The journey into Lancashire was uneventful, and Lysbeth and Tom completed it quickly. Lysbeth told Tom much about her adventures since the battle of Naseby, but for some reason she could not fully explain to herself, she dwelt but lightly on the time she and Sir James had been alone together. She had noticed Tom's tendency to frown whenever Sir James was mentioned, and she avoided talking of him as much as possible. Reaching Tom's home, she was welcomed effusively by his parents.
'Why, Lysbeth, you poor little thing! How sensible of Tom to bring you here. You must stay a long time. We will look after you. 'Tis better for you to be here than at your aunt's.'
Mistress Bridges fussed round her, and Lysbeth revelled in the comfort of a well-appointed house after her weeks of adventure. She gradually settled into the routine. Tom paid frequent visits home, and life was so placid and uneventful that Lysbeth looked forward eagerly to these visits. She had written to her aunt to let them know where she was, and received back the welcome news that her aunt was regaining her strength, but was glad she was in good hands for the time being. No plans were made for Lysbeth's return to Yorkshire. Her uncle wrote that he was taking the opportunity to have many alterations made to the house, and it would be some months before it would be truly habitable again, so Aunt Mary was staying in Oxfordshire with her daughter for the time. It was assumed by everyone that Lysbeth would remain where she was, and she was content, enjoying riding round her old haunts, though she carefully avoided her own home, having no wish to view the ruins of it.
About a month after Lysbeth had first arrived, Tom came on one of his flying visits. They rode up on to the moors, but as it was a hot sultry day, they rode slowly, and Lysbeth gladly agreed when Tom suggested that they rest under the shade of some trees. Tethering the horses, they sat down on the turf and chatted desultorily about unimportant topics. There were long but companionable silences. Lysbeth was sitting pensively gazing across the valley in front of her when she was startled to feel Tom's hand over her own as it lay on the grass. She turned quickly to look at him.
'Lysbeth, my dear, I have not wished to bother you too soon, but do you remember what I asked some time ago, before the disaster at your uncle's house?'
Lysbeth nodded a little breathlessly.
'Have you thought on't? Could you marry me, dear Lysbeth ?'
'I – forgive me, Tom. So much has happened, I have not thought much on it.'
He looked disappointed. 'I had hoped, but it matters not. Will you consider it now? I love you, Lysbeth, and now you have lost all your family, if you can accept my proposal we could be married speedily, and I would have the right to care for you. I would try to make up to you for the hurts you have suffered.'
She smiled at him somewhat tremulously. 'You are kind, Tom. I will think on it, I promise.'
'I shall be here for three more days. Could you possibly decide by then?'
Lysbeth paused, then nodded slowly. Tom picked up the hand that he held imprisoned under his.
'Lysbeth, my dear, please let it be yes. I have loved you for so long.'
Shc looked down in confusion, and he released her hand, beginning to talk after a few moments of other things. They soon returned home, and Tom did not again broach the subject, but Lysbeth thought continuously of it. She liked Tom, she had always found him a pleasant companion, but she felt unsure of herself, and wished there was someone she could confide in. But there was no help available, and on Tom's last day she knew that, in fairness to him, she would have to give him her answer.
All day she worried over it, sometimes deciding she would be very happy with Tom, and at others terrified at the thought of marrying him. By supper-time she had decided what her answer must be, and when Tom drew her out into the garden for a walk after the meal was finished, she was calm. They walked down the path towards the kitchen gardens, and when they were out of sight of the house, behind some trees, Tom stopped and turned towards her.
'Have you an answer, Lysbeth?' he asked anxiously. She looked up at him, and for a moment could not speak, then the worried look in his eyes, the almost pathetic anxiety that her answer should be favourable, suddenly warmed her heart. She nodded.
'Yes, Tom,' she whispered. 'I will marry you.'
He pulled her to him, and putting his arms round her held her closely for a moment.
