The Rebel Captain's Royalist Bride. Anne Herries

soldiers had stolen cattle and grain, burning what still stood in the fields as a punishment to those who resisted. But the tales were vague and it had not happened here as yet.

      ‘If Parliament is for the right of the people, how can you justify taking what people have toiled all year to produce without payment?’

      ‘That is precisely my argument, mistress,’ he replied and smiled at her in a way that had her tingling right down to her toes. ‘An army must be fed and there are those who say we must take what we need if we cannot persuade. However, for myself I shall also give payment where payment is due.’

      Babette could not fault his reasoning, though she knew that most of the small farmers who helped her uncle to gather his harvest, and whom Sir Matthew helped in return, would produce only enough to feed themselves and their people throughout the year. The large landowners might have surplus corn, but hardly anyone had much to spare. Perhaps if the trees were laden with apples they might take some baskets to market, but as far as the grain, cows and pigs were concerned they raised only enough for their own needs. In times when the harvest was generally poor there was often not enough to go round and the poorest families might go hungry through the winter.

      Sir Matthew had a large flock of geese, also several ducks and chickens. He did sometimes give a goose to a neighbour at Christmas and sometimes at that time of year he killed perhaps ten of his flock and took them to the market, but even if the rebels took the whole flock it would hardly be enough to feed the number of men she’d heard had rushed to join the Parliament’s army.

      ‘Some of our men have gone home to harvest their fields,’ Captain Colby was speaking to Sir Matthew now, leaving Babette to her thoughts. ‘It is necessary work, for if the wheat and oats were left to rot in the fields their families might starve, but it does not please Cromwell.’

      ‘Is Cromwell not a farmer himself?’

      ‘Aye, he is that, but he will not release the men who follow him this year and insists the women and old men, children and the infirm must gather in the harvest.’

      ‘His attitude must be much resented?’ Babette suggested.

      He turned to look at her, his quiet grey eyes thoughtful. ‘Perhaps by some, but he is admired and respected, some say loved, by the army. He speaks of more discipline needed amongst the ranks and of turning his men into battle-ready troops rather than a disorganised rabble.’

      ‘I do not know the man,’ Sir Matthew said. ‘I believe he lives in Cambridgeshire? Here in Sussex his name has reached us, though as yet we have seen little of your fellow officers, Colby.’

      ‘Do you intend to stay long, sir?’ Babette asked when her uncle had turned to speak to Jonas.

      ‘A few more days. I should like at least two cartloads of grain and another six or more cattle to send back to the quartermaster before I move on to the next location. Since your uncle has kindly offered us a place to sleep, we have decided to make our headquarters here while we see what is on offer to us.’

      A few more days... she thought.

      Babette nodded, but made no reply. She had no right to resent her uncle’s decision, for it was his house, but she wished that he had not made the rebels so welcome. She was tempted to return to the castle, but knew that she would find it lonely. Before the rebels came, she had allowed herself to forget the war and believed that her aunt had a softness for the Royal cause, but her uncle had now made his true colours known. He had not chosen to fight, but he was making his home available for the Parliament men; he had effectively made his choice, even though he would not take up his sword.

      Her feelings must have shown themselves somehow for she was aware that he looked at her with some amusement.

      ‘Yes, you must put up with me a little longer. Fear not, lady. I shall not demand that you put away your finery and wear plain black. I am not a Puritan, though I fight side by side with them.’

      Babette glared at him. Why did he find the situation amusing?

      ‘If you are not of their persuasion, why do you take arms against the King?’

      ‘I am for the people. I would have the King rule, but by consent of people and Parliament, not as the autocrat he believes his divine right gives him the authority to be.’

      His beliefs were much as her uncle’s. Her uncle’s views had not concerned Babette one way or the other—so why then did she feel such a strong aversion to this man?

      She averted her gaze and saw that her aunt was signalling to her. Getting up from the table, she fetched bread, butter, tarts and cheese to set before the men. The servants had begun to clear the dirty trenchers and were now replenishing ale, water and wine. After she had finished her task, Babette took her seat once more, sliding quickly into place before Captain Colby had more than half-risen from his seat.

      ‘You need not rise for me, sir,’ she said softly. ‘Here in my uncle’s house all the women wait at table.’

      ‘A custom I am unused to,’ he murmured softly. ‘In my house a gentleman stands for a lady.’

      Babette smiled. ‘As in my father’s house, but we are all equal in the sight of the Lord—so my uncle says.’

      ‘Yes. While I agree, there are differences...’

      In her heart Babette knew that her father and brother would agree with him, but here in this house they lived by Sir Matthew’s rules. She arched her brows at him as if to imply she disapproved of his sentiments, but knew she did it only because she had to protect herself from him. His chivalry and charm must not be allowed to breech her defences. No matter if she liked his smile, he was an enemy of all that she believed in. She must always be on her guard.

      Now why did she feel she needed protection from him? He was a gentleman and a guest in her uncle’s house. She was certain he would not abuse Sir Matthew’s hospitality—so why did she feel she needed to keep a barrier between them?

      * * *

      Babette was relieved when at last her aunt signalled that they were to clear the dishes to the kitchen and leave the men to talk business over their ale. Babette carried a loaded tray to the door. Usually, she set it down on a small table, but before she could do so Captain Colby had opened the door for her, holding it as she and then Maria passed through. She gave him a small smile and a faint shake of her head, but his expression did not change and he continued to hold the door as her aunt followed with another loaded tray.

      Babette was already at the sink, beginning to pour a kettle filled with hot water over the greasy plates. She added a liquid soap her aunt made herself and was about to start washing dishes when her aunt stopped her.

      ‘Let Maria do that, Babette. You do not want to make your hands red. Captain Colby might notice and he treats you as a lady, as I suppose you are.’ Aunt Minnie was looking faintly troubled. ‘When you came here your uncle expected you to live as we do, Babette—but your father was Lord Harvey and perhaps I was wrong to allow it.’

      ‘Do not be foolish, dearest Aunt,’ Babette said. ‘I like to help you. Pray ignore Captain Colby. His manners are good, but while I am in your home I do not consider myself above you or my uncle.’

      ‘Your uncle’s views are not shared by everyone,’ Aunt Minnie said. ‘You will leave the dishes to Maria, please, and return to the parlour. You may sit and sew and listen to the gentlemen talk.’

      ‘And leave all the work to you and Maria?’ Babette frowned. ‘No, certainly not. If I may not wash the dishes, I shall dry them and put them away. It is you who should be sitting in the parlour with my uncle and his guest.’

      Aunt Minnie looked at her doubtfully. ‘Captain Colby...’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘I would not wish to spoil your chances of a good marriage, Babette. My sister looked much higher than I and found herself a rich lord. Matthew was enough for me, but I was never as beautiful as your mama, dearest.’

      Babette acknowledged that her aunt was homely rather than beautiful,