And Then Mine Enemy Page 3

  ‘For a man who professes to be a soldier, you’re not very brave,’ she said.

  ‘You have a deft touch, Mistress Gray,’ Adam replied.

  ‘My father was an apothecary,’ she said. ‘He let me help him. Had I been born a boy, I would have liked to follow his profession. It was my misfortune to be a girl. There, you’ll live,’ she announced. ‘Now I’ll just dress that cut.’

  She unstoppered the jar she had chosen and sniffed the contents. ‘This may sting a little,’ she said, ‘but it is most efficacious in healing wounds.’

  ‘You’re a Londoner from your voice,’ Adam observed.

  She looked up at him with surprise in her eyes. ‘I am, although there is not enough gold in this country to ever induce me back into that accursed city.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘I left my past behind me when I came to Preswood two years ago, Master Coulter.’ She wrenched a clean cloth into strips of bandage and bound his hand. ‘I thought I would be safe here but now there is all this talk…tell me, will this war reach us here?’

  ‘No one is untouched by a civil war, Mistress Gray.’

  She sat facing him, her hands folded in her lap. ‘And you, Adam Coulter? What side will you take, or are you a mercenary who would sell his sword to the highest bidder?’

  Adam felt an unexpected heat rise to his face. ‘I can’t deny that I fought in the German wars because it was employment, but if I choose to take up my sword in my own land, it will not be for that reason.’

  ‘And what is your inclination?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He glanced up at Lazarus. ‘I only know that the German wars taught me that in a civil war you can’t stay neutral. No matter how much it appals me, a choice will have to be made.’ He brought his gaze back to meet her eyes again, wishing he could read the thoughts behind them, but no doubt years of long practice had given Perdita Gray a carefully controlled mask. He wondered what had happened to her in London that she had sought sanctuary in Preswood.

  He continued, almost despite himself, voicing the thoughts that had been clashing in his head since he arrived back in England. ‘God alone knows I didn’t come home to take up arms in my own country against my own countrymen. I want no part of it.’ His tone sounded harsh with emotion, even to his own ears.

  ‘You’re training Simon’s militia precisely for that reason,’ Perdita pointed out.

  Adam shrugged. ‘Unfortunately I am doing what I’m best at and that is a small thing I can do to repay his hospitality. It does not mean that I subscribe to your kinsman’s politics.’

  ‘Doesn’t it?’

  He rose to his feet and flexed the fingers of his damaged hand. ‘We can pray that sense prevails and perhaps all this talk of war will be for nothing.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said, cocking her head to one side, her eyes searching his face ‘But you don’t believe that, do you? Now you must return to the pikes. Try not to get that bandage wet.’

  ‘I will suggest Clifford has all the staves replaced.’ At the door he stopped, turned and swept her a courtly bow. ‘Thank you for your care, Mistress Gray.’

  She responded with a curtsey and he thought he saw a glimmer of a smile twitch the corners of her mouth as she pulled up her stool to face the bench and opened a large leather-bound volume.

  Adam hesitated at the door and looked back at her. She bent over the book, her slender fingers turning the pages as she unconsciously pushed her hair back, exposing the long, elegant line of her neck. Something jolted within him, something he had not felt in a very long time, an unfamiliar stirring of desire.

  He wondered if Simon ever told her how beautiful she was.

  He closed the door on the scene of domestic peace and strode back towards the Great Hall. A visitor had arrived and, engaged in the act of removing hat, gloves and cloak, he turned as Adam approached.

  Robin’s eyes widened in recognition. ‘Adam? I would have thought you long gone from here.’

  Adam took a breath to steady his nerves. ‘What brings you to Preswood, Robin?’

  ‘Denzil had received no reply from Joan so he sent me to ensure that the message had got to her.’

  ‘Didn’t Denzil trust me with his message?’

  The colour rose to Robin’s face. ‘Yes, but—’ He was saved from further explanation by Joan’s appearance at the top of the stairs. ‘Aunt Joan.’ Robin took the stairs two at a time, bowing low and kissing his aunt’s hand.

