outspoken comment. 'Who, what am I, to say such things?'
He smiled. 'Tell me. I'll not bite.'
It was like a cloud passing away. She said, 'Like that, Adam. Exactly that. The smile, as I remembered. And will remember it!'
He put his hand on her shoulder, touching her skin, feeling her body's resistance. Like a reminder. As if it had happened before.
He said, 'I would never hurt you, Lowenna. I would kill any man who harmed you.'
She touched his face. 'A man of war.' Gently, she took his arm. 'Walk me to that garden. The roses… What are you thinking, Adam?'
He walked with her to the steps, feeling the sun on his face, on her arm. The girl who had visited him in a dream had returned.
He said, 'I think that you belong here, Lowenna.'
She did not answer, and he said, 'That was badly put. Given time, I would learn to express myself… as I feel… and how I feel. You do belong here.'
They walked on, pausing while he stooped to pat Young Matthew's dog, Bosun. Old and almost blind now, the dog allowed nobody to pass unchallenged.
Adam winced as he straightened again.
'That will teach me a lesson!'
Ferguson was standing by the door of his office, and lifted a hand as they passed.
From another doorway Grace Ferguson also watched, and felt a tear in one corner of her eye.
They made a perfect picture. Like something from the past, and yet something so new and radiant that it was beautiful to see after all the sorrow this house had known. And all the happiness, too…
She thought she heard the girl laugh, at something he had said, perhaps. A closeness, a new discovery.
She went back into the house and closed the door, in spite of the heat.
Would she tell him? Could she share something which had all but destroyed her, without destroying this hope of a fresh beginning?
She hurried into the cool shadows, annoyed at herself that she was weeping.
Aware only of the girl holding his arm, Adam strolled through the stable yard and towards the gates. Several people working in the yard turned to look at them; a few, who had served here longer, waved.
She said, 'I want you to tell me about your life. Your ship, the men you lead.' She said it so seriously that he wanted to throw caution aside and embrace her. Like the girl in the dream.
'Then you can tell me all about you, Lowenna.'
She turned away, pretending to watch some ducks flying across the surface of the pond. She could not answer. And she was afraid.
Bryan Ferguson stood just outside the library door, his hand moving up and down the buttons of his coat, a habit he no longer noticed. It was rare for him to be so agitated.
'I heard a horse, Captain. I thought it was mebbee a courier.'
Sir Gregory Montagu removed his hat and gave a curt how. 'It is not uncommon for people to call upon me without prior arrangement. The times we live in, perhaps?'
Adam stood up from the table, the letter unfinished. Barely begun. My dear Catherine.
It was hard to compare this straight, elegant figure with the paintdaubed one in the grubby smock. He had ridden here along that same dusty track, but looked as if he could have been arriving at Court.
'Very well, Bryan. Thank you.' He glanced at the open door, the windows beyond. For a moment more he had imagined that she had come, too. Was it only yesterday, their walk in that same garden, while he had told her about Unrivalled, and some of the people who had made her the ship she had become? For those precious moments, so close, and yet quite apart.
Montagu gestured towards one of the paintings. 'That must be some of Ladbroke's work. Ships all out of proportion. Wouldn't know a block from a beakhead!'
Adam was suddenly alert, on the defensive. Montagu had not come here to pass the time of day about a painter who had died years ago.
'I thought you might be in London, Sir Gregory.'
'Did you? Indeed.' He plucked at the short cavalier's beard, his eyes everywhere. It was the first time Adam had seen him uncertain, perhaps unsure how to continue.
'You saw Lowenna, here in this house?'
Adam tensed. It would be easy to lose his temper. Maybe Montagu wanted just that.
'She was concerned about my injury. She would not stay for long.' He could see that his words were having no effect. 'I made certain that she was properly escorted.'
Montagu nodded abruptly. 'So I heard. As it should be. One can never be too careful these days.'
He walked to a bookcase, his riding boots squeaking on the waxed floorboards.
'Lowenna is very dear to me, otherwise I should not be here. She is my ward, but that cannot last forever. Nothing does. She is a lovely woman, but in some ways…'
Adam said quietly, 'Then you must know, Sir Gregory, that I care for her greatly.' He raised his hand. 'Hear me. I was unprepared for it, but now I can think of little else, only her future happiness.'
Montagu sat down heavily and gave him the same unwavering stare as some subject for his canvas.
He said, 'I knew her father for some years. I had occasion to work with him at Winchester. A scholar, and a fair man. But not of our world, yours or mine. He cared and trusted too much. His wife died in Winchester-a fever of some sorts. It was a foul winter that year-many went the same way. Lowenna tried to take her mother's place, and I did my best to help when I could. I felt I owed it to her father. As I said, a fair man, but weak. Unable to find his way after her death.'
'I felt there was something.'
Montagu seemed not to have heard him. 'They had a house outside Winchester, near the woods, pleasant enough, I suppose, but remote.' He leaned forward, his eyes very steady, sharing something which he must carry like a sacred trust. 'Some men came, asking for food, shelter maybe. Anyone else would have sent them packing. But as I said, he was not of our world.'
Adam felt himself gripping his leg, chilled, held in suspension, as if watching the gun ports of an enemy opening.
'They wanted money. Afterwards, we heard they were deserters from the army, common enough in those times. He had none, in any case, but they would not believe him.'
He was on his feet again. 'I am only telling you this because I trust you. If I thought or discovered to the contrary, I would use everything at my disposal to destroy you.'
He had not raised his voice, and yet it was as if he had shouted it aloud.
'It was some time before it was discovered. A visitor from the college where he was employed, I believe. For four days that girl was held captive, at their mercy. I can see from your face that you can form your own assessment, and I shall leave it there. It broke her in mind and body, and she would have died, I know that now. She is a brave, intelligent person, and I have seen what she has given to force that horror behind her.'
Adam said, 'With your help. Yours alone.'
'Perhaps I need her as much as I think she needed me.'
'Thank you for telling me, Sir Gregory.'
Montagu regarded him impassively. 'Has it changed things?'
'How could it?'
'She may never be able to tell you herself. Who can be that certain of anyone?'
Adam said, after a silence, 'Did they catch them?'
'Eventually. They were hanged as felons, not as soldiers. Even at the scaffold they tried to soil her name. Some of it found a receptive ear. No smoke without fire, isn't that what the Bard said?' He moved one foot sharply. 'I would have burned those scum alive for what they did!'
Adam heard someone leading a horse from the yard. Montagu had timed his visit to the minute.
'The subject of this conversation is safe with me, Sir Gregory.'
Something in his tone made Montagu cross the room and take his hand, their first contact since his arrival.