'Thank you, my dear,' he whispered, and bent his head to kiss her on the lips. Lysbeth closed her eyes, and wondered if she had been right. The kiss lasted a long time, and Lysbeth was breathless when Tom finally released her.
'Let us go and tell my parents,' he said, and she nodded, smiling. Hand in hand, they went back along the path, and walked into the parlour where Tom's parents were sitting.
'Lysbeth has promised to be my wife,' he announced abruptly, beaming round.
Mistress Bridges rose, and came across to Lysbeth, smiling widely, and embraced her.
'My dear, I am so pleased. I knew that Tom had hopes, and I am delighted for you both.'
Mr Bridges patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. 'Tom has made a good choice. We shall be so glad to have you in the family.'
Lysbeth was warmed by their approval, and for the rest of the evening they sat talking happily, making tentative plans for a wedding the following spring.
Early the next morning Tom had to depart, and life resumed its pattern. The only difference for Lysbeth was that Mistress Bridges fussed round providing things for a trousseau, and setting her to embroider chair-backs and bed hangings.
'You will live here, of course, my dear, for a time,' she said one morning. 'We can find you a suitable house not too far away when the war is over and Tom can be with you permanently.'
Lysbeth agreed, and enjoyed collecting her new possessions, and the importance which now attached to her, Tom's betrothed. Mistress Bridges took Lysbeth with her on many occasions when she visited her friends near by, and it was on one of these visits, one afternoon, that Lysbeth received a shock.
They had been sitting chatting to their hostess, a lady who had long been friendly with Mistress Bridges, when a servant announced more visitors.
'Mistress Mary Ambrose, Ma'am, and Sir James Howard.'
*
Lysbeth looked up with a start of surprise, her heart beating rapidly, to see Sir James enter the room, escorting one of the loveliest girls Lysbeth had ever seen. She studied her as she made her curtsy to the older ladies, and saw a fair, dainty creature with bright blue eyes, delicately rosy cheeks, and the palest gold hair hanging in a profusion of curls. Sir James had noticed Lysbeth immediately on entering the room, and when their hostess introduced them he laughingly told them he was acquainted with Lysbeth, having been a friend of her brother's.
He came over and sat by her, and as the two older ladies were asking anxiously after Mistress Ambrose's mother, who had recently been ill, they were able to talk privately for a few moments.
'I see you remain with the Bridges,' Sir James said. 'How are things with you?'
'Very well, I thank you,' Lysbeth replied somewhat breathlessly. 'My aunt is recovering, but I shall not rejoin her for some time, and then – ' She paused. For some unaccountable reason she did not wish to tell Sir James of her betrothal. 'But what do you here?' she asked quickly, to cover hesitation.
'I visit relatives,' he answered. 'They live but a few miles away'.
'Mistress Ambrose is a relative?' Lysbeth asked.
'No, she is but a friend. I have known Mary for many years, somewhat as your Tom has known you.'
Lysbeth looked up at him quickly, and then away again. She had remembered his ramblings when he had been in delirium in the barn, and his frequent calls for Mary, his expressions of love for Mary.
Luckily, the conversation then became general, and Lysbeth did not have opportunity for further private speech with Sir James. Soon after that Mistress Bridges left, and they drove home in silence, Mistress Bridges thinking of her household tasks, and Lysbeth pondering this unexpected meeting with Sir James.
A few days later Mistress Bridges told Lysbeth they had been invited to a ball by some neighbours who lived a few miles away.
'It is next week, my dear, and Tom will be at home. How fortunate. Have you attended many balls?'
'I have been to only a few,' Lysbeth answered. 'I was not really old enough before – before – '
'Of course, my dear,' Mistress Bridges interrupted, seeing her hesitation. 'But did you not attend balls in Oxford, when you were there with Arthur? I hear that the King's Court was very merry.'
'Oh, yes, I attended several there, but I was there only a short time.'
