Lady Outlaw

Chapter 19

Scarborough Castle, Scarborough, North Riding of Yorkshire

Dulcina, Countess of Scarborough, and wife to the most powerful man in the whole of Yorkshire, had begun her life as Daisy in the small village of Ruislip. The eldest daughter of a strip farmer and a kitchen maid, Daisy had been an exuberant child with a pretty countenance and an inquisitive nature. Her younger siblings looked up to her with adoration, and she easily stepped into the role of nurturer while her parents worked long hours for the local nobility.
Independent and self-assured, she bloomed early, and it wasn't long before she had caught the eye of the village blacksmith, Henry A Dale. He was originally from the north, a charming and well-to-do, a popular and trusted figure in the area, and had set about wooing Daisy in earnest on her fourteenth birthday. Daisy's father, Stephen, was a close friend of Henry's and gave the union his blessing. Her mother, Callie, was slightly less enthusiastic, but Henry soon won her over by securing Daisy a job of her own, working with a friend, who was a seamstress.
Daisy, however, did not feel ready to settle down. She was only young, and the world fascinated her. She longed to experience life to its fullest, while clinging on to the carefree innocence of her childhood. But Henry was determined to win her over, and Stephen was determined to have one less mouth to feed. Two days after Daisy's fifteenth birthday, she and Henry were married in the village church.
Initially, it was strange, becoming an adult and a wife at the same time, but Henry was so caring and so handsome, and he treated her like a princess. Gradually, she settled into her role as wife and homemaker, and even began to enjoy their special intimacy, which had at first been so frightening, and a little painful. She learnt to relax, and Henry couldn't get enough of her.
It didn't take long for her to fall pregnant. Henry was overjoyed, and became a devoted husband, catering to her every need. A small part of Daisy was filled with misgivings, but her mother assured her that this was normal. Every woman had a fear of childbirth, she told her, but Daisy felt it was something more than that. But she couldn't quite put her finger on what, and it left her mind as soon as Allan was born.
She fell in love with him instantly. A beautiful, healthy boy with blue eyes as clear as her own, and a shock of chestnut hair exactly the same shade as hers. She doted on him, and spent much of her time holding him in her arms and just staring into his eyes while he gazed back, clutching her index finger in his tiny fist. Everything paled in comparison to this incredible little person, and the well of emotion that she experienced in response to him. He became the centre of her world.
Allan was a month old when Henry first hit her, a sharp backhand across the face because she had forgotten to clean a dribble of baby vomit off the bed covers. He was filled with remorse as soon as he had done it, and spent the following week making it up to her. Daisy believed that he was sorry. He was busy at the smithy during the day, and Allan wasn't settling at night. After four weeks of broken sleep, Henry was tired and short-tempered, and he had taken it out on Daisy without thinking. Or so he said.
As Allan steadily grew into a sweet and affectionate little boy, Henry's mood swings worsened, and he began to drink heavily. He spent more and more time in the local tavern, only returning home for food or to sleep, or take his frustrations out on his young wife. The second time he hit Daisy, he didn't apologise, and it gradually became the norm.
When she fell pregnant twenty months later, she felt numb. Henry was furious. He hadn't taken to fatherhood at all, and merely tolerated Allan's presence, often roaring at him and scaring the poor little mite half to death. Daisy was frightened for her son, and kept him away from his father as much as she possibly could. This often meant putting herself in harm's way to prevent Allan from getting hurt by her husband's ready fists.
Although there were still periods of calm, when Henry was his normal, loving self and they could function as a regular family, they were becoming few and far between. When she was six months pregnant, Henry became angry when he returned home from work and his dinner wasn't prepared. He punched Daisy in the stomach, and she was wracked with pains for the following two days. After a show of blood, she was adamant that she had lost the baby, but little Tom persevered and was born three months later, a picture of health.
Where Allan was a clingy, loving child, Tom was rough and tumble, full of adventure. Funnily enough, Henry took to him on sight and vice versa, and, for a few months, things were quiet, or as quiet as life could be with a baby and a toddler.
Eventually, Henry grew bored and distanced himself again, interacting with his two sons only when he was keen to berate someone weaker than himself. It was around this time that he lost interest in Daisy. He began drinking again, and she heard rumours of him and the local whores. It suited her. She no longer wanted him to share her bed. He was brutal and uncaring, and there was little left of the charming man she had wed. Allan and Tom became her whole world, and she was prepared to take a beating daily if it meant keeping Henry away from the boys.
