‘Zounds, that smells good.’ Rupert looked appreciatively at the tray laden with pasties and fruit.
His gaze ran equally appreciatively up and down Perdita and a protective pang jolted Adam. No man had the right to look at Perdita in such a way, prince or not.
‘Your Highness, may I present Mistress Gray.’
Perdita curtsied.
‘Mistress Gray is a most able nurse, your Highness. I believe I owe her my life.’
Rupert raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah well, I would that when I am so unfortunate as to be wounded in battle that I may have so attractive a nurse.’ He smiled. ‘Thank you, Mistress Gray.’
Recognising she had been dismissed, Perdita shot Adam a quick, questioning glance, before leaving the room.
Rupert devoured one of the pasties in a couple of mouthfuls. ‘A most attractive woman, Coulter,’ he said as he reached for a second.
‘Another man’s wife, or soon to be.’
Rupert raised a questioning eyebrow as pastry crumbs fell to the table in a shower. ‘Who is the fortunate man?’ he asked with his mouth full.
‘Simon Clifford. This is his house.’
Rupert brushed the crumbs from his jacket. ‘Ah yes. I have met the man. One of Northampton’s officer. Not a soldier.’ Rupert regarded him for a long moment. ‘To business. So your brother wants to see you hanged?’
‘Apparently.’
He waited while Rupert quaffed the jack of ale. He set it down as he wiped his mouth. ‘Surely my uncle would not concern himself with a mere captain of horse?’
‘I do not need to tell you that my brother’s wife has some powerful friends among the king's advisors. I have no doubt they would see my death warrant signed for the chance of a few nights in bed with her.’
A smile lit Rupert’s dark features and he laughed, throwing back his head. ‘Ah, Coulter,’ he said. ‘I would probably arrange it myself for that pleasure.’ The smile faded. ‘Now, what is it you think I can do?’
‘Release me from my parole.’
Rupert stared at him thoughtfully. ‘That is a big thing you ask of me.’
‘I wouldn’t ask it unless I knew it was within your power, your Highness.’
Rupert’s eyes narrowed. ‘Well I have already given you one option. You won’t reconsider and join with me?’
Adam met his former commander’s gaze. It would be so easy to say yes and join Rupert once more, but what was at stake here was greater than the fate of a small German palatinate. He fought for his country, for his beliefs.
‘No, your Highness. My word is given.’
‘So be it.’ The prince brushed the last of the crumbs from his clothes, stood up and strode to the door in two strides. He stopped and turned once more. ‘Your brother is with the queen, only a day’s ride from Stratford. I plan to meet them there tomorrow. If I encounter him, I will intervene directly with him and tell him that you are a free man.’
‘Thank you, your Highness.’
Rupert shrugged. ‘In case I am distracted. Have you paper? I will sign a pass for you.’ He scrawled a few lines and signed it with a flourish, sealing the document with his own ring. He folded it and handed it to Adam. ‘I would advise you to depart this place as soon as possible. I cannot answer for your brother’s next actions.’
‘Thank you, your Highness.’ Adam rose to his feet and inclined his head.
At the door, Rupert glanced back. ‘The debt is paid, Coulter. If it is our misfortune to meet on the field of battle, there will be no quarter.’
‘And none expected.’
The door slammed shut behind Rupert and within ten minutes all was quiet. Adam leaned against the window casement watching the prince and his companions ride away. He blew out a breath. He had forgotten that the Prince could be an exhausting companion.
Robin peered around the door, anger tempered with confusion on his face.
‘Why didn’t tell me you knew the prince?’ he demanded as Adam gestured for him to enter.
Adam limped back to the table and handed his brother Rupert’s safe pass. ‘I didn’t want Denzil removing me to some godforsaken part of the country if he knew that I was not entirely without friends in influential places.’
Robin broke the seal, scanned the paper and paled. ‘Denzil will have apoplexy, and as for Louise, there will be hell to pay for this. Why didn’t you tell me this was what you planned.’
‘Because you wouldn’t have gone.’ Adam sank into his chair and ran a hand across his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Rob. I’ve probably brought a world of trouble down on your head.’
