Page 81 of Feathers in the Wind
Mab nodded. ‘Ye remember? Aye, a hunchback she was. There were never any lads to court her, except for what they saw in her lands. She chose not to marry. I’ll leave you, sir, and send yer lady up to you.’
When Mab had gone, Adam opened the box. Within were deeds and various estate papers, and at the very bottom of the box he found a bundle of letters tied with string. His heart jumped as he recognised the writing as Joan’s.
He sat down beside the now -blazing fire and pulled his boots off. He propped his feet on a stool and undid the ribbon that bound the packet of letters. The last letter turned out to be the first and was written by his uncle, the man he had always known as his father.
‘My dear cousin, it grieves me to be the bearer of sad tidings, but my beloved sister Joan is gravely ill and the doctors fear for her life. She cries piteously for her babe and I fear I have no choice but to fetch the child to Marchants. I have promised Joan that I will do this and more. I have given her my word on my honour that the child will be raised as a child of mine. My wife has protested most vigorously but I will prevail, for reasons best known to myself. Expect me within the month. Yr servant John M.’
Adam stared at the letter, wondering why he had never seen the affection Lord Marchant had held for his sister. It had been masked by the antipathy, Sofia, Lady Marchant, had displayed to the bastard child. Maybe, he considered, his uncle’s decision to bring Adam to Marchants had been the beginning of the long disintegration of the relationships in the Marchant family. He had always been the cuckoo in the nest. Now he understood why.
Adam turned to Joan’s letters and read an account of her slow recovery and her joy at being reunited with her child.
‘...although I cannot claim him as my own, to see him daily and to hold him as a proper aunt. You ask how my brother prevailed on Lady Marchant to accept his tale and it is sad to relate that I suspect it is because it is common talk at court that Lady Sophia has taken a young lover to her bed. To avoid her own scandal she is willing to tolerate her husband’s own infidelity, even though he is the most faithful of men.’
Each letter had been written on the same date; Adam’s birthday. Adam read the account of his life as he grew from skirts to a boy, schooled with his ‘brother’ Denzil, learning sword play and how to ride.
Robin’s birth had brought great joy to the household, and then, within a few years, Lady Marchant’s death, an event Adam recalled viewing with considerable relief. The letters ceased when Adam had gone to court, shortly before what would have been Ann Coulter’s death.
As he read each letter he consigned it to the flames, watching as the edges caught and the ink momentarily darkened before the paper turned black and dissolved into the red heart of the fire.
As he consigned the final letter to the flames, watching as the last tie with his mother smouldered, exploded into flame and vanished, the door opened and Perdita entered followed by Mab, carrying a large tray with a steaming bowl of rabbit stew, fresh bread and a bottle of wine. He indicated the smaller table beside the fireplace and Mab left them alone to their supper.
Perdita looked up at the wall around the fireplace. She pointed past the rows of grim-faced ancestors of the last century to a small head and shoulders study of a dark haired child.
‘Adam, have you seen that portrait?’
He rose to his feet and took it down from the wall. He recognised the style and the initials in the corner JM—Joan Marchant.
‘Joan’s work,’ he said.
‘You,’ Perdita said.
‘Me,’ he echoed and turned to face her.
‘Are you sorry you came?’ she asked.
‘No. I knew I never belonged at Marchants and now I understand why. The fact remains I will always bear the stain of being bastard-born but there’s nothing I can do to change that and nothing here to give any indication as to who my father may have been.’
He looked around the room and hefted a heavy sigh. ‘As for my inheritance, it’s in worse repair than I thought. This is probably one of the few inhabitable rooms in the whole place.’
Perdita took a sip of her wine. ‘When the war is over, Adam, we will make this a home. A place where we can be happy. A place for’ she broke off and a shadow crossed her face. He wondered if she had been about to say ‘for children’.
He smiled. ‘Until then, we must seize our moments.’ He took her by the hands and pulled her to his feet, so she stood facing him. ‘Tomorrow, my dearest Perdita, we will find the priest and be wed, and for such time as we can we will pretend that the world beyond these walls does not exist. This moment is ours.’
She wound her arms around his neck, looking into his face, searching his eyes. He bent his head and their lips met, and he knew he could never let her go again. Like the feathers in the wind Perdita had talked about, they had caught each other and were now bound together. Whatever lay in their future, for now they were content.
THE END
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If you enjoyed this book, read on for an excerpt from HER REBEL HEART by Alison Stuart
HER REBEL HEART
England 1643: Deliverance Felton has been left to defend her home, Kinton Lacy Castle in a time of civil war. She can shoot and wield a sword as well as any man and anything she needs to know about siege warfare she has learned from a book...but no book can prepare her for what is to come.
Everything Captain Luke Collyer knows about siege warfare - and women - he has learned from experience. When he is sent by Sir John Felton to defend Kinton Lacy Castle against the Royalists, he will be up against a formidable force.
He had not reckoned on that force being Sir John’s daughter, Deliverance.
