Page 77 of Feathers in the Wind
With both hands, he held her face, drawing her close until their noses brushed and he lowered his lips to hers. She answered his passion with a breathless intensity, their bodies melding as his hands slid down her neck, pushing the thin fabric of her chemise away from her shoulders. She breathed out, leaning in toward him, but as his fingers brushed the curve of her breasts, she pulled back, jerking his hands away.
‘No! I can’t.’ She looked away, her face concealed behind a curtain of hair.
Adam fought to control his own ragged breathing and turned her face back to look at him, appalled by the tears that brimmed from her eyes.
‘Perdita, I’m sorry.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not you, Adam. God alone knows how I want nothing more than to be with you, but…’ she swallowed. ‘Samuel Gray… my husband. He…’
The tears overflowed, tracking unchecked down her cheek and he understood. The man who had been her husband and shown her no tenderness, only brutality, now rose like a shadow between them.
‘I am not Samuel Gray,’ he said enunciating each word with care.
She touched his cheek and smiled. ‘No, you’re not, but I need time. I need to learn how love should be.’
For a very long moment neither spoke nor moved. Adam sighed and took the hand that she had reached out to him, turning it over in his own and kissing the palm, the soft mound of her thumb, the inside of her wrist.
‘You are not a plaything that I will use and discard. When we make love, I will show you what it is to be with a man who loves you. I will make this right,’ he said.
She blinked, scattering tears like raindrops on her cheeks. ‘How?’
‘To this world, you are my wife in name, I would have you my wife by right. If you would have me?’ His hand closed over hers.
She dashed away the tears with her free hand. ‘You would wed me?’
‘I don’t want you for a mistress, Perdita.’ He could hear the impatience in his own voice. ‘But I have nothing to offer you. I could be dead tomorrow. I realise I am a poor offering, but will you take me?’
Her brown eyes brimmed again but this time, a smile curled the corners of her mouth. ‘I don’t care about tomorrow, Adam. Can we do it? Dare we? ’
Adam considered for a long moment. More to the point, how were they to regularise the matter, without the entire army of the north knowing they had been pretending to be man and wife these last weeks.
His mind cast around the town of York. Surely there must be a priest somewhere in this town who could, with the right persuasion, utter the words without the formalities of banns.
He kissed her hand again and drew back. ‘Then it shall be. My first task for the day will be to find a priest. What did you do with my clothes?’
Perdita waved a hand in the direction of a chair. ‘Over there.’
‘Thank you,’ he grunted and slid from underneath the bed-coverings and padded across to the neatly folded pile of battle-soiled garments and viewed them with distaste. God alone knew where his luggage had ended up. The baggage lines had been sacked by the royalists after they had broken Fairfax’s line.
As he held up the filthy, reeking shirt, a knock at the door caused them both to start.
‘What is it?’ Adam bellowed at the locked door.
‘Major Coulter?’ A hesitant voice came from the other side.
‘Yes.’
‘The General’s compliments but he requests you attend him.’
‘Now?’
‘Immediately.’
Adam blew out a breath. ‘Very well. I shall be there presently.’
They waited until the sound of the messenger’s boots had faded away before glancing at each other.
‘Do you have to go?’ she asked.
