Page 89 of Feathers in the Wind
He glanced at the paper on which Ned had been writing, recognising, between the scratching out and ink blots, something that appeared to resemble verse.
“What are you doing?”
Luke snatched up the paper before Ned had a chance to retrieve it.
A flush of embarrassment coloured Ned’s cheeks as Luke read aloud. “Oh Penitence, so fair of face...”
He scanned the rest of the appalling doggerel before tossing the paper back at Ned with a shake of his head. “May I remind you, we are not here to fall in love with Sir John Felton’s pretty daughter,” he said.
“We are here for one reason only and that is to ensure that Sir John Felton’s...” he sought the right word. He would hardly call Deliverance plain or ugly. She had an unconventional face that in the right moment, caught off guard, he would almost call beautiful. “That Sir John’s more interesting daughter is able to defend her home. If you are eager for female company, there are a couple of pretty and accommodating young women in the dairy.”
Ned shook his head. “You don’t waste time, Collyer!”
Luke smiled and winked. He retrieved his hat and spinning it in his hand, left Ned to his hopeless infatuation and bad poetry.
* * *
Deliverance puther hands on her hips and looked up into the beefy face of the enormous, barrel-chested Sergeant Hale, who served Luke Collyer both as Sergeant and preacher. She had heard his fine baritone leading his men in singing psalms as they worked.
The man shifted uncomfortably. “I ‘ave me orders.”
“But these staves are too short and insubstantial,” Deliverance repeated. “They will hardly hold back an attacking force.”
“They will if they are placed at the correct angle,” Luke Collyer’s voice came from behind her. Deliverance turned to face her nemesis, noting the grim line of his mouth.
“Mistress Felton, could you spare me a moment of your valuable time?”
“I was just telling your sergeant—”
“I heard.” Luke’s eyes flashed with anger. “Carry on, Hale, as ordered by me. Mistress Felton, if you would be so kind?”
He took Deliverance’s elbow and propelled her up the stairs into the Great Hall. She shook her arm free, and braced herself for the tirade she expected and, if she was honest with herself, deserved. She was behaving like a petulant child deprived of a toy.
Luke Collyer sat down at the head of the table in her father’s great oak carver and gestured for her to take a seat.
He ran a hand over his eyes. “Mistress Felton. I acknowledge that this is your demesne and indeed, I am in awe of your knowledge of matters military, but we can only have one commander and, whether or not you like it, that person is me.” He straightened in the chair and leaned forward, forcing her to look him in the eye.
“But—”
“Hear me out.” He held up a hand and she fell silent. “I have a proposal. We need to be ready for the day when Sir Richard Farrington takes it upon himself to return to his quest of subduing the rebels of this county.”
“Perhaps he has decided to leave us alone?” Deliverance suggested. “We’ve seen nothing of him or his men since you scared them away.”
Luke shook his head. “No. He has just retired to Ludlow to lick his wounds. I have every reason to believe that he will be back as soon as he receives the arms he is waiting on.”
“How do you know that?”
Luke smiled and Deliverance glowered. He had an infuriating smile that implied great inner knowledge to which she would never be privy.
“I have my sources,” he said.
“What arms is he waiting on?”
He shook his head. “That I don’t know. However, when Sir Richard, with his well-armed and better-trained men turn up again at your gate, we could find ourselves incarcerated here for quite some time. How many people do you think we will need to feed and quarter?”
Deliverance did a quick calculation. “Upwards of at least one hundred.”
“I do not have the time to see to the provisioning of a siege that could last one, two or even three months,” he said.