It continued in a similar vein for the next few years. There were calmer periods interspersed with moments of irrational anger, and Daisy learnt to spot the signs, and to deal with Henry accordingly. As long as his dinner was on the table, the cottage was tidy, and the boys were quiet, she could often avoid his residual rage for days at a time. But, as Allan and Tom grew older, Daisy became restless. Married life was not as she had expected, and she was tired of constantly walking on eggshells around Henry. She wanted a better life for her sons. Although they led a relatively comfortable existence, it wasn't enough. Blacksmithing paid well, and Henry provided for them to an extent. They had a roof over their heads and food on the table, but Daisy wanted more. She wanted a man who respected her, and wasn't violent. She wanted a second parent for her sons; a father figure they could look up to. She started squirrelling away money whenever she could in the hope that, one day, she could take the boys and leave Henry far behind.
She attempted to keep disruption to the bare minimum, for the boys sake. Allan was an open and guileless child who adored his mother, whereas Tom had a more devious mind, and was constantly getting himself into scrapes that Daisy hid from Henry. Eventually, though, she knew that she would have to be honest with them both, and hope that they could keep a secret from their father, who tended to bully them, mercilessly, when he was one of his moods. She had no doubt that Tom would be able to withstand Henry's questions, but Allan was a different matter. He wanted to please, and he wanted to keep the peace more than anything else.
The decision, however, was taken out of her hands. Henry arrived home one day in a terrible mood, and proceeded to beat her so badly that she couldn't breath properly for at least a fortnight after, and suffered crippling pains in her lower abdomen. Once she was strong enough, self-preservation kicked in, and she left the cottage one day and carried on walking straight out of Ruislip. If she had stayed, he would have eventually killed her. She was taken in by a friend in the neighbouring village, and she paid him a tidy sum to deliver a message to Allan and Tom. The plan was for them to meet her, and then they would leave the area and make a home somewhere new, where Henry could never find them. But her friend never came back to her, and, although she waited for over a week, neither did her boys.
She was plucking up the courage to return to Ruislip when Henry turned up at her hideout like a black cloud of fury and vengefulness. He informed her that the boys had chosen to stay with him before he broke her arm and battered her face, telling her they never wanted to see her again.
His destruction of Daisy was complete. Her heart broken as well as her arm, she moved on, travelling north with a group of entertainers. The loss of her sons was like a huge, gaping hole inside her chest, but she was a survivor and she would carry on regardless, even when the pain of missing them became too much.
She finally settled in Sheffield after travelling on and off for the better part of a year. She began to sew again, and, before long, was a favourite of the nobility, who appreciated her fine stitching and eye for detail. Her business grew and, with it, her confidence. After years of being Henry's punching bag, both mentally and physically, and losing sight of her own identity in the process of protecting her sons, she learnt to be Daisy again. And, soon, she shed Daisy and reinvented herself as Dulcina. Cool, calm, and collected Dulcina, the Ice Queen who would never allow a man to hurt her again. But, in her heart, there remained the memory of her two beloved boys, and she thought of them often in her quieter moments, remembering Allan's beautiful smile and thoughtful nature, and the way Tom's eyes twinkled with mischief as he let forth with that huge belly laugh. She hoped they were happy, and that Henry had become the father that they needed. Maybe it had been foolish of her, but Henry's control over her was so complete that she had fully believed his assertions that the boys didn't want to see her again.
Catching the Sheriff of Yorkshire's eye had not been on Dulcina's agenda, but it had happened and he had pursued her mercilessly, until finally she acquiesced and allowed him to court her. Pierre Devereux was a surprisingly pleasant man behind closed doors, with a voracious appetite for Dulcina. He accepted her for who she was, and was curious to learn everything about her. She was honest with him from the start about her humble beginnings and her abusive husband, and he had visited Henry himself to arrange the divorce. According to Devereux, Henry had been a sad sight, living alone in a hovel and surrounded by a life wasted. He was drunk, and there was no sign of her boys. As they would have been sixteen and fourteen respectively, Dulcina had not been surprised to learn that they had moved on from their father.
She married Devereux and became the Countess of Scarborough, and it was like her first marriage had never happened. She was able to put all of those old memories to rest and start again, in a different life. But she had never forgotten her boys, and to see her eldest son stood on those gallows with a noose around his neck had scared her half to death. However, he was safe now; she had stopped the proceedings and removed him from harm's way, against the wishes of the prince and her husband and their guests. She would probably be in trouble, but she didn't care. Allan was her boy, and just the sight of him had brought back all of those buried maternal feelings. She had her son back.
She had him in body, at least. Winning over his mind was proving a little more difficult. After pulling him from the gallows and ordering the guards to escort them to the solar, she had summoned her maid to bring them food before turning to Allan and staring at him, suddenly lost for words. He, in turn, glared at her, balefully, standing in the midst of the opulent room, out of place in his grimy clothes and unwashed countenance. He didn't say a word and appeared to be in shock.
