And Then Mine Enemy

by Alison Stuart

  She shook her head. ‘I cannot even begin to imagine what a shock it must have been to read Joan’s words.’

  ‘But you didn’t deserve to take the blame.’

  He rose to his feet and picked up a paper from the table. Perdita recognised Joan’s letter, now much crumpled. He scanned the page and shook his head.

  ‘For over thirty years I’ve been to the world, and to myself, the bastard son of Lord Marchant and a dead woman called Ann Coulter. I had two half-brothers, at least one of whom would see me dead, and an aunt,’ he swallowed, ‘an aunt who was as close as any mother could have been.’ He tapped the page. ‘In a few short words she took all that from me, leaving me only with questions that no one can now answer.’ He tossed the paper back on the table. ‘Now what do I do, Perdita Gray?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

  He frowned. ‘Why couldn’t she tell me this when we had the opportunity, when I could have asked her?’

  ‘Probably for exactly that reason, Adam. She couldn’t face your anger or your questions.’

  He strode back to the window, and stood for a long moment looking out into the gloaming.

  ‘Whatever my past, it must wait. In the meantime, I have the more immediate problem of Rupert’s imminent arrival at the gates of York and,’ he turned to look at her again, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth, ‘a hitherto unknown wife who has inconveniently landed upon me.’

  Perdita stood up and looked around the comfortable room. ‘Maybe I could just stay here until matters settle.’

  He shook his head. ‘I can’t leave you in an inn in Fulford. Nowhere is safe.’ He paced the floor again before coming to stop in front of her. He laid his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look up at him. She expected to see anger in their grey depths but when he spoke it was without rancour. ‘God’s death, Perdita. I don’t need this but it seems I have no choice but to carry on your charade.’

  Perdita looked up at him. ‘I’m sorry, Adam. It truly began as a misunderstanding that I could not remedy.’

  He shook his head and gave a hollow laugh. ‘These are godly people. They are not going to understand or countenance this arrangement if they were to know the truth. You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.’ When she protested, he said, ‘It’s not the first time in my life I’ve had hard boards for a mattress. Now, Mistress Coulter, we had best make ourselves respectable. My officers will be expecting us to join them for dinner.’

  Perdita had retired early to bed, swaying on her feet with exhaustion, and she did not stir as Adam returned to the chamber. He stood for a long moment looking down at her. She lay curled on her side, her hair spread out on the bolsters. By the light of the candle, all the care had gone from the face and his heart ached at the sight of her. It would be so easy to slip into the bed beside her and take her in his arms. The knowledge she had never become Simon Clifford’s wife did not make her his. He had to win her love and in the circumstances neither of them needed, or had the time for, the niceties of courtship.

  The thought of even sleeping on the floor in the same bedchamber as Perdita Gray provoked a reaction in him that made the alternative of the oak settle in the parlour look like the safer course of action.

  Trying to make as little noise as possible, he retrieved a blanket and bolster and made a bed for himself in the parlour, which was where his general’s galloper, Richard Ashley found him in the morning with the news that Rupert was on the move and Fairfax wanted all his officers to assemble.

  He left a note for Perdita and, taking Hewitson, rode to the General’s headquarters. They did not return until long past nightfall and, rather than disturb Perdita, Adam chose to pass another night in the parlour, which raised a questioning eyebrow from his second in command.

  ‘She needs her sleep,’ he mumbled in excuse.

  And so do I, he could have added.

  But he was on the march in the morning and he had to pack his few belongings and be ready to leave by daybreak. Long before first light, he returned to the bedchamber and woke her. She sat up in bed.

  ‘Where did you sleep these last two nights?’ she asked.

  ‘Downstairs. You need to be up and dressed Mistress Gray. We march within the hour.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Rupert is at Knaresborough, barely a day’s march from York. We’ve no choice but to lift the siege and intercept him.’

  ‘There’ll be a battle?’

  He nodded. ‘Without doubt. We’re facing a formidable foe, Perdita. It will be bloody.’

  ‘What do you want of me?’ Perdita swung her feet out of bed.

