And Then Mine Enemy

by Alison Stuart

  As if he had been summoned, Simon returned a few days later, claiming a few day’s reprieve from his duties with Lord Northampton.

  Perdita regarded her betrothed with critical eyes. His drawn and troubled face worried her. It was not just the physical changes that troubled her. Each time she saw him all his confident optimism seemed to have further leeched from him.

  ‘Simon you’re becoming quite thin,’ she remarked, attempting to keep her tone light.

  ‘The food can be a little scarce at times.’ He shrugged and looked around his own pleasant parlour. ‘I heard you had an unwelcome guest.’

  ‘Unwelcome?’

  ‘That man, Coulter.’

  ‘He’s Joan’s nephew and he’ll never be unwelcome in her house, whatever the circumstances.’

  Simon flushed and drew a weary hand over his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Perdita. It is a strange world we are living in. Bess tells me he escaped his brother’s clutches? Some story about Prince Rupert?’

  Perdita nodded. ‘Indeed. The prince came in person. It would seem they had served together in Germany.’

  ‘Rupert? Here? At the behest of Adam Coulter?’ Simon’s tired eyes came to life.

  Perdita smiled and nodded. ‘Would I lie?’

  ‘Well, I'll be damned. As I said, strange times indeed.’

  ‘I might add that the prince is every bit as impressive as his legend.’

  Simon nodded. ‘He has the women swooning at his feet.’ He leaned forward and took her hands in his. ‘Perdita, this damnable war is set to continue for some time yet.’

  ‘So it would seem, Simon.’

  He looked wretched. ‘I have no way of knowing when I can be with you. Are you sure you want to go through with this wedding?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ she said fiercely and forced herself to laugh. ‘Anyway, it is too late, Simon. The tailor has been sent for and the dress is ordered.’

  He smiled at last. ‘The dress, eh? Tell me about it?’

  ‘Midnight blue damask. It will be quite the most beautiful dress I have ever owned and I will not see it lie in a chest, waiting for you to make up your mind exactly when we are to be wed.’

  ‘Colonel Compton seems happy to grant me a few days leave at Christmas time. It will be very quiet, Perdita. Although I have invited Will Compton. I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course not. I’m not one for large pageants, Simon.’

  He frowned. ‘Now tell me about this Robin Marchant? From the way Bess talks of him, do I detect that they have developed something of a liaison?’

  ‘Thrown together for weeks as they were, what do you expect?’

  ‘Perdita. I trust you saw that nothing improper occurred.’

  Perdita smiled. ‘I could not be with them all the time.’

  Simon huffed. ‘I always said Bess had the right to choose. I would never force her to marry against her will. Now am I supposed to approve or disapprove?

  ‘What a question. Robin is a delightful young man who could have the choice of any court beauty he wishes, but he has chosen Bess.’

  ‘It is just that everything to do with the Marchants seems so difficult.’

  ‘I think Robin is the exception.’

  ‘Then perhaps it would be sensible if I were to have an opportunity to talk with him. When next I’m in Oxford I’ll seek him out.’ Simon rose wearily to his feet. ‘I must get to my bed. I’m expected back in Banbury tomorrow.’ He pulled her to her feet, and stood facing her, holding her hands in his. ‘Only a few months, Perdita, and we will be man and wife. It seems like a dream.’

  He leaned forward and kissed her, a hesitant, chaste kiss. Perdita waited for the answering tide of passion that had swept over her when Adam had taken her in his arms but it did not come. She laid her head against Simon’s shoulder and the guilt trickled from her in her tears. She knew Simon would mistake them for sadness at his departure. Let him think that. She would marry him and forget what might have been with Adam Coulter.

  Chapter 10

  Preswood Hall

  15 December 1643

  Winter came and the campaigning slowed, lost in mud, rain and snow, but at Preswood, a sense of anticipation had begun to build as the day of Perdita and Simon’s wedding approached. They had decided on the 20th of December with the hope that Simon would be able to stay long enough to enjoy Christmas.

