Page 83 of Feathers in the Wind
“May I suggest a change of dress, madam?”
She looked down at her breeches. “Demure and ladylike?”
Melchior nodded. “Demure and ladylike.”
* * *
“Well, this is a warm welcome,”Luke said, as he and his comrade, Ned Barrett, rode under the gatehouse into the courtyard beneath a bristling bank of muskets. “First, I’m shot at and now this. Hardly what I would have expected.”
He turned to Sergeant Hale, who had followed them in on foot. “Clear the village, Hale. Make sure none of the blackguards are left to bother us for the time being.”
“Sir!” Hale saluted smartly and turned back through the castle gate.
A tall, thin man with wispy, greying hair and a lugubrious expression waited on the steps of what would have once been the castle keep, but now more closely resembled a comfortable manor house, with mullioned windows knocked through its sturdy walls. Roses grew around the stonework.
A few well-aimed cannonballs would reduce it to rubble.
“My lady will receive you in the Great Hall,” the man announced, gesturing at the open door. Fingering the hole in his hat, Luke, with Ned beside him, followed the man up the wide stone stairs toward the front entrance.
Despite its facade of tall walls, a tower at each corner and a solid gatehouse, even in the dark, he could see some walls had crumbled. The years had turned Kinton Lacey from one of Edward III’s ring of stout Marches castles to a family home that would be hard to defend.
They were shown through an ornately carved wooden screen into the Great Hall. A branch of candles on the long, oak table cast a thin light in the cavernous room. In keeping with rest of the castle, it appeared to have been modernised to provide such comforts as fireplaces, glazed windows and wooden panelling. Another tribute to more peaceful times.
In the shadows of the lofty ceiling, faded, dusty standards hung from poles and rows of hooks on the walls, indicating the places where ancient weapons had once been displayed. These, Luke assumed with amusement, probably now armed the garrison.
“Are you the men who saved us?”
Both men turned to meet the woman who glided toward them across the flagged floor. Luke’s blood stirred as she came into the light thrown by the candles. This girl was a beauty. Soft, fair curls framed a serene oval face and azure-blue eyes held his gaze from beneath long lashes. Her perfect rose-coloured lips parted in a smile of delight as she looked from one to the other.
“Mistress Felton.” Luke gave her the benefit of his most courtly bow before prodding Ned to do the same.
He could see from the idiotic smile on Ned’s face that he had fallen instantly in love. He just hoped Sir John Felton’s assertions concerning his daughter’s ability to defend her honour were not misplaced.
“You must be so brave,” the young woman said. “There were so many of them.”
“Captain Collyer? I see you’ve already met my sister, Penitence.” Another woman’s voice, clipped and businesslike, cut across Ned’s stammered protestations of how simple the job had been.
Both men looked away from the fair-haired beauty to stare at the newcomer. If this was Deliverance Felton, she could not have been more different from her sister. As dark as Penitence was fair, she was at least four fingers shorter, with a strong jawline, a long nose. Where Penitence’s hair hung in carefully coiffed curls, Deliverance’s attempt at a similar style resembled bedraggled rats’ tails.
“Deliverance Felton?” Luke enquired with a trace of uncertainty in his voice.
“Yes,” she replied curtly, holding out her hand. “Your orders, Captain Collyer?” Luke fumbled in his jacket, presenting her with the crumpled and stained paper.
“My orders,” he said with an inclination of his head.
Deliverance Felton turned the paper over and broke the seal. A second, neatly sealed letter fell to the floor. She stooped and picked it up, turning it over to peer at the seal, before tucking the packet away in her skirts.
She looked at Luke. “I thought my father might have come himself.”
Luke spread his hands. “He sends his apologies, Mistress Felton. The defence of Gloucester commands his full attention.”
“How is he?” Penitence asked.
“Well,” Luke replied. “Yes, very well, when I last saw him. In fine voice...”
Ned’s elbow pressed into his side. Sir John Felton had only let them out of Gloucester after an hour-long lecture on how to conduct themselves. They were both in disgrace. A few too many long nights in one of the inns and the complaints of several good burghers of Gloucester had brought them to Sir John’s attention. He had judged their behaviour unfitting for the forces of the godly parliamentarians and the affronted citizenry of Gloucester and had sent them to the relief of Kinton Lacey.
“I see you have orders to reinforce the garrison here.” Deliverance looked up, cutting in on his reverie. “How many men did you bring with you?”
