On the following morning Lysbeth carefully slipped out of the house at daybreak, making certain no one saw her. She saddled and bridled her horse herself, and led him cautiously out of the stableyard and along the lane until she came to a stile she could use as a mounting block. The ground was frozen hard, for there was a most severe frost that winter, and Lysbeth had to ride cautiously, allowing her mount to pick his own way most of the time, but late in the morning she reached Oxford, and enquiring of passers-by where the King lodged, she was directed, and found her way there.
On reaching the King's lodgings she was fortunate enough to meet one of the courtiers she had known from the earlier days in Oxford.
'Why, Mistress Lysbeth,' he greeted her, 'to what do we owe this pleasure? I did not know you had returned to Oxford.'
'Mr Morden! How glad I am to see you! I need to speak with the King. Can you aid me?'
He looked curious, but nodded. 'I think so. Come with me and I will discover whether he is occupied.'
He led Lysbeth into a small anteroom, and called a servant to bring wine. She was very cold after her slow ride through the bitter weather, and she was heartily glad of the bright fire that burned in the fireplace. She drank the wine gratefully when the servant brought it, and waited as patiently as she could until Mr Morden returned after about half an hour.
'Well?' she asked him, springing up from the chair where she had been sitting in front of the fire.
'His Majesty will give you audience in a short while. He is writing letters at the moment.'
'Oh, thank you, Sir! 'Tis indeed good of you to help me.'
Lysbeth smiled and reseated herself, and Mr Morden drew up another chair and sat facing her across the hearth. 'What do you in Oxford, Mistress Lysbeth?'
'I do not stay in Oxford itself,' she answered, 'but with my cousin near by.'
'And now you pay us a visit? We are most pleased to see you.'
Lysbeth did not wish to reveal the object of her visit to anyone except the King, and she found Mr Morden's questions somewhat difficult to parry, but he soon turned the conversation on to herself, and began to compliment her. She responded automatically to his flirtatious remarks, but she was obviously preoccupied. It was a relief to them both when a servant came and spoke aside to Mr Morden. When the servant had gone, Mr Morden came over to her.
'I am afraid I must leave you for a while. 'Tis urgent business I must attend to. I do apologise for leaving you on your own, but someone will come to fetch you when the King is free.'
Lysbeth smiled graciously, and he left the room, leaving her to her reflections. She was musing over her feelings towards Sir James, and did not realise the passage of time. It was, in fact, well over two hours before the King sent for her, but she had not thought very carefully about what she must say to him, and she tried to marshal her arguments as she followed the servant along the corridor to the King's study. She was announced, and she dropped into a deep curtsy immediately inside the door.
'Come, my child, 'tis some time since we met. It gives me pleasure to welcome you again to Court. What can I do for you?'
She looked up to see the small, neat man who was her King sitting behind a large oak table. He was smiling at her, and she realised afresh the charm she had felt on the few previous occasions when she had met him, though this time he looked worried behind the smile. Obeying his beckoning hand, she rose from her curtsy and walked towards him.
'Sit here, Mistress,' he said. 'I have been unable to express my deep sorrow at the loss of your brother.'
Lysbeth inclined her head. ' 'Twas a grievous loss for me, Sire,' she replied quietly, 'but Arthur was content to die for you.'
The King sighed. 'Too many have died for me. However, you came, I understand, with a message?'
'Not a message, precisely,' she said slowly. 'It is something I discovered last night. I felt you ought to know.'
'Go on,' the King ordered gently.
'I discovered from a – a friend, that there is a plot to capture you, hold you prisoner, and take you to Scotland. 'Tis some of the Parliament troops working with some of the Scots Covenanters. They are already in Oxford.'
King Charles frowned. 'Forgive me, Mistress, but no one who was concerned with such a plot would blab of it.'
'It is true, Sire, I assure you 'tis so,' she said earnestly. 'The friend who told me was drunk, and he knew not what he said. I believe him to be speaking the truth.'
The King smiled at her calmly. 'There are many such plots, my dear. If I believed all of them I would never stir from my room. I would become a prisoner in truth.'
'Sire, they plan to ambush you as you review the outposts.'
The King nodded as though humouring her. 'I thank you for your care of me, and for your warning,' he said, 'but do not be concerned, I am well protected, and this will not be the first such plot. The others have been foiled, and you may rest easy this will be too. Now if you will excuse me I have much work to attend to.'