  Joan looked up at her youngest nephew, holding him by the forearms as she studied him. ‘Robin! It is you. My word you were but a lad when I last saw you. Now look at you. Whatever brings you to Preswood? Ludovic.’ She addressed the steward who stood patiently holding Robin’s outer garments. ‘Some refreshment for our guest in the parlour, I think. Perdita, Adam, please join us.’

  With her arm tucked into her nephew’s she led her nephew away from the stairs towards the parlour.

  Adam stood still watching as they rounded the corner away from his view. Joan saying, ‘I do hope you can stay the night…’

  ‘I heard voices.’ Perdita’s voice behind him roused Adam from his reverie.

  He paused a moment before replying. ‘My brother, Robin,’ he said, attempting a lightness in his tone he didn’t feel.

  Perdita glanced up at him. ‘Are you going to stand there all day? Or are you feared of facing your own brother?’

  He straightened his shoulders. Perdita Gray seemed able to read his very thoughts. Yes, he admitted to himself, he was afraid of facing Robin. Denzil he could handle, but Robin had been only a boy when he had left England, a boy who had worshipped both his older brothers. Circumstances had now forced Robin to choose between them and, Adam admitted, the choice hurt.

  ‘Perdita, please allow me to present my nephew, Robin Marchant. Robin, our kinswoman, Mistress Gray,’ Joan said, the pleasure of the reunion written on her face. Perdita now wondered how the pain of the long estrangement from her family had affected Joan.

  As they were introduced, Perdita scrutinised the young man’s face searching for some likeness to Adam, but Robin Marchant bore no resemblance to his half-brother. He seemed impossibly young, not much older than Bess. His thick, auburn hair curled to his shoulder, his clothes were of good cloth, fashionably cut, and the lace on his collar looked expensive. He had an attractive, fine-boned face with lively, hazel eyes.

  His mouth curled naturally into a smile at her entry; the smile of a man who liked women and knew that they liked him.

  He bestowed the same winning smile on Bess who stood beside her stepmother, regarding the newcomer from beneath coy, fluttering eyelashes. Perdita was not fooled. As the first eligible young man to cross their doorstep for a long time—and a handsome one at that—Bess could be forgiven for a little harmless flirting.

  ‘You are most welcome to Preswood.’ Perdita dropped a dutiful curtsey. ‘Forgive my curiosity but what brings you here?’

  ‘Denzil didn’t trust me to deliver his message,’ Adam growled as he entered the room behind her. He strode over to the window and stood with his hands behind his back, looking out over the green where barely an hour previously he had been drilling Simon’s militia.

  Robin shot a quick glance at Adam’s back before turning back to his aunt. ‘Denzil wanted to be certain that you would be safe in the coming conflict, Aunt, and as he had not had a response from you he sent me to ensure that the message had been received.’

  ‘I’m flattered that Denzil found it necessary to send two emissaries on that mission,’ Joan said, ‘particularly as no Marchant has shown the slightest interest in my welfare over the last ten years.’

  Robin flushed. ‘Father—’

  ‘Yes, I’m quite aware of my brother’s capacity for holding grudges, Robin,’ Joan said. ‘He’s dead and now Denzil is trying to mend the bridges. How very commendable. Please thank your brother for his consideration, but Preswood is my home and I have no intention of leaving.’ She paused, as if to compose herself.
‘How is Denzil?’

  ‘He is colonel in the King's horse,’ Robin said.

  ‘And you?’

  ‘He made me a lieutenant,’ Robin replied with the smile of a young man bestowed with great responsibility.

  ‘And where is Louise in all of this?’ Joan enquired.

  It seemed to Perdita that the tension in the room heightened, crackling at the very mention of Lady Marchant’s name.

  Robin cleared his throat. ‘Louise remains with the queen in France,’ he replied. ‘The queen is raising money for the King’s cause, a cause we all hold dear.’

  ‘Indeed we do,’ Bess agreed.

  Robin rose to his feet and faced his brother’s stiff back. ‘Well, Adam?’ The challenge in his voice was unmistakable. ‘Have you decided what side you take in the coming conflict?’

  There was a brief, awful silence as Adam turned to face his brother, his shoulders rigid and his mouth a hard line. The contrast between this hardened soldier and the younger man could not have been more marked.

