The Rebel Captain's Royalist Bride

‘I was about to throw it away,’ Babette said. ‘Jonas picked the wrong fungi. I was busy picking herbs and did not realise.’

Captain Colby took the offending fungi in his gloved hand and threw it away, but the look he gave Babette told her that he doubted both her word and that of her servant. He truly suspected her of having picked it with the intent of doing him some harm. Her stomach clenched, for some men might have had her arrested and flogged—or imprisoned—on such a suspicion. She returned his cold look, tossing back her long hair, which glinted and took fire in a ray of sun reaching through the canopy.

‘Take care when picking your mushrooms in future, mistress,’ he said. ‘A mistake like that can cost the life of a dear one—and if it was intended for an enemy it would be a bad mistake. My friends would have avenged me, and your aunt and her family might have been blamed.’

‘It was meant for no one. Had you not come crashing through the trees it would already have been discarded. No harm was intended to anyone. Jonas made a simple mistake.’

‘Have you finished your foraging?’ he asked. ‘We shall escort you home, mistress, for there are reports of dangerous men in this wood—and I should not wish you to fall foul of them, even if you do consider me your enemy.’

‘We are of opposing beliefs, sir,’ Babette replied with dignity. If he escorted her home, his men would not stumble on the hut that harboured her brother and Drew Melbourne. ‘Yet I do not think you precisely an enemy, for I believe you an honourable man.’

‘Indeed?’ His gaze became slightly puzzled, as if he was not sure whether to trust her. She prayed that he would not realise she wanted him gone from the woods. Had he suspected her reason for speaking him fair, he might have searched harder and found the hut that sheltered her brother. ‘Then perhaps you will let me take you up on my horse. Your servant may take your basket back to the house.’

Babette felt trapped. If she refused him now, who knew what he might do? He already thought ill of her and was suspicious; if he decided to make a thorough search of the area he might stumble on the hut. She had no choice but to let him take her up, though the thought made her tremble inside. Hiding her trepidation, she turned to her servant.

‘Take this back to the kitchen. Do not pick any more fungi,’ she said. ‘I must teach you what is good to eat and what is deadly.’

‘Forgive me, mistress.’

Babette inclined her head. Hoping that her servant understood why she sounded harsh, she turned and waited for the Parliament captain to give her his hand to help her mount pillion behind him. Instead, he swept her up, his big hands one each side of her waist, lifting her to the front of the saddle with ease and mounting swiftly behind her so that his arms were about her when he caught the reins.

Her whole body trembled, unable to hide how much his nearness affected her. She was encased in a strong muscular embrace and could not have escaped had she wished. The masculine scent of him was as powerful as his physique, a mixture of horses, leather and fresh sweat and beneath it the smell of skin recently washed with a good soap. It was not the kind of soap her aunt might make at home, but had probably been made by a perfumery in France or perhaps some Eastern land, as it was infused with scents that were not familiar to her.

It was not the kind of scent often met with in the country, for the servants washed only when they changed their clothes and that might be any time between a week and two months. Aunt Minnie would not put up with slovenly dress in her servants and so those in the house were forced to wash both themselves and their clothes at least once a week, but many of the common folk seldom bathed. There were always the exceptions, of course, but many of them smelled unpleasant. Wealthy gentlemen often disguised their lack of cleanliness with strong perfumes imported from the East, but both Babette’s family and her uncle’s, were more conscious of the benefits of soap and water.

‘’Tis filth that breeds disease, if you ask me, and it be certain that it brings rats,’ Aunt Minnie was fond of saying. ‘I can’t have folk in my house that carry lice in their hair or fleas on their body. If I find they have them, it’s off with their things and into the lye bucket—and a scrubbing for them in the washtub.’

The cure seemed far the worst evil to her servants and most obliged their mistress by having a body wash once every week—and washing their hands and face each morning, and even before meals, if she were about to watch them.

This man had washed all over that day, for his scent was above all fresh. Babette found his smell comforting as well as pleasing. His hair was long, but it too had been freshly washed and was brushed back from his forehead and fell in soft waves to his shirt collar. Had it been cut short, she suspected it would curl tightly about his ears; the thought made her smile, for as a boy John had had ringlets, but when his hair was cut they were lost for ever and it now grew straight.

‘You are thoughtful, mistress. Have I prevented a meeting with your lover?’