He rose, and Lysbeth perforce did the same.
'Your Majesty, I beg of you to believe me!' she attempted once more, but to her dismay realised that though the King was courteously nodding to her, he did not appear to be taking her seriously. He rang a small bell on the table, and immediately the doors opened. He held his hand out to Lysbeth, and as she curtsied she kissed it.
'I thank you, Mistress Fenton,' he repeated, then turned to a servant who was standing just inside the door. 'Fetch Sanders,' he ordered.
Lysbeth, despair in her heart, went slowly from the room, and stood a little way along the corridor, not knowing quite what to do. The servant glanced at her curiously as he shut the door of the study.
'Can I help you, Ma'am?' he asked, but Lysbeth shook her head and moved on down the corridor, unseeing, not knowing where she went. She turned a corner, and after a few yards came to a window with a deep windowseat. She sank on to it and bowed her head, then the impossibility of convincing the King of his peril swept over her, and she quietly began to sob.
*
Her grief was so intense she failed to hear the footsteps coming along the corridor, and was startled when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up in alarm, and beheld Sir James looking down at her in concern.
'Why, Lysbeth, what is it? Tell me.'
He sat beside her and took both of her hands comfortingly in his. 'Tell me,' he repeated, and Lysbeth poured out the story to him.
'The King does not believe me, I know he does not. Please, will you try to convince him?'
'Who was it told you of this plot?' Sir James asked, for Lysbeth had not mentioned Tom.
' 'Twas Tom Bridges. He came to my cousin's house yesterday, and he was drunk. I have never seen Tom drunk before, but he told me this. He had hinted of some plot a few weeks ago, but it was only last night I discovered what it was. Oh, please, James, warn the King, try to make him pay heed!'
He smiled down at her reassuringly. 'I will do my best, do not fear. Leave it to me. But what will you do now? Where are you staying? Who is with you?'
'I am staying at my cousin's house at Witney. I shall ride back now I am sure you will help me.'
'Who came with you?'
'I came alone. I could not tell anyone, or betray Tom.'
She smiled tremulously up at him. 'Thank you, Sir James. If anyone can convince the King, you can.'
'Wait here,' he said, 'and I will see what I can do. I will return soon and ride back with you. 'Twill be dark ere you get there.'
He stood up and moved away, and Lysbeth looked after him, love and longing in her eyes, but after a few moments the thought of Mary Ambrose came to her, and she stood up in some dismay. She dared not remain here and be in Sir James's company for too long. She realised she would be unable to conceal her love from his penetrating gaze. She had already called him 'James' in her distress, and her pride rebelled against showing a hopeless love for a man who was in all probability betrothed to someone else. She walked hastily along the corridor and found a servant, who directed her to the stableyard. She retrieved her horse, mounted, and set off the way she had come.
The roads were iron hard, and slippery with ice, and she had to take great care to keep her horse from slipping. She had ridden for about two miles, and gradually her misery had overcome her, so that her attention had wandered from the task of guiding her horse. When a bird rose with a great flapping of wings from the ground beside them, she was unprepared. Her horse, startled, shied, and slipped on the icy ground, falling to his knees and unseating Lysbeth, who fell to the ground and remembered nothing else as blackness closed over her.
Some time later, her senses began to return to her. She experienced a swaying motion, and before she was fully sensible, realised she was being carried in someone's arms. Then she felt herself laid gently on to something soft, and heard a familiar voice, but the words Sir James uttered were such as to convince her she was still dreaming.
'My beloved, wake up,' he was whispering. 'Oh, my dearest little love!'
At that moment Lysbeth felt his breath on her cheek, and he kissed her gently on the mouth. Her eyelids fluttered, and she opened her eyes to stare up into his. With a sigh of relief he straightened.
'Thank God you have recovered consciousness.'
'Wha – what did you say to me? James, oh, my dearest, did you – do you – '
He looked down at her. 'Be still,' he said gently. 'You have a large lump on your head, though no bones are broken. But you have been unconscious for several minutes. Rest quietly.'
'I – no, I cannot.' Lysbeth tried to struggle up, but was gently held back. 'Did I dream it?' she asked, a pleading look in her eyes, begging him to say no.
'I am sorry, Lysbeth,' he said quietly, with no expression in his voice. 'I should not have said those things to you. I was concerned and overwrought. I forgot for a moment. I had not intended you to hear them.'
