And Then Mine Enemy

by Alison Stuart

  ‘Who’s going to tell him? Robin? It suits Robin fine to have me incapacitated as long as he can. Trust me, Perdita, I have no intention of ending up in Oxford Castle.’

  ‘But you’ve given your parole.’

  Adam smiled, a thin-lipped smile. ‘And I have every intention of honouring it. There are other ways to get myself out of this bind.’

  Perdita sat down beside the window with her sewing as he wrote his letter. She watched as he filled the page with a neat, orderly hand, poured the red wax to seal it and imprinted his seal from a ring on his right hand. He sat toying with the letter, staring past Perdita to the world beyond the window.

  He set the letter down and picked up his pen again, his hand straying toward the sheets of papers. Almost unconsciously a few lines began to appear under his hand.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Perdita asked.

  ‘Please don’t move, Perdita. The light from the window is framing your face and I cannot let the moment pass. Permit me.’

  She blinked. ‘You can draw?’

  ‘Did you think Joan the only one in the family with a talent for art?’ Adam’s mouth twitched into a smile. ‘Although Joan has more talent in her small finger than I possess in total and I would not compare myself to her. I just find faces interest me. It proved a useful skill in Leipzig. Stay still. It won’t take long.’

  He smoothed out a fresh piece of paper and sharpened the pen.

  ‘Am I permitted to talk?’ Perdita asked.

  ‘If you don’t move too much.’

  ‘How was it useful in Leipzig?’ she asked.

  ‘I took small commissions. I did likenesses of the guards, their wives, their children, and I was paid with favours. It kept me alive. It also gave me the pennies I needed to make my way back to England.’

  ‘Why do you find my face interesting?’ she asked.

  ‘I find all faces interesting. I can learn all I need about a person by looking in their eyes and the turn of their mouth.’

  He fixed her with a steady gaze as if studying every inch of her face and the line of her head. Perdita watched his hand moving across the paper with the long -practiced skill.

  ‘You had no children with your husband?’ he asked.

  Perdita started at the unexpected question. ‘No… none that lived.’ She caught at the material in her skirt, pleating it between her fingers, willing the old pain to go away. ‘I have no wish to talk about my marriage or the children that might have been. I left all that behind me in London.’

  His hand had stopped and he studied her face with such disconcerting intensity that she had to look away and she said aloud the words that crowded her mind. ‘I’ve learned to live with the pain of that lost child, but it’s there, every day of my life.’

  ‘There will be other children,’ Adam said.

  She turned to look at him, the pain jagged in her throat as she blurted out, ‘But there will always be that little ghost at my skirt.’

  For a very long moment, neither of them moved. They stared at each other transfixed by the raw emotion that lay between them.

  Perdita broke the eye contact and took a deep breath. ‘You’re right, though. God willing, there will be children when I wed Simon.’

  He turned his attention back to the drawing. ‘When will that be?’

  ‘Christmas,’ she said. ‘We have decided that as soon as the campaigning ends for this year, we will be wed. Poor Simon had been so sure it would not come this far, but there we are.’

  Adam set the pen down and leaned back scrutinising his work. ‘It is done. Just a quick sketch.’

  ‘Can I see?’ Perdita rose to her feet and Adam handed her the paper.

  As she looked down at her image, a rush of conflicting emotions overcame her. She saw the same face that stared back at her each day from the mirror, but her life story was drawn in the line of the jaw and the set of her eyes. It was as if he had looked into her very soul and seen the pain of the loss of her child, the nightmare of her marriage, her loneliness and something else… something deep and frightening that involved this man.

  ‘Do I really look like that?’ she said with a forced laugh

  ‘No, Perdita, you are much more beautiful.’

  She raised her gaze to meet his eyes. No man had ever told her she was beautiful or looked at her in the way he looked at her now. She saw desire and tenderness, more profound than the simple adoration she saw in Simon's eyes, reflected in the eyes of this stranger. In an instant, his face closed over. He took the paper from her, screwed it up and flung it into the fireplace where a small fire burned against the unseasonable chill.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ she asked.

  ‘It was not very good,’ he said quickly.

