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  ‘My aunt said to tell you she will arrange for three horses to be saddled and waiting outside the main courtyard gate.’

  ‘Good, good.’

  ‘But how do you plan to get past the guards on the main gate?’ Charmian asked. ‘ There are two posted there every night.’

  In the dim light, she saw William Deane smile. ‘We have that all planned, Miss Radley, never fear. Now, I think you should go.’

  ‘Going already, miss,’ one of the guards remarked in surprise.

  ‘Yes—I—I have—I am very tired.’

  ‘Here—take some of this wine,’ said the other, holding out the flagon towards her.

  ‘ ’Twill help you sleep.’

  Charmian gave a startled gasp and gazed fearfully at the wine for a moment and then pushed it away. ‘No—no, thank you.’ And she hurried up the dark passage, their laughter ringing in her ears.

  Over two hours later Charmian was once again creeping down the steps to the dungeons. She was later than she had been told because Sir Geoffrey had not retired to his room until late. She slipped into the first room—the one where all the wine was stored—and listened for any sound from the guards. She could hear a low murmur of voices, punctuated by an occasional laugh—obviously they had not fallen asleep yet.

  What should she do? Return to her room and wait a little longer or stay here and listen for when all became quiet? She did not relish the thought of sneaking back through the darkened castle, risking discovery. Perhaps it would be safer to stay here. Quietly she moved into a corner of the cell behind the racks of wine in case the guards should walk up and down the passage and glance in. The minutes ticked by and another hour passed whilst she huddled, cold and more than a little frightened in the damp cellar—waiting.

  Then she heard some strange sounds—the noise of someone groaning and then a thud.

  ‘ ’Ere, what’s the matter?’ a voice said, but the only reply was a cry of agony.

  ‘Oh my God,’ came the voice again. ‘Oh what is it …?’

  Then he too gave a sharp cry of pain.

  Charmian closed her eyes and almost groaned aloud too. Her aunt had promised that the sleeping-draught would cause no pain and now, from the sounds she could hear, the two guards were writhing in agony on the floor.

  ‘Get—help!’ she heard one say feebly and then he moaned again. But there was no reply from his companion.

  Charmian found that she had crouched down in a corner, her hands clenched and tears were running down her face. Her aunt had promised her the Royalist soldiers would feel no pain!

  All was quiet now and then she heard an urgent whisper come from the locked dungeon at the end of the passage. ‘Charmian! Charmian, are you there?’

  Stiffly, she rose and reluctantly went down the passage. The two guards were lying on the rough stone floor, their mouths hanging open, their eyes wide and staring with an expression of sheer agony. Charmian pressed trembling fingers to her lips to stop herself from crying out. She stood staring down at the twisting forms.

  ‘Charmian—the keys! Hurry!’ her father urged.

  She did not want to touch them, but the keys were fastened to the belt of one of the guards.

  ‘Quickly girl,’ her father’s voice was becoming impatient. ‘ Get the keys!’

  Charmian’s fingers straggled with the buckle on the man’s belt, cringing every time she touched his body. The belt opened and the keys rattled on to the floor. She picked them up and then stood a moment looking down at the man.

  ‘He—he’s not breathing,’ she cried out in alarm.

  ‘Hush. Do you want to waken the whole castle?’ Joseph Radley whispered fiercely, stretching out his hand through the bars in the door. ‘ Open this door!’

  Wildly she turned to look at her father. ‘But—he’s not breathing. Is he—he’s not dead?’ Her voice rose again with hysteria.

  ‘The door, girl. Open the door, damn you!’

  Now her whole body was shaking so much, the blood pounding in her ears, that she could scarcely insert the huge key in the lock. But at last she did so and the door swung open. At once Joseph and William Deane were out of the cellar and stepping over the bodies of the guards without even glancing down at them whilst Charmian fell back against the wall, unable to drag her horrified gaze away from the two men lying so still now upon the floor.

  Timothy had come to stand by her side.

  ‘Oh Timothy—I did not know. She—she promised it would not harm them.’

