Royalist On The Run. Helen Dickson
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have written everything down. It is my hope there will be no more fighting and I shall return, in which case I shall take him away with me.’
‘And Joan? Is she to remain with him?’
‘Dickon is attached to Joan, but it is only fair to tell you that she came with me unwillingly. She has family in Bath. Do not be surprised if she leaves to go to them.’
‘I see. That is entirely up to her, but I hope she doesn’t. I would be glad of her help.’ She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘The hour is late. It is after eleven. It has been a long day. I must go to bed.’ She walked to the door. He followed her.
‘Goodnight, Arabella. I trust you will have a restful night.’
For some reason he could not fathom, he reached for her hand and pressed a kiss on her fingers. A subtle gasp, barely a whisper, passed her lips and he smiled into her eyes.
* * *
Arabella turned and left him then. He was watching her go, this she knew. His eyes were so very compelling that she wanted to turn and look back at him, but she forced herself to carry on walking. His fingers, firm and warm, had squeezed her hand gently, as if for comfort. Suddenly she had been intensely aware of him, his body, his warmth, the scent of him. Something had flooded through her—desire, she thought, quickening her breath, heating her blood.
A terrible, unfamiliar heaviness rested in her heart as she returned to her chamber. She undressed and climbed into bed and, because she was so weary, she managed to sleep a few hours, but, on waking, she could not stop turning over in her mind the events of the previous night and the changes Edward’s arrival had brought to her life. How could she have agreed to take care of his son? But when he had asked her, when he had waited for her to answer, there had been a challenge in his voice, in his eyes as well.
Nor could she deny that the sensations that had stirred within as he pressed his lips to her fingers had been alarming indeed. When he had entered the room and caught her holding his son, she had tried to ignore the nearness of him, the smell of him, the feelings and emotions that had been overwhelming despite all her efforts to stem them.
When she was young, she had been in awe of the man her parents had told her she would marry. She had also been almost afraid of the force and sheer power in him. Everything about him had been larger than life and she had thought marrying him would be the equivalent of riding into battle on a spirited, powerful horse.
She had been deeply hurt and humiliated when he had discarded her and made up her mind to forget him. But he was not an easy man to forget. When he had entered the house with that enormous pride, and thrust himself back into her life, she’d known that same sense of reckless excitement she’d experienced all those years ago.
By coming to Bircot Hall he had brought disruption to her life. She was resolute in her determination that not until she had been reassured of his benevolence would she grant him her friendship.
* * *
The morning was bright with sunshine, the sky a cloudless blue, the rain clouds that had been present the night before having disappeared with the dawn. The land was still wet and glistened in the bright light, and the trees were thick with dark-green leaves.
After eating a hasty breakfast and eager to be on their way, Stephen and Edward would take their leave of Alice and Arabella in the courtyard. The two gentlemen who accompanied them were already mounted, their horses restless. Edward had not yet appeared, for he was saying farewell to his son.
‘God go with you,’ Arabella said tenderly as she kissed her brother. ‘I beg you take care.’ She could not dismiss the fear in her heart, or her sense of dark foreboding that she might never see him again. ‘Where exactly are you bound?’
‘We have learned that the King has entered Worcester. We will join him there. It is the only Royalist stronghold left. It will be the King’s last attempt to gain his throne and he needs every man he can get. It’s his last hope.’
When Arabella stepped back and stood beside Margaret, who was quietly watching the scene with tears in her eyes, Alice threw her arms around her brother’s neck in a final farewell. As Stephen looked over Alice’s shoulder, his eyes rested on Margaret. Gently detaching himself from Alice’s arms, he went to the young woman and, taking her slender hand, raised it to his lips.
Margaret’s pale face flushed with pleasure at receiving attention from a man whom from short acquaintance she had come to admire intensely, a man she found appealing to her senses. Her eyes smiled her appreciation. Arabella couldn’t hear what he said, but she was glad Margaret had not gone unnoticed by Stephen.
When Edward came out of the house Arabella looked towards him. There was an air of melancholy about him. He scarcely seemed to notice what was going on about him as he dabbed his brow with his handkerchief and strode to his horse. Arabella wasn’t so insensitive and heartless as not to realise how he must be feeling on parting from his son. She could well imagine how difficult that must have been for him. The leave-taking had clearly affected him deeply. She found she could not bear that withdrawn look on his face and went to him.
‘You have said farewell to Dickon?’
He nodded, his expression grim. ‘Alice’s children are amusing him. He will hardly know I’ve gone.’
‘I’m sure that is not so. He will miss you. But...tell me, Edward—is Malcolm Lister likely to come here looking for you?’
He gave her a penetrating look. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘When he finds Dickon is not in London, what then? Will he not enquire as to his whereabouts?’
‘The servants saw me. Malcolm will know I have taken him.’
‘Which is a father’s right. But you are a fugitive. As Dickon’s uncle he will want to know where you have taken him. With your close relatives either dead or in France and knowing you and Stephen are close friends, will he have reason to come here? I ask because I am concerned.’
‘Understandably so and I have reason to believe that Malcolm will go to any lengths to find him. It is not beyond the bounds of possibility that he will remember that you and I were once betrothed. It would not be difficult finding out that you are living with Alice and that he will come here. I advise you to be on your guard at all times—although at this present time with the Commonwealth army marching towards Worcester, I can only hope he will be occupied with military matters.’
‘What I recall of Malcolm Lister is that he is a man to watch and he has the long nose of a bloodhound. We must hope he does not come here.’
‘It cannot be ruled out. Perhaps we will meet in armed combat. If not and we both survive the battle, I can guarantee he will seek me out afterwards. He wants to hurt me. He thinks he can do that by taking Dickon and seeing me hang.’
He was looking at her intently and his magnetic eyes stirred her painfully. ‘I pray that does not happen.’
Edward’s eyes creased with pain. ‘It grieves me to have to leave my son. But I must go. I have striven for peace, but still I must fight. If there is to be another battle, then so be it. It is the price men like me have to pay to bring the King into his own. I would have contempt for myself if I did not do my duty towards my King and country.’
Her eyes suddenly moist, Arabella lowered her head, not wanting to dull the edge of his courage with her fear. ‘I know and I understand your duty well. Should Malcolm Lister come here I will do my utmost to hide Dickon. That I promise you. Be assured he will be well looked after.’
His eyes flickered in appreciation and the corners of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile. ‘I know you will—and he will have young children to play with. His life so far has been peopled with adults—it is not good for him. If there is to be yet another battle, which I fear there will be, in my darkest hours your kindness