'But you can dance? You do not need lessons?'
Lysbeth smiled at her. 'I think I can manage, Ma'am.'
'Then you may have to teach Tom. He has not until now cared for that sort of thing, but I am sure that to please you he will learn.'
'When does Tom come home?' Lysbeth asked.
'At the beginning of next week if all is well. 'Tis indeed fortunate he will be here to escort you. We must see about a gown for you to wear.'
Soon they were absorbed in selecting materials, and Lysbeth chose a dark gold silk, which complemented her dark beauty admirably. The sewing maids were kept busy making that and a dress of blue taffeta for Mistress Bridges.
Tom arrived in the midst of the preparations, and though he did not altogether approve of dancing, having imbibed this attitude from his Puritan fellow soldiers, he smiled at Lysbeth's obvious excitement, and said nothing to dampen it.
When the day came and they were ready to set out, he joined Lysbeth in the hall while they waited for the carriage to be brought round, looking at her admiringly.
'You will be the most beautiful girl there,' he told her, dropping a kiss lightly on her cheek. She smiled at him happily. 'You must take care over your partners,' he warned her.
'Why, what can you mean?' she asked in puzzlement.
'There will be men who would not scruple to take advantage of you if they had the opportunity.'
'Why, Tom!' Lysbeth laughed. 'Surely not, amongst your friends?'
'None the less – ' he began, but she interrupted somewhat sharply.
'I went to balls in Oxford, and took care of myself there. I doubt if your mother's friends are any wilder than the King's courtiers!'
'I do but warn you for your own good,' he said abruptly. 'I hope you will behave circumspectly.'
'I never behave otherwise,' Lysbeth almost snapped at him.
'You must remember you are my betrothed now.'
'I do not behave any differently as your betrothed than I did before.'
'I wish merely to protect you and advise you. I trust you will take heed of my wishes.'
Lysbeth turned away abruptly, some of her pleasurable anticipation having disappeared. Fortunately, the carriage arrived at the front door at that moment, and they stepped into it. By the time they had driven to the house where the ball was being held, Lysbeth's irritation vanished, and Tom had made no further comments and offered no further advice on how she was to behave. It was an important occasion, and there were many guests at the ball. Lysbeth danced with Tom, and afterwards was quickly claimed for other dances by his friends who had swarmed round requesting introductions.
She was standing with one of these young men, sipping a glass of wine, and her heart leapt when a familiar voice came from over her shoulder.
*
'Mistress Lysbeth, 'tis indeed a pleasure to see you here.'
She turned quickly, a smile on her face. 'Sir James, I had not known you would be here.'
She glanced around, but there was no Mary Ambrose in sight. She introduced him quickly to her previous partner, and expertly Sir James conversed with him for a few moments, before firmly drawing her away to the dance set that was just being formed. Sir James was an excellent dancer, and Lysbeth revelled in it. They performed so gracefully that many eyes watched them as they proceeded through the figures of the dance, and questions as to the identity of these two strangers were on many lips.
When the movements of the dance brought them together, they were able to exchange brief remarks. Lysbeth asked after Sir James's wound, and was told it had healed completely.
'Are you staying long in the area?'
He answered that as yet he could not tell, he awaited on circumstances. He asked about her aunt, and her plans, but she was evasive, for some unaccountable reason not telling him of her betrothal.
As the dance ended he drew her into a small alcove where there were some seats, and she sank gratefully onto one of these, patting the seat beside her invitingly.
'Shall I fetch you a drink?'
She shook her head, and he sat down beside her.
'You are still visiting relatives?' she asked.
'That is my excuse.' He smiled down at her, and her heart lurched with dismay as she thought of Mary Ambrose. 'I have work to do for the King. I know I can safely tell you my true reason.'