  ‘Perdita. You are needed in the kitchen.’ Bess poked her head around the door. ‘There you are. Cook has burned the chicken and there is a frightful row. Can you deal with him? I fear I shall have a saucepan thrown at me. How are you today, Captain Coulter?’

  ‘I am well enough, Mistress Clifford. Could I ask a favour of you?’

  ‘Of course,’ Bess replied.

  ‘Can you ask Robin to come to me?’

  After Bess tripped off in search of Robin, Adam hauled himself out of the chair and limped painfully to the fireplace. The drawing he had made of Perdita had fallen just short of the smouldering embers and he bent to retrieve it. He smoothed the creases, folded it and barely had time to put it inside his jacket before Robin entered without knocking.

  ‘You sent for me?’ Robin gave his brother a sarcastic bow.

  ‘I have a favour to ask of you,’ Adam said.

  Robin’s eyes narrowed. ‘What?’

  ‘I would be grateful if you could deliver this.’

  Robin took the letter Adam held out for him. He read the name and looked up at Adam his eyes wide with surprise. ‘This is addressed to—’

  ‘I know to whom it is addressed,’ Adam cut across his brother. ‘He knows you, Robin. You can give it into his hand.’

  Robin waved the missive. ‘I believe he is with the queen. She landed in Yorkshire some weeks ago and is on her way south to Oxford.’

  Adam took a sharp intake of breath. ‘The queen? Are you certain? That means Louise is back in the country.’ As soon as Louise had Denzil’s ear, he would be a dead man. ‘Even more reason to see this letter delivered, Rob.’

  ‘But I’m supposed to be guarding you,’ Robin pointed out. ‘I can’t do that if I’m gallivanting off around the countryside, delivering your mail.’

  ‘Robin.’ Adam smiled and held out his hands. ‘Look at me, I can barely walk, let alone make a bid for freedom. I gave Denzil my parole and I intend to honour it.’

  Robin raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Very well, I’ll do this boon for you, but you better be here when I get back.’

  ‘I will be. Thank you, Rob.’

  From his window, Adam leaned against the casement and watched Robin ride away. He jerked around as the door opened with a faint click and Joan entered, carrying a leather folio and a pile of clothes, which she set down on the chest.

  ‘I thought you would prefer your own clothes,’ she said. ‘Robin’s taste is somewhat more flamboyant than yours.’

  Adam plucked at the slashed sleeves and gilt lace of the blue jacket he wore. ‘Not quite.’

  He took off the borrowed jacket, replaced it with his own serviceable uniform jacket and limped back to his chair, easing his leg back on to the stool. Behind him, Joan folded the discarded jacket and laid it on the bed. When she was done, she joined him, setting out some sketches from the folio on the table.

  ‘I want to know what you think of these,’ she said. ‘I intend the painting as a wedding present for Simon and Perdita.’

  Adam picked up the preliminary sketches of a man and woman. Even drawn roughly in charcoal he could see without hesitation that she had drawn Simon Clifford standing behind a seated Perdita, his hand resting on her shoulder. A traditional pose but his heart clen
ched at the proprietary gesture. Perdita Gray would be Perdita Clifford by the end of the year.

  ‘You do have a wonderful talent,’ he said.

  ‘So do you,’ Joan said.

  He looked up at the sharp edge to her tone. ‘What do you mean?’

  Joan considered her drawing for a long moment, her finger resting on the still representation of Perdita. ‘I have no trouble in capturing Simon but Perdita has an elusive quality.’ Joan held out a folded, creased paper and spread it before him. ‘I found this in Robin’s jacket just now. This is your work?’

  Adam looked down at the sketch he had done of Perdita. He had forgotten to retrieve it before he changed his jacket. His breath caught and he said between tight lips. ‘I was just—’

  ‘Adam, this is how Perdita should look for the man she loves and that man is not Simon.’

  Adam crumpled the paper in his hand but he refrained from tossing it into the fireplace again. ‘What is the point in lying to you Joan when you know me so well?’

  She cocked her head to one side, her mouth drooping as she laid her hand over his.

  ‘Is it your fate to always fall for women who belong to other men?’

