny and bent by the wind’s frequent onslaughts.

“ ‘Tis called Bleak Down,” Billy told Olivia. “There’s no villages around ’ere, the wind is powerful fierce in the winter.”

By mutual consent they put their horses to the gallop and rode neck and neck. The wind whistled past Olivia’s ears, caught her thick black hair, pulling it loose from its ribbon so it flew out like a raven’s wing behind her. Her heart seemed to race in rhythm with Grayling’s beating hooves across the rough turf.

Was it already too late for Anthony to get a message to Wind Dancer? He had told Adam that the ship must be in position by ten. She would already be sailing into the mouth of the cove, under the cannon. Anthony must have some way of signaling her to leave. But there would be soldiers stationed on the clifftop, waiting…

There would be a way… a way… a way… The refrain filled her head, blocking out all other thought as she clung to the pony’s mane, keeping low on Grayling’s neck to encourage her speed. A narrow ribbon of dark water loomed suddenly in front of her.

“We ‘ave to ford the river,” Billy shouted, not drawing rein. “ ’Tis low at this time o‘ year. Jest follow me.”

Grayling followed the cob into the water. They didn’t slacken speed and Olivia’s skirts were soaked as the cob kicked up water ahead of her and Grayling leaped through the spray. But there ahead of them now loomed the great mass of Carisbrooke Castle up on the hill, the giant keep on its high motte towering from the northwest corner.

Olivia thought rapidly. The king’s chamber was, had been, in the north curtain wall. Anthony and Mike would be waiting with their horses somewhere close to there, somewhere right under the battlements. It was madness! she thought with a surge of fury. Other people had tried to rescue the king and failed miserably.

But then, Anthony was not other people. If it could have been done, he would have succeeded. If the king were there, ready to do his part, he would be away to France within the hour.

“Leave me here, Billy,” she instructed crisply. “I’ll go the rest of the way alone.”

“Eh, I could ‘elp a bit, miss,” he said hopefully.

“Your mother wants you back. So go. I don’t have time to waste.”

“Ma’s jest a worrier,” he said.

“With good reason. Now go!”

Her voice was fierce enough to send even the reluctant Billy back the way he had come.

Olivia headed for a line of trees that marched along the spine of the down. The moon was obscured by clouds for the moment, but the trees would conceal her approach if the moon suddenly shone clear.

Just where would Anthony be? The gatehouse was very close to the southern end of the north wall. There would be soldiers patrolling the ramparts. She could see the flicker of torches on the battlements. Her heart pounded so fiercely she thought she would be sick. And yet her head was clear and cold, her thinking sharp and bright as an icicle.

As she guided Grayling at a walk under the line of trees, she heard the whicker of a horse. Immediately she drew rein. Grayling lifted his nose and gave a curious snort at the presence of his own kind.

“Where are they?” she murmured, her ears straining to catch a sound. Faintly she heard the muffled shuffle of hooves, and then the faintest chink of a bridle. They were coming from a group of trees that stood very close to the battlements.

Olivia dismounted and led Grayling towards the trees. She had no idea what she would find. It could as easily be a party of Lord Granville’s troopers as Anthony and Mike.

There were three horses tethered in the copse, placidly cropping the mossy grass. Three horses, positioned for a quick getaway.

Olivia tethered Grayling close to them and then crept on tiptoe out of the copse. The moon came out as she emerged under the grass-covered curtain wall beneath the north battlements. She could see the king’s barred window high up beneath the rampart. There was no light in the window. Torches still flickered on the battlements above.

If she hugged the wall, she would be concealed from a watcher on the ramparts. She moved at a crouch, making herself as small as possible, towards the wall beneath the king’s window.

The clock in the castle chapel struck eleven, its gong chiming out across a still night. Olivia’s heart jumped.

And then the night exploded. There was a crash of a cannon; sparks flew into the air, a shower of orange and red. Muskets fired in rapid succession and then there was a whoosh of orange flame from the battlements. It looked as if the entire castle was on fire.

And then Olivia saw them. The two black shapes pressed as she was against the wall. They were immediately below the king’s window. Anthony’s tall, dark-clad figure was unmistakable. He wore a black cap pulled down over his bright head, and he seemed to blend into the night, a shadowy part of the night and the wall itself.

Now it sounded as if a pitched battle was being fought within the walls overhead. Men were shouting, torches wavered, flames rose, crackling and smoky in the night. Anthony had said he would create a diversion, but this was a full-scale war.

Olivia raced towards Anthony. She called his name, confident that in the chaos above, her own small voice would not reach the battlements.

Anthony spun around. A knife was in his raised hand. Then the hand dropped as he saw who it was. Olivia stopped, bent double as she tried to catch her breath. Anthony made no attempt to press her to explain herself, and his steady quiet, the aura of calm, had its effect. When she spoke, she spoke clearly and to the point.

