And Then Mine Enemy

by Alison Stuart

  He took a breath and flung open the door.

  ‘What in God's name is going on here?’ he demanded.

  The bedclothes stirred and in the fading light, a woman sat up, pushing her disordered hair away from her eyes.

  ‘Adam, at last.’

  Adam blinked a couple of times as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom and he recognised the occupant of his bed.

  He leaned back against the door frame, closing the door behind him and ran a hand over his eyes. He must be more tired than he realised.

  ‘Perdita! That fool Hewitson told me my wife was upstairs. I thought…’ he shrugged. He had thought one of the camp followers had inveigled her way past Hewitson. Not Perdita Gray.

  She shook her head. ‘Don’t blame him, Adam. It’s my mistake, a stupid misunderstanding I should have corrected but now it’s too late. They think I’m your wife.’

  Adam straightened and walked over to the bed. Looking down into her pale, drawn face, he realised with a jolt that she had indeed been ill. The brown eyes that looked back at him, filled with apprehension, were huge and luminous in the beautiful face.

  He ran a finger down her cheek, tilting her chin to the fading light. Beneath his touch she shivered, clutching at the bed clothes.

  ‘Hewitson said you’ve been ill?’

  ‘Just a fever. I’ve been well looked after, Adam.’

  Her thin shift had slipped down revealing a soft white shoulder and a tantalising glimpse of what lay beneath. Adam took a breath and turned away from her, tossing his gauntlets and hat on to the table.

  He turned back to face her. He knew he should be angry with her but what woman traipsed halfway across England, passing herself off as his wife? None, unless they had a very good reason.

  ‘So, Mistress Gray, are you going to tell me the reason for this subterfuge?’

  She swallowed. ‘Believe me, I would not have come, but I made a promise.’ She lowered her head, covering her eyes with her hand as her shoulders rose and fell.

  Adam crossed to bed and sat down beside her. He raised his hand, intending to draw her to him, brush that messy hair from her eyes and kiss the tears away.

  He took a breath and let his hand fall, reminding himself that she was another’s wife.

  ‘Am I right in assuming you bring me ill news?’

  Perdita nodded and sniffed, wiping the tears with the back of her hand. ‘The worst. I promised Joan…’

  ‘Joan?’ The breath left his body. It could only be Joan. No one else in his accursed family would warrant such an undertaking by this woman.

  She looked up at him, her eyes still brimming with tears. ‘She died of the lung fever in April.’ She took his hand, forcing him to look at her. ‘I have a letter for you, Adam.’ She swallowed, her fingers tightening on his. ‘I promised to deliver it to your hand, so I went to Warwick but they told me you had come north so I had no choice. I had to come.’

  Adam extricated his hand and stood up. ‘It was foolish promise, Perdita.’ He knew his tone sounded harsh, but she evidently did not comprehend the risks to a beautiful woman travelling alone through a country torn by war.

  Her mouth tightened. ‘Nevertheless, it was a promise, Adam.’

  ‘Where is this letter?’

  Perdita gestured to a leather bag that stood on the chest at the foot of the bed beside his shoes. ‘It’s in there.’

  Adam unbuckled the bag and drew out the crumpled and stained parchment. A testimony to the travails Perdita had endured to bring it to his hand.

  He glanced at the superscription and cast Perdita a suspicious glance. ‘This is not Joan’s writing.’

  ‘It’s mine,’ Perdita said. ‘She dictated it to me.’

  ‘So you know what it contains?’

  She nodded.

  He turned away from her and crossed to the window to catch the last of the light as he broke the seal, conscious that she watched him. When he had read Joan’s last words to him he did not move but stood staring down at the words on the page. Everything he had believed and understood about himself and his place in the world tilted on its edge, slid and shattered at his feet.

  He let his hand fall, crumpling the letter in his grip. He hurled the balled letter at the wall, crossed to the table and snatched up his hat and gloves.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Perdita threw back the covers and put her feet to the floor but he did not see her. All he could think about was the woman he should have called his mother. Too late now. Too late.

  ‘There’s an enemy resupply column not twenty miles from here. We’ll hit it tonight.’

