Highwayman: Winter Swarm by Michael Arnold

Author:Michael Arnold [Arnold, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Press
Published: 2015-10-26T07:00:00+00:00

6

Bella watched the lieutenant closely. He was nervous, for his left eye trembled gently at one corner. “How old are you?”

Amberley looked back at her from his position to the side of the window. “Nineteen,” he replied brusquely. “What matter is it?”

“None,” she shrugged. “The Major is just seven years your senior.”

“And?”

“He has seen a great many battles.”

The muscles of Amberley’s lean face tightened, but he chose to stifle whatever retort had come to mind. Instead he turned away, staring out into the afternoon murk. “The coward lost his nerve. He scuttled into the trees like a frightened fawn.”

Bella was seated on the floor at the rear of the room, legs drawn up to her chest. She propped her chin between her kneecaps. “He will come for me.”

Amberley nodded. “You had better pray that he does.” He was clutching his partisan, which he levelled at Bella. “And you will go in his stead.”

“You are mistaken. There will be none left behind but you and your men.”

The musketeers — poised with weapons at the edges of the ancient home — did not bother to stifle their amusement. Amberley smiled too. “The mistake is yours, little mistress.”

Bella looked around the room. “Why do you hide from him? You have so many weapons.”

“I am not a monster, girl. The exchange must take place, be it bloodless or no, but I would rather the latter. No one ought die in this godforsaken wood.”

“But one must die in Petersfield marketplace, the life choked out of him as the townsmen gape and giggle?”

“Lyle is a criminal.”

“He is a good man. His only crime was to refuse Ireton’s bidding.”

“You know nothing,” Amberley said bitterly.

“The Major was a hero,” she persisted. She took the scarf, still knotted at the nape of her neck, and lifted the folds to wipe snowflakes away from her face. “A true Roundhead. An Ironside. He fought at Naseby, at Preston and Dunbar and Worcester.”

Amberley looked as though he would argue, but instead he twisted his thin mouth, a thought apparently sparking in his mind. Eventually he asked, “Is it true what they say of his horse? That it will no longer suffer a fight?”

“You disgust me, sir,” Bella retorted angrily. “Fascinated by the very legend you strive to destroy.”

Amberley looked genuinely affronted; hurt, even. He lowered the pole-arm and stepped closer, boots smearing black tracks through the thin dusting of snow that had come through the jagged roof. “I was merely...”

“The poor beast,” Bella interrupted softly, “was grievous wounded at Worcester Fight, where the tyrant king’s son finally tasted defeat. The animal cannot abide gunfire.”

Amberley was clearly startled by his captive’s sudden softening, but chose not to press the issue. “Then why does Lyle abide the horse?”

“As I said, he is a good man,” Bella replied. In truth, she had seen a boy. In Amberley’s crestfallen expression, in his hurt at her rebuff. In that moment she knew he was no match for Lyle. “A kind man.” She felt her expression tighten a touch as she considered those who would dance a jig upon Lyle’s grave, given half a chance.

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