  He had to look away and made a pretence of packing his box. Rupert of the Rhine made a less formidable foe than a beautiful woman in a thin chemise. Her bare feet padded on the floor boards and cloth rustled as she dressed.

  ‘I want you back in Warwickshire,’ he muttered and dared to turn around. She had her back to him, apparently lacing her stays over her petticoats. ‘One thing for certes, you can’t stay here. Once the siege is lifted, this village will be prey to the inhabitants of the city. I can send you south to Selby or…’

  ‘Or I can come with you,’ Perdita turned and looked over her shoulder. ‘You know I have some skill with the wounded and I could be useful.’

  ‘You would also be in the most incredible danger.’ Adam ran a weary hand across his forehead. ‘Should we not prevail…’

  She held up a knife, the early morning light glinting on its honed blade. ‘Ludovic gave me this. My honour will not be lost without a fight.’

  Adam looked at the little weapon. If the baggage train were attacked, it would be useless but if it gave her confidence then he was in no position to argue.

  He remembered a conversation he had with young Ashley on their way to Fairfax. ‘I have a thought that will keep you where you are safe and your dubious skill with a knife should not need to be put to a test. Pack your things and find something to eat. We leave at daybreak.’

  She took a step toward him, her fingers touching the chain of the locket he wore around his neck.

  ‘You still have it.’

  His hand closed over her fingers. ‘I wear it always. It is my charm.’

  Her lips curved uncertainly. ‘Poor protection against a sword or a well-aimed musket.’ She pulled away from him and handed him the heavy buff leather coat. He shrugged it on and stood quite still as she laced it. When he reached for his back and breast plate she was there before him, strapping on the armour like a good squire. He stood still as she tied the yellow silk sash around it and handed him his sword and baldrick.

  Perdita gestured at his box. ‘I’ll see to your belongings,’ she said, her eagerness to not seem to be a burden to him palpable.

  He allowed himself a smile. ‘Thank you. As I see you are determined to be a model camp follower, meet me downstairs.’

  He sought out young Ashley and the young man readily agreed to Adam’s suggestion.

  ‘I’ll see her safely bestowed,’ he said.

  Adam swung himself into the saddle as Perdita came out of the inn. He gestured for her to join him and introduced Richard Ashley.

  ‘Richard's home is at Barton only a few miles from where we’ll meet Rupert. He’ll take you there. You will be as safe there as anywhere.’ He jerked his head at Richard. ‘I’ll leave you in Richard's capable hands.’

  She stood at his knee and put her hand on his bridle. ‘God keep you safe, Adam.’

  Impulsively he bent and kissed her forehead, her skin cool and dry beneath his lips. He dared not think about what the next few days would bring, or allow himself for even a moment in time to dare to dream.

  He jerked back upright in the saddle. ‘And you, Perdita. I shall see you when this matter is settled.’ He wheeled his horse. ‘Watch over her, Ashley.’

  ‘Of course, sir. She’ll be safe at Barton. Thank you, sir.’

  Richard Ashley regarded Perdita’s sturdy pony with a bemused smile.

>   ‘This nag has four legs, but that’s about the best that can be said of him,’ he said as he hoisted her into the saddle.

  ‘You need not thank Adam Coulter for playing nursemaid to me, Captain,’ Perdita said as they started off.

  He smiled at her. ‘You mistake me, Mistress Coulter. While it is a great pleasure to have your company, it means I have a few precious hours with my wife and son and for that I am exceeding grateful.’

  She looked at his gentle face. He could surely not be much older than Robin Marchant. A young man who should have been at home with his wife watching his son grow, not escorting her through a countryside torn by war.

  ‘You don’t have the look of a soldier about you, Captain,’ she remarked.

  He shook his head. ‘If the truth be told, I only took up arms to support my father. It’s been a hard couple of years and I fervently pray that this coming battle will decide the matter.’

  ‘And then will you return home?’

  He shook his head. ‘I doubt it. I’m honour bound to see this thing through.’

  ‘You sound like my kinsman,’ Perdita said. ‘Only he wore the king’s colours.’