Lysbeth nodded abstractedly, having suddenly realised that she was jealous of the other girl, and aghast at the implication of this. She knew now she did not love Tom, that this man sitting beside her was the most handsome, the most charming, and the kindest man she had ever known, and that she was aware only of him, and cared for nought but his company. She was hopelessly in love with him, and he was in all probability in love with Mary Ambrose. In any event, he did not regard her with such feelings – and she was betrothed to Tom Bridges.
With a great effort, she brought her mind back to what he was saying.
'I am visiting landowners seeking support in money or in men.'
'I have heard little of the war's progress,' she said slowly. 'How is the King? What has been happening?'
'Matters do not go well,' Sir James confessed sombrely. 'After Naseby the King went to Wales, and he was hoping to raise more Welsh recruits, but they did not come. There are too many quarrels on the Royalist side. Rupert wanted to go to the Western army, and methinks at the time he was right.'
'But have the Royalists not lost battles in the west?'
'Aye, they have. The King was intending to make for Bristol, but when the Roundheads captured Bridgwater 'twas no longer safe. Montrose is still having successes in Scotland, but elsewhere Parliament is gradually capturing places held for the King.'
'Can he possibly raise sufficient support?'
'I know not,' Sir James replied heavily. 'The Council is so divided matters go badly from the top downwards, and the King is not a soldier. If we could have one determined leader who could coordinate our efforts, we might succeed. But as yet I see no likelihood of this.'
'I wish you well of your endeavours here,' she said softly, and he smiled at her warmly.
'Thank you, Lysbeth. Are you still, then, on our side?'
'I am sorry for the King. Yes, I think I do support him more than the Parliament. But I am torn, with Tom in the Parliament army. I cannot express my feelings to him too openly now, so we tend not to discuss politics.'
She smiled up at him, enchantingly. 'Thank you for talking to me. You accept that I can now understand, that I am no longer a child?' she teased, having fought down her earlier emotion.
He glanced at her low-cut bodice, the slender waist, and the full skirts caught up to reveal pale yellow petticoats.
'You are a most attractive young woman,' he assured her, and smiled broadly as she blushed. 'You blush most becomingly,' he continued. 'It is an admirable accomplishment. How do you contrive it? 'Tis a most certain way of attracting your gallants. Tell me, do you hold your breath to achieve it?'
She spluttered with laughter at this, and he caught her hand in his. 'Lysbeth, do you think often of the days after Naseby battle, the plight we were in, and the odd life we led?'
'Aye, but it seems so far away now.'
For a few moments they were silent, pensive, then he drew her hand through his arm.
'Come, let us dance again. If we hide away much longer, tongues will be wagging.'
He took her back into the ballroom, and they danced several more dances. Sir James paid Lysbeth many compliments, and she flirted outrageously, enjoying herself in a way she had not for several months, but with an underlying desperation to her gaiety. Some time later they were sitting once again the same alcove, this time drinking wine Sir James had fetched, laughing together over some shared memory, when Tom walked into the alcove with Mary Ambrose on his arm.
*
'So here you are,' he said curtly. 'I have been searching for you a long time, Lysbeth. Good evening, Sir James. Mistress Ambrose is similarly searching for you. I believe you have forgotten a dance you had promised her.'
Sir James had stood up on their entrance, and looked stricken with remorse.
'Mary, my dear, have I really done that? My deepest apologies!'
The girl smiled at him, forgivingly. ' 'Tis no matter, I met Mr Bridges here, who was in a similar plight, having lost his betrothed, and we danced together, comforting one another for our losses.'
Sir James smiled at her, and then turned to Lysbeth.
'Thank you for the dances, and may I wish you every happiness?'
He offered his arm to Mary, and with a brief nod to Tom, left the alcove.
Tom turned to Lysbeth, a look of fury on his face that she had never seen before.
'What mean you by such behaviour?'
She stood up, flushing angrily at his tone. 'I do not understand you, Sir! What behaviour do you mean?'
'Dancing for so long with one man, and hiding in here with him. 'Tis not the behaviour I expected from my promised wife.'