  With the cold, the women had abandoned the great parlour for the smaller, more easily warmed downstairs parlour where they passed the days when not busy with household chores. Joan kept to her own chamber and Bess confided that Joan was working on a painting, a wedding present, and was anxious to have it finished before the day.

  Bess and Perdita were engaged on stitching a fine piece of linen Bess had found in an old chest to make a table cloth. The peremptory fall of the great brass door knocker made them both jump and even before Ludovic appeared at the door of the parlour with a mud-spattered courier, wearing the regimental blue of Simon’s regiment, Perdita knew he brought only bad news.

  The soldier bowed and held out a letter.

  ‘I have a message for thee, Mistress Gray, from Colonel Compton.’

  Perdita took the letter, her heart pounding beneath her bodice. She thanked him and told Ludovic to see that the soldier received refreshment in the kitchen.

  Alone with Bess she stared at the letter in her hand, the blood red wax imprinted with Compton’s seal unbroken. A year of war had taught them that a personal letter from Simon’s commander at Banbury could only bring ill news.

  ‘Perhaps it is to say that he is coming to the wedding?’ Even Bess’s voice wavered.

  Perdita looked up at her and shook her head. ‘No, Bess. It won’t be that.’

  Bess’s hands going to her mouth as she stifled a sob. ‘Open it, Perdita,’ she instructed.

  Barely able to control her trembling, Perdita broke the seal, the hastily penned words dancing illegibly across the page.

  ‘Read it! For the love of God, read it!’ Bess blurted out.

  Perdita forced herself to focus, reading the missive aloud.

  ‘My dear Mistress Gray, I fear that this missive brings you bad news but not the very worst you could expect. Simon Clifford is, to the best of my intelligence, alive and well when last seen. Sadly for your happy plans, an event to which we were all looking forward, a week has passed since Captain Clifford was taken by the forces of parliament and is, I believe, immured in Warwick Castle. No doubt the foul fiends will be looking for some sort of ransom to deliver him safely to your hands as they have in the past. I have written personally to the Governor of Warwick Castle putting your case and I pray yet that we can secure his release forthwith in time for your wedding. Yr Faithful Servant W. Compton.’

  Perdita set the letter down on the table and looked at Bess. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Adam Coulter is at Warwick.’ Bess enunciated the name, her eyes bright with hope. ‘Perdita he owes you his life. Go to him and secure Simon’s release.’

  A thousand turbulent emotions poured into Perdita’s heart. In the months since he had ridden away from Preswood, there had been no word from Adam. While she told herself that she had no wish to see him, the memory of that stolen embrace, that shared moment of intimacy still haunted her dreams.

  She had no choice. He was the only hope that she had.

  She took the letter and went in search of Joan, making sure she announced her presence in time for Joan to secure her secret project.

  Joan read the letter, her mouth tightening.

  ‘At least we can thank God Simon is still alive,’ Joan said. ‘Bess is right, Perdita. You must go to Warwick and speak with Adam. His debt is to you, not to Bess nor I.’

  Joan rose stiffly from her chair and unlocked a heavy wooden chest that stood beneath the window. She withdrew two small leather pouches, weighed them thoughtfully in her hand and without looking at Perdita said, ‘What price a man’s life, Perdita?’

  ‘Joan. I have some co
in. I don’t need yours.’

  Joan shook her head and pressed the bags into Perdita's hand. ‘This is Simon’s inheritance. I have no need of it. Take it. Simon’s life and happiness is worth more to me than gold.’

  Adam sighed and drew another piece of paper towards him. Another claim for compensation from an aggrieved landowner that differed only from the previous ten he had read in the details.

  ‘The 12th day of May Ano Dni 1643 one Creed Hopkins and Boovey attended with a troop of horse and men under the command of Captain Joseph Hawkesworth came to the house of ye said Edward and then and there took out of ye stable there these horses following…’

  Then followed a long list of items and amounts. Adam leaned back in his chair considering what to do with the claim. He could spare no money to settle this or any of them. He had no money to pay his own soldiers.

