The Accidental Bride Read Free Page A

daughter,” Brian Morse reminded him with a caustic edge.
    His companion’s eyes narrowed at the tone. “Be that as it may, Holland is neutral in your civil war,” he stated. “The king is making a great concession in this offer of aid.”
    “It will be acknowledged.” Brian picked up the jug again and carried it to his lips.
    The other man nodded as if satisfied. He unfolded the paper and silently slid it across the table.
    Brian set down the tankard and picked up the paper. He ran his eye down the neat columns. The king of Orange was indeed being generous. The munitions he was offering to supply the embattled and impoverished king of England would go a long way toward redressing the difference in strength between Cromwell’s New Model Army and the Cavaliers.
    “His majesty will not stint his gratitude,” Brian said slowly. He reached into his pocket for a letter of his own. It bore the seal of Charles of England.
    His companion took it and examined the seal closely. He’d been told what to look for and there was no mistaking the royal insignia. He thrust the document inside his jerkin and drained the contents of his tankard.
    His chair scraped on the planks as he stood up, pulling his gauntlets from his belt. “You will be contacted with exact details about delivery after the king has read the letter and consulted with his advisors. The ship will leave from Rotterdam. You should hold yourself in readiness.”
    He strode to the door and it banged closed on his departure.
    Brian Morse finished the ale in the jug. Once this mission was successfully accomplished he would go home, bearing with him in triumph the fruits of his negotiations. And at last he would come to the attention of the truly powerful around the king. He would be noticed. He would be recognized as a man of ability. And there would be some reward. A reward, if he played his cards right, that would enable him finally to pursue personal interests under the guise of working for the king’s cause.

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    W OODSTOCK , O XFORD , J ANUARY , 1646
    L ady Phoebe Carlton lay very still listening to her bed-mate’s
even breathing. Olivia was a very light sleeper and woke at the slightest sound. And tonight, Olivia mustn’t know what Phoebe was about. They never had secrets from each other and were as close if not closer than sisters. But Phoebe couldn’t afford for her dearest friend to know about her present enterprise.
    Phoebe pushed aside the coverlet and slipped to the floor. Olivia stirred and turned over. Phoebe froze. The fire in the grate was almost out, and it was so cold in the chamber that her breath formed a pale fog in the dim light from the guttering candle on the mantel. Olivia was afraid of the dark and they always kept a candle burning until she was asleep.
    Olivia’s even breathing resumed and Phoebe tiptoed across the chamber to the armoire. She had left it partly open so it wouldn’t squeak. She took out the bundle of clothes and the small cloakbag and crept on her freezing bare feet to the door. She lifted the latch and opened it just wide enough for her to slide sideways through and into the dark passage beyond.
    Shivering, she scrambled into her clothes, pulling them on over her nightshirt. There were no candles in the sconces in the passage and it was pitch dark, but Phoebe found the darkness comforting. If she could see no one, then no one could see her.
    The house was silent but for the usual nighttime creaks of old wood settling. She dragged on her woolen stockings and, carrying her boots and the cloakbag, crept down the corridor towards the wide staircase leading down to the great hall.
    The hall was in shadow, lit only by the still-glowing embers in the vast fireplace at the far end. The great roof beams were a dark and heavy presence above her head as she tiptoed in her stockinged feet down the stairs. It was a mad, crazy thing she was doing, but Phoebe could see no alternative. She would not be sold into marriage, sold like a