'I have done nought amiss, and if you do not approve, I am sorry for that. But I am not sorry for anything I have done. There is nought for me to be ashamed of.'
She attempted to walk past him, but he caught her arm and pulled her round to face him.
'I am telling you, Lysbeth, that such behaviour is disgraceful, and your name will become a byword in the district if you persist in it.'
'I met an old friend, and we talked together. That is all,' Lysbeth said slowly.
'I hope Mistress Ambrose understands the position,' Tom said coldly.
'Why Mistress Ambrose?' Lysbeth asked, a cold fear clutching at her heart.
'I hear 'tis soon to be announced they are betrothed. Let us hope your unfortunate behaviour tonight has not caused trouble between them.'
'There was nothing that could cause trouble to anyone who is reasonable,' Lysbeth answered sharply.
'You are very hot to defend both yourself and Sir James.'
'There is nothing to defend.'
'I wonder. 'Tis mighty suspicious that you should have so much to talk over in private.'
'What exactly do you mean?'
'You have never told me much of what happened after Naseby. 'Tis somewhat unclear exactly what you and Sir James were doing.'
'I have told you that he was wounded, and we hid, first in a barn, then in a half-ruined cottage.'
'Alone!' Tom interposed.
'Just what do you imply?'
'A man and a girl alone together for a long time? What do you think I imply?'
'You have a filthy mind,' Lysbeth flung at him. 'Would no girl be safe with you in similar circumstances? Is that what you say? Quite apart from the fact that Sir James was wounded, he is not the sort of man to take advantage of a girl, and you are also impugning my honour that I would allow him to deal so with me!'
'I wonder! ' Tom said harshly.
'Do you not realise that Sir James saved me, at some cost to himself, from the unwelcome attentions of some of your comrades? Twice he had to fight Parliamentarians who would have forced their attentions on me. But he has more honour and courtesy than to force his own on anyone who does not wish it!'
'Who does not wish it,' Tom repeated. 'Do you swear that he made no advances to you?'
'I do not need to swear anything,' Lysbeth retorted. 'If you do not believe me, I will not seek to convince you by swearing anything. I will not provide you with such satisfaction. Now please move. I wish to leave.'
Tom reluctantly stepped aside, and Lysbeth, her cheeks flaming and her head held high, marched away. Fortunately, she was able to find Mistress Bridges almost immediately, and on her pleading fatigue, the good lady called for the carriage and had her whisked home and to bed.
After a sleepless night, Lysbeth rose, heavy-eyed, and came late to breakfast. To her relief, Tom and his father were not there, but Mistress Bridges eyed her anxiously.
'You must rest today, my dear,' she said firmly. 'Why not sit under the chestnut tree with some embroidery?'
Listlessly, Lysbeth agreed, and was soon settled on a cushion under the shade of the tree. Mistress Bridges fussed round for a while, then left her to attend to some household tasks, and Lysbeth was not surprised when Tom soon appeared. He stood before her, looking down at her, and she stared up at him, not speaking.
'Good morning, Lysbeth.'
'I do not find it a good morning, Tom,' she replied slowly. 'Will you please sit down? I have something to say.'
He dropped to the grass by her side.
'Tom, I regret that I cannot marry you now.'
He looked steadily at her, then spoke slowly. 'You are overwrought, Lysbeth. There was too much excitement last night, and you do not look as if you slept well.'
'I did not sleep. I was thinking all night of what I must do today. Tom, I cannot marry you.'
'Oh, nonsense. You were upset and hysterical last night. 'Twas the excitement, the unaccustomed gaiety.'
'Tom, I mean it.'
The resolution in her voice penetrated to him, and a sudden anxiety came into his look.
'But why, Lysbeth, dear, why have you changed your mind?'
'I cannot marry you after what you said, after the suspicions you harboured of me. I cannot love you.'