  He did not even look up at a firm knock on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ he said abstractedly.

  The door opened and Adam lowered the paper to see who had entered.

  ‘Mistress Gray...Perdita!’ he said, scrambling to his feet.

  ‘Captain Coulter.’ She responded only with a small bob and no smile of greeting. Her lips were blue and her hair hung in damp rats’ tails from beneath the hood of her cloak, soaked from the sleeting rain outside.

  When Perdita hesitated, casting a longing glance at the cosy fire that burned in the hearth, Adam rose and took her elbow, propelling her to the warmth.

  Her teeth chattered and her gloved fingers fumbled ineffectually with the sodden knot that secured her cloak. He pushed her hands away and undid the cloak, laying it over a chair to dry. He placed a hand on her shoulder, easing her into a well-cushioned chair. She sat bolt upright staring into the fire with unseeing eyes.

  ‘Perdita, you are half-frozen. Have you ridden from Preswood?’

  She nodded and he hunkered down in front of her and pulled off her gloves, laying them on the hearth. He took her icy fingers between his hands and gently chaffed them. She winced and pulled her hands away, shaking them to restore the circulation.

  ‘Now your boots.’

  ‘I can…’ she began, but he had already begun to pull off the mired riding boot. He looked up at her, holding one small, cold, damp foot cupped in his hand.

  ‘Your stockings are saturated. Your feet will never warm. Take them off and set them before the fire.’

  A faint colour stained her cheeks but she bent and removed her stockings, affording him a tantalising glimpse of ankle and well-turned calf before she drew her bare feet up underneath her. He fetched a blanket from his bed and swaddled her in it before bellowing to a servant to fetch some warm soup.

  ‘What in God’s name brings you here in this weather?’ he chided.

  ‘I had to see you on an important matter. I received—’ She broke off as Adam’s servant entered bearing a tray with soup, bread and wine which he set down on the table.

  Adam dismissed him cursorily and turned back to Perdita, pleased to see a little colour returning to her face.

  ‘Get this inside you.’

  He handed her the bowl and spoon and she supped the soup, taking a couple of grateful gulps from the cup of wine he poured for her. Satisfied he had done all he could to make her comfortable, Adam flung himself into the chair opposite her. Resting his elbow on the arm of the chair, he leaned his face on his hand and regarded her thoughtfully.

  ‘Better?’

  She managed a faint smile. ‘Much, thank you.’

  ‘I trust you’ve not come alone?’

  She shook her head. ‘I left Ludovic at the inn and came straight here. They kept me waiting at the gate for simply ages before they let me in and I think that was only because they thought I was visiting you for entertainment.’ A small smile touched the corners of her lips.

  Adam smiled in response. ‘There goes my reputation and yours.’ His brow furrowed. ‘So, what brings you here that is of such importance? It’s not bad news? Joan?’

  Perdita shook her head. ‘No, everyone is well enough. And you, Adam? You have recovered?’

  He shrugged. ‘My leg troubles me in this weather and those damned ribs ache in the cold but otherwise I’m fine.’

  ‘You sound like an old man.’

  ‘In truth there are times when I feel like one, Perdita .’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘There are too many young men about who make me feel like the old and grizzled veteran that I am.’

  That small smile appeared again and a glint shone in her eye. ‘Rest assured, you do not look old and grizzled.’

  ‘Thank you for saying that, but I can see for myself that there are grey hairs at my temple. So if it is not bad news and you are not here merely to enquire after my health, I will ask you again, what has brought you to Warwick in this foul weather, Perdita?’

  Any trace of humour slipped from her face. Her grave, brown eyes rested on his face. ‘You have Simon.’

  ‘Simon? What do you mean, I have Simon?’

  Her eyes widened and the brown eyes flashed. ‘You’re no fool, Adam, as deputy governor of this castle, you must know who you have immured in your dungeons.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve been in London these last few weeks and did not return until yesterday.’

  Perdita stood up and took two leather pouches from her skirts. They clinked as she laid them on the table on top of the sheaf of papers he had been considering.

