Page 42 of Feathers in the Wind
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.
‘Denzil, this is an uncivilised hour to come calling,’ Adam said.
Denzil set the candle and bottle on the table. ‘You seem to have made a recovery since I last saw you,’ he said, his words slurring slightly as Adam stepped out of the shadows and into the small illumination provided by the candle.
When Adam didn’t answer, Denzil gestured at a chair beside the table. ‘Sit down, Coulter, and drink with me.’
As Adam took the proffered chair, Denzil slumped into the chair opposite him and pushed the bottle across the table.
‘Have some wine.’
There were no glasses so Adam pretended to take a swig. He needed his wits about him.
‘Quite like old times, isn't it?’ Denzil took the bottle from him, took a hefty draft and leaned back.
Adam regarded his brother with narrowed eyes. ‘What is this about, Denzil?’
‘Love.’ Denzil heaved a sigh.
That had not been the answer Adam had been expecting. He sat back in his chair. ‘Love?’
‘Have you ever been in love?’ Denzil began, and before Adam could answer, continued. ‘Were you in love with Louise?’
Adam thought for a moment. No point in lying. ‘At the time I thought I was,’ he admitted.
‘She's a witch.’ Denzil swilled another mouthful of wine. ‘She puts spells on men and they have to do her bidding. You were always into books and things. Wasn't there some witch who turned men into pigs?’
‘Circe.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Denzil. ‘Circe. Louise is like that. I know she is not a virtuous wife but I can’t help it. I love her too much.’ He took another swig and set the bottle down with cold deliberation. ‘Have some more.’
‘No, thank you,’ Adam said.
‘You didn’t touch her, did you?’
‘No,’ Adam said. ‘Strange how no one asked me that question at the time. You all assumed the worst but nothing happened, and even if it had, it wouldn’t have been rape. It doesn’t excuse the fact that I intended to bed my brother’s wife but trust me, Denzil, I didn’t go to her bed without an invitation.’
Denzil grunted. ‘And her brother?’
‘Rolling drunk. He rushed at me with a drawn sword and fell on my weapon before I had a chance to step away.’
Denzil huffed out a heavy sigh. ‘I’ve tried to hate you, but I can’t. We share the same blood you and I. Even when you were a boy, you were always so much better at things than me.’ He screwed up his face. ‘You could have had any woman in court. Why Louise?’