  He gave a bitter laugh, ‘Apparently it is.’

  ‘Does she know how you feel?’

  Adam met his aunt’s eyes, horrified at the thought. ‘I hope not.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  He extricated his hand from hers and shrugged. ‘Do? What can I do? I have nothing to offer her. Simon Clifford is a good man and he deserves her and she him. I genuinely wish them both happiness.’

  Joan brushed a tear from her eye and he leaned forward taking her hands in his.

  ‘It is my intention to be gone from here within days and, God willing, Perdita will marry her Simon at Christmas without further thought of me. There is no more to be said on the subject.’

  A relapse of fever kept Adam to his bed for the next couple of days with Ludovic in attendance. Not wishing a repeat of their last, troubling conversation, Perdita busied herself with other domestic duties.

  The summer weather continued foul and rain lashed the windows, bowing the trees and masking the arrival of a large body of mounted men until they were almost upon the house. The sound of bellowed orders and the whinnying of horses brought Perdita running from the parlour where she had been mending sheets. She narrowly avoided a collision with Joan, coming out of Adam’s bed chamber.

  Joan caught her arm. ‘Don’t run, Perdita. We are not being invaded. Adam says he is expecting Prince Rupert,’ her hand flew to her throat. ‘The prince himself, here at Preswood!’

  Before Perdita could ask how Adam knew the king’s nephew, he had arrived on their doorstep, the great hall below them reverberating with male voices and heavy cavalry boots.

  ‘This way, your Highness.’ Robin's voice could be heard above the general hub bub.

  Perdita peered over the bannister. A tall, dark haired, startlingly handsome young man stood framed by the great front doorway, his broad shoulders nearly spanning the width of the entrance. He scanned the room with hooded eyes while he removed his gloves and shook the soaked cloak from his shoulders.

  Joan made a shooing gesture. ‘Go and greet him.’

  Cursing her choice of the oldest and most worn gown she owned, Perdita hurried down the stairs to where Bess had already taken charge of the situation, sinking into a deep curtsey before the Prince, apparently untroubled by the sudden appearance of a prince and thirty hungry young men.

  ‘Your Highness, you are most welcome to Preswood. I trust you will be staying for some refreshment?’ Bess said.

  He acknowledged her with a peremptory bow, his dark eyes sweeping across Bess from her foot to the top of her head. Apparently approving of what he saw, his dark face broke into a broad grin.

  ‘Thank you, Mistress Clifford.’ His voice betrayed only the slightest hint of an accent. ‘My men and I would be grateful for your hospitality, but I do not intend to intrude on you for long. My business is with one Adam Coulter. Is he here?’

  Perdita and Bess exchanged quick questioning glances. ‘Captain Coulter is upstairs,’ Bess said. ‘He is recovering from a recent wound.’

  ‘Take me to him.’

  Perdita stepped forward. ‘If you would care to come with me, your Highness.’

  With Robin following, the prince took the stairs two at a time, bursting in through the open door to Adam’s bedchamber without ceremony.

  ‘Well, Coulter?’ he boomed.

  Adam rose to his feet and inclined his head. ‘Your Highness. It is a great pleasure to see you again.’

  Robin made a sound that seemed halfway between a laugh and a stifled choke.

  Rupert turned to him with a smile. ‘You are surprised, Marchant? I told you, your brother and I are old comrades-in-arms. Are we not, Coulter?’ He strode across to Adam and clapped him on the shoulder with a force that caused Adam to wince.

  Adam rubbed his ribs and managed a crooked smile. ‘Indeed, your highness.’

  Adam was a tall man but Prince Rupert overtopped him by at least six inches.

  Rupert glanced around the room and strolled over to the table where Adam and Joan had been playing chess. He picked up the king and inspected it. ‘I owe a debt to Adam Coulter and one which I am now able to repay.’

  Those dark eyes did not miss the quick glance that passed between Perdita and Robin, and Rupert set the chess piece back.

  ‘Ah. You’re wondering, perhaps, what debt it is I owe this man who wears the colours of my uncle’s enemy?’

  ‘I am curious,’ Robin said.

