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 indignantly as they were tied and slung over saddles. Her gaze moved to the east wing, where the servants were gallantly battling to save that part of the house and prevent the fire from spreading any farther.
“Autumn, what has happened?” Her niece, Sabrina, was unexpectedly by her side. Then, seeing her mother, Sabrina screamed. “Mama!” She clutched at Autumn, burying her face in her aunt’s skirts. “Mama,” she sobbed.
“She is dead, Brie,” Autumn said, and hearing the words aloud from her own lips, she collapsed onto the floor, cradling her niece while they both wept uncontrollably.
It was there Charles Frederick Stuart found them when he finally reached his home less than an hour later.
Chapter 2
Bess! His beautiful blue-eyed Bess lay crumpled in a heap upon the dark polished wooden floor of the entry; the blood on her bodice dried black now; her eyes wide, the image of shock and disbelief still lingering in them. Within his chest his heart was suddenly crushed, and then an emptiness such as he had never felt swept over Charles Frederick Stuart. His glance took in Smythe, also dead. His sister and his daughter huddled together weeping with sorrow. His eldest son was frozen by his side, his small hand clutching his father’s.
“What has happened here?” He pushed the words up through his constrictred throat, his tongue almost becoming entangled in them. He wanted to shriek his outrage; howl to the heavens at this terrible injustice. Bess! Bess! Bess! Her name echoed in his brain.
Autumn looked up, her eyes swollen and red. “Roundheads,” she said, and nothing more. Then she began to shake, finally collapsing unconscious next to her dazed and benumbed niece.
The Duke of Lundy picked up his young daughter. She was cold but half-conscious with her shock. The servants were beginning to crowd into the hall. Many were sobbing with both fright at what had happened and relief to see the duke, their master, returned from Worcester.
Becket, with a wave of his hand, called forth young Sabrina’s nursemaid, Mavis, taking the child from her father and transferring her into the woman’s arms. “Take Lady Sabrina to her bedchamber and see to her welfare,” he said in a very no-nonsense voice. “You two!” He pointed at a pair of young footmen. “Remove Smythe from the entrance to be prepared for burial. Lily! Don’t just stand there gaping, girl. See to your mistress. Samuel! Peter! Carry Lady Autumn to her chamber! Clara, take Master Frederick upstairs. My lord, if you will come with me, I will try and explain what has happened here this morning. Where is the duchess’s tiring woman? Sybll, stay with your mistress until the master decides what is to be done. The rest of you, back to your duties!
The duke followed Becket to the relative quiet of his library. The servant poured him a generous dollop of smoky, peat-flavored whiskey, shoving the crystal tumbler into his master’s hand.
“Forgive my boldness, my lord, but with Smythe dead I felt, as his assistant, that I had to make some order out of the chaos. I am at your service, and will tell you what little I know. Just after dawn a cowherd spotted a troop of Roundheads making their way toward Queen’s Malvern. He gave the alarm. Her ladyship ordered the children hidden with their servants in the gardens. When I had finished overseeing this duty I discovered some of the blackguards had entered the east wing and, finding nothing they might loot, fired it. I ran to tell her ladyship, but she was already dead. Lady Autumn orderd a bucket brigade and sent me back to oversee it. I fear I can tell you nothing else.”
“Did my daughter see her mother murdered?” the duke asked.
“She was not in the hallway, my lord, when I was there,” Becket replied. “There was, however, a third victim, a Roundhead soldier. I must assume the captain of the troop removed him. He was obviously quite dead. He lay on his back, a bullet hole directly between his eyes, my lord. The Roundhead captain was a gentleman, my lord.” Becket refilled the duke’s tumbler, which was already empty.
“Then my sister is the only person who can tell us all that happened here this morning,” the duke said slowly. He focused his gaze on Becket. “Your loyalty is appreciated, Becket, and you will, of course, assume Smythe’s position permanently. Have my wife’s women lay her out in her wedding
