Page 39 of Feathers in the Wind
Perdita tiedthe 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.’
