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THE RELUCTANT PURITANbyGail MallinTHE RELUCTANT PURITANGail MallinMILLS &.BOON8 <^<^Chapter One-L/over ahoy! "Ly sander Saxon's fair head whipped up at the cry floating from thecrow's-nest."At last!" he breathed, a vivid smile lighting up his fine- bonedface. Breaking off his conversation with a sailor coiling rope, hehunted across the empty deck to the ship's rail and scanned thehorizon, his heart thumping.There! Where the sun had pierced the veil of early morning mist hecould see white cliffs gleaming in the distance."Can you see anything, lad?"Lysander turned as a stout middle-aged man clad in burgundy satin camehurrying up to him, puffing in breathless anticipation."Aye," he replied, his smile broadening."We're home, Tom. Home!""God be praised!" An answering exultation lit Lord Treneglos's face."It's hard to believe our long exile is over!"It had been eleven years since the canting Puritans had cut off KingCharles the Martyr's head and rendered his son homeless. Eleven bitteryears of poverty and cruel, unfulfilled hope.Lysander shook off unwelcome memories, determined not to let them spoilthis longed-for homecoming. The Civil War, which had torn the countryapart, had robbed him and many other Royalists of their youth andinheritance, but today was not a day to dwell upon wrongdoings.Today the King was restored to his own again."I'll wager Charles means to make up for lost time," he said, a glintof amusement brightening his cool green eyes as he surveyed the deck ofthe Royal Charles, now alive with people shouting and gesturingexcitedly towards the distant shore."And every man jack here will gladly follow him in hispleasure-seeking.""I suppose so." Lord Treneglos's smile faded."For myself, my first aim must be to seek news of my daughter." Hesighed heavily."If she still lives.""God willing, you will find her, Tom!" Lysander gave the older man'sshoulder a swift squeeze of encouragement."It's been a long time, Lysander. She was only a baby when I saw herlast.""Don't fret." Lysander spoke firmly and the sound of his deep voiceseemed to steady his companion."You will succeed in your quest and be reunited with her.""I hope so," Tom replied softly, gratefully patting the elegant,long-fingered hand which lay upon his shoulder.Deciding Tom might appreciate a moment to recover his composure,Lysander stepped back and turned his attention seawards. Staringabsently at the waves, now sparkling in the late May sunshine, hebecame aware of an increase in the hubbub fermenting on thequarterdeck.He turned and saw that the King had emerged from his cabin. Charleswas surrounded by a crowd of chattering gentlemen, but his great heightgave him an uninterrupted view across the oaken deck."Lysander. Tom. Can we see the town yet?" Waving away hiscompanions, Charles strode over to join them at the rail.Bracing himself against the roll of the ship, Lysander bowed with hisusual easy grace."There, Sire," he said, pointing.Someone sprang to hand the King a telescope. Charles raised it to hiseye. For a moment he stood quite still and then he lowered theinstrument."Odsfish, and there was I beginning to think I should never set eyes onold England again," he murmured lightly, handing the telescope back tothe waiting naval officer and dismissing him with a sweetly carelesssmile.Lysander knew Charles too well to be deceived by this show of humorousnonchalance. Charles was good at hiding his feelings, but they hadbeen friends for too long.Ten years, in fact, Lysander thought, remembering how he had finallypersuaded his father to allow him to join the court in exile just a fewweeks after his eighteenth birthday.Sir James had not wanted his only remaining son to uproot himself fromMelcombe. Both of Lysander's older brothers had been killed during thewar and he felt that Lysander's place was at home with his mother.However, in 1650, when Charles decided to try and recover his throne byforce of arms, he had reluctantly given way to Lysander'sincontrovertible argument that the King needed every man he couldmuster.Bidding a jubilant farewell to his mother and little sister, Lysanderhad ridden with all haste north to Scotland where Charles was gatheringsupport. There was less than two years in age between him and the Kingand they had developed a swift rapport. Lysander had sometimeswondered if their friendship would have ripened quite so rapidly if thecircumstances Charles had found himself in had been less dire. As itwas, surrounded by gloom and endless sermons as the Scots harangued himto meet their stringent demands, Charles was in sore need of someone toconfide in."You are looking very serious, Lysander," said the King in a teasingtone."Are you having second thoughts about leaving