'But my dear, I did not mean to accuse you. I thought it possible you have been taken advantage of.'
'You implied I would have been willing,' she answered coldly.
'Lysbeth, I apologise for what I said.'
Tom spoke stiffly and Lysbeth smiled briefly, but shook her head.
'An apology can make no difference now. You did think it of me, you might again. No, Tom, I cannot bear with that.'
'Please, Lysbeth, do not decide now. Think it over for a while. I return to the army tomorrow, and I shall not be here again for some weeks. Do not decide now, I beg of you.'
' 'Tis no use, Tom. I will not change my mind. I know now I do not love you as I would like to love my husband. Neither, I think, do you love me truly.'
'Lysbeth, you cannot do anything final in such a hurry. I shall be away for about two months. Leave it until I return.'
Seeing he refused to believe her assertions, she reluctantly agreed, and turning with relief from the subject, he began to talk about the army. She followed his lead, and asked questions of what his movements would be.
'I do not know precisely,' he answered, looking somewhat proud. 'I have been given a special assignment. I must travel round and consult with various people, and I know not how long this will take, or how long they will require to think over what I have to discuss with them.'
She raised her eyebrows enquiringly, but he did not elaborate, except to claim it was something that, if successful, would do more for the country than the past few years of fighting had achieved. They went on to other topics, and the day passed uncomfortably for both of them. Tom left the following morning, having obtained Lysbeth's promise not to say anything to his parents of their quarrel. Reluctantly she had agreed, but knew deep within herself she could not now marry him, feeling as she did about Sir James. Even if she could have brought herself to marry Tom without love, she knew his suspicions of her would ruin any happiness they could find.
*
A few weeks later, Lysbeth heard her aunt was completely well, and the letter suggested she should join her aunt and uncle at her cousin's house, a few miles to the north of Oxford, for the Christmas celebrations. Lysbeth viewed this prospect with much relief. She naturally wished to see her aunt and uncle again, and it would remove her from the uncomfortable situation at the Bridges'.
She planned to go at the beginning of December, and Tom came home a week before she set out in order to escort her. Again she repeated she could not marry him, but by now he had decided hers were the natural fears of a bride-to-be, and he did not argue with her, merely accepted what she said, and continued to behave in exactly the same way as before, as if their betrothal were still a fact. Lysbeth hesitated to approach Mistress Bridges, knowing it would upset her greatly that she and Tom had quarrelled, and feeling somewhat cowardly, Lysbeth decided that once she reached her cousin's she would write and explain the situation.
Lysbeth set off, and before Tom left her at her destination he promised he would visit her soon. Lysbeth tried to discourage him, but he insisted, and she shrugged and left it.
Her reunion with her aunt and uncle was joyful, and her aunt was in good spirits. They had a merry time for the next few weeks. Lysbeth told her aunt much of her adventures after Naseby. She had written of these, but her aunt had many questions to ask her. Then she told of her attempt to break off her betrothal, and her aunt, sympathising with her, assured her no one could force her to marry Tom, and she and her uncle would attend to it.
'Do not write until after Christmas, then if you write to Tom's parents I will do the same, and make it clear to them the betrothal is certainly at an end. Now forget it, and enjoy the festivities.'
Lysbeth hugged her gratefully, and threw herself into the Christmas celebrations with vivacity, though her enjoyment was spoilt by moods of depression which she put down to the fact that it was Christmas without her family. Certainly she did not regret the breaking of her betrothal, having realised she had never loved Tom, and the friendship they had enjoyed would never satisfy her in marriage.
So the days passed, and the twelve days of Christmas were drawing to an end when the unexpected arrival of Tom disturbed her once more. He came unannounced on the morning of Twelfth Night, and asked for Lysbeth. Not knowing who it was, she went into the parlour, and stopped short when she saw him standing by the fireplace.
'My dear!' He came across the room to her holding out his arms, but she avoided his embrace.