  And died for them.

  Richard Ashley nodded. ‘Men of honour carry the colours of both sides, Mistress Coulter.’

  Men of honour, she thought. What did that mean? Robin, Simon, Denzil, even Adam had talked of honour, but where was the honour in Englishmen killing Englishmen, brother facing brother across the battlefield.

  But yet they weren’t brothers, Denzil and Robin and Adam. Cousins, nothing more. Denzil and Robin didn’t know Joan’s secret. To them Adam was still their bastard half-brother and she wondered if they were with Rupert marching toward the gates of York.

  Ashley’s home at Barton Grange was a low, grey stone manor house which stood to one side of the village. Roses entwined around the doorway and it exuded a sense of peace and tranquillity. Perdita looked quickly at her escort and saw the yearning on his face.

  ‘Richard!’

  A young woman, no more than a girl, had come running from the house, her skirts in her hand, her hair loosed from the cap she carried in the other hand. He slid off his horse, scooping her into his arms.

  ‘Kate! Oh, Kate, it is good to see you.’

  Oblivious to Perdita and the servants who gathered at the stable door and windows, the young couple kissed. A boy came forward and took the reins of the horses. He held out his hand and Perdita slid off her mount. She straightened her skirts and waited patiently until Richard and his young wife remembered propriety and drew apart.

  The girl blushed, hastily rearranging her disordered dark honey-blonde hair back beneath the cap as she dropped Perdita a curtsey.

  ‘Kate, this is my friend Major Coulter's wife.’

  The two women exchanged courtesies and Kate waved her guest toward the house.

  ‘Please come inside.’ Kate stood aside, slipping her arm into the crook of her husband's elbow. ‘Richard, how long have you got?’

  ‘A short time only, love,’ he said. ‘Where’s young Tom?’

  ‘Upstairs with Ellen.’

  They entered the cool interior of the house. The long, low-ceilinged parlour smelt of fresh beeswax polish and roses from the bowl of freshly picked flowers that stood on the table.

  ‘Please don’t feel you must entertain me,’ Perdita said with a smile. ‘Make the most of your time together. I see you have some books on that shelf. I shall be quite content.’

  Kate hesitated. ‘If you will not think me rude?’

  Perdita shook her head and Kate Ashley smiled. Like her husband, she seemed impossibly young to be confronted with war.

  ‘I will see you get some refreshment.’ Kate looked up at her husband. ‘Come and see Tom. He has grown so since you last saw him and is talking.’

  Perdita smiled to herself as she followed their voices as they disappeared up the stairs. A servant set a tray down on the table with food and drink. Perdita selected a book and settled herself in the large oaken chair by the window overlooking the garden.

  ‘Mistress Coulter?’

  She had been so engrossed in the book she had not heard Richard Ashley. He stood at the door, spinning his hat in his hand.

  ‘I regret I must leave now.’

  She stood up. ‘So soon? Thank you Captain Ashley. God go with you.’

  ‘I will tell the major that you are safely bestowed.’

  Perdita wondered what a good wife would be expected to say and said with a smile, ‘And please assure him my prayers are with him.’

  The young man inclined his head. ‘Of course.’ He bowed. ‘Good day, mistress.’

  Through the window she watched as Richard Ashley stooped from the saddle to kiss his young wife before turning his horse and riding out through the gates.

  Kate turned back towards the house, and as she entered the parlour, the brave smile belied the tears that glinted in the afternoon light

  ‘I apologise for neglecting you, Mistress Coulter.’

  Perdita shook her head. ‘Please, I bid my,’ she paused, the lie once more coming to her lips, ‘husband farewell this morning, there is no need to pretend an indifference to his departure you do not feel.’

  Kate Ashley sank on to a chair and leaned her head on her hands.

  ‘We seem to have had so little time together,’ she said. ‘We were wed but a year when the war came.’ She looked up at Perdita. ‘Have you been wed long?’

  Perdita shook her head and changed the subject. ‘You have a child?’

  Kate brightened. ‘Thomas. He was born not long before the war began.’ The shadows descended again. ‘He has barely seen his father in all that time.’