Was that why he’d insisted on escorting her home? Had he thought he was saving her from sinful behaviour here in the woods? She’d thought him more of a soldier than a religious zealot, but was he also a Puritan in his thoughts? Yet that did not accord with his scented soap and his fine linens—many of those who preached of godliness thought insufficiently of cleanliness in her experience.

‘Why should I sneak away to the woods to meet a lover?’ she asked with a flash of temper and perhaps unwisely. ‘If I wished to court someone, I would ask him to come to the house.’

‘I would have expected it of as proud a woman,’ he agreed. ‘Then what were you doing last night? You allowed me to think you were meeting a lover then.’ She turned her head to look at him and saw the suspicion deepen in those deep-seeing eyes. ‘Or are you a Royalist spy?’

Babette had to struggle against the shiver of fear that threatened. He was so close to the truth. She managed to stop herself shuddering, sitting straight and stiff within the confines of his arms. His nearness made her feel weak and her throat tightened with an emotion she did not understand or wish to know.

‘I do not know what I have done to make you think so ill of me, sir,’ she said, meeting his eyes with her clear gaze. ‘Someone I cared for came to the house to ask for medicine last night. I asked the symptoms and today I have been foraging so that I may make a cure for the fever that ails him—what is so terrible in that?’

‘Are you then a witch?’ he asked, but now the cold look had gone and a half-smile was on his lips. He was mocking her, but gently. Babette’s heart beat faster, for his smile pleased her and made her wish he were not a Parliament man. ‘Methinks I may have misjudged you last even, mistress.’

‘You were quick to judge,’ she said. ‘There are in this world people—men—I care for, men who are not my lover yet who are held in high regard by me. Some might be relatives, others servants or merely friends; if any asked me for a cure I knew how to make I would make it—but I do not use spells nor do I ill wish any.’

‘Yet he came to you in the dark of night.’ Captain Colby looked thoughtful. ‘I shall acquit you of wanting to poison me and mayhap I was wrong to think you had a lover—but you are hiding something from me, Mistress Babette. My instincts never lie. I must warn you to be careful. Please do not do anything foolish while my men and I stay at your uncle’s house. Should I discover that you were harbouring an enemy I might be forced to take measures...and it would not go well with you or your family if a superior officer should discover you were a spy.’

Babette’s heart caught with fear, not for herself, but for her brother and Drew. If these men should discover them she believed they would find themselves prisoners...perhaps worse. Could they be Royalist spies? John had seemed to hint that Drew was important to the cause. She must be very careful not to betray herself when John came that night.

‘Now you will not speak to me,’ Captain Colby said, a dangerous softness in his voice—dangerous, because it broke down her guard and almost made her forget he was her enemy. Something in her responded to his stroking and she wished that she might confide in him. Why could he not have been a Royalist? Her throat tightened and she could not speak even if she wished. ‘I did not wish to frighten you. I would not have harm come to you or your family, believe me. It was rather in the nature of a friendly warning.’

‘Then I thank you,’ she said, ‘though I see no reason for your fears. I am merely a guest in my uncle’s house. If my beliefs differ from his, still I would not do anything to harm him or his family. Nor would I deliberately harm you or your men, sir—even if we are enemies.’

‘I hope you speak the truth for your own sake and mine,’ he said, and for a moment his arms seemed to tighten about her. ‘It would pain me if I had to punish you, Babs.’

How dared he call her by the name she thought reserved for her family? Her mood was instantly altered. She wanted to reproach him, but he seemed less angry and threatening and she dared not make him lose his temper again. She must ignore his familiarity while he was in a position of power—but if ever they should meet in different circumstances...

Contenting herself with thoughts of how she would treat him with haughty disdain once the King had won the war, Babette managed to complete the ride back to her uncle’s house without giving rein to her temper.

* * *

Once she was back at the house, Babette found herself busy cooking and baking. Now that they had so many guests there was three or four times the work. Aunt Minnie grumbled that the soldiers were eating her out of house and home, but Uncle Matthew reminded her that a troop of more than twenty men might have ridden in and taken all they had without any form of payment. Captain Colby had promised payment for what they took.

‘I know your uncle is right,’ Babette’s aunt said when they were alone, ‘but the work does not fall on him—and it will not be easy to replenish our stores. I may have to send to London for some supplies.’

‘Yes, I dare say. We have used most of our spices, raisins and dates in the last batch of buns I made. You will need to buy more soon, Aunt.’

