“There’s no one to replace him. He’s a great man, is Oliver Cromwell, but men that are strong leaders cull out their potential successors as they go. And that son of his…no, he won’t last, and the Protectorate will be no more.”
“Still,” she said, “wouldn’t it have been better to sit through two more years and then be truly free?”
He looked at her for a long time. “You’ve never been in gaol, I take.”
No, she agreed, she hadn’t, and she wasn’t planning on going there either.
“Nor was I.” He sighed and sat up straighter, extending his arms to her. Round both wrists ran a bracelet of chafed, irritated skin, half-healed gashes that had abscessed and been lanced, leaving ugly pox-like scars behind.
“Imagine doing everything with a weight of iron between your hands and down your legs. When you turn in your sleep, you wake of the chains, when you want to scratch your head you have to raise both hands, because otherwise you won’t be able to reach. And with every movement you make, the chains clink.”
She encircled his wrists, her thumbs caressing the soft inner skin. It made his blood thud and he retook his hands.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“For what?” he said with a faint smile. “Don’t mind me. I’m not much used to company.” Especially not that of an attractive woman with a gentle touch. “It’s very lonesome, you know, being in prison.” His eyes fixed on the moon that hung like a golden cheese just above the horizon. Lonely in the midst of so many people, but that was how it was, a constant shrieking solitude. All of them, every single one of his companions, as lonely as he was, staring up at the minute patch of sky they could see through the ventilation hole, dreaming themselves elsewhere – anywhere but where they were.
It had been pure chance, him being in the yard when the men dead from the fever were to be carted away for burial. It hadn’t been a conscious decision; he’d just lain himself flat in the bottom of the cart, gritting his teeth at the proximity of all those dead bodies, a silent prayer ringing round his head as the cart creaked to a stop for a final inspection before starting up again.
“Euuw! You hid under the corpses?”
“As far down as I could get, I didn’t want to be prodded by a sword, did I?”
The drover had squeaked with fear, eyes bulging with incredulity, when Matthew rose to his knees a few miles down the road.
“I stole his clothes.” And his horse, riding the broken backed nag as hard as he could all that night. “He went lame on me, so I left him in on a village green and continued on foot, stealing what I could.”
“And now I’m almost home,” he finished. What home? A house, aye, and his lands, but no wife, no son, and towards his only brother a deep and burning hate. Alex leaned forward, one warm hand coming up to cup his cheek.
“I’m glad for you, that you’ll soon be home. And I’ll keep my fingers crossed that you’ll live in peace there.” She sounded very forlorn.
“Thank you,” he smiled, and covered her hand with his own.
She shifted on the ground and swore when her burnt foot scraped across the grass.
“You won’t walk on it for some days,” he said, peering at the damaged skin. It was swollen and hot to the touch, and his gentle probing made her flinch. “We’ll have to wait until you can put weight on it.” He frowned at that; those ruffians might well decide to return, as might the soldiers. He’d move their camp on the morrow.
“You don’t have to stay,” she said. “I don’t want you to be caught. I’ll be fine on my own.”
He snorted at this total untruth, shaking his head. “I can’t leave you alone, lass. We’ll wait until you can move. Mayhap I can see you on your way.”
She bit down on her lower lip. “I don’t think you can, I don’t think I have anywhere to go. My home is lost to me.”
He considered various reasons for this; mayhap she’d dishonoured her
“Still,” she said, “wouldn’t it have been better to sit through two more years and then be truly free?”
He looked at her for a long time. “You’ve never been in gaol, I take.”
No, she agreed, she hadn’t, and she wasn’t planning on going there either.
“Nor was I.” He sighed and sat up straighter, extending his arms to her. Round both wrists ran a bracelet of chafed, irritated skin, half-healed gashes that had abscessed and been lanced, leaving ugly pox-like scars behind.
“Imagine doing everything with a weight of iron between your hands and down your legs. When you turn in your sleep, you wake of the chains, when you want to scratch your head you have to raise both hands, because otherwise you won’t be able to reach. And with every movement you make, the chains clink.”
She encircled his wrists, her thumbs caressing the soft inner skin. It made his blood thud and he retook his hands.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“For what?” he said with a faint smile. “Don’t mind me. I’m not much used to company.” Especially not that of an attractive woman with a gentle touch. “It’s very lonesome, you know, being in prison.” His eyes fixed on the moon that hung like a golden cheese just above the horizon. Lonely in the midst of so many people, but that was how it was, a constant shrieking solitude. All of them, every single one of his companions, as lonely as he was, staring up at the minute patch of sky they could see through the ventilation hole, dreaming themselves elsewhere – anywhere but where they were.
It had been pure chance, him being in the yard when the men dead from the fever were to be carted away for burial. It hadn’t been a conscious decision; he’d just lain himself flat in the bottom of the cart, gritting his teeth at the proximity of all those dead bodies, a silent prayer ringing round his head as the cart creaked to a stop for a final inspection before starting up again.
“Euuw! You hid under the corpses?”
“As far down as I could get, I didn’t want to be prodded by a sword, did I?”
The drover had squeaked with fear, eyes bulging with incredulity, when Matthew rose to his knees a few miles down the road.
“I stole his clothes.” And his horse, riding the broken backed nag as hard as he could all that night. “He went lame on me, so I left him in on a village green and continued on foot, stealing what I could.”
“And now I’m almost home,” he finished. What home? A house, aye, and his lands, but no wife, no son, and towards his only brother a deep and burning hate. Alex leaned forward, one warm hand coming up to cup his cheek.
“I’m glad for you, that you’ll soon be home. And I’ll keep my fingers crossed that you’ll live in peace there.” She sounded very forlorn.
“Thank you,” he smiled, and covered her hand with his own.
She shifted on the ground and swore when her burnt foot scraped across the grass.
“You won’t walk on it for some days,” he said, peering at the damaged skin. It was swollen and hot to the touch, and his gentle probing made her flinch. “We’ll have to wait until you can put weight on it.” He frowned at that; those ruffians might well decide to return, as might the soldiers. He’d move their camp on the morrow.
“You don’t have to stay,” she said. “I don’t want you to be caught. I’ll be fine on my own.”
He snorted at this total untruth, shaking his head. “I can’t leave you alone, lass. We’ll wait until you can move. Mayhap I can see you on your way.”
She bit down on her lower lip. “I don’t think you can, I don’t think I have anywhere to go. My home is lost to me.”
He considered various reasons for this; mayhap she’d dishonoured her
Similar Books
