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Besides, Watkins was of little import. He was but cannon fodder, and would have been killed sooner or later. And then, too, there is the matter of the pistol, which I gave you. While I did indeed not believe you would actually shoot the scum, I must accept my responsibility for Watkins’s execution.”
    “Remove him from this house,” Autumn said in hard tones. “I will not allow him to be buried on the same lands in which poor Bess will be interred. Dig your grave by the side of the public road. This animal has widowed a good man and orphaned three children, sir. Take him, and be gone from Queen’s Malvern!” Autumn could feel her legs beginning to tremble, but she stiffened her spine. These Roundheads and their arrogant captain would not make her cry.
    “Where is the plate?” Sir Simon asked.
    “How should I know?” she replied angrily. “I am but a guest in this house, sir. My sister-in-law was prepared to let you take whatever you desired. She said no life was worth mere things, but you have taken two innocent lives. And having done so, you are now prepared to rob the dead?” She shrugged scornfully. “Take whatever you want, sir. I will not impede your thievery.”
    “Madame, your tongue is sharper than my sword,” he told her.
    She stared coldly at him, and he realized with surprise that one of her eyes was a clear leaf green and the other a bright turquoise blue. Fascinated, he wished suddenly that they had met in another time and place. He bowed politely to her. “I will leave this house in peace, madame, but I must take some of your livestock to feed my men.”
    Becket, who was Smythe’s assistant, came running into the hall, shouting, “They’ve fired the east wing, m’lady!” He stopped short, seeing the three bodies, two of whom he recognized. “Oh, Jesu, God!” he said, and his glance went to Autumn. “M’lady?”
    “Form a bucket brigade and do what you can to save the house,” Autumn said grimly. Then she turned to Sir Simon. “Take your dead and anything else you want, but go! You have done enough damage here for a lifetime, but your life will be worth nothing when my brother returns and sees his wife murdered, his house a ruin!”
    “Your brother is a Stuart, is he not?” Sir Simon said.
    Autumn nodded.
    “Then I feel no guilt for what has happened here today, Lady Autumn. You Scots and your Stuarts have been a blight upon England since you inherited old Bess’s throne. I feel no shame for the death of a Stuart, madame,” he told her coldly.
    Autumn slapped him as hard as she could, leaving a large red welt upon Sir Simon Bates’s handsome face. “My sister-in-law, sir, was English, as is my brother, for all his paternity. Charles was born here in this house. As for Bess, she was the Earl of Welk’s youngest daughter. He is one of your own. I shall be certain to tell him exactly how his innocent child died at the hands of your Roundheads, Sir Simon. You think to terrify us with these raids, but all you have succeeded in doing is hardening our resolve to restore the monarchy. God Save the King!”
    “If I were not aware that you are suffering from shock, madame, I would slay you myself for the traitor you are,” he replied, rubbing his injured cheek. “Others will not be so caring of you, lady.”
    “If I had a weapon, sir, I should slay you for the traitor you are,” Autumn answered him bravely.
    Sir Simon laughed in spite of himself. What a bewitching little wildcat Lady Autumn Leslie was. He envied the man who would one day bed her, and wished he might be that man. “Good day, madame,” he said, bowing once again as he put his hat back on his head. Then he bent to hoist Watkins’s body over his broad shoulder, departing through the open door.
    She stood stock still, watching the Roundheads and their captain as they rode down the gravel driveway of Queen’s Malvern, driving several sheep and cattle ahead of them; chickens, turkeys, ducks, and geese squawking