be the merriest widow in England, Puritans or no,” murmured Lord Moreland to the Duke of Lundy.
“Damnation!” Charlie swore. “I can’t leave for Queen’s Malvern until the morning, for there is no moon to light the road. Bess is alone with Autumn and the children.”
“Billingsly may be mistaken,” Lord Moreland soothed his friend.
“I’m not!” came the indignant response. “Get home as quickly as you can, my lord duke, though they did not seem to be headed in your direction. Still, I would want to be with my family if they came my way.”
“I’ll go at first light,” Charlie said.
“What about your little lad?” Moreland asked.
“Freddie comes with me,” the duke said. “His mother would have a fit if I left him behind, even for safety’s sake. Jesu! I hope those bastards don’t come near Queen’s Malvern. My sister will be unable to keep her temper, especially with her father now dead at Cromwell’s hands. God have mercy on us all, gentlemen. We’ll meet again when we can, though the lord knows when that will be.”
The duke, his son, and their men departed Worcester just before first light the following morning. At that same time a cowherd in a field at Queen’s Malvern saw the troop of soldiers coming toward him in the distance and ran as fast as he could for the house, shouting as he went to warn anyone within hearing of his voice.
“Roundheads! Roundheads!” the cowherd yelled at the top of his voice. “Roundheads coming over the hill!” He dashed through the kitchen gardens into the buttery with his news.
A serving wench ran up the stairs from the kitchens to warn the rest of the house. The duchess hurried from her bedchamber to the nurseries. The nursemaids already had Sabrina and little Willy up, and were dressing them as quickly as they could.
“Take the children into the gardens and hide,” Bess said.
“No, Mama!” Sabrina cried. “I want to be with you!”
“You will go to the gardens with Mavis and Clara,” the duchess said firmly, and hurried from the nurseries.
“What is happening?” Autumn came from her room with Lily in her wake.
“Roundheads,” Bess said.
“In Worcester?”
“They send out raiding parties now and again to frighten the royalist population,” her sister-in-law replied. “Perhaps you should go with the children.”
“Nay, I’ll stay with you, Bess. What of the valuables?”
“We buried them months ago in the rose gardens,” Bess replied with a twinkle. “They’ll probably steal what’s here anyway, but they can. I’ll risk no life or limb of any of our people in defense of things.”
There came a thunderous knocking on the door of the house as the two young women hurried down the staircase. Smythe, the majordomo, ran to answer the fierce summons, unbarring the door and drawing it open.
“Ye took yer own good time,” the Roundhead trooper said, pushing Smythe into the hall. Then, raising his musket, he smashed it savagely into the majordomo’s head.
The Duchess of Lundy screamed with horror as the faithful servant fell to the floor, blood pouring from his wound. She ran forward. “What have you done?” she cried. “He meant you no harm! Who is your commanding officer? I shall report you for this act of barbarity!”
The trooper raised his musket and fired his weapon. A bright blossom of scarlet bloomed over Bess’s heart, and she collapsed to the floor quite dead. Autumn froze where she stood in the shadows of the hallway. She instinctively knew that her ability to remain silent was her key to survival. She could feel Lily behind her, shaking with fright. The trooper knelt over Bess’s body and began pulling her rings from her fingers.
A second man stepped through the doorway of the house, but he was elegantly if soberly garbed. “What are you about, Watkins?” he demanded. He was tall with cold eyes.
“Just a bit of looting, sir. ’Tis permitted,” he said, looking up at the gentleman.
Autumn stepped forward. “Are you this man’s superior?” she said in haughty tones.
The gentleman bowed, removing his hat. “I am, madame.”
“He has murdered two people in cold blood!” Autumn almost shouted. She bent and snatched Bess’s rings from the surprised trooper. “Give me those, you thieving murderer!” Straightening herself up, she glared at the gentleman. “That is the Duchess of Lundy, whom this monster killed when she protested the murder of her servant. Smythe but opened the door, and this creature pushed into the hallway and battered him to death. How dare you allow your men to enter a peaceful house and wreak such havoc, sir!” She shoved her sister-in-law’s rings into her pocket.
“And you are, madame?” the gentleman asked sternly.
“Lady Autumn Leslie, daughter of the Duke of Glenkirk, sister to the Duke of Lundy, whose house this is,” Autumn replied. “Is it the policy of this so-called commonwealth to invade the houses of its citizens to loot and kill? And who the hell are you that you have such little control over your men?” she shouted at him.
“Sir Simon Bates, madame, at your service,” he responded, his eyes sweeping over the young woman. She was very beautiful, her dark hair tumbling about the quilted burgundy satin of her dressing gown.
“What are you going to do about this animal?” Autumn demanded.
“He will be punished, I assure you, madame,” Sir Simon responded.
“An eye for an eye,” Autumn said grimly. “I want it done now! Give me your pistol, sir, and I will do it myself!”
“Would you really?” Sir Simon was suddenly amused. The girl was distraught, of course. She would not really kill Watkins in cold blood, but to appease her, he handed her his pistol. She probably wouldn’t even know how to use a weapon. Then, to his great surprise, Autumn cocked the pistol and, jamming the barrel between the trooper’s eyes, shot him dead. “My God!” he said, astounded, as she calmly handed him back his pistol.
Watkins’s body hit the floor with a muffled thump.
“You thought I wouldn’t do it, didn’t you?” Autumn said quietly.
“Who taught you to shoot?” Sir Simon asked her, amazed by what had just happened.
“My father, whom your people killed at Dunbar,” Autumn answered him coldly. “Are you going to arrest me? I don’t care if you do!”
“I should,” Sir Simon said slowly, “but I will not, madame. As you have so succinctly put it, an eye for an eye. 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
