The Rebel’s Daughter Read Online Free PDF Page B

Tangier soldiers? They are to fight against Monmouth?” Henry
fought to keep his voice calm.
    “ Aye,”
Bayle exhaled slowly, muttering, “and may God protect those poor
boys.”
    The smell of manure clogged Hendry’s
throat, and the need for fresh, untainted air became suddenly
urgent.
    He leapt to his feet, sending the stool
over behind him and headed for the house, ignoring Bayle’s voice
calling after him.
    He slammed heavy oak door behind him, and
took the stairs two at a time, startling a maid on her way
down.
    In the comparative safety of his
room, he wrenched off his filthy work clothes and hurled them into
a corner for a maid to rescue. The words, “ a drunken brute, in charge of a
drunken regiment” kept repeating in his head as he struggled into a clean
shirt and wrestled with the drawstrings
    Father may be able to fight Karce’s men,
and perhaps Uncle Edmund could handle himself against soldiers,
though neither had ever been in a real fight before. What of Aaron?
His big brother’s only experience with a sword had been played out
on the grass on the Weare Cliffs. Surely in a proper battle he
would be killed?
    His panic for his family was slowly
replaced by burning shame that Bayle’s talk of the Tangiers brought
such overpowering relief for himself. How he had argued and ranted
with both his father and uncle against being left at home,
insisting he could fight as well as any of them.
    “ There’ll be no fighting,” his father had laughed. “This
isn’t a battle, it’s more of a protest under arms.”
    Father had been wrong. They all had been.
King James wasn’t sending veteran fighters to meet a
protest.
     
    * * *
     
    On his way downstairs again,
Henry paused on the half -landing. His mother would be with Ruth at this
time of day, and the Great Hall was a lonely place on one’s
own.
    Instead, he retreated to the window seat, one
leg bent and his arms wrapped around his knee.
    A heavy rainstorm had moved west, changing
to cloudless heat in the space of an hour, the stillness disturbed
by an occasional call of a bird or bleat of a sheep from the fields
beyond the courtyard walls.
    Henry came to a decision. He would keep his
cowardice to himself in front of Mother and Helena. How else could
he describe the giddy relief he felt at not being expected to wield
a sword against another Englishman?
    The sound of Helena’s familiar footsteps as
she climbed the stairs brought a smile to his lips. “I’m convinced
Bayle is hiding from me.” She threw herself onto the seat beside
him, forcing him to budge to make room. “They treat me like a child
still, when I am quite old enough to be an adult. I mean, I was
betrothed this time last year, I - Henry, are you listening to me?”
She nudged him roughly.
    Her voice droned on beside him like a
demented bee. She jutted her chin close to his face. “I said, have
you noticed how bad-tempered Mother is lately?”
    “ She
misses Father.” Henry sighed, not looking at her. “All this talk of
fighting makes it worse.”
    “ I’m
aware of that, I’m not dense,” Helena complained. “Even Lumm is
making himself scarce.”
    “ Tobias
is busy. He doesn’t have time for idle chat.”
    “ Why do
you always call him by his given name?” Helena asked, her head
tilted to one side.
    Henry shrugged. “He calls me Henry, so I
pay him the same compliment.”
    “ Exactly. As if it’s necessary to compliment a servant.” She
sniffed. “It’s not as if you need a friend, you have plenty of
those, with your sunny nature.”
    Henry was about to ask whether she had
noticed any of these “friends” coming to call, of late, but
restrained himself. The only visitor they had had in the previous
month was Samuel Ffoyle.
    “ To
refer to your first question,” he began. “I have noticed Mother’s bad temper. She’s
either raging round the house, or in her chamber, sunk in apathy. I
don’t know what to make of her. She ordered me to my room earlier,
for no