  ‘Adam!’

  He heard her call his name and it cut like a knife to his heart as he slammed the door behind him.

  The whole room shuddered as the door crashed shut. Perdita sat on the edge of the bed and lowered her face to her hands. Beyond the door his footsteps echoed on the stairs as he shouted for his men.

  With an effort she stood up, the floor beneath her feet tossing as she crept along the length of the bed. Cursing the weakness of her recent illness and with tears welling in her eyes, she lurched to the window.

  In the courtyard the soldiers gathered, some still saddling their horses. Adam sat astride Robin’s horse, his face shadowed by the heavy pot helmet he wore.

  She leaned against the wall and laid her hand on the diamond panes of the window, feeling the cool glass beneath her fingers.

  ‘Adam. God go with you,’ she whispered as the tears slid down her face.

  As she watched, he wheeled his horse and was gone, his men clattering after him.

  ‘And what do you think you're doing?’ Mary Hewitson stood in the doorway, holding a candle in one hand and a bowl in the other. ‘Back into bed at once, young lady.’

  Grateful for the shadows that hid her face and obedient to Mary's command, Perdita groped her way back to the bed.

  Mary stood over her patient with her hands on her hips. ‘I don’t know what it was you said to our commander but he came down those stairs with the very devil in him.’

  Perdita looked away. ‘It was ill news.’

  Mary sniffed, ‘Aye well, it's none of my business, although if his black humour kills my ’usband it’ll be me he will be reckoning with.’

  Perdita looked up at her wanting to reassure her but not finding the words. Adam Coulter had never seemed like a reckless man but she had never seen the wild grief in his eyes before. Tonight he could be capable of anything.

  ‘Hope you’re hungry.’

  Mary passed her the bowl and pulled up a chair. Perdita obediently tucked into the fragrant stew. It tasted good and she realised for the first time in weeks she was hungry.

  ‘Why did you decide to follow the drum?’ Perdita asked to change the subject.

  Mary shrugged. ‘Obadiah and I hail from 't dales. He went a soldiering when the old Lord Fairfax went to't Low Countries and I went with him then. Ten years I've been a soldier's wife, bearing my children in barns or by’t side of the road and I'd not exchange it for that of a farmer's wife.’

  Perdita looked at the woman with new eyes, trying to imagine the life of a camp follower and failing dismally.

  ‘Where are your children now?’

  ‘Four children I've borne. Two’ve died and t'others live with my sister in Whitby. For all I'd follow Obadiah to the end of the world and back, I'd not have my children along with me.’

  ‘You must miss them.’

  Mary's face softened. ‘Aye of course I do, but I sleep better for knowing they're as safe as can be. Have ye children, Mistress Coulter?’

  Perdita shook her head.

  Mary Hewitson nodded. ‘Ye’re both young. There’s time. I take it you’ve nought been married long?’

  It took Perdita a moment to realise she referred to Adam and the heat rose in her cheeks. For both their sakes, she had to extricate herself from this mess in which she had landed them.

  She ignored the question. ‘I’ll be leaving in the mornin
g.’

  Mary Hewitson raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh will ye now, and you just out of your sick bed? Anyway enough chatter, lass. You need your sleep and I, mine. Drink this. It will help you sleep.’

  Obediently Perdita took the draught Mary proffered and lay down, allowing herself to drift into a deep, black dreamless hole where she did not have to tell the man she loved that the woman he had known all his life as his aunt, was his mother.

  The clatter of horses’ hooves and the sound of men’s voices woke Perdita as the first streaks of dawn began to light the sky.

  Please let that be Adam, she prayed.

  She put a tentative foot to the floor and, relieved to find it stayed solid and unmoving, she padded over to the window. The courtyard had filled with soldiers. Adam’s patrol had returned, and from the wagons that now lined the street, it seemed that his aim to intercept the enemy supply column had met with some success.

  Obadiah Hewitson, helmetless, hands on hips, his face grimed and grey with exhaustion, stood in the centre of the courtyard, issuing orders. She scanned the faces but could not see Adam. Her heart lurched. She had to know if he had returned. She could not wait here like a pallid milksop.

