Campion shook her head. “Not without you, Lady Margaret.”

Campion’s fear of her enemies had grown less. So long as Lord Atheldene commanded the besiegers, she did not fear. He was a man, as Sir George said, of honor and decency who would ensure that the women of Lazen Castle would be spared the horrors of war. Even when Samuel Scammell joined the enemy, Campion being made aware of his presence by a wounded prisoner, she did not fear. Scammell could have no power over Lord Atheldene.

She looked for Scammell, searching the enemy lines with a clumsy telescope that Lady Margaret had mounted on the roof of the keep. Toby was with her, his red hair stirred by the wind. “Perhaps he’s not here.”

“I can’t imagine him as a soldier.” She turned the great tube on its iron tripod to face the village. The image wavered. She could see the earthwork that the enemy had dug across the track that led to the castle, she could see soldiers sitting in the sunlight, their helmets off, eating bread and cheese. A chicken pecked in the village street. “Ah!” She began to laugh. “I’ve found him!”

“Let me see. Let me see.”

“Wait!”

She had half thought that the sight of Scammell would make her afraid, but instead she found him laughable. He had appeared at a house door, blinking in the spring sunlight, and he was scratching his bottom beneath an ill-fitting leather jerkin. He looked lost, out of his depth, and it was impossible to see him as an enemy to be feared.

Toby, who had hardly glimpsed Scammell on the night of the fire in London, stared at his enemy. “What’s the matter with him? Has he got the pox?”

“He’s always scratching himself.”

Toby, grinned. “Captain Scammell, Warrior of the Lord. How could you possibly marry him instead of me?”

She punched him on the arm, moving the telescope, and she waited as Toby re-aligned the tube. He steadied the image. “My God! He’s got his own bodyguard.”

“Let me see.”

Campion squinted through the eyepiece, stooping slightly, and Toby heard a hiss of breath from her. “What is it?”

“It can’t be!” Her amusement had gone. “It can’t be!”

“What?”

“It’s Ebenezer! He looks so different. And the Reverend Hervey.”

Toby took over the glass. “Which one’s Ebenezer?”

“Black hair.”

Toby saw a slight, tallish young man who stood just apart from Scammell. He was dressed entirely in black, even his elegant high boots were of black leather, and Toby could see a breastplate that had been lacquered the same color. He limped as he moved, but there was a strange dignity to his movements. The third man, the Reverend Hervey, his sandy hair falling over his thin face, talked urgently to Scammell.

“I’m frightened, Toby.”

“Why?”

“They’ve come for me.”

“Nonsense.” He straightened up. “Atheldene’s in command.” He smiled at her. “They probably don’t even know you’re here.” He laughed, trying to cheer her up. “It’s natural that they’ve come. This is the closest Royalist house to Werlatton. Don’t worry. James and I will look after you.”