'No, Tom. Have you not accepted yet that I cannot, will not, marry you?'
'Lysbeth, are you still being obstinate?' he asked in some annoyance, and she began to repeat the weary arguments.
Fortunately, her uncle had also been told of Tom's arrival, and he soon entered the room, putting a stop to their arguments. Thankfully, Lysbeth escaped, and an hour later her uncle came to search her out.
'I have made it plain to the young man the betrothal is at an end. As your next of kin, I have told him I will not consent to the marriage. I think he will not trouble you again.'
'Oh, thank you, Uncle John. 'Tis a relief to have it settled.'
'But I am afraid he is still here.'
'Still here?'
'It appears he is travelling to Oxford, and we could not in charity turn him out. He is to stay the night, and will travel on in the morning. But he has promised not to upset you.'
Lysbeth looked doubtful, as if she mistrusted such a promise, but there was nought she could do about it, so perforce she accepted the situation.
That night, the last of Christmas, the celebrations were even merrier than usual. The servants joined the family and their guests in the hall after supper had been served, and they were entertained by mummers from the village, who also joined in the games that were played afterwards. These became more and more energetic, and everyone was drinking freely. Tom, who had avoided Lysbeth earlier, now came across to her when she was sitting down for a moment's rest, and sat on the settle beside her.
'Lysbeth, must it really be over?' he pleaded, his speech somewhat slurred.
'Tom, I am truly sorry, but it would not have done.'
He nodded mournfully. 'I am sorry too, Lysbeth. You are a comely wench, and I envy the man you do marry, but I wish you well.'
'Thank you, Tom.' Lysbeth was relieved he had finally accepted the situation, and began talking to overcome the slight constraint between them.
'You say you journey to Oxford?' she asked. ' 'Twill be a cold journey.'
'Aye, the roads are hard with frost, but I must meet the Scots there.'
'The Scots?'
He looked at her with a cunning expression on his face, and she realised he was more fuddled than he had at first appeared.
'Which Scots will you meet?' she asked quietly.
'Oh, from the Con – Covenanters,' he stammered. 'We meet secretly.'
'In Oxford? The Royalist city?' she asked, realising there was something most strange in this.
He giggled suddenly. 'Where else would we go when we want the King?' he asked.
Lysbeth waited, knowing he would go on.
'You remember, when I said I had to visit people?'
'Yes,' she said gently.
'These are some of the people. 'Tis a goodly plot we have concocted.'
'To get the King?'
'Aye.' He grinned foolishly.
'What good will that do?'
'Why, if we hold him prisoner, he cannot fight us any more.'
'You cannot hold him prisoner in Oxford.'
'Oh, silly wench. We do not intend that. We will take him to Scotland.'
'But what use would this be?'
' 'Twould end the war.'
'His followers would fight on to rescue him.'
'No. We would make him sign a declaration the war was over, that he accepts Parliament's demands. Mayhap he will not be able to sign. That would be simpler.'
'You mean he would be killed?'
A gleam of caution came into Tom's eyes. 'Not deliberately,' he assured her. 'We mean him no harm.'
'How will you get him? Surely he is well guarded?'
'When he rides out of the town to inspect the troops at their posts, we shall ambush him. 'Tis all planned.'
Lysbeth beckoned a servant and asked for more ale, which he brought. She gently took the empty tankard away from Tom and pressed the full one into his hands. He drank thirstily.
'When is this to be?' she asked.
'In two days' time.'
Then, despite her further questions, he would say no more, and she regretted forcing the extra ale on him. He slipped down further on the settle, and appeared to sleep, rousing to look severely at her.
'No one must know. 'Tis a great secret,' he said, and quaffed the rest of the ale. He was soon asleep, propped uncomfortably in the corner of the settle, and by then the festivities were coming to an end.
Lysbeth made her way thoughtfully to bed, and before she fell asleep had decided that on the morrow she must ride to Oxford and warn the King.
*