  ‘May I meet him?’

  Kate's eyes brightened. ‘Of course! He is upstairs with his nurse. Come and I will show you to the guest chamber and then we will visit Tom.’

  Thomas Ashley was a dark-haired, slender child, who resembled neither parent. When Perdita remarked on this, Kate laughed.

  ‘He is indeed a changeling. My father-in-law is of the opinion that he favours Richard's mother, but she is long dead and I have no likeness to compare. Do you have children, Mistress Coulter?’

  Perdita hesitated. ‘No… no.’ The old pain caught at her voice.

  Kate gave her a look of absolute understanding but before she could speak. Thomas, awkward in his skirts, toddled over to Perdita and held out a wooden horse.

  ‘Horsey.’

  Perdita took the toy and slipped down to her knees, her skirts billowing around her.

  ‘See, Thomas,’ she said trip-trapping the horse across the floor, ‘the horse is going to visit his friends.’

  The horse's friends were to be found in a wooden Noah's ark. Playing with the child made it possible for both women to forget for a couple of hours, the terrible danger that the men they loved would face in the morning.

  Chapter 13

  Marston Moor

  2 July 1644

  ‘He's not coming?’ Hewitson muttered dourly as Adam rode up beside him, fresh from a hasty conference behind the lines. ‘Ye're going to tell me that Rupert's decided not to give battle. Why else is't infantry moving?’

  ‘The Generals are deploying most of the foot towards Tadcaster. They think Rupert means to break south,’ Adam replied.

  ‘Oh aye? Mayhap the generals have got it wrong.’ Hewitson pointed across the moor. ‘See yonder, that body of horse?’

  Adam nodded.

  ‘Rupert's men. They’ve been watching us for some time.’

  As Hewitson indicated, the distant horsemen wheeled and turned away.

  ‘So we know what t’generals think. What do you think?’ Hewitson looked at his commander.

  Adam still watched the place where the horsemen had been. ‘I know Rupert. I believe he intends to force a fight and settle the matter, if not today then tomorrow. Sweet Jesus.’ Where the little group of horsemen had stood, now a much larger force gathered and more beside them un
til it seemed the entire sky line became one line of soldiery.

  ‘Seems you were right, Coulter,’ Hewitson noted. ‘How are we expected to hold 't field? With t’infantry gone, we’ve but six thousand horse.’

  Adam shook his head. ‘We’ll never hold that number, and if they should prevail then our foot are strung out between here and Tadcaster. Idiots!’ He looked up at the sky. ‘And it's going to rain again.’

  ‘Looks like battle it is.’ Hewitson sighed. ‘’Tis the waiting I hates the most.’

  Adam nodded. ‘Let's deploy the men along the slope a little further.’

  A wry grin flashed across Hewitson's face. ‘You're not going to fool them into thinking we've more men than we have?’

  Adam shrugged. ‘If nothing else it will give the men something to do. Oh, and tell them that the mark of the day is a white favour in the helm.’

  As Hewitson wheeled his horse and trotted across to the troops, Adam pulled a kerchief from his jacket and tore a sizeable piece from it. He unbuckled his helmet and fixed the scrap of cloth to the crown. It seemed an insubstantial distinction between himself and the other Englishmen he faced across the field.

  He narrowed his eyes and scanned the force facing him. Goring, he guessed from the colours. It was unlikely that the Marchants would be here today and for that he was thankful. Another heavy shower of rain scudded across the field and Adam hunched his shoulders. Despite the rain it was warm, and beneath his cuirass and buff leather coat he was damp with sweat.

  ‘The general's compliments, Major, but could you move your troops forward fifty yards?’

  Adam turned at the sound of young Richard Ashley's voice.

  ‘My compliments to the general. It will be done,’ he replied, quickly relaying the instructions to his sergeant. He turned back to the young man. ‘I trust you found your wife well yesterday?’

  ‘Indeed, sir. My little lad is talking now.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Three, sir.’

  ‘And my wife?’ If there was the slightest hesitation before the word ‘wife’ Richard Ashley did not notice.