Embrace The Dawn. Jackie Summers

leave immediately...”

      Anne’s swirling senses returned and she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She lowered her lashes at his warm stare. Her fingers shook as she brushed her collar, straightened her skirts and snatched her cap from the bench.

      A song thrush flew to an overhead vine. The throaty warble was answered by its mate nearby.

      Nat reached up and plucked a rose from the bower and placed it in her cupped palm. “Farewell, little mermaid.”

      She clutched the rose and, with bittersweet longing, watched him disappear into the shadows and out of her life.

      She sat back on the bench, not trusting her shaky legs to support her if she were to stand. Besides, for a few more minutes, she needed to gather her wits.

      Never had she imagined a kiss could be so thrilling. She smiled, drinking in the fragrance of the roses as she trailed the blossom along the path of his kisses, across her cheek, down to the soft hollow of her throat, and her heart skipped a beat.

      But never had she been so bewildered by her conflicting emotions. He was a soldier of Cromwell’s New Model army. What would her father say if he knew? God’s bones, it would kill him, as readily as if she fired the shot herself.

      But she must be honest with herself. She had wanted to touch his sun-bronzed face, feel the shine of his tousled hair, the sinewy, corded muscles of his arms. She had wanted the enemy officer to kiss her.

      Even though he was the enemy, Nat had helped her work through a difficult decision, without even knowing it. Without his gentle coaxing, she might have made a fatal mistake.

      The acknowledgment gave her the jolt back she needed. Aye, she had made the decision. The answer had been in her heart all along, just as the lieutenant had said. How could she have forgotten that her proud father would never want her to bargain for his life? “Twining be damned!” he would have shouted.

      For the next few minutes, she clutched the rose while she planned her escape from Wycliffe Manor, the first step in her journey to find her father.

      And her only regret was she’d not be there to see Twining’s pompous expression fade to surprise when he discovered she would refuse him, after all.

      Chapter Three

      By the time Anne returned to her chamber, she had decided how to put her plan into motion.

      She smiled as she carefully pressed the pink rose in between the pages of her favorite romance novel. Her fingers lingered over the faded book cover for a moment before tucking it inside her bulging traveling valise.

      “If you listen to your heart, the answer will follow,” Nat had said. It was true. Her father would want her to follow her heart and search for him. To remain at Wycliffe Manor and cave in to Twining’s threat was the coward’s way out.

      Her fingers shook with excitement as she tied the straps on the valise and lifted it from the bed. She would hide upstairs in one of the vacant bedchambers until dinner, then she’d sneak through the back stairs to the barn where her mare waited.

      But first, she had to slip the note she had written to Mrs. Herrick under her door. Once Jane read that Anne had developed a megrim and had taken to her bed, even the callous Colonel Twining would realize his odious threats had made her ill. At dawn, when the maids would discover her missing, she’d be far away, searching for the king’s scattered army and news of her father.

      Surely someone would have heard of Jonathan Lowell. Then once she found him, they would sail for France with the other exiled Royalists until Cromwell’s armies were driven into the sea and they could return to England. Hope surged through her.

      A few minutes later, Anne arrived at the back stairs landing. She peeked down the passageway. No one was in sight. She tiptoed along the creaking floorboards toward Mrs. Herrick’s room, the third doorway on the left. As she knelt to slip the note beneath the portal, she heard a hushed voice coming from inside the chamber.

      “...searching the roads for her,” Jane whispered. “Hurry, we must leave.”

      “Curse the luck,” a male voice growled. “What if we’re found before your husband gathers the horses?”

      Anne stared, dumbfounded. What was Jane Herrick doing with a man in her chamber who was not her husband?

      Anne pressed her ear closer to the door.

      “...might prove too dangerous to warn him,” the man continued in a low whisper. “Maybe Wilkens and I should...”

      Unable to hear every word, Anne shifted against the wood. The board beneath her foot creaked loudly. She froze.

      In a flash, the door flew open. A bald, barrel-chested man in a green uniform frowned back at her, then he grabbed her arm and pulled her inside the room.

      Jane Herrick leapt from a corner chair and stared in astonishment, her face pale.

      A young manservant, not much older than Anne, sat cross-legged upon the bed. “Who’s this pretty thing?” His hooded black eyes twinkled as his gaze raked her up and down.

      “She’s Anne Lowell, the young woman I told you about.” Jane folded her arms across herself and scowled at Anne. “How long have you been eavesdropping outside my door?”

      “I—I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

      “Sweeting, tell the truth and no one will harm you,” offered the impertinent manservant, his black eyes glinting.

      Anne felt herself redden at his insolent manner. A servant speaking to her like he was...an equal! She shot him a haughty look and directed her attention to Jane Herrick. “I came to your chamber to slip a note under the door.”

      The bald-headed man picked up the folded parchment from the floor and waved it in front of her. “This note?”

      “Yes.”

      Anne reached for it but he handed it to Jane, who began to read it. After a moment, she glanced up.

      “I can explain, Mrs. Herrick. I had only wished that you inform my uncle that I have a megrim and—”

      “We can’t take the chance that she might ‘ave ‘eard somethin’,” interrupted the bald man.

      She gave Anne a long deliberate stare. “If we let her go, she might try to haggle a bargain from Twining to let her out of the betrothal in exchange for what she’s overheard,” Jane said finally, pursing her lips together. She crumpled the parchment into a ball and tossed it into the roaring fireplace.

      The black-eyed servant folded his arms. “She offers us no choice. The lass will come with us.”

      Anne’s small fists flew to her hips as she regarded Jane Herrick and the two men. “Will you please stop speaking as though I’m not in the room? Go where?”

      Jane crossed to the bed and sat down. “Very well, Anne, but first, there’s something I must ask you.” She motioned for Anne to sit beside her.

      Without a choice, Anne obeyed.

      Jane put her hand to Anne’s shoulder. “Is it true that you’re devoted to your father’s cause?”

      A charge of excitement coursed through her. “Have you heard something of my father?”

      “Shh! Lower your voice.” Jane’s gray eyes narrowed. “Your father has risked his life for his beliefs, as many of us have.”

      Anne swallowed and tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Could it be that a Puritan like Jane Herrick could hold sympathy for the Royalist cause? Her father had often told her of the secret followers of the king: farmers, weavers, hoopers, you never knew who might be among them. Hope welled inside her. “Mrs. Herrick, do you support our exiled king?”

      Jane’s only answer was her smile. “For now, you’ll