slumped into a chair in the Great Hall and sent for Melchior Blakelocke, Sergeant Hale and a jug of Sir John’s best wine.
“Well?” Ned demanded when they were all assembled. “What did you find out?”
“Not only do they have at least four hundred well trained and equipped troops, they have a forty eight pounder, a demi-cannon and two culverins.”
“God help us.” Ned glanced out of the window at the illusory solidity of the castle walls.
“Oh dear,” Melchior Blakelocke said with a shake of his head. “That is not good news, sir.”
“No,” Luke said with a grimace. “Not good at all.”
“How long have we got?”
Luke studied the grain on the wooden table for a long moment, tracing it with a finger. “If I was Farrington I would take out Byton first and when that is secure, move on us. We have probably less than two weeks, if that.”
“With Mistress Felton indisposed...” Blakelocke began.
Luke pushed back his chair and stood up. “We should be able to get a great deal done. Gentlemen, let's take a walk.”
Chapter 6
D eliverance lay looking up at the bed hangings. The sun streamed in through the windows, catching the dust motes that danced in the golden light of the late morning, as she replayed the headlong events of the previous day. Her arm hurt enough to remind her of her own mortality, and how close she had come to losing her life.
Penitence must have given her some poppy juice to ensure she slept through the night and her eyelids began to droop once more. Through her torpor, she heard a sharp rap on the door and the sound of Meg’s shoes on the floorboards as she crossed to the door, followed by a whispered exhortation from her maid.
At the sound of a man’s voice, her eyes sprang open. A shadow fell across her and she squinted up into Luke Collyer's face.
“Good. You're awake.”
She squeaked with alarm and scrabbled at her bedclothes with her good hand, drawing the sheet up to her chin while he leaned one hand against the bed post, and looked down at her with a smile, tugging at the corners of his mouth, the corners of his smoky-grey eyes creased with amusement.
“This is most improper,” Deliverance said.
“Meg is here to insure your honor is not impugned.” He indicated the maid sitting on a chair by the table, her back rigid with disapproval. “How's your arm?”
“It hurts...a little.” Her voice sounded high and tight even to her ears as hazy memories of their ride back from Ludlow began to seep back into her consciousness.
Luke straightened and crossed his arms, and as he did so, an uncomfortable recollection of being held in those arms sent a warm glow rushing through her body. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Loss of blood must have made her silly as well as light-headed. What had she been thinking to allow herself to be held by a man in such a fashion? On the other hand it had not been unpleasant. For the first time in her life someone had stepped in to take her cares and worries away and keep her safe.
“Pistol balls do have that effect,” he was saying. “You’ll be fine in a few days.”
Luke's brisk tone punctured the warm memory of their shared intimacy and the throbbing in her arm gave a lie to his words.
She narrowed her eyes. “Have you ever been wounded?”
Luke raised an eyebrow. “I'm a soldier, what do you think?”
“I didn't notice any scars...” Deliverance said without thinking, remembering the sight of his well-muscled body as he wielded a mattock in the trenches. As he grinned, the warmth flooded into her cheeks.
“Ah, so you were not just keeping watch on the castle wall? Shame on you, Mistress Felton!” He wagged a reproving finger at her.
“My attention was fixed on the man in the trees, not you. You had more than enough female admirers on the wall.”
His lips parted as if he were about to say something but he must have thought better of it. He straightened, the soldier once more.
“I came to
“Well?” Ned demanded when they were all assembled. “What did you find out?”
“Not only do they have at least four hundred well trained and equipped troops, they have a forty eight pounder, a demi-cannon and two culverins.”
“God help us.” Ned glanced out of the window at the illusory solidity of the castle walls.
“Oh dear,” Melchior Blakelocke said with a shake of his head. “That is not good news, sir.”
“No,” Luke said with a grimace. “Not good at all.”
“How long have we got?”
Luke studied the grain on the wooden table for a long moment, tracing it with a finger. “If I was Farrington I would take out Byton first and when that is secure, move on us. We have probably less than two weeks, if that.”
“With Mistress Felton indisposed...” Blakelocke began.
Luke pushed back his chair and stood up. “We should be able to get a great deal done. Gentlemen, let's take a walk.”
Chapter 6
D eliverance lay looking up at the bed hangings. The sun streamed in through the windows, catching the dust motes that danced in the golden light of the late morning, as she replayed the headlong events of the previous day. Her arm hurt enough to remind her of her own mortality, and how close she had come to losing her life.
Penitence must have given her some poppy juice to ensure she slept through the night and her eyelids began to droop once more. Through her torpor, she heard a sharp rap on the door and the sound of Meg’s shoes on the floorboards as she crossed to the door, followed by a whispered exhortation from her maid.
At the sound of a man’s voice, her eyes sprang open. A shadow fell across her and she squinted up into Luke Collyer's face.
“Good. You're awake.”
She squeaked with alarm and scrabbled at her bedclothes with her good hand, drawing the sheet up to her chin while he leaned one hand against the bed post, and looked down at her with a smile, tugging at the corners of his mouth, the corners of his smoky-grey eyes creased with amusement.
“This is most improper,” Deliverance said.
“Meg is here to insure your honor is not impugned.” He indicated the maid sitting on a chair by the table, her back rigid with disapproval. “How's your arm?”
“It hurts...a little.” Her voice sounded high and tight even to her ears as hazy memories of their ride back from Ludlow began to seep back into her consciousness.
Luke straightened and crossed his arms, and as he did so, an uncomfortable recollection of being held in those arms sent a warm glow rushing through her body. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Loss of blood must have made her silly as well as light-headed. What had she been thinking to allow herself to be held by a man in such a fashion? On the other hand it had not been unpleasant. For the first time in her life someone had stepped in to take her cares and worries away and keep her safe.
“Pistol balls do have that effect,” he was saying. “You’ll be fine in a few days.”
Luke's brisk tone punctured the warm memory of their shared intimacy and the throbbing in her arm gave a lie to his words.
She narrowed her eyes. “Have you ever been wounded?”
Luke raised an eyebrow. “I'm a soldier, what do you think?”
“I didn't notice any scars...” Deliverance said without thinking, remembering the sight of his well-muscled body as he wielded a mattock in the trenches. As he grinned, the warmth flooded into her cheeks.
“Ah, so you were not just keeping watch on the castle wall? Shame on you, Mistress Felton!” He wagged a reproving finger at her.
“My attention was fixed on the man in the trees, not you. You had more than enough female admirers on the wall.”
His lips parted as if he were about to say something but he must have thought better of it. He straightened, the soldier once more.
“I came to
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