  A pitcher and bowl stood on the table and Perdita poured some water into the bowl and washed herself as thoroughly as the meagre circumstances allowed. She found her gown, cleaned and pressed, neatly folded on the chair and gave a silent thanks to Mary Hewitson. After she had fought her dull, lifeless hair into some semblance of order, stuffing it beneath a coif, she went downstairs where she found Mary Hewitson alone in the inn parlour.

  Mary pushed a plate of porridge across the table to Perdita. ‘You look better today. Nothing like a good night’s sleep to allow God’s healing I always say.’

  ‘No small thanks to you,’ Perdita acknowledged.

  ‘Aye well. It's only what any poor Christian would do.’ Mary sniffed and wiped her hands on her apron.

  ‘Adam?’ Perdita asked.

  Mary looked up sharply. ‘He’s all right, lass. Ridden on to report to Black Tom, he has. He’ll be back later.’

  Perdita looked down at the bowl of congealing oats, hoping that Mary would not notice the relief that flooded through her.

  Mary nodded at the bowl. ‘You eat now. If ye’re up to it, we’ve woman’s work to do.’

  ‘What sort of work?’

  Mary’s lips narrowed. ‘Ye’re a camp follower now, Mistress Coulter, and there’s wounded to tend to. Ye’re not given to faints and swooning at't sight of blood are ye?’

  Perdita shook her head. ‘Not normally.’

  As soon as both women had eaten, Perdita donned an apron, took off her collar and cuffs, and picking up a basket of bandages Mary thrust at her, followed her new friend across the road to the church where the wounded had been taken.

  The church had become an infirmary and the wounded were laid on straw around the walls. Perdita's nose curled at the smell and her barely-cured stomach lurched. She took a breath and steeled her nerve. She could not let sensibilities overcome her when there was work to be done and she had done this work before.

  Adam had paid a price for taking the supply train but it could have been worse. Three men were dead and eight wounded, with three of those close to death.

  Perdita knelt beside a trooper who had a bad blow to the head and was raving in a delirium. Someone had tied a rough bandage around the hideous wound and he fought her efforts to try and redress the wound.

  The trooper sat up wide eyed. ‘We mun get away! They follow us.’

  ‘You’re safe now. Be still.’ It came as a command, brisk and harsh but it had its effect.

  At the sound of Adam’s voice, the man quieted in Perdita’s hands.

  Adam knelt beside Perdita and with firm but gentle hands on the man's shoulder, they laid him back on the rough bed. ‘Let this good woman see to that wound, Oldham.’

  The man turned his wide-eyed stare on to his commander's face. ‘Are they gone?’ the man asked.

  ‘They’re gone,’ Adam replied.

  The trooper, mollified, closed his eyes.

  Adam did not move as Perdita finished her task without further resistance.

  ‘What was he talking about?’ she asked.

  Adam shrugged. ‘Any number of incidents. Before I took command of this company they had been through hell. The north was all but lost.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Rupert is even now marching to relieve York and the fate of the north will be decided once and for all.’

  ‘It will come to battle?’

  ‘Inevitably.’

  Adam stood up with a grunt, ruefully rubbing his leg. He held out his hand and helped her up.

  ‘Your leg still bothers you?’ Perdita asked.

  He shook his head. ‘My leg’s fine. I’ve been on horseback the better part of three days. I’m just tired.’ He looked around the church. ‘And my men here are in considerably more need of your hands than I am.’

  He turned away and limped down the row of men. Perdita watched as he moved from one man to another, talking to them and reassuring them as he had done after the battle of Edgehill. Perdita watched his soldiers’ faces and the eyes that followed his progress. For a foreigner from the south, it seemed to her that Adam Coulter had done much to win the respect of his men.

  ‘Well he seems in a might better humour this day.’ Mary joined Perdita and they stood together as Adam left the church. ‘There were some who felt my Obadiah should have been promoted but Coulter proved himself at Nantwich and he’s earned his office. His men are never short of rations or equipment like some we could name.’ She glanced at Perdita. ‘For all of that, we know him no better now than we did when he first came to us. We had no notion he’d a wife.’