  ‘Parliament has my sword, Robin.’

  Robin gave a snort of anger, the fingers of his left hand resting on the hilt of his sword clenched and unclenched.

  ‘I knew it. You have no loyalty, Adam. Not to yourself, your family or the king you have served. I should run you through now and save the king the trouble,’ he blurted with the bravado of a school boy.

  ‘I owe my family precious little loyalty, Robin.’ Adam said sharply. ‘Now, take your hand from your sword. It ill behoves your aunt’s hearth.’

  Robin flushed and dropped his hand to his side where his fingers twitched as if they longed to take to the sword again.

  ‘Adam’s right.’ Joan's sharp voice interposed. ‘I’ll not have the first blood of this accursed war shed on my hearth. Keep your peace in this house, Robin.’

  Robin looked down at her. ‘For your sake, Aunt, but do not ask me to make peace with this man.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Joan said quietly. ‘I just ask you to mind your manners.’

  ‘Robin.’ Adam raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. ‘My past is tied with Denzil, not with you. Don’t let us part this way.’

  Robin’s lips tightened. ‘The king’s enemies are my enemies,’ he said and turned to his aunt. ‘We believe the king will make his base in Oxford and I will make it my business to see you as often as I can, Aunt. For now I must leave you. While Adam remains here, I’ll not stay.’ He picked up her hand and kissed it. ‘Until next time.’

  Joan laid a hand, crooked with the arthritis that plagued her, on his head. ‘God keep you safe, Robin. I am sorry you missed Simon. He had some business on one of the farms that called him away.’

  Robin managed a faint smile and turned to Bess. ‘Mistress Clifford, it has been a great pleasure to make your acquaintance, however brief.’ His hand lingered on Bess’s outstretched fingers slightly longer than propriety demanded as he added, casting a dark look at his brother, ‘I apologise for the unseemly row.’

  He briefly acknowledged Perdita's existence with a cursory bow and left.

  Long after his footsteps had died away and the great door had shut, the silence in the parlour remained a palpable force.

  ‘Is it true?’ Joan spoke at last, her eyes fixed on Adam as they had been from the moment he had uttered the fateful words. ‘Have you given your sword to Parliament?’

  Adam returned her gaze without blinking. ‘When I was in Stratford, Lord Brooke offered me a commission to join the garrison at Warwick Castle. I said I would think on it and I’ve made my decision.’

  Joan lowered her head, the dark curls, liberally sprinkled with grey, hiding her face. ‘Oh, Adam,’ she said quietly. ‘It shouldn’t have come to this. To deliberately set yourself against your brothers…’

  He crossed to her and hunkered down to her level, lifting her chin with his fingers so she looked into his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Joan, but I had to choose one side or another.’

  Joan raised her head. ‘I don’t doubt your choice, Adam. It would not have been a decision made lightly.’

  Adam laughed without humour. ‘Like Robin, it will mean that I will be close by at Warwick, Joan.’

  Joan shook her head. ‘So with a nephew in both camps I should be kept quite safe.’ Her voice dripped with irony. ‘But it may have been better if you were as far away from here as possible. If the king is at Oxford, it will mean a dangerous proximity to Denzil.’

  ‘I think Denzil is the least of my worries.’ Adam sighed and rose to his feet. He looked around the pleasant room, his gaze resting momentarily on Perdita before turning back to his aunt.

  ‘I will not abuse Simon’s hospitality any longer. It is time for me to leave.’

  ‘The war has not begun yet,’ Joan said. ‘You are welcome to stay as long as you wish.’

  ‘No. I will seek out Simon on his return and tell him of my decision and then I’ll be gone,’ he said. ‘I cannot in all good conscience remain here.’

  As he passed her, Perdita caught at his sleeve. He looked down at her hand resting on his arm.

  ‘Mistress Gray?’

  She wanted to tell him that he was making a mistake and neutrality could be a possibility. What was there to prevent him continuing with his plans and taking up the property in Shropshire? If this conflict were to come to pass, it would happen with or without his involvement.

