Embrace The Dawn. Jackie Summers

quest to rankle your uncle?”

      “I’m devoted to my father’s cause.”

      “Would you fight for those beliefs?”

      “With all my heart,” Anne answered. “I’d give my life for the young king. My heart breaks when I think of how he’s forced to live in exile while that hateful Cromwell grips England by the throat.”

      Jane smiled. “You’ll have your chance to prove it, my dear. You’re going to help us save our king.”

      “The—the king?”

      Jane swung her around to face the scraggly looking servant who sat in the middle of the bed, grinning at her. “Anne, it is my pleasure to present His Royal Highness, Charles Stuart.”

      Anne’s mouth dropped as she stared at the servant. Her glance swept over the tattered leathern doublet, the coarsely woven shirt, the cloth breeches above the travel-stained stockings. “Charles Stuart?” she cried with disbelief when her gaze lifted to his swarthy face.

      His black eyes twinkled with obvious amusement at her disbelief. “My fair and lovely subject.” He reached for her hand and kissed it.

      Anne snapped back and wiped her hand on her skirt. “Anne!” Jane gasped, horrified. “By divine Providence, this is our king! The sovereign every true subject serves.”

      Anne stared in shock while Jane pushed her into a curtsy.

      “It’s quite understandable, Mrs. Herrick.” The king stood and touched Anne’s chin with his fingers. “It’s best she behaves as though I’m a servant. In fact, our very lives might depend on it.” The hooded eyes glinted. “But what is to become of her once we reach Bristol?” The gleam in his eye reminded Anne of a ferret.

      “I’m more concerned that we reach Bristol,” Jane said.

      The king’s black gaze lingered reflectively on Anne. “She might make a lovely addition to the French court,” he said. “What would you think of that, sweeting?”

      Anne tried to comprehend that this unkempt servant was the one man she had always fancied would restore everything right in her world once he regained the throne.

      “My cousin, King Louis, and his court would certainly be enlivened by your sparkle...and so would I,” the king added.

      “Your grace,” interrupted Jane. “May I remind you that each moment we dally endangers your safety.”

      “Right you are, my dear. But please, remember to call me Will Jackson.” His swarthy face became serious. “It might save our lives if another curious ear be pressed to the door.”

      Jane’s face flushed. “Of course...Mr. Jackson.”

      “But you don’t understand. I—I can’t go to Bristol,” Anne said. “I’m running away to find my father.”

      Jane turned slowly and drew a deep breath before she spoke. “Either way, you must leave Wycliffe Manor. The woods will be teeming with soldiers once they discover you’re gone. With us, you’ll have a greater chance to succeed than by yourself.”

      “How will you explain your disappearance, Mrs. Herrick?” Anne asked. “Won’t my uncle wonder why you’re not at dinner, too?”

      Jane smiled. “We’ve already thought of that, my dear. My husband will deliver an urgent message to your uncle very soon, calling me to my mother’s sickbed.” Her smile broadened. “Don’t look so puzzled, Anne. My mother, who’s in very fine health, wrote the note long before we left for Wycliffe Manor.”

      The bald servant named Wilkens glared at her. “Besides, you ‘ave no choice. You’re leavin’ with us, tied and gagged like a goose, if need be.”

      Anne bit back any further argument. She had no choice but to obey, and as sure as the sun rises, she’d be better off with them than to remain.

      Wilkens gave her a sharp look before he hoisted the saddlebags and carried them to the door.

      “If I’m a servant, then that’s my chore, Wilkens,” said the king. He swung the bag over his shoulder.

      Jane lit two tapers from the burning candle on the table. “Take the back stairs and go behind the barn where my husband waits with the horses. Remember the story we’ve agreed upon if you’re stopped. Anne and I will follow in a few minutes.”

      Both men nodded. Jane pressed her ear to the door before opening it, then peeked quickly into the passageway. “Godspeed,” she said, giving each man a candle as he slipped out the door.

      After the men left, Jane reached under the bed and pulled out a small bundle of clothing. Within minutes, she had selected a pile of assorted garments and tossed them to Anne. “Slip these on, and hurry,” she instructed.

      “But I’ve already packed a valise of my things. It’s in my room. I’ll get it,” Anne offered.

      Jane shook her head. “There’s no time. Besides, it’s safer if you’re dressed as a man.” She helped Anne pull an enormous muslin shirt over her gown.

      Anne’s fingers shook with excitement as she removed her unyielding underskirts before stepping into a pair of men’s linen breeches that hung to above her ankles. The breeches were so baggy she could only hope the sash tied about her waist would hold them up. Next came the stiff leather jerkin. Finally, the disguise was completed with a red cap pulled down over her ears.

      Jane frowned. “I’m afraid it will have to do.”

      After Jane tossed a black woolen traveling coat around her shoulders, she glanced about the chamber. “Put this on,” she said, tossing the woolen blanket from the bed to Anne.

      Anne wrapped the scratchy blanket about herself and followed Jane to the door. The latch creaked open, and she felt a rush of air as Jane nudged her into the hall. Her heart was in her throat while Jane led her toward the back stairs, their heels clacking along the creaking wooden planks.

      In what seemed like the longest ten minutes of Anne’s life, she and Jane arrived without incident at the outside entrance of the manor. The evening air hung heavy with the familiar animal odors drifting from the milking barn nearby.

      A few minutes later, after they had crept around the back of the barn, Jane paused, her eyes searching the fields beyond the pasture. “There!” she whispered, pointing to a grove of willows beside the hedgerow path. Jane took Anne’s elbow and hurried her along. Only when they reached the hedges did Anne see the three riders hidden in the shadows—the king, Wilkens and another man whom Anne assumed was Jane’s husband, Dr. Herrick.

      Clasping the blanket with her right hand, Anne yanked up the baggy pants with the other and ran the final few yards toward the waiting horsemen, her heart thumping wildly.

      * * *

      The full moon cast silvered light about the countryside as Anne and the riders charged along the high road that led from Wycliffe Manor toward the town of Bristol. Anne sensed that Jane had chosen the longer route rather than the shorter middle road because of the soldiers’ camps fortified along the more widely used route. The horses’ hooves splashed through mud puddles from yesterday’s rain, tossing up mud clods along the way.

      Dr. Herrick rode as scout and had a five minutes lead of the group. Anne rode double, behind the bald-headed servant, Wilkens. For what she thought might be an hour, she jolted back and forth, bouncing against the pillion that fastened behind the saddle. Wilkens lashed the reins in a futile attempt to keep up with the powerful bay stallion racing ahead, carrying Jane Herrick and the king.

      As Wilkens spurred the horse faster, Anne held on with a ferocity that matched his and fought back the thought she might catapult off her seat and be left in the road. Good riddance, Wilkens would think and not even glance back.

      Anne peered above his shoulder at the dark uncertainty of the road ahead and she felt torn between fear and exhilaration. She’d always known that someday