  ‘Don’t cry, Charmian, p-please …’ Before he could say more, Charmian felt her father grasp hold of her and push her in front of him along the passage, William Deane had unstrapped the swords of the two guards, tossing one to Joseph and keeping the other for himself. ‘We must get one for Timothy from somewhere,’ he murmured.

  They moved up the passage. William Deane in the lead with Joseph Radley, Charmian and Timothy following. Stealthily they climbed the stone steps and came up into the courtyard. The night was crisp and sharp with a brilliant full moon, so that everything could be clearly seen.

  ‘Curse it,’ muttered William Deane, ‘we could have done without so much light.’

  Keeping to the shadows they crept round the edge of the courtyard.

  ‘Let me go back now,’ whispered Charmian. ‘I have done what you asked of me. I can be of no more use to you.’

  ‘That is where you are wrong, Daughter. You are our means of escape. You are coming with us!’

  ‘No, no,’ Charmian cried out, but at once her father clamped his hand roughly over her mouth. ‘Be quiet.’

  ‘How many guards are there on the bridge?’ William Deane whispered.

  ‘I can only see two.’

  ‘Then it looks like a straight fight. Leave the girl with Timothy.’

  ‘Here—hold her. And don’t let her go or it’ll be the worse for all of us,’ Joseph Radley said.

  Charmian felt herself thrust roughly into Timothy’s arms.

  ‘P-please, don’t call out,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I don’t want to hurt you. Charmian—I’m sorry—I didn’t know this was going to happen, please believe me.’

  Sobbing with fear, Charmian did not know what to believe. She watched as William Deane and her father moved stealthily towards the guards, who were taken by surprise when the two prisoners leapt from the shadows. Joseph Radley thrust his sword into the chest of one and though the second put up a fight for a few moments; he was quickly overpowered by William Deane. Charmian screamed and Timothy was forced to cover her mouth again.

  ‘The drawbridge,’ Joseph hissed and picking up both weapons of the dead Royalist guards, he beckoned to Timothy. ‘ Bring her here. Here’s a sword for you.’

  The noise of the brief scuffle and Charmian’s scream had been enough to disturb someone in the castle. As the drawbridge rattled down and the escaping prisoners, with their hostage, ran out, Sir Geoffrey and his son appeared in the doorway and began to run across the courtyard. Other figures—Elizabeth Radley and Mary Mason—appeared only moments later.

  ‘The horses! Where are the horses?’ Joseph demanded wildly.

  ‘There. By the wall,’ William shouted. Then, as he saw that they were being pursued, Joseph Radley once more took hold of his daughter from Timothy and turned to face Sir Geoffrey and Campbell. The bright moon lit the scene with cruel brilliance as the opponents faced each other.

  ‘Come no nearer, Denholm,’ he warned, holding his sword towards them. ‘Or I’ll cut her throat!’

  ‘Damn you, Radley!’ Sir Geoffrey muttered and behind him Charmian now saw the figures of her mother and Mary Mason, cloaks thrown hastily over their nightgowns.

  ‘Joseph, Joseph, don’t harm her!’ Elizabeth cried frantically. ‘Please!’

  ‘Bring the horses,’ Joseph shouted.

  ‘What are you about, Radley?’ Sir Geoffrey demanded, whilst Joseph mounted the horse and William Deane held Charmian.

  ‘What am I about?’ Joseph replied mockingly. �
��I intend to go to meet your King, Denholm. I intend to swear allegiance to His Majesty!’ Now there was open sarcasm in every word.

  Sir Geoffrey’s wry laughter rang out in the clear night air. ‘Ha! Do you expect me to believe that?’

  ‘My daughter believes it, don’t you, Charmian? That is why she helped us to escape.’

  Campbell gave a bellow of rage and made as if to leap forward, but his father held him back. Joseph Radley leant down from his horse.

  ‘Lift her up here in front of me,’ he commanded William Deane and Charmian felt herself being hoisted up to sit in front of her father. William and Timothy mounted the other two horses.

  Sir Geoffrey’s eyes burned with rage. ‘You’ll pay for this, Radley, by God, you will pay for this. How can you use your own daughter? You’re inhuman!’