Robin met his eyes. ‘I can manage Denzil,’ he said, ‘but Louise…’ He shuddered and threw the paper back on the table. ‘I do know one thing. You need to get back to Warwick as soon as you can before Denzil finds out that Rupert has released you from your parole.’
‘I know.’ Adam glanced at the window where rain lashed the diamond panes. ‘If I leave now I can probably make Warwick by nightfall.’
Robin shook his head. ‘I’m not going to try and dissuade you,’ he said. ‘I’ll see what can be done about a horse.’
Perdita tied the knot on the bandage. ‘Try that,’ she said.
Adam tentatively rose to his feet, taking his weight on the bad leg that Perdita had padded and bound as firmly as she could.
‘It will do,’ he lied.
Perdita rose from her knees and crossed to the window where the rain still lashed unabated. ‘You can’t leave in this weather. You will be back in your sick bed.’
‘I appreciate your concern.’ Adam joined her at the window. His hand rested on her shoulder. ‘I’ve no choice. I have to go now or Denzil and Louise will have my neck in a noose before the week’s end.’
He was so close his breath lifted her hair. His fingers tightened on her shoulder, drawing her around to look up at him.
‘Perdita,’ he whispered.
She shivered. ‘Adam, I…’
He laid a finger on her lips. ‘Just let me look at you. I may never see you again.’
A cry of anguish stopped in her throat. Never to see him again?
‘No.’ she murmured. ‘We will meet again. We must...’ She leaned in toward him, willing him to hold her closer, to kiss her, but he drew back, swinging around to face the window at the sound of hoof beats.
‘Damn it!’ Adam cursed.
A knot of horsemen, wearing the Marchant colours rounded the bend in the drive with Denzil at their head. A woman in a scarlet riding costume, the matching feather in her hat, bedraggled and trailing down her back, rode beside him on a grey mare.
‘Who is the woman?’ Perdita asked, already knowing the answer.
‘Louise,’ Adam said, the name escaping on a breath.
Perdita turned to him and laid her hand on his chest, pushing him toward the door. ‘Go now, Adam. Robin has a horse for you. I’ll delay them.’
He shook his head, slamming his fist into the window sill. ‘I couldn’t go fast enough. However long you could delay them, I wouldn’t reach Warwick.’
Perdita balled her hand and pounded his chest in impotent despair. ‘Adam, you will lose everything if you stay. Denzil won’t let you go, no matter how many passes the prince may write.’
He curled his hand around her neck and drew her close, resting his chin on the top of her head. ‘Hush Perdita, this is not your concern.’
‘But it is,’ she said. ‘You are my concern…’
This time, her words were silenced by his lips on hers, nothing more than a quick brush as he disengaged her, holding her at arm’s length.
‘Please don’t fret on my account, Perdita. I am quite capable of looking after myself. Trust me.’ He gently pushed her away. ‘Go and greet your unexpected guests and hold them off as long as you can.’ He glanced at the bed. ‘I feel a sudden relapse coming on.’
Something like a smile twitched the corner of his mouth and Perdita nodded. She understood what needed to be done.
Taking a deep breath,
she straightened her collar and cuffs and prepared for battle.
Chapter 9
Preswood Hall
July 2 1643
Louise Marchant swept into the Great Hall trailing Denzil in her wake. Despite being muddy and bedraggled from a long ride in the rain, Louise resembled an exotic bird that had found itself in the company of sparrows. Her sharp gaze raked the furnishings and the small group gathered at the foot of the stairs, barring access to the upper floors of the house.
‘Joan.’ With a smile on her lips that was not reflected in her eyes, Louise advanced on her husband’s aunt. She bent and kissed Joan’s cheek. ‘How thin are! Nothing but skin and bone and... black. Joan, it does nothing for you.’
‘It is an unexpected pleasure to see you too, Louise,’ Joan responded in a glacial tone. ‘May I introduce my stepdaughter, Elizabeth Clifford.’
Bess sank into a deep curtsey. ‘Lady Marchant.’
Louise waved her fingers at Bess. ‘No need for such formality, my dear. Here among my friends and family, I am simply Louise.’ She cast a glance at Robin, one elegant eyebrow arched meaningfully. ‘I trust the lovely Robin has been looking after you well?’
Bess giggled, her hand flying to her throat. Robin's face darkened.