that pretty little Dutchwidow of yours behind?""Aye, she was a cosy armful, lad," Tom chimed in.Lysander quirked one eyebrow upwards in a characteristic gesture."And never so cosy as when she was trying to persuade me to wed her,"he retorted drily.Charles grinned."But I thought you said you planned to marry and settle down?"Lysander shrugged. He had made this rash avowal over supper lastnight."I may have said something of the sort," he murmured evasively."Just the Rhenish talking, eh, lad?" Tom teased.Lysander shook his dark blond head. The generous amount of wine he hadconsumed may have prompted the idea, but, now he came to consider it,it was a sound one."I have it in mind to find myself a rich heiress to swell the emptyfamily coffers.""Odsfish, no doubt I shall have to do the same!" Charles laughed."But not yet a while. I think a little enjoyment is in order before Isettle to that particular duty."His dark eyes twinkled with anticipation and Lysander flashed a grin atTom at this confirmation of his earlier prediction."God knows, after all we have been through, gentlemen, only theharshest Puritan would deny us a taste of pleasure," Charlescontinued.The laughter faded from his voice and a small sigh escaped him."Ionly wish, Lysander, that your father and all those other gallantgentlemen who died fighting for my cause could be here to share thisday with us. "Sir James Saxon had fallen at Worcester, the battlewhich had seen the end of that campaign begun in Scotland, a campaignwhich had been beset with trouble from the start.Lysander's mind flew back to that bright September day when he hadfirst fought for Charles. It had been a hard fight. Cromwell had30,000 seasoned soldiers compared to Charles's force of 16,000, butWorcester had a good defensive position and it was a city renowned forits loyalty to the crown.He had been at the King's side as they rode out of theSidbury Gate in a daring attack on the parliamentary forces to thesouth-east. At first they had been successful and hope had flared inhis youthful heart that they might snatch victory after all. This hopewas cruelly dashed when Cromwell had launched a counter-attack, forcingthem to beat a bloody path back into the dubious safety of the city.Sir James met his death in the bitter hand-to-hand fighting whichfilled the narrow streets after this withdrawal. Lysander saw hisfather fall, but was unable to force a way through the carnage to hisside. Wild with despair, he had redoubled his efforts to kill theenemy.All around him other Royalists were fighting with the same fierceabandon, including the King himself, who could not be persuaded towithdraw to safety.The very gutters of Worcester had run red with blood, but in the endtheir courage was not enough.Lysander felt the old familiar sadness well up in his heart. For amoment his joy in the day was vanquished and then common sensereasserted itself."I'm sure my father and the others would want today to be a day ofcelebration," he said quietly, but with such conviction in his deeptones that his listeners nodded."Aye, you are right." The King's sober expression lightened."Come, let's go and break our fast. We'll raise a cup of ale to theirmemory and our happy homecoming!"He turned away from the rail and Tom followed, but Lysander lingered amoment longer, his gaze fastened on the white cliffs gleaming in thedistance.What would London be like after all this time?The smell hit Tamsin like a blow to her stomach. It seemed to becomposed of dirty water, fish and tar overlaid with a ripe stink ofmanure. She choked, took a deep breath and then wished she hadn't asshe almost gagged."London not to your liking, eh, mistress?" A cackle of laughterescaped the waterman as he skilfully brought his skiff alongside thesteps so that his youthful passenger could disembark.Tamsin gave him a haughty look copied from Aunt Deborah's repertoryand, bundling up her dusty skirts, prepared to exit from the boat, nosein the air. Unluckily for her dignity, the skiff suddenly bobbed aboutin the wash from other traffic on the river and she had to make a madleap, nearly tumbling to her knees in the process.Recovering her balance and with the waterman's mocking laughter stillringing in her ears, Tamsin picked up her cloth bundle and climbed onto the quay. She stood looking about her, trying to quell a sense ofpanic.Well, at least she had got here in one piece! And she knew where someof the stink was coming from.Heaps of dung gathered in piles littered the wharf, steaming in theJune heat. Tamsin's nose wrinkled. No doubt it was collected from thestreets to be shipped off to some of those elegant gardens she hadglimpsed fro... [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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