Beloved Enemy by Jane Feather Read Free Book Online Page A

ablaze with the light of
flickering torches. She had been so lost in her melancholy, her back to the
house, she had not thought to look in that direction. Had they discovered
Edmund and Peter? Her heart pounded sickeningly, sweat misting her brow as she
stumbled up the path, slipping and sliding as her usual expertise vanished
under the sway of panic.
    It was a ten-minute climb, and caution reasserted itself as
she reached the top. She had no desire to draw attention to the path, which was
well hidden except from the eyes of th ose
who knew where to look. Ginny clung to a scrubby bush benea th the overhang until certain that the lights were not trained in the immediate
vicinity. Then she hauled herself onto the springy turf and lay still, flat on
her stomach, for a breathless moment. Voices reached her from the surrounding
gardens, but there were no sounds close to. She got to her feet and, crouching
low, ran across the wind swept headland as the first drops of rain heralded the
storm. A quick glance reassured her that the door to the priest's hole remained
invisible and unviolated.
    Nearing the stableyard, Ginny slowed, brushed down her
skirts, and sauntered across, headed for the open kitchen door outl i ned by the golden light of oil lamps. The yard, for
some reason, was deserted, the men presumably engaged in whatever curious
nighttime exercise th eir colonel had commanded. Perhaps
this happened every night — s ome ritual
maneuver designated to keep an army not facing immediate battle on its toes.
Peter had said that Alex Marshall was a brilliant commander, one who knew how
to stimulate morale and maintain his troops in perfect condition.
    The kitchen was as empty as the yard, although the trestle
table held the remnants of a cold meal of bread, meat, and cheese. Ginny
grabbed an apple and a pear from the basket, cut a wedge of cheese, and slipped
silently up the backstairs to her own chamber. The door stood open onto the
corridor. Surely she had closed it when she had left earlier? She remembered
doing so as an automatic declaration of her ownership of one portion of this occupied house.
    Locking the door behind her, Ginny heaved a sigh of relief.
This room at least was her own, held the familiar possessions of her childhood
and youth, offered her peace and privacy from whatever went on elsewhere. It
had always been thus— a haven where she could kick and stamp
at unjust restrictions; could weep away the sorrow and hurt of childish
punishments; could create a magical universe whose contours and rules might be
changed at will, in whatever direction the creator ' s fantasy took them; could brood withdelicious mystery
on the workings of her body.
    Lightning forking into the sea lit the room for a moment, and
the crash of thunder followed instantly. The storm was directly overhead, and
Ginny ran to close the casements as the rain tipped from the sky.
Instinctively, she offered the prayer for those facing the storm on the seas. A
child of the sea, she treated the water with all the healthy respect of one
well versed in its sudden treachery.
    The sound of raised male voices downstairs exploded through
the house, and wi th out knowing quite why she did so,
Ginny tore off her clothes, dropping them in a careless heap beside the window
as she dragged her nightgown over her head, and leaped into bed, ignoring the
fact that she had nei th er brushed her hair nor washed her
hands where the sandy grime of the cliff path clung beneath her fingernails.
Her impromptu supper lay neglected on the broad window sill.
    Booted feet clattered on the stairs, along the corridor, and
stopped outside her door. The handle turned and met the resistance of the iron
key. There was a tentative knock, an unfamiliar voice. " Mistress Courtney?"
    Ginny stared into the darkness mitigated by her accustomed
eyes. Should she acknowledge the call or pretend to be asleep? The latter, she
decided. It would involve her in fewer explanations, and she need both