The full force of Louise’s attention now turned to Perdita. Perdita took a breath. This woman was truly beautiful, with thick gold hair and almond- shaped green eyes. Denzil stood looking at her with glazed eyes. Like a moth drawn to a candle, Perdita stared, unable to take her eyes from this woman. Little wonder that men were attracted to her
‘Our kinswoman, Mistress Gray,’ Joan said, the scowl firmly fixed between her brows. Clearly of all the company, Joan remained unmoved by Louise.
Louise allowed Perdita a cursory nod before looking around the room. ‘I am frozen to the bone, Joan. I require a fire and sustenance.’
Joan gestured in the direction of the small, downstairs parlour. ‘Both await you through here, Louise.’
A hastily lit fire struggled in the fireplace of the parlour and a dank, unseasonable chill still hung on the air. Louise’s lip curled in barely concealed distaste.
‘Denzil. A chair.’ She waved a fine-boned hand in Denzil’s direction and he scuttled forward pulling a chair toward the hearth. Louise sat, extravagantly arranging her damp scarlet skirts to best advantage. Everyone else remained standing,
She sighed extravagantly. ‘This English weather. It almost makes me long for France.’
Perdita smiled as Joan ignored the whining. ‘The queen was successful in her mission?’ Joan enquired.
Louise turned to her and smiled. ‘Very,’ she said. ‘With the arms she has brought with us, this affray should be over in no time.’
Ludovic entered bearing a tray of the same hearty fare that had satisfied a prince. Louise’s nose twitched at the sight of the pastries and small ale.
‘Had we had some notice of your arrival, Lady Marchant, we would have prepared some more exciting delicacies,’ Bess conciliated.
Louise flashed a smile in Bess’s direction. ‘We did not wish to waste time. Denzil, I will take that pastry.’
Denzil scurried forward, arranging a pastry on a platter and handing it to his wife. Whatever spell Louise had used to bind her husband to her will, it was a powerful one. Perdita had never believed in witches, but then she had never met Louise Marchant.
As Louise delicately picked at the pasty, she chattered about the wonders of France and the hardship of the journey back to England. Perdita wandered across to the window and stood looking out at the rain-swept landscape as Louise held court to her silent audience.
‘Imagine, we were fired upon when we landed in Yorkshire. The queen, her very Majesty, had to cower in a ditch. Who are these upstart rebels that they should treat their king and queen in such a fashion?’
The rustle of petticoats drew her attention back to the room as Louise rose to her feet, brushing crumbs from her skirt.
‘On the subject of upstart rebels. Where is Adam Coulter?’
Perdita answered for Joan. ‘He is in his bed.’
Anger flashed across Louise’s face. ‘What do you mean?’ She cast a glance at her husband. ‘From what Denzil tells me, it has been nearly three weeks since he was wounded. He cannot still be abed?’
‘His wound suppurated and he has suffered a serious relapse of wound fever,’ Perdita lied.
She had no fear of Joan betraying the untruth, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Bess cast a curious glance at Robin. Robin answered with a shrug. Perdita breathed. They would confirm her tale.
‘Robin is this true?’ Louise rounded on Robin.
‘We feared for his life on more than one occasion,’ Robin responded without a flicker of an eye.
Louise narrowed her eyes. ‘I am sorry to hear that. Robin, take me to his bedchamber.’
Robin glanced at Perdita and Perdita stepped forward. ‘I will take you, Lady Marchant.’
With her heart in her mouth, Perdita opened the door to Adam’s bedchamber and repressed a quick smile. The man who, half an hour previously, had been contemplating a ride to Warwick, now did a very convincing impression of a man on his death bed. He made a feeble effort to pull himself up on the bolsters as Louise swept in to the room.
‘Louise, I thought I heard your voice,’ he said in a weak voice. ‘Looking magnificent as always. In fact, you’ve hardly changed.’
Louise stood at the end of the bed regarding him for a long moment, before she said, ‘You on the other hand. I would not have recognised you. You have become quite the… what are they calling them, Denzil? Quite a roundhead.’
Adam’s lips twitched as he looked past her. ‘Denzil too. What a pleasing family reunion this is.’
