in London, you were always welcoming and charming as I recall.’
‘It’s kind of you to say so. I bid you welcome to Bircot Hall.’
Arabella bristled at her sister’s words. Edward Grey had destroyed her trust once, she was not so hasty to invoke such favour for a man whose motives she could not discern.
‘I am sorry that you see my home in a state of turmoil.’ Alice’s eyes shone with tears, but she did not acknowledge their presence. ‘Without our menfolk, as my sister explained, we have suffered greatly at the hands of the Parliamentarians. We have had several Roundhead patrols since. Mercifully they left us alone, but that does not guarantee that they will the next time. Robert, my husband, holds you in high esteem. It is indeed an honour to have you in our home.’
Edward inclined his head. ‘Thank you. Your hospitality is greatly appreciated.’
Arabella almost choked on the words that rose and stuck in her throat. How could Alice betray her when he had treated her, Arabella, so badly?
As if sensing her anger, Alice gave her a look of reproof. ‘Calm yourself, Arabella. This is war and no time for private feuds.’
So chastened, though unable to conceal the resentment she continued to feel for Edward Grey—a resentment that increased when she observed the amused twitch to his lips—Arabella dutifully clamped her own together.
‘We have had no news of my husband for months, Sir Edward,’ Alice said. ‘All I know is that he is in France.’
‘I am sorry I cannot help you, Lady Stanhope, but if he is in France then he will be safe.’
‘I thank God for that. It will be good to see Stephen again. If you are to stay overnight, the stables are at your disposal,’ Arabella was quick to say. ‘At least they are warm and dry.’
‘Arabella, where are your manners?’ Alice chided her once more. ‘Sir Edward and those with him are our guests. The house may be in a sorry state, but it has more rooms than we know what to do with.’ She smiled at Edward. ‘They are at your disposal. Now please excuse me. I will arrange for them to be made ready. The hour is late and I must put the children to bed.’
Having removed his cloak, Arabella gasped when she saw a dark stain on Edward’s jacket.
‘You are wounded.’
‘I received a sword thrust in the shoulder during a skirmish with a small band of Roundheads on the way here. They were spoiling for a fight. Fortunately we fought them off—although Stephen held back to make quite sure we weren’t followed. It’s a common enough wound. One of the men dressed it, but it continues to bleed.’
‘Come with me and I will tend to it,’ she said curtly.
Taking up a candle, she walked across the hall to the kitchens, through which the still room was located. It was where Alice liked to mix her own remedies. Arabella often helped her. It was clean and quiet and fragrant with summer smells of thyme, rosemary and lavender, berries and seeds, and herbs that were readily available in the hedgerows.
Glad of the opportunity to speak with her alone, Edward followed her. Her skirts swayed gently as she walked and the line of her back was straight and graceful. Removing his jacket, his sling and his sword, he slipped his arm out of his shirt sleeve to expose the not-so-clean bandage covering his injured shoulder. Sitting on a stool, he waited for her to proceed.
Trying to barricade herself behind a mask of composure as she held up the candle, Arabella’s gaze was reluctantly drawn to his exposed flesh. Lighting two more candles better to see, carefully she cut away the blood-soaked bandage. His bare, muscled arm and shoulder gleamed in the soft light. It was excruciatingly intimate to touch his flesh. It was warm and firm. He was strong, sleek but not gaunt, all sinew and strength, his muscles solid where her fingers touched.
Forcing herself not to think about his manly physique and to focus on the raw wound, which drove such thoughts away, she inspected it carefully. It looked angry, a thin trickle of blood oozing from the lacerated flesh. Tentatively she felt the surrounding tissue with her finger. He winced. It was obviously painful to the touch.
‘The wound appears to be quite deep. It has to be cleaned. You say it happened earlier today?’
‘Hopefully it won’t have had time to fester.’ Watching her as she lit more candles, filled a bowl with water and gathered cloths with which to wash the wound, he said, ‘You have changed, Arabella.’
‘War does that to people,’ she answered, her manner brusque as she proceeded to clean the wound, her pale hands working quickly and efficiently.
‘I am sorry you’ve had to endure its hardships.’
She shot him a look. ‘Why? You did not start the war.’
When she began to wash the wound his expression tightened and he gritted his teeth. Her heart wrenched, having no wish to cause him more pain. Yet she was quietly pleased by the sight and it gave her some satisfaction of him being less that formidable.
‘How long have you been at Bircot Hall?’ he asked.
‘Two years now. We really are quite impoverished. We have managed to put some of the house back to some kind of order. The property will be restored later, when it can be afforded—when the war is over. We hope it will be soon—although when King Charles was executed we thought it was the end of Royalist hopes.’
‘Not when the Scots proclaimed his son King of Great Britain and after Cromwell routed the Royalists at Dunbar.’
‘You were there?’
Edward nodded, as memories of that bloody battle slashed like a blade through his mind’s eyes. ‘I was there. I was one of the lucky ones. I managed to escape over the border and back into England, where I made my way south.’
‘We have heard that King Charles is heading south with a Scottish army. Is this true?’
He nodded, avoiding her gaze. ‘It is. I will join him when I know Dickon is safe.’
There was a stillness in the air, a foreboding that sent a cold shiver down her spine. ‘I can’t bear to think there is to be more fighting.’
‘We are all weary of it. There have been times when we were defeated, but we are not destroyed.’
‘And new plots are being devised to continue the fight every day. If you are killed? What then?’
‘If you agree to let Dickon remain here for the time being, should the Royalists be defeated, then I would ask you to take Dickon to my sister in France.’
‘I see.’ Pausing in her task, she cast him a wry glance. ‘Your audacity knows no bounds. You ask too much of me, Edward.’
He met her gaze steadily. ‘I know. I am desperate, Arabella,’ he said softly. ‘My property has been confiscated. My son is all I have left. I have to know that he is safe. The war will end—but not as you or I would like. The way Cromwell has trained his army is something else. Never in England, until now, has there been an army like it. For the first time soldiers are properly trained. They proved how well at Dunbar.’
Looking into his eyes, she saw there were