  Joseph laughed, the noise shrill in Charmian’s ear so close to his mouth. ‘My daughter! Ay—she’s my daughter, though I don’t doubt her mother wished her yours!’

  Sir Geoffrey stepped forward a pace, but Joseph turned his sword and held it close to Charmian’s throat. ‘Come no nearer, Denholm, or I’ll kill her.’

  Charmian heard a high-pitched scream and saw her mother run forward. ‘No, Joseph, no. Don’t harm her. I have done no wrong. I swear it. Please!’ Her hands groped for the bridle as the horses became restless with all the noise and shouting. ‘ Please, Joseph—please leave Charmian here.’

  ‘No, she comes with us. That’s the only way we can be sure we shall not be followed. Get out of my way, Wife.’ And as he spoke Charmian felt him move his legs and kick the horse, but the animal, with Elizabeth Radley’s hands still clinging to its bridle, rose in the air on its hind legs, its forelegs flailing above her.

  Sir Geoffrey was already moving forward lunging himself towards her mother. Charmian watched in horror as Elizabeth fell to the ground and Sir Geoffrey threw himself across her at the moment the horse’s hooves came crashing down. Charmian screamed and began to struggle wildly, but her father’s arm was like an iron band about her. Now holding the reins in the same hand in which he held his sword, Joseph controlled his horse and urged it forward.

  ‘Madam, oh Mother,’ Charmian cried in anguish, stretching out her hands towards her. As Joseph spurred the horse, Charmian’s last image was of Campbell bending over the still figures on the ground.

  There was no escape for Charmian. Her father held her strongly. Down the hill the horses galloped and through the village. It was a painful ride for Charmian—seated in front of her father, his arm like an iron band round her. Unable to ride comfortably or properly, she was soon bruised and shaken. But her physical discomfort was nothing compared to her shattered emotions. The horrific scene she had just witnessed had left her numb. She did not know what to think or believe or whom to trust. She had believed her father and though he was still insisting that it was his intention to swear allegiance to the King, Sir Geoffrey Denholm had not believed him. But these thoughts were pushed to the back of her mind. The only thing she could think of was her mother. The dreadful picture was constantly before her eyes of her mother lying on the ground, the horse’s hooves trampling down upon her and the man who had tried to shield her, the man who loved her so much that without a second’s hesitation he had risked his own life to try to protect her.

  Then they had lain still upon the ground with Campbell bending over them.

  Campbell!

  A shudder ran through her whole being as she thought of Campbell. How he would despise her now. She could never bear to face him again. She would rather die—now—than have to face the anger, the condemnation, in his eyes.

  Where was that gentleness she had once seen in his eyes for his Princess Golden Hair? Was it really gone for ever? Had the years of exile embittered him so much that there was none of that tenderness he had once shown towards a little girl left in his nature? Tears coursed down her face, whilst the galloping horse knocked the breath from her body.

  They had passed through the village unhindered and were out into the open countryside. Charmian became aware that William Deane had ridden closer to them and was shouting something to her father and pointing at her. Her father nodded and shouted back, ‘Two miles more.’

  They rode on.

  An inn came into view, and Charmian felt their pace begin to slow.

  ‘Ride on and get another horse saddled for her,’ Joseph bellowed to William who nodded and spurred his own horse ahead.

  Some minutes later, Joseph and Charmian and Timothy halted outside the small wayside inn where a boy was already leading a horse from the stable whilst William Deane could be seen pressing coins into the palm of the stout landlord standing in his nightshirt in the doorway.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ her father roared glancing behind him every few seconds—no doubt fearing that they would be followed. But, Charmian thought, Campbell would not follow. He will not care what happens to me now. He will want no more to do with me now or ever. He will never forgive me for what I have done this night.

  The thought brought fresh tears to her eyes.

  Chapter Seven

  Charmian was wrong.

  They had ridden scarcely another half-mile after the brief stop at the inn. Charmian was now riding on a horse of her own though through its bridle was linked a long leather strap which her father held along with his own reins. Although Charmian’s horse could move easily, it was attached to her father’s mount in this way so that she could not escape.

  Suddenly, she heard a shout and heard her father say, ‘The Devil take him! He’s followed us.’

