“Sit and we will sup while the terms of our peace are decided,” he addressed his captive with exaggerated courtesy. “Some of my men are organising the servants to prepare food and I see the wine is now come. Here, lad! Serve your lady first.”
Silas and Elizabeth refused wine but Captain Reynolds partook freely, delicately wiping his neatly waxed moustache. Clearly he was a man of fastidious habits. Elizabeth studied him surreptitiously. He was about the same age as Silas, somewhere a little above five and thirty, she guessed. His flamboyant clothes bore no signs of battle, other than a crimson smear upon his breeches where his sword had gone into its scabbard. She wondered which loyal servant’s blood had stained the victor’s fine clothes and steeled herself for what the morning would bring, and what the body count tallied.
First they must survive the night. The room was shadowed by the haze of dusk. In an hour or so it would be dark. She wondered if they would both be dead by morning and glanced fearfully at Silas. His face reflected the harsh defiance with which he faced each day. There was nothing to indicate that being on trial before a pitiless enemy evoked greater fear than the threat of rains that would spoil the harvest.
“Have you no questions, my good people?” Reynolds asked, stroking his fine brown moustache. He shifted, clearly enjoying their helplessness as he studied them over steepled fingers, the perfectly manicured half-moons of his nails, indicating with painful eloquence the life of ease he enjoyed. Beneath the table, Elizabeth wrung her own roughened hands. Gain for the glory of God meant hard physical labour from dawn to dusk for a good Puritan, regardless of how they prospered.
Silas stirred, straining across the table, his teeth bared in a rictus of a threatening snarl. “God is on our side.”
Captain Reynolds chuckled. “Oh, I’ll do what I please with no fear that God or his minions are anything other than our staunch supporters. Charles was anointed King. You picked the wrong side, Silas Drummond, and you’ll soon learn that. Hold him!”
The last directive was issued in a tone of supercilious boredom as Silas lunged across the table, great meaty hands outstretched, making for Reynolds’ throat.
Elizabeth screamed as her husband was seized and thrown to the floor. He fell heavily, howling with pain as he fumbled for his sword. With a cry of horror Elizabeth leapt up and threw herself upon the flagstones to kneel by his side.
“Such loyalty, Lady Drummond.” Reynold’s hot, damp breath was in her ear as his arm came about her throat and she was lifted to her feet. His smell of sweat and chamomile repulsed her and she squirmed to escape his flabby lips pressed against her cheek as he said huskily, “Honour, fealty… We’d no longer be human if these were not the creeds by which we lived our lives.” He cupped her chin with one hand, forcing her head up while he contoured her body with his other. “Battle makes savages of us all but it is eternally fascinating to see how the compromises we make to uphold our sense of honour reveal who we truly are. Drummond, how much do you value your wife?”
Elizabeth forced down a sob as she felt the cold prick of steel against her throat. Too terrified to breathe, she stared at the implacable face of her husband. Would Silas defend her? Would he make any bargains for her safety?
“I value her.”
Reynolds chuckled, releasing his grip slightly so she was able to rasp in a shallow breath. “You Puritans know nothing of passion for anything other than your God. So you value you wife, do you? Like you value your wheat crops and your beech forests and your wolfhounds?” He snorted. “You think only of God’s reward in the next life. What about the joy and beauty and pleasures to be gained in this one? Have you not considered there may be nothing after this? Would you go to your grave tonight, Lady Drummond, giving thanks for a rich and glorious life? Your husband has the power to clothe you in sumptuous silk and velvet, to ensure you live a life of ease. Look at you, a beautiful woman, in your prime, with a husband who values you no more than the dog to whom he casts the scraps.”
Silas tried to shift position but Reynolds had his boot on his chest. Glaring up at his captor, her husband’s eyes glowed with hatred. He heaved in a breath and ground out, “True value is not in material possessions and we are judged by our steadfastness to our faith. Let my wife go. She is no threat to you.”
“But she is a great asset.”
Elizabeth sagged as Reynolds released her, at the same time removing his boot from her husband’s chest. They were free.
For the moment. Forcing her footsteps to remain even and her face to bear no expression, she made her regal progress towards her husband who was now seated, his mouth grim with pain from his heavy fall.
She rested her hands on Silas’ shoulders. The contact brought her some comfort. “I must tend to my husband’s wounds.” She spoke coldly to Reynolds, as if she were not his captive. “Will I be allowed to despatch a servant to fetch a poultice?”
“Later.” Reynolds waved her request away. He appeared to be looking at her as if for the first time, for his eyes had sharpened beneath his supercilious eyebrows. He stroked his moustache as he leant back in his chair across the table. “Beneath that prim cap you are quite a beauty, Lady Drummond.” He tapped his fingers on the table, frowning. “You were brought up a Puritan. Your father was, I recall, a harsh man, for whom my own father had little liking.” He looked at Silas and a slow smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “I’d wager being married to this husband of yours has brought you little joy, either.”
“How dare you!” Elizabeth stiffened and glared at the captain. “A man like you, flaunting your fine clothes like a peacock, with no regard for the Lord. My husband has spent his life serving God, as have I.”
Reynolds seemed to enjoy her outburst. He smiled as he crossed one blue silk-clad leg over the other. His top boots were of the softest leather and the crimson sash that he’d arranged across his thighs completed the picture of a man of great power and confidence. “I’d wager you’d rather serve me, Lady Drummond, wearing the fine clothes you apparently disdain, with a choker of diamonds around your neck. You’re a very fetching little thing. What say I guarantee your safety if you accept my protection? I’d be happy to take you away from all this and settle you in some cosy bower while your husband languishes in the tower awaiting His Majesty’s Pleasure. You have only to say the word.”
Elizabeth drew herself up with all the dignity she could muster. “I would rather die!”
Reynolds cocked his head. Stroking his chin, his expression became more intent. “Would you, really?”
“A million deaths, Captain Reynolds, so don’t waste your time giving me time to reconsider.”
“Ah, well, disappointing.” A brief frown puckered his brow, as if he’d just lost a game of marbles. “What say different stakes hung in the balance?” He drew out the pause. “Perhaps the life of this husband you’d lay down your life for. Tell me, Lady Drummond, you declare you’d die for him. What about your honour? Would you lay down your honour for him?” He smil
ed lazily. Silas shifted angrily in his chair and Elizabeth pressed her hands down upon his shoulders to still him.
“Lady Drummond,” Captain Reynolds said, adopting a tone of smarmy persuasiveness, “I admit I’m taken with you but I can’t say I like your husband overly. Never have. As I am your captor, my proposition is one I’d advise you to take seriously. Your loyalty does you proud. It has won me over. Therefore, I am willing to spare your husband’s life in return for one small concession from you.”
Elizabeth’s gasp was overlaid by Silas’ snarl. “Over my dead body and I mean it!” He rose angrily to his feet but in one swift movement Reynolds had whipped his sword from his scabbard and sliced it through the air, taking the lobe of Silas’ right ear with it.
With a scream of pain, he doubled over, blood gushing from the wound. Horrified, Elizabeth went to him, tearing her clean linen cap from her head to staunch the blood.
“You see that I am serious.”
“I see that you are a man with no honour.” Elizabeth swung round at the smugness in his tone, forcing her fear into abeyance. “You are like a cat toying with a mouse. I’ll not trade my honour when I know you’ll renege on your so-called bargain the moment it suits you. I’d rather die now.” Taking a step forward she put out her arms, as if exhorting him to drive her through with his sword. She almost wished he’d do so.