  ‘There is your ransom. Please restore Simon to me.’

  He rose to his feet and stood quite still, staring down at the two bags of coin. What sort of man did she think he was? In an angry gesture he swept the coins to the floor where they landed with a thunk.

  He looked up at her, hurt and indignation seething in his chest. ‘God’s death, Perdita, who do you take me for?’

  Her gaze met his, her brown eyes wide with anger and her colour high. ‘One of the foul fiends of Warwick Castle who hold men’s lives for ransom I think is how Colonel Compton put it.’

  She may as well have slapped his face. He took a step back.

  After all they had been through together, she should think him no more than a ‘foul fiend’?

  He bent and picked up the moneybags, handing them back to her. ‘I’ll not take your money for Simon Clifford’s life.’

  Her fingers closed on the coins and she quivered. ‘Are you refusing to release him to me, Adam?’

  He shook his head. ‘I told you once I owed you for my life, Perdita Gray. I will gladly restore Simon to you, without the need for recompense.’ He glanced at the window. ‘It’s getting late and I need to find him. Come back in the morning. If he is indeed here I will give him to you then.’

  Perdita looked away. Her shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh. ‘Thank you. We are to be wed in four days.’

  A cold hand clenched Adam’s heart. ‘About time.’ He forced the words out between stiff lips.

  He looked away as Perdita pulled on her damp stockings and boots. Pausing only to collect her cloak and gloves, she left his room without a backward glance.

  Adam sank back into his chair, staring at the door as it slammed shut behind her. He remembered the feel of her in his arms, the touch of her lips on his, and reminded himself that once again he had done the unthinkable, fallen in love with a woman who belonged to another man. This time he would make no mistake.

  Adam stared at the door that led down to the dungeons of Warwick Castle. They were old, probably older than the present structure that stood over them. Nothing had yet induced him to set foot beyond that door. The very thought of descending the narrow winding stairs below the castle made the sweat break out on the back of his neck and the breath tighten in his chest. It took very little to transport him back to Leipzig and the smell of unwashed bodies, and worse to bring back memories he saw only in his nightmares.

  He hailed his sergeant who was supervising the mending and polishing of horse harness.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Ther
e is a prisoner below by the name of Simon Clifford. Bring him up for me.’

  The sergeant saluted and without a moment’s hesitation disappeared into the bowels of the castle, leaving Adam standing on the damp, cold cobbles, hoping that his men did not notice how his hands shook.

  He kicked at a loose stone, unable to shed the pall that thoughts of his own incarceration resurrected. He had little memory of how he had made his way from Leipzig to Paris, except that every day had been a desperate fight for survival. He had begged and he had stolen, and had occasionally earned a few honest pennies with his drawing, but there had been times he had despaired of ever seeing England again.

  Mercifully in Paris he had found Marie, the plump, cheerful whore who had warmed his bed in the early days of his exile. She had since married, her friends at the bawdy house had told him. Married or not, she had taken him in, nursed him back to health and provided him with clothes and the money for a fare back to England. He had repaid the money but he would be forever in her debt as he was in Perdita’s.

  I must have looked like that when they brought me back into the light, Adam thought as Simon Clifford stumbled out of the doorway assisted by a none-too-gentle shove from the sergeant. Simon gathered himself up and stood for a moment, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the grey, wintry light. He has only been down there for a matter of days, thought Adam.

  Imagine three years, Simon Clifford.

  Simon's gaze came to rest on Adam.

  ‘Coulter. I can’t tell you how good it is to see a familiar face. I asked for you, but they told me you were away from the castle.’

  Adam bowed. ‘My apologies, Clifford. I’ve just returned from London. If I’d known of your incarceration I would have at least seen you somewhat more comfortably housed.’ He gestured at the gate. ‘As it is you are free to go.’

  ‘Free?’ Simon’s mouth fell open and his eyes widened.

  ‘I believe you have a wedding to attend. You will find your bride waiting for you by the postillion gate.’