  Charmian looked back over her shoulder and saw a lone horseman galloping a short distance behind them. It was Campbell, she knew. Slowly he was gaining on them.

  Joseph Radley must have come to a sudden decision, for he slowed the horses and stopped, then the four riders turned to face the one man who now came to a halt some twenty paces away.

  Radley, William Deane and Timothy had all drawn their swords and Campbell Denholm now did likewise. Grimly the men faced each other in the half-light of early morning, whilst Charmian waited, her heart beating painfully, fearfully.

  ‘Radley—let Charmian go,’ Campbell bellowed. ‘And I’ll pursue you no further, whatever your evil intentions towards my King may be.’

  ‘Never!’ roared her father. ‘And if you come one step nearer I’ll kill her!’

  The point of his sword was suddenly near Charmian’s throat. A small cry escaped her lips—one more of surprise than fear—that her own father should really mean to threaten her life. She dared now, for the first time, to take a look at Campbell’s face and as she did so she drew breath sharply.

  Never in her whole life had she seen anyone so angry; not even her ill-tempered father had ever looked so menacing, so frightening. Campbell dismounted and walked slowly, deliberately towards them, his eyes blazing, his handsome mouth tight, his firm jaw unyielding.

  With intense deliberation he said, ‘You harm one hair of her head, Radley, and you’re a dead man!’

  Joseph laughed. ‘Oh, Sir Cavalier and no mistake!’

  Suddenly, Timothy Deane turned his horse about and came up behind Radley and Charmian. Pushing his horse between their mounts, he raised his sword and with one swift downward stroke, he severed the leather thong tying Charmian’s horse to her father’s. ‘Ride, Charmian. Go!’ Timothy shouted, and at the sudden noise, her horse leapt forward towards Campbell before Radley had realized what was happening, but William Deane leapt forward and caught the reins of Charmian’s horse before Campbell could reach her. Deane dragged the girl from her mount and on to his own and held her pinioned close to him, his left arm tight across her breast, his sword close to her throat.

  At the same moment, with a bellow of rage, Radley brought his sword round and knocked Timothy Deane to the ground. ‘Traitor!’ he roared. ‘You young pup, I’ll…’ Charmian screamed as her father threw himself from his horse and made as if to plunge his sword through Timothy’s heart,
but William Deane shouted warningly, ‘Radley—he’s my brother. Harm him and you’ll not live long enough for time to regret it.’

  The point of Radley’s sword wavered uncertainly for an instant above the boy’s chest, and then with a low growl of frustration he swung away, and sheathed his sword with a swift and angry movement.

  There came the sound of galloping hoofbeats and Sir Geoffrey and two officers drew level with Campbell, reined in and dismounted. But their arrival, their swords, their bravery, were as futile as Campbell’s own as helplessly they watched the lethal blade only an inch from Charmian’s throat.

  She cried out weakly, just once, ‘Campbell!’ and in that utterance of his name was all her desperate longing, her fear, her pleading for his forgiveness. Involuntarily, Campbell took a step forwards but the blade touched Charmian’s white neck cutting the delicate skin and drawing blood.

  Sir Geoffrey put a warning hand upon his son’s arm. ‘Deane will kill her,’ he murmured. ‘They are desperate men. We have no choice but to let them go if—if we wish to spare Charmian’s life.’ There was a catch in the elder man’s voice, so wrought with emotion. He had left his love, Elizabeth, injured, most probably fatally for all he knew, by her callous husband, to follow the escaped prisoners only to be forced to watch that same man now allow his daughter’s life to be used as blackmail. Sir Geoffrey was no coward. He had seen fighting, had served his royal master through years of hardship, even torture, with a tenacious loyalty and a ferocious bravery, but never had he witnessed anything so despicable as the enemy he now faced, a man who would sacrifice the lives of his own wife and daughter to save his own skin.

  ‘Let them go,’ he said tiredly to Campbell.

  ‘For the moment only, then,’ Campbell muttered between his teeth. ‘But he shall not escape my sword for long. I shall follow wheresoe’er he goes until I have my Charmian safe from his wickedness.’