Page 50 of Feathers in the Wind
She may as well have slapped his face. He took a step back.
After all they had been through together, she should think him no more than a ‘foul fiend’?
He bent and picked up the moneybags, handing them back to her. ‘I’ll not take your money for Simon Clifford’s life.’
Her fingers closed on the coins and she quivered. ‘Are you refusing to release him to me, Adam?’
He shook his head. ‘I told you once I owed you for my life, Perdita Gray. I will gladly restore Simon to you, without the need for recompense.’ He glanced at the window. ‘It’s getting late and I need to find him. Come back in the morning. If he is indeed here I will give him to you then.’
Perdita looked away. Her shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh. ‘Thank you. We are to be wed in four days.’
A cold hand clenched Adam’s heart. ‘About time.’ He forced the words out between stiff lips.
He looked away as Perdita pulled on her damp stockings and boots. Pausing only to collect her cloak and gloves, she left his room without a backward glance.
Adam sank back into his chair, staring at the door as it slammed shut behind her. He remembered the feel of her in his arms, the touch of her lips on his, and reminded himself that once again he had done the unthinkable, fallen in love with a woman who belonged to another man. This time he would make no mistake.
* * *
Adam staredat the door that led down to the dungeons of Warwick Castle. They were old, probably older than the present structure that stood over them. Nothing had yet induced him to set foot beyond that door. The very thought of descending the narrow winding stairs below the castle made the sweat break out on the back of his neck and the breath tighten in his chest. It took very little to transport him back to Leipzig and the smell of unwashed bodies, and worse to bring back memories he saw only in his nightmares.
He hailed his sergeant who was supervising the mending and polishing of horse harness.
‘Sir?’
‘There is a prisoner below by the name of Simon Clifford. Bring him up for me.’
The sergeant saluted and without a moment’s hesitation disappeared into the bowels of the castle, leaving Adam standing on the damp, cold cobbles, hoping that his men did not notice how his hands shook.
He kicked at a loose stone, unable to shed the pall that thoughts of his own incarceration resurrected. He had little memory of how he had made his way from Leipzig to Paris, except that every day had been a desperate fight for survival. He had begged and he had stolen, and had occasionally earned a few honest pennies with his drawing, but there had been times he had despaired of ever seeing England again.
Mercifully in Paris he had found Marie, the plump, cheerful whore who had warmed his bed in the early days of his exile. She had since married, her friends at the bawdy house had told him. Married or not, she had taken him in, nursed him back to health and provided him with clothes and the money for a fare back to England. He had repaid the money but he would be forever in her debt as he was in Perdita’s.
I must have looked like that when they brought me back into the light, Adam thought as Simon Clifford stumbled out of the doorway assisted by a none-too-gentle shove from the sergeant. Simon gathered himself up and stood for a moment, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the grey, wintry light. He has only been down there for a matter of days, thought Adam.
Imagine three years, Simon Clifford.
Simon's gaze came to rest on Adam.
‘Coulter. I can’t tell you how good it is to see a familiar face. I asked for you, but they told me you were away from the castle.’
Adam bowed. ‘My apologies, Clifford. I’ve just returned from London. If I’d known of your incarceration I would have at least seen you somewhat more comfortably housed.’ He gestured at the gate. ‘As it is you are free to go.’
‘Free?’ Simon’s mouth fell open and his eyes widened.
‘I believe you have a wedding to attend. You will find your bride waiting for you by the postillion gate.’
Simon took two steps and stumbled. Adam caught his arm and stayed his fall.
‘Steady.’
‘Sorry, just a bit dizzy,’ Simon mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
A cold dread washed over Adam. He had received reports that in his absence the inevitable sickness had broken out among the prisoners and that a couple had died. The man’s colour seemed unnaturally high and his eyes bright with fever. What if Simon had contracted the prison fever?
He slipped his arm under Simon's shoulders.
‘It's all right.’ Simon’s words slurred. ‘It's just a headache. I can walk.’
