Page 63 of Feathers in the Wind
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 roomshuddered 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.