'Not meant? But why? Oh, James, why?'
His eyes narrowed in surprise. 'You have made your choice, Lysbeth. You are betrothed to Tom Bridges. I would not for the world disturb your happiness.'
She shook her head wonderingly. 'I am not betrothed to Tom any more. I realised I did not love him. But you, I thought – what of Mary?'
'Mary?' He looked surprised. 'Mary who?'
'Mary Ambrose. Tom said you were like to be betrothed to her, and it did seem probable. Also there was – ' She stopped.
'There was what?'
'In the barn at Naseby, when you were delirious, you kept calling for Mary. You kept saying you loved her, and – and other things like that.'
He looked puzzled for a minute, then smiled. 'That would be my sister Mary. She died when we were but children. There is nought between Mary Ambrose and myself, save friendship, the friendship of a long acquaintance.'
Lysbeth looked up at him in wonder. 'And I thought you did not like me.' She sat up, and this time he did not prevent her. She saw, with no undue surprise, that they were again in a barn. He had obviously carried her to the nearest shelter after her fall. She smiled back at him.
'I thought you felt I was a nuisance, and a child. Why, James, did you truly say those things to me?'
He laughed gently and pulled her to him, cradling her head on his chest.
'I took you for a child when we first met,' he said, 'but after Naseby I realised only too well you were far from a child. I began to care for you very much then.'
'You did not show it,' she said, puzzled.
'How could I, when we were in such a precarious situation? I had to guard your reputation as well as my feelings. 'Twas a difficult task to control myself in those days we spent together. Many times I wanted to take you in my arms and tell you how delightful you were, how much I loved you. Did you never realise?'
She shook her head, and he smiled.
'I must be a better dissembler than I thought. Do you not know how beautiful you are, how attractive, and how desirable? However much you protested, I would never have allowed you to take the risk of meeting other such men as those who attacked you. Did you not realise it was because of your feminine charms, not because of your youth, that I insisted on accompanying you? You are too attractive to let me risk your travelling alone!'
He laughed suddenly.
'What is it?' Lysbeth asked.
'I was thinking of that heaven-sent opportunity I had to kiss you,' he said, grinning down at her, and she smiled with him.
'When we were going to the cottage? And you apologised for it!'
'I shall never apologise again,' he warned her, and she had only time to assure him that he never need do so, before she was wrapped in a close embrace, and was experiencing a kiss very different from any of the ones that had gone before. Breathless, they at last broke apart, and he stared down at her as she lay in his arms. She looked up at him.
'I can scarce believe 'tis true,' she whispered. 'Oh, my dear beloved!'
'Do you feel well enough to move? Your horse was not badly hurt, and he is tethered outside. Can you ride?'
'I feel light as air,' she assured him. 'My head does not ache.' Then her face clouded over. 'But what of the King? James, did you – '
'Do not worry. The King will take all care. I have assured him that what you said was most likely to be the situation, and I made arrangements for the Scots to be apprehended and Tom warned off. Be not concerned, the King will come to no harm, and Tom will be able to make his escape. I thought then he was your betrothed.'
'I would still feel badly if I had betrayed him. I think he will take care not to become involved in such plots again. Thank you, James. I know not what I should do without you. You are always assisting me.'
'As I mean to all my life,' he said, lifting her to her feet. 'There, can you stand?' She nodded, but still he held her in his arms.'There is but one thing that worries me.'
She looked at him enquiringly.
'Could you bear to become the wife of a soldier, one who follows a cause that seems to be lost? I cannot offer you security in the present state of the King's cause. Heaven only knows what will come.'
She looked at him, her eyes shining. 'What matters it, my dearest, if we are together? Come with me now to Witney, and see my aunt and uncle.'
'Think you they will approve of me?'
'They could not do aught else,' she answered firmly, and they kissed again for a long time.
Eventually they made their way out of the barn and over the icy ground to where the horses were standing, where James had hastily tethered them to the overhanging branch of a tree when he had found Lysbeth. Carefully, James lifted Lysbeth on to the saddle and mounted himself, and riding close beside her ready to steady her or catch her should her horse stumble again, they set off slowly over the frozen ground together.
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Marina Oliver has written over 60 novels, and is converting many of them to Ebooks. Others have been or are being published as Ebooks by other publishers. Details of these on my web site are being added to all the time.
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