  Their eyes met and she saw in the set of his jaw and the grey eyes that ran the colour of a stream in winter, that any form of remonstrance would be in vain.

  ‘Nothing.’ She released his arm and looked away as he strode out of the room.

  Adam waited until Simon returned and went in search of his host. He found Simon standing at a table in the room Simon called the library, a sheaf of papers in his hand and a frown creasing his forehead.

  ‘Am I interrupting?’

  Simon looked up and laid the papers down. ‘No. Not at all. Just looking at the cost of properly equipping my men.’ He waved a hand at a tray with a flagon and glasses. ‘Pour us both a glass of wine, Coulter. It’s been a long day.’

  Adam obliged, handing Simon a glass.

  Simon sank down in his chair and raised his glass. ‘Good news, I’ve had word from Northampton today. We ride to his muster in two days.’

  ‘We?’ Adam raised an eyebrow at the use of the plural.

  ‘I’m being presumptuous, Coulter. I like you, my men like you, will you...will you join me?’ Simon asked.

  Adam swallowed. ‘You’ve offered me friendship,’ he paused, ‘but my first loyalty must be to my conscience and I cannot support the King in this venture.’

  Simon frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Adam took a deep breath. ‘I’ve seen with my own eyes the evil the King has wrought on this land and I cannot share your faith in the rightness of his cause. I believe he alone has brought this country to the brink of war.’

  Simon blinked. ‘You’re espousing Parliament?’

  Adam inclined his head. ‘Lord Brooke offered me a commission. I will leave tomorrow morning to accept it.’

  Simon sat back in his chair. ‘Oh,’ he said. The confusion in his eyes made Adam realise that Simon had assumed that friendship would be enough. ‘Is there nothing I can say that will dissuade you?’

  Adam shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘I cannot deny any man the right to his own conscience but I’m sorry that it has come to this.’

  ‘So am I.’

  Adam turned away, going to stand at the window looking out over the peaceful green fields and coppices that would soon be torn apart by strife. Simon stood up and came to stand beside him and the two men stood for a long moment in companionable silence.

  ‘You’ve seen things that few men should ever be privy to,’ Simon said at last. ‘I don’t doubt the truth of what you say, but this thing is already too great to stop.’

  ‘And it will carry this country with it.’

  ‘Truth is, for all my fine words
I’ve no great wish to leave my home and go and fight my fellow Englishmen.’

  ‘Then don’t.’ Adam glanced at Simon, a man who he would have liked to call his friend. ‘Stay and defend your home.’

  Simon ran a hand through his sandy hair. ‘It’s not so simple. I swore an oath to Northampton and I’m honour-bound to keep it. I would not be called a coward.’

  ‘Deciding not to fight is not a coward’s choice, Clifford.’

  ‘But breaking my word is a question of honour. I thought you might understand that.’

  ‘Ah, honour,’ Adam said. ‘”Mine honour is my life; both grow in one. Take honour from me, and my life is done.” Your own Shakespeare understood better than I.’

  ‘I wonder what our Shakespeare would make of all of this?’ Simon mused. He glanced at Adam. ‘You’ll be at Warwick with Brooke?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Then may I ask one boon of you?’

  ‘Of course. Whatever is in my power.’

  ‘If you have occasion to pass by Preswood can you ensure that all is well?’

  ‘Of course,’ Adam said. ‘You have my word on that. It is the least I can do and my own kin is here. I could do nothing less.’

  ‘Good,’ Simon held out his hand. ‘I’m sure, and I pray heartily, that this matter will be resolved by Christmas without recourse to bloodshed.’ He hesitated. ‘In the meantime, God keep you safe.’

  Adam took the man’s hand. ‘And you.’

  ‘You’re leaving now? I thought you would wait ’til morning.’

  Adam looked up from saddling Florizel, a handsome bay gelding he had bought in London. Perdita Gray stood at the entrance to the horse stall, one slender hand resting on the gnarled wood of the column.

  ‘There is still sufficient daylight and I decided there was nothing to be gained from waiting until the morning, Mistress Gray. Everything has been said that needs to be said.’

  ‘I wish you could have persuaded Simon from this course.’