“He’s not here… the king… he’s not here.” Olivia pointed upward to the window. “They moved him this morning.”

Anthony asked no questions. He seized her hand and ran with her, crouching low to the ground, into the shelter of the trees. Mike raced soundlessly beside them.

“Well, that was a waste of some splendid fireworks,” Anthony declared coolly as they reached cover. “Gordon and his men did a magnificent job.”

“Aye,” Mike agreed. “We could ‘ave got five kings away under that cover.”

“Your ship,” Olivia gasped. “Wind Dancer…”

“What of her?” Anthony demanded, his calm suddenly banished.

Then almost immediately he was in command of himself. He said quietly, “Take a breath, Olivia. Tell me what you know.”

“They have stationed cannon on the headlands above Puckaster Cove, in case your ship comes into the channel.”

“Yarrow,” Mike said disgustedly.

Anthony shook his head. “You can’t blame him, Mike. I’d rather he told what he knew than risk hurt.”

“Prue wouldn’t ‘ave spoken, whatever they did,” Mike stated with the same disgust.

“That’s as may be.” Anthony was brusquely dismissive. “What else, Olivia?”

“Soldiers. In ambush on the clifftop in case you come ashore.”

“Or leave the shore,” he said with a short laugh. “On the clifftop? Are you certain?”

Olivia nodded. “That’s what they said. Anthony, what are you-”

But he had turned from them and walked away through the trees. The king’s cause was lost.

But his ship! His men! Adam, Jethro, Sam… they were his lifeblood, his family. He owed them everything he had. Wind Dancer, precious though she was, was nothing compared to his friends. And yet, to save his friends, he had to save his ship. He turned back. His expression was calm, his eyes cool and gray as a still, dawn sea.

“Sam will have left the dinghy in the cove. I can evade the ambush by taking the path from Binnel Point. It’ll bring me to the beach without going near the cliff above the cove,” he said crisply. “I’ll have a few minutes to get the dinghy into the water before they realize I’m there.”

“They’ll fire on you,” Olivia said. “When they see you pushing the dinghy out, they’ll fire on you.”

“Once he’s hoisted sail, the master can outmaneuver anyone,” Mike said. “He did summat like it afore. In Tangier. They was after ‘im fer…”He stopped and coughed. “Can’t quite remember what.”

Anthony gave him an ironical smile. “How discreet you are, Mike.”

“Oh, I don’t care if you’d invaded the sultan’s harem,” Olivia exclaimed. “I only want to know if it worked.”

“I am here.” Anthony bowed, his eyes gleaming with that reckless light that she now knew so well. “Here and… uh… intact, as I’m sure you can vouch for.”

“So it was the sultan’s… oh, why must you joke at such a time?”

“Because, my flower, there is always time to laugh. And laughter calms the nerves.” He touched her cheek in habitual fashion and in habitual fashion she leaned her face into his palm. His eyes grazed hers.

“What of Wind Dancer?” she said urgently. “Once they see you, they’ll certainly fire the cannon at her, if they haven’t already destroyed her.”

The light disappeared from his eyes. “I learned long ago not to anticipate disaster; it’s a waste of energy. Jethro will know what to do until I can take command.” Anthony turned for his horse. “Mike, escort Olivia home and then go home yourself. Wind Dancer will make sail for France as soon as I’m aboard her. We’ll return to the chine in a month or so and-”

“Beggin‘ yer pardon, master, but I’m not goin’ to leave you. Ye’ll need ‘elp pushin’ the dinghy off. Besides, I go where Wind Dancer goes.”

Anthony hesitated beside his horse, one hand on the pommel, the other holding the reins. He spoke to Olivia, who had gone to Grayling. “Can you find your own way home?”

“That’s a stupid, if not an insulting, question. I found my own way here, of course I could find my way home. But I’m not going home.”

Anthony had mounted his horse. “What do you mean?”

Olivia spoke slowly and clearly. “I mean that if my father’s men are in ambush above the beach, and I am down on the beach with you, pushing you and your boat out, they are not going to shoot.”

“They’ll recognize Miss on the beach,” Mike said as he took the point.

“Exactly. If my father’s not there, the men are bound to be under Giles Crampton’s command. He’ll recognize me immediately.” She grabbed Grayling’s mane, jumped, and hauled herself across the mare’s back, scrambling herself astride, scrunching her skirts beneath her.

“And just how are you intending to explain that to your father?” Anthony demanded.

“That’s my problem,” she said. “Like you, I make my own decisions, and I accept their consequences.” She flung his own words back at him with a certain satisfaction. “My commitments are my affair, Mr. Caxton.”

It was dark among the trees but she could see his eyes flare, his fine mouth harden. “Don’t you dare follow me, Olivia,” he said with a low-voiced ferocity that she had never heard from him before. “Come, Mike.” He turned and galloped his horse out onto the downs.

Mike gave her a little shrug of resignation and followed.