Reckless Angel by Jane Feather Page A

to the south. Find some concealment and wait for me. If I do not come up with you by mid-morning, then ye must make shift for yourselves. I will remove from the barn and find some place where I may watch for her return. There is no reason why we should be caught like rats in a trap.”
    They went their separate ways, Tom and Will trotting into the darkness, leading Harry’s nag. Daniel turned his charger loose in a field behind the farm and found himself a broad oak tree. It was an uncomfortable resting place; although the rain had ceased, the leaves dripped dolefully down his neck, his leg muscles cramped rapidly, and his mind turned to the savage contemplation of reprisals when and if Mistress Henrietta Ashby deigned to reappear.
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    Henrietta reached Nottingham Castle just as the great portcullis was being dropped for the night. “I pray ye, sir, let me through,” she said, genuinely out of breath.“I would have speech with the officer who issues passes for safe conduct.”
    The soldiers in the gatehouse stared in astonishment. The voice was that of a country girl, the garb of a lad. “What be ye?” one of them demanded roughly. “Art wench?”
    â€œAye,” she agreed, pulling off her cap to free the corn silk-colored mass that tumbled in profusion down her back. “’Deed I am, good sir, but I’ve need of this habit. ’Tis not safe for a maid along the roads in these times.” She shuddered. “There’s Royalists and all sorts about, armed to the teeth and ready to make sport with a simple wench.”
    The soldiers laughed uproariously. “Aye, I’ll be bound. Y’are a sweet morsel, wench. Come ye in, then, if’n y’are coming.”
    They opened the postern gate, and Henrietta slipped by them, stifling a squeak as a hand came down in an intimate pat on the curve of her backside. “I beg ye, good sir, take me to the captain in charge of passes.”
    â€œAll in good time.” The soldier chuckled. “Ye’ll be glad of a cup of ale on a night like this. ’Tis lonely in the guardroom, is it not, Jack? We’d be glad of a little company.”
    Henrietta realized that she had not thought of this complication. She tugged her jerkin tighter over her breasts and showed her companions an anxious face. “If ye please, sirs, I’m in the most fearful haste. My father lies sick in London and I’ve to take me grandfer to ’im. ’E’s fallen on terrible hard times, my father has, although ’e’s powerful strong for Parliament. But if ’e passes on ’afore we reaches ’im, ’tis a pauper’s grave will receive ’im.”
    Babbling frantically, she managed to dodge the hands that would stroke and pat, scampering up the narrow flight of stone stairs to the round chamber that housed the guards.
    It was warm and cozy in there, a fire sizzling in the grate, a flagon of wine upon the stained plank table. Two soldiers, tunics unbuttoned, sat at their ease beside the fire. “Well, well, what ’ave we ’ere?” one of them said jovially. “What’ve ye found, Dick?”
    â€œWhy, ’tis a wench in lad’s garb,” chuckled Dick. “Wants passes for ’erself and ’er grandpa.”
    â€œAnd my brother and ’is friend to provide escort,” Henrietta put in, the words tumbling over themselves. “Me grandfer is all of nine and seventy and can barely move ’isself.”
    â€œThen ye’d best leave ’im be’ind,” declared Dick. “Can ye not take what’s needed without the old man?”
    Henrietta swallowed and improvised wildly. “’Tis me father’s last wish to see ’is father afore he passes on. They’ve been on terrible bad terms these last years. And Grandfer says ’e’ll not rest easy ’imself without makin’ peace.”
    Jack nodded sagely, tipping the