Glad To Be Your Friend

Lady Beth turned and jumped, shocked to find him behind her. Charles reached out and caught her, pulling her to himself to prevent a fall. She freed herself quickly and stepped back, creating a few centimetres between them, jumpily rubbing down her skirt. When against all things sensible, he closed in on her again, she made no show of it, even though she had noticed. She cleared her throat. "Mother was friends with the late Duchess, her birth Mother. She brought her home." She said, almost whispering, but Charles was no longer listening.

Without much knowledge, night slowly descended upon them as the wind became stronger, the air, colder. In the silent, moonless night, Charles could hear his heart pounding and he knew it had no relation to the cold air. From where he stood, he could almost feel her against him, he only needed to move one foot. They stood like that for a while.

Her lips were before him, a breath away from his. When the wind troubled her hair, the mass responded, dancing to the tone, wafting before his nostrils. She pushed them back. It smelt of grace and elegance, and lemon. Charles became undone. His breeches suddenly became too tight and his knees almost buckled. Shocked, he stepped back suddenly.

She startled, placing the much needed space between them. "Your Grace?"

"I apologize." He was momentarily distracted.

"Is all well?"

Desire was drumming through him. His face tightened, for a moment, he had almost lost his dignity …and senses. "Yes." He wiped his mouth, appalled at his reaction of her. Then, "We should explore further." His hands twitched to feel her hair. He sent them into his pockets.

"Are there other places to see?"

He heard her excitement. "Well, the land is vast." She raised her hand to her face and he heard her chuckle. Deeply, he regretted the faded light for he wished to see how much her face beamed at his announcement. Her silhouette did no justice. She held onto her dress up.

He waved her forward and she obeyed. They set out onto the other side of the Stonehenge. Nothing laid further but uncultured grounds. When she walked by, the smell of her hair again endangered his breeches, Charles clenched his teeth. What was wrong with him?! She walked proudly before him, matching forward with her skirt held up to ease her motion. She was eager to see more, to explore, to know more. If only she knew what he was aching to teach her? Shocked, Charles shook his head to rid himself of the vile thought.

"Why were you on the hill that day?" He voiced. It was a lingering question and he used it as a focus. A focus to stop the absurd thoughts in his head. Who was waiting for you?

Lady Beth stepped on a branch and it broke. She sighed softly. "That day? It was my birthday."

He turned, truly surprised. "Congratulations on your new age." Who was she eager to go meet then?

She giggled and soon burst into laughter. What was so funny? "Thank you, Your Grace." She said as soon as her bout of laughter ended. "Indeed, I am grateful for your wishes."

They fell into silence again, walking on. Their feet crushing on dead leaves and twigs kept them company. Charles let his mind wander far, away to the topics they discussed in the council meeting. He thought of the housing sector and decided on the quota he would make towards it. It was the only thing he could do to keep from looking at Lady Beth's bosom.

"How are you so close to the King?" He heard her voice, bringing him back to the present. "It isn't due to the title or wealth you possess. I know that much."

She sounded relaxed and comfortable in his presence, away from the eyes of others or the safety of familiar people. Lady Beth was beginning to trust him, it would seem. "I lived here in the Castle." She stopped. He walked past her. "It was required." It had been demanded.

"Why?" She walked briskly to his side. It gladdened him. Why was he glad? "I have read books of Kings taking the heirs of noblemen captives, to ensure fealty and loyalty. You were taken captive?"

How did she come to such conclusion? Kings no longer take sons to captivity. "My Father sought out a greater relationship with Alexander's Father and I was a pawn." Again, she stopped. This time, he did too. In the dark oblivion they stood in, he felt her pity. A harsh sound escaped his throat. "I don't regret it." And he would not be pitied, least of all by her. "My Father might not have gained, but I did." He started away once more. "A good friend – two, if Brand is included – and a great ally."

She followed after him. "It is disheartening." After a while, "Truly, you do not regret it? Not even the opportunity to grow in the sight of your parents?"

Not even on the coldest of nights. "I regret not living with my Mother." He wished many times he had been with her to protect from his Father's abuse. The wind disturbed her hair again.

"Ah." She complained, pushing against the lovely mass again.

They continued on in silence. The sounds of their boots soon found a symphony Charles began to enjoy. The ambience created was enchanting and comforting, and even with the cold breeze, he felt warm inside. When Lady Beth tripped and almost fell, he caught her and held her a second longer than was required. Charles took his time to finally feel her hair, before helping her stand right and letting her go. Soon enough, she fell again into steps with him; her hands unknowingly bumping against his, he soon felt endangered.

"How old were you when you were brought to the Castle?"

"Nine." He allowed them to walk side by side, his hands still in his pockets, far from her. "The Queen had just passed. She had died of heartbreak, having discovered her husband's betrayal."

"Betrayal?" She sounded intrigued.

"It is not my story to tell."

"But you have to, Your Grace." Her voice was excited. She walked briskly to block his steps. He stopped. "Certainly you cannot leave me unsatisfied."

Unsatisfied?! He struggled to control himself. Her words needed to be well constructed, for the sake of his dignity … and hers, which were currently in great peril. "Brand's Mother was the King's mistress." He blunted.

She gasped. "They are half brothers?"

He sidestepped her, she almost ran to catch up. "Alexander would have your head if you uttered such in his presence. Brand is his brother; he would have it no other way." The King and his brother shared a peculiar relationship that none could understand. And he was not in the least concern of their business, or any else's unless he was required to. "Though he hated their Father."

Without warning, she stopped and pulled on his sleeve, stopping him yet again. Looking down at her, he wished so much for daylight. He wanted greatly to behold her face. Slowly, she asked. "Do you hate your Father, for sending you away to the Castle? Away from your Mother?" Her hand sat rightly on his arm, holding unto his sleeve.

Charles thought long and hard, still looking down at her hand. When she remembered, she hastily released her grip on him. Two times she had forgotten herself in his presence. He raised his eyes to the top of her head. He hated his Father, but that was not the reason. That was not the only reason. He turned and looked back to the Castle. The lights were been turned on and Mainecroft Castle was beginning to build with a faint yellow glow.

He did not like his Father.

"I'm glad you persuaded me to come with you". Lady Beth said into the silence he had created, turning as well towards the Castle. She inhaled and exhaled deeply as though relishing the cold air. "Lucy was right. I was being unreasonably stubborn. I am glad to be here."

Charles's lips twitched. "I'm glad you are here." That was true. Then, "And I'm glad you are my friend." She didn't refuse. It was settled then; Lady Bethany Fitzgerald, from that day was his friend, one he would cherish dearly. His heart raced at the very thought. There was no reason for his excitement, still it lingered, filling him with a joy nothing could explain. He would live through her friendship. "I truly am glad you are here." He repeated.