Denzil glowered. ‘What’s this about a relapse? Robin’s last report indicated you were well on the way to being fit enough to come to Oxford.’
Perdita glared at Robin who grimaced.
‘Relapses are not uncommon, particularly when Captain Coulter was used so ill. I warned Colonel Marchant there was a risk of lung fever.’
Louise responded with a hiss and a wave of her hand.
Adam ignored her, his gaze seeking out Denzil. ‘Even if I were fit to ride, I’m not going anywhere with you, Denzil. I take it you’ve not seen Prince Rupert?’
Denzil frowned. ‘Rupert? No, we cut across Stratford to reach here. Why should that concern you?’
Adam reached under the bolster and held out the pass Rupert had signed.
‘What’s this?’ Denzil took the paper and scanned it, the colour rising in his face.
‘What nonsense is this?’ Louise snatched the paper from him.
‘It’s what it says, Denzil,’ Adam replied, a little strength coming back into his tone. ‘The prince has revoked my parole and given me free pass to return to Warwick.’
‘Robin?’ Denzil rounded on his brother.
Robin held up a hand. ‘It was not my doing,’ he replied, and added in a low sulky tone. ‘I was not to know that Adam and the prince were old comrades.’
‘Denzil?’ Louise’s voice had a petulant edge. ‘What does this mean?’
‘It means, my dear, that Adam is a free man.’
Louise frowned. ‘How?’
‘He has evidently gulled Rupert into releasing him from his parole.’
‘But how does he know Prince Rupert?’ Louise frowned.
Robin retrieved the paper from her and returned it to Adam.
‘The prince himself came here. It seems he and Adam served together in Germany,’ Robin said. ‘I could hardly prevent his visit.’
The colour in Denzil’s face rose to an alarming puce.
‘Is there nothing you can do?’ Louise demanded of her husband.
Denzil shook his head. ‘Nothing.’
Louise paced the room, her lips set in a hard line, her eyes narrowed. She stopped beside her husband and a smile curled her lip. A smile that made Perdita shiver and cross her forefinge
r and thumb, the sign against witches.
‘But surely the parole does not apply if the charge is one of rape and murder?’
Denzil looked at his wife. ‘What do you mean?’
Louise turned to face Adam. ‘I mean, it is time Adam answered for his deeds that night. The old charges still stand.’
Perdita held her breath, not daring to look at Adam.
Even Denzil looked doubtful. ‘That was so long ago, and—’
‘And?’ Louise’s eyes blazed. ‘I told you then and I repeat it now, I will see Adam Coulter hang yet for the murder of my brother.’
She cast Adam a look of such pure hatred that a shiver ran down Perdita’s spine.
Adam met Louise’s cold eyes with apparent equanimity. ‘You would perjure yourself, to see me hang? You must hate me very much, Louise,’ he said.
‘You cannot even begin to imagine how much.’ Louise closed her eyes and rubbed her temple. With a heavy sigh, she took her husband’s arm. ‘I had forgotten how tedious this man could be. Now, I have a headache. Joan, please show me to the best guest chamber. I think I may lie down for a little while.’
‘Of course.’ Joan looked solicitous. ‘Your problems were always best solved on your bed, Louise.’
Louise darted Joan a malevolent glance before turning back on Adam. ‘Lock the door on this man, Denzil. I do not trust him,’ she snapped, and her gaze took in the Cliffords, ‘or his friends.’
Now unquestionably a prisoner, Adam paced the bedchamber and swore under his breath. He had misjudged his timing. Far better to have let Denzil haul him off to Oxford and then produced the Prince’s note. Now Rupert’s intervention had proved pointless. His incarceration now had nothing to do with the war and a gentleman’s honour and everything to do with Louise and the unfortunate death of her brother.
No one brought him any supper, and long after the house had gone quiet he lay fully clothed on his bed, his hands behind his head, staring up at the bed hangings while he tried to think of how, in God’s name, he was going to escape this particular knot.
Footsteps in the corridor outside his room brought him fully awake and he slipped off his bed. The key turned in the lock and the door creaked open. He held his breath, every nerve taut, as Denzil lurched into the room, carrying a single candle and a bottle. His brother pulled the door closed behind him and held up the candle. Seeing Adam, he put his finger to his lips.
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