  ‘I always said that what the major needed was someone to warm his bed at night.’

  Perdita turned to see one of the women who had been tending the wounded, a young, pretty and extremely curvaceous girl. Her gown seemed a little small for her and flesh spilled from the top of her bodice in a decidedly unladylike and definitely ungodly fashion.

  ‘You be thankful. Ye’ve a good man in your husband, Peggy Brown,’ Mary scolded.

  The girl pouted. ‘Who wants a good man? I think someone like the major would prove much better sport between the sheets than my Lemuel.’

  ‘Down on your knees and pray.’ Mary sounded genuinely shocked. ‘The major is a married man. This ’ere’s his wife.’

  ‘I thought that was what you said.’ The girl shot Perdita a glance, her lower lip pouting as she said with lowered eyes, ‘I apologise for speaking out of turn, Mistress Coulter.’ Her glance flashed back. ‘You must be an angel to hold him in such a thrall. There's few men can resist what I have to offer.’ With that the girl flounced off, her hips swaying as she walked.

  ‘Mistress Coulter, you pay no mind to Peg. For all her talk she has a good man in Lemuel and she knows it.’

  Perdita smiled. ‘She would not be the first,’ she said, remembering the women from Warwick.

  At the end of a long day Perdita and Mary returned to the inn. Desperate to wash and change her gown, at the door to Adam’s bedchamber Perdita hesitated. Did she knock or just walk in? What would a wife do?

  She knocked and entered.

  Adam had been asleep, still fully dressed, although his helmet, gauntlets and heavy breast and back plate lay stacked on the floor at the end of the bed. As the door clicked shut behind Perdita, he rolled over and sat up, shaking his head.

  ‘Perdita, what are you…?’ He paused. ‘Oh… I forgot you’re my wife and therefore entitled to be here.’

  Perdita held out her stained skirts. ‘I need to change.’

  Did she detect the ghost of a smile, twitching the corners of his mouth as he said, ‘That can wait a minute or two. We must talk before this matter gets any more out of hand.’

  Perdita sat in a chair beside the table and waited while Adam rose from the bed and padded in his st
ockinged feet across to the window. He braced his arms against the casement and stood staring out into the bustling courtyard.

  ‘What am I to do with you?’ he said at last.

  ‘I know I have to go back to Warwickshire,’ she said. ‘I will leave in the morning.’

  He turned to face her. ‘You’re barely out of your sick bed. Besides I can’t afford anyone to escort you.’

  ‘I can—’

  ‘No, you can’t!’ He ran a hand through his hair and paced the room. ‘God’s death, Simon Clifford must have been mad to let you even attempt this journey.’

  ‘Simon?’ She stared up at him.

  Of course, he didn’t know? How could he know?’

  ‘Adam,’ she swallowed, ‘Simon is dead.’

  He stared at her. ‘Dead?’

  ‘You know he was ill when you freed him from Warwick Castle. He’d contracted the spotted fever and died on the day we were to be wed.’

  Adam stopped his pacing and stood in front of her, all anger and irritation gone from his face to be replaced with profound grief.

  ‘Simon is dead? Perdita. I’m sorry. He was a good man. I liked him.’ He paused. ‘I counted him a friend and there are few in this world I can count in that number.’

  Perdita bit her lip to stop the tears. ‘He was too good to me, and, yes, I miss him.’ She looked away, dashing at the tears that spilled too easily these days. ‘And then to lose Joan. Grief heaped on grief, Adam.’

  The pain welled up in her and she buried her face in her hands.

  ‘Perdita.’ Her name came on an exhaled breath as he knelt before her and took her in his arms.

  She leaned her head against the reassuring solidity of his jacket and he stroked her hair and hushed her like a child. When her grief had subsided, he sat back on his heels and put his hand to her face, ineffectually wiping the tears away with his thumb

  ‘You’re exhausted, Perdita.’

  She sniffed. ‘It’s been a hard winter,’ she said. ‘So much death.’

  ‘For both of us.’ He cupped her face in his hand and smiled. ‘I owe you an apology for my behaviour last night.’