"Allan," Dulcina said in wonder. "Allan. I can't believe it's you."
Allan shrugged, offhand, and his face settled into a stony expression. "Oh, really? I can't believe it's YOU. I mean, where did you disappear to all those years ago? We thought you were dead."
"But— but your father.." She petered off as the maid re-entered and lay a tray on the table, offloading bread rolls and cheese along with wine and huge, jewelled goblets.
Allan observed Dulcina, grimly, until the maid left, before sitting down at the table and beginning to rip apart a bread roll and devour it, ravenously.
Dulcina crossed to sit down opposite him and reached out to touch his arm, gently. "Allan. My Allan."
Allan paused in his chewing to regard her, coldly. "My father what?"
Dulcina looked at him, distressed at his tone. He carried on pulling at the bread and stuffing it into her mouth, holding her gaze, insolently.
"Your father told me that you no longer wanted to see me. I was planning on taking you and Tom with me, but..."
Allan threw the bread down and glared at her, his blue eyes stormy. "You expect me to believe that? You left us with that tyrant without a word, and now look at you! You certainly fell on your feet, didn't you? Our precious father didn't bother feeding me and Tom for weeks on end, yet you're a countess."
"No, no. It wasn't like that, Allan." Dulcina was desperate for him to believe her. "After I left, I sent word for you and Tom. I wanted you to come with me, but Henry turned up instead. He beat me."
Allan scoffed. "Yeah, I know that feeling. Because he regularly took it out on us after you left."
"I'm sorry, Allan. I'm so sorry." Tears sprang into Dulcina's eyes and she wiped at them. "He told me that I had no place in your life anymore. I believed him. I'm sorry."
Seeing her eyes well up, Allan looked vaguely uncomfortable but shrugged it off and concentrated on eating more bread.
Dulcina forced a smile, attempting to lighten the mood. "But look at you now. You're so handsome. I'm so proud."
"I'm an outlaw," Allan replied, bitterly. "There weren't many options for two boys who ended up living on the streets of London because their parents abandoned them. So, yeah. I'm a common thief. I'm not being funny but does that really make you proud? Because it's kind of your fault."
"Oh, Allan." Dulcina sighed in despair. "I feel like such a fool for believing your father. Please believe me. He had me convinced that you didn't want to see me again. I was scared, and I ran. It's unforgivable, I know. But we have a second chance now. Please let me make it up to you."
Allan stopped chewing and swallowed, regarding her levelly. "Can you get me out of here?"
Dulcina nodded, eagerly. "Of course."
He stood up, instantly. "Great. Which way?"
"Wait, wait." Dulcina stood up too and reached a hand out to him. "Please stay for a while. You need a bath, a change of clothes, and a decent meal. I'd like to spend some time with you."
Allan looked at her, warily. "But what if they try to hang me again?"
Dulcina shook her head, vehemently. "It's not going to happen. Trust me." Allan raised his eyebrows at her, sardonically, and she backtracked. "Alright, you don't have to trust me, but you can believe me."
There was a pause as he considered her words, and then he sat down again with a shrug and reached for the wine. "I could do with a bath, I suppose."
"You really could," Dulcina said, wrinkling her nose.
Allan dead-eyed her and she smiled at him, which he ignored. "Let me summon my maid, and then we can have a real catch-up. Where is Tom these days? I'd love to see him, too."
A flicker of pain crossed over Allan's face but he observed her with a deadpan expression. "Tom is dead. Hung by your friend out there, Sheriff Vaisey."
Dulcina's breath caught in her throat as a wave of intense sorrow crashed over her, but she overcame it valiantly, pushing it aside to revisit later. It wasn't the first time she had lost Tom, but, this time, it was permanent, and somebody would pay. But she had to spend this time making it up to Allan rather than wallowing in her own sadness. "I'm so sorry, Allan."
Allan shrugged again, refusing to catch her eye.
There was a huge crash as the outer door to the solar flew open and hit the wall behind it. Dulcina heard her name being called out, angrily. Devereux. She flinched slightly, before remembering that she wasn't back in Ruislip, and that Devereux would never lay a hand on her in anger.
He entered the room in a flurry and stood, glaring from her to Allan in stunned fury.
"What the hell is going on?"
Dulcina regained her habitual composure instantly, and regarded him, coolly. "Darling, meet my son, Allan. He will not be hung today, or any day for that matter."
Devereux stared at her in horrified amazement, before turning to Allan. "Your son?"
Allan raised a nonchalant hand to him. "Alright, Pa."
Devereux looked back at his wife, who shrugged with a faint smile.
"Well, I can certainly see you in him," he said, wryly.
"Oh, yeah. I'm definitely my mother's son," Allan confirmed around a mouthful of cheese and wine. "Running away from my problems is my speciality."