Page 69 of Feathers in the Wind
She looked at his gentle face. He could surely not be much older than Robin Marchant. A young man who should have been at home with his wife watching his son grow, not escorting her through a countryside torn by war.
‘You don’t have the look of a soldier about you, Captain,’ she remarked.
He shook his head. ‘If the truth be told, I only took up arms to support my father. It’s been a hard couple of years and I fervently pray that this coming battle will decide the matter.’
‘And then will you return home?’
He shook his head. ‘I doubt it. I’m honour bound to see this thing through.’
‘You sound like my kinsman,’ Perdita said. ‘Only he wore the king’s colours.’
And died for them.
Richard Ashley nodded. ‘Men of honour carry the colours of both sides, Mistress Coulter.’
Men of honour, she thought. What did that mean? Robin, Simon, Denzil, even Adam had talked of honour, but where was the honour in Englishmen killing Englishmen, brother facing brother across the battlefield.
But yet they weren’t brothers, Denzil and Robin and Adam. Cousins, nothing more. Denzil and Robin didn’t know Joan’s secret. To them Adam was still their bastard half-brother and she wondered if they were with Rupert marching toward the gates of York.
Ashley’s home at Barton Grange was a low, grey stone manor house which stood to one side of the village. Roses entwined around the doorway and it exuded a sense of peace and tranquillity. Perdita looked quickly at her escort and saw the yearning on his face.
‘Richard!’
A young woman, no more than a girl, had come running from the house, her skirts in her hand, her hair loosed from the cap she carried in the other hand. He slid off his horse, scooping her into his arms.
‘Kate! Oh, Kate, it is good to see you.’
Oblivious to Perdita and the servants who gathered at the stable door and windows, the young couple kissed. A boy came forward and took the reins of the horses. He held out his hand and Perdita slid off her mount. She straightened her skirts and waited patiently until Richard and his young wife remembered propriety and drew apart.
The girl blushed, hastily rearranging her disordered dark honey-blonde hair back beneath the cap as she dropped Perdita a curtsey.
‘Kate, this is my friend Major Coulter's wife.’
The two women exchanged courtesies and Kate waved her guest toward the house.
‘Please come inside.’ Kate stood aside, slipping her arm into the crook of her husband's elbow. ‘Richard, how long have you got?’
‘A short time only, love,’ he said. ‘Where’s young Tom?’
‘Upstairs with Ellen.’
They entered the cool interior of the house. The long, low-ceilinged parlour smelt of fresh beeswax polish and roses from the bowl of freshly picked flowers that stood on the table.
‘Please don’t feel you must entertain me,’ Perdita said with a smile. ‘Make the most of your time together. I see you have some books on that shelf. I shall be quite content.’
Kate hesitated. ‘If you will not think me rude?’
Perdita shook her head and Kate Ashley smiled. Like her husband, she seemed impossibly young to be confronted with war.
‘I will see you get some refreshment.’ Kate looked up at her husband. ‘Come and see Tom. He has grown so since you last saw him and is talking.’
Perdita smiled to herself as she followed their voices as they disappeared up the stairs. A servant set a tray down on the table with food and drink. Perdita selected a book and settled herself in the large oaken chair by the window overlooking the garden.
‘Mistress Coulter?’
She had been so engrossed in the book she had not heard Richard Ashley. He stood at the door, spinning his hat in his hand.
‘I regret I must leave now.’