‘I think I shall send to town for a length of cloth for Angelina and perhaps for myself. We could both do with a new gown for Sunday—and perhaps you would care to buy something, too, Babette? We can have Mistress Hoskins from the village to help cut and sew it, though I like to finish my gowns myself.’

Babette hesitated. Had she not been told that John wished her to return to the castle she would have been glad of the chance to buy at least one length of wool to make herself a new gown for the winter months, which were not so very far ahead. However, it was unlikely that an order sent within the next few days would be filled and delivered before she was home again. Better to wait until she was at the castle. Perhaps Alice would care to order some cloth, too? Briefly, her thoughts dwelled on her sister-in-law—what was Alice like and would she welcome her husband’s sister back to the castle?

‘Thank you, dear Aunt,’ she said, ‘but I think I shall not order this time. Perhaps when the fair comes...’

She blushed a little as she turned away, not wanting her aunt to see her face. She felt guilty at hiding her secret from Aunt Minnie, because the lady had been kind and generous. Indeed, Babette would miss her when she left. However, she must rejoice at the news of her brother’s return and her duty was to his wife. Alice was living in a strange house, carrying her first child and without friends. Babette knew how lonely it could be at the castle and thought that the sooner she was able to leave her uncle’s house the better for Alice’s sake. However, she could not leave until John was able to escort her. First he must get Drew on his feet again and then he must make certain that the Parliament soldiers had gone. Only then would he have time to fetch her.

* * *

After she had finished preparing supper, Babette began to brew an infusion of herbs and berry juice that she knew would help to ease the pain of Drew Melbourne’s wound and to fight a fever. She ground her ingredients, poured on boiling water to release the flavours and healing properties, then strained the mixture through muslin, removing all the pulp and bits. When she had a clear yellowish-green mixture, she added a spoon of honey to sweeten it, tasted it, added more honey and then poured the finished preparation into a flask.

‘You have spent a lot of time on your cure,’ Aunt Minnie said. ‘Who is it for?’

Babette hesitated. She thought that she might trust her aunt, but then the kitchen door opened and her uncle entered. She smiled and shook her head, slipping the small flask into the pocket of her gown. Aunt Minnie frowned, but remained silent, and Babette left the room. She went into the parlour and began to prepare the table for supper that night. The dark oak table looked best set with mats of woven straw, the knife to one side and the spoon to the other. In her uncle’s house each member of the household was given both a knife and a spoon. Babette had heard that some people followed the French fashion and had introduced a two-pronged instrument into their households, which could be used to spear a piece of meat, but Uncle Matthew ate with his knife or spoon, using his fingers to secure any tasty morsel that could not be speared by the knife or scooped up in the spoon.

That night they were to have roasted capon. Babette’s uncle liked the leg joint best and ate it with his fingers, disposing of the bones to the dogs he allowed to roam in and out of the house. They were hunting dogs, but also useful as guard dogs, and he liked to have one at his heels wherever he went, inside and out. Aunt Minnie liked the breast meat, with the skin crisped and golden, while both Angelina and Babette enjoyed the sweeter meat on the wings. There was only one way to eat them and that was with the fingers, so they would need finger bowls set at intervals for each diner. She wondered whether Captain Colby would eat his chicken with the point of his knife or his fingers. He normally used the knife, spearing the meat and eating daintily until the last piece, which he ate with his fingers. She thought that his table manners were very good—the mark of a true gentleman. He had long narrow fingers that looked elegant when in repose, but which she knew to be extremely strong, having felt his grasp imprison her.

She must not think about such things! There were more important matters to concern her. She frowned as she remembered that her brother was to come to the house that night for the healing mixture she had brewed.

Her work in the parlour finished, Babette was just considering how soon after dinner she could slip outside to meet her brother when a slight noise behind her caught her off guard. She turned to see Captain Colby looking at her thoughtfully.

‘Lost in thought, Mistress Babette?’ he asked. ‘I hope you are not planning to slip away to meet your lover tonight.’

Provoking creature! Did he imagine his mockery was amusing? The sparkle in his eyes was so attractive it made her angry. Did he think himself so charming that he would have her eating from his hand if he smiled at her? She would have liked to wipe that smug smile from his lips, but caution warned her to hold her tongue.

‘You like to mock me, sir. I have no lover—and if I choose to visit a friend I think it no business of yours.’