  ‘Some years ago, we fought together to try to regain my brother's throne. A bold time was it not?’ He directed this enquiry at Adam, who nodded agreement. ‘Until Vlotho.’ The prince's face darkened.

  ‘Indeed, your Highness. Until Vlotho,’ Adam echoed.

  Rupert smiled. ‘I was eighteen. The blood ran hotter than it does now.’

  From what Perdita knew of this young giant’s reputation at twenty-five, it must have been positively volcanic at eighteen.

  ‘I would have died rather than surrender. I recall I was surrounded. My enemies demanded to know who I was. I would not tell them. I just declared my rank… ’

  ‘And they responded “Mein Gott, if you are a Colonel, you are a very young one”.’ Adam’s laugh cut short, his hand flying to his sore ribs.

  Rupert smiled. ‘I would have been killed,’ he said, ‘had it not been for the intervention of my friend here who informed them who I was in no uncertain terms and took a musket butt on the skull for his pains.’ He looked at Adam with narrowed eyes. ‘You know, Coulter, there were many times in Leipzig when I wondered about the nature of the debt I owed you for my life. Sometimes death seemed preferable.’ He shrugged. ‘But as uncomfortable as my confinement may have been, I imagine I had it easier than you.’

  The two men looked at each other with the deep understanding of men who have shared a common suffering. Perdita wondered how it would have been for a young man such as Rupert to have endured such close confinement at a time when he should have been enjoying the full fruits of his youth. If it had been hard for Adam it must have been hell on earth for Rupert.

  Rupert clapped Adam on the shoulder again with a force that made Adam stagger.

  ‘Well, come my friend. We must talk. You,’ Rupert snapped his fingers at Perdita, ‘perhaps you will bring me some lunch. I could eat a horse.’

  Rupert of the Rhine, as he was known by all, flung himself down on a chair at the table, waiting while Adam resumed his own seat.

  ‘So, Coulter, you have got yourself in a little trouble,’ Rupert said.

  ‘It would seem so.’

  ‘I have heard the stories. That business with your brother. Zounds, Coulter, what were you thinking when you swived Marchant’s wife?’

  Adam shrugged. ‘My thoughts, if I had any, were those of any young man when presented with a willing and beautiful
woman.’ And I never actually got to do any swiving, he almost added. Instead he shrugged. ‘It was seven years ago and I’m not the same person. Leipzig saw to that.’

  ‘Well, the lady hasn’t forgotten you.’ Rupert picked up another of the chess pieces, the queen. ‘She is lovely that lady, but dangerous.’ He glanced up at Adam with a rueful smile. ‘I doubt I would have done much different, but that doesn’t explain why, in God's name, you have taken up arms against my uncle?’ The chess piece fell back on to the board and Rupert’s fierce gaze met Adam’s, challenging the old loyalty they had to each other. The loyalty Adam had betrayed.

  Adam took a breath. He didn’t need to antagonise Rupert, not now when he needed his help. ‘Because I don’t believe that your uncle can rule without the consent of the people. His decision to do so has inflicted suffering and misery on his people in untold measure.’

  ‘You think you know him?’ Rupert’s eyes narrowed in challenge.

  ‘I think he doesn’t understand his countrymen,’ Adam said carefully.

  ‘Coulter, the king will win this war and where will that leave you?’

  Adam shrugged. ‘Much the same place I am now, I suspect.’

  Rupert threw himself back in the chair and regarded him, his finger resting on his unshaven upper lip. ‘You would not consider joining me? I need men of your calibre and experience.’

  Adam thought carefully before replying. ‘Your Highness, I hold you in the highest regard but I cannot turn my coat. I fight for what I believe in, not for the honour or the glory or indeed, in this matter, the money.’

  Rupert shrugged. ‘A man must live with his conscience, and I will respect you for that, but I am saddened that we must find each other in opposite camps.’

  ‘And I, your Highness,’ Adam said with genuine feeling. Once, a long time ago, he would have followed Rupert into the pits of hell.

  Rupert spread his hands. ‘Here and now, we are at truce. Old friends and comrades. What is it that you wish me to do?’

  Before Adam could answer there was a gentle knock at the door and Perdita entered bearing a tray.