The White Lord of Wellesbourne (12 page)

Jezebel’s weeping had faded. She
wasn’t particularly comforted by his declaration not to hurt the lady, but then
again, she was a single-focused creature. All she knew was that she had
completed her task as Strode had asked of her when he had pulled her deep into
the circle of intrigue that seemed to flow throughout Whitewell like a disease.
You will tell me when this wedding is to happen so that we may confiscate
Wellesbourne Castle in the name of Henry
. Everything about Whitewell stank
of hatred against Richard, of the fall of the Red Rose. Aye, she had completed
her task. Her reward was marriage to Strode, an elevation of her station. All
would look more favorably upon her now.  She had done what he had asked.

Hand still to her red-welted
face, she slipped past him.  Strode watched her disappear into the approaching
dusk, a waif of a thing that did not matter much to him. She could die tomorrow
and he would not be heart broken. But for the moment, she served a purpose. And
that purpose was to feed him information. He left the stables in her wake,
heading for the Whitewell troops housed in temporary quarters just inside the
main gate.

The stable was left still and
silent but for the snorting of a horse now and again. They were becoming
increasingly impatient for their evening meal. In the growing darkness, a head
suddenly popped up in one of the stalls that housed a big blond charger. It was
difficult to make out who it was until the shape came from behind the horse and
stepped out into the fading light. Straw stuck out from the figure’s pale blond
head, the blue eyes reflecting shock in the twilight.

John Wellesbourne had heard
everything.

***

Her wedding dress had been her
mother’s.  It was a white confection of silk and linen, woven with strands of
real silver thread. Across her midsection was an elaborately embroidered belt
of crystals and silver beads, absolutely gorgeous and glistening. The neckline
was off the shoulder, the sleeves long, emphasizing her slender neck and
shapely torso.  Jezebel had pinned her hair up with silver pins and had braided
strips of white ribbon into the bronze curls.  If ever Alixandrea had looked
like an angel, today was the day.   As the sun set, the hour of Vespers quickly
approached and she sat in taut anticipation of the evening’s events.  The
arrangements were made, the hall readied, and there was naught else to do but
wait.

Under her earlier supervision,
and with Caroline standing silently by, the great hall had been transformed
from a smelly room of dogs and dirt into a warm place with fresh rushes and a
blazing fire. 

Although it still smelled of dogs
and probably would until the floors had been washed a few times, she was
moderately satisfied with its current state. It had taken a small army of house
servants to achieve it, some of whom now had a permanent job in keeping the
floors of the great hall clean.  Alixandrea wasn’t a heavy-handed chatelaine;
she preferred to accomplish her needs through positive encouragement and kind
directives. At least for the moment, it seemed to be working. 

The dogs who populated the hall
were another problem altogether. Seven in all and a litter of pups, and they
seemed to like Alixandrea a good deal. The moment she walked into the room,
they were on her and continued to follow her around as if she held all the
answers to their doggie dreams.  She had resorted to tricking them to go
outside into the kitchen yard; when they followed her from the hall and out
into the yard, she dashed back inside the keep and slammed the heavy oak door.
She heard them whimpering outside but that was of no matter; dogs belonged
outside, in her opinion, and outside they were going to stay.

It had been an interesting
afternoon to say the least.  She felt that she was becoming moderately
acquainted with the four story keep and she also felt that she was settling
comfortably into her position at Wellesbourne. Caroline had been company all
afternoon, following her around more than actually helping. Alixandrea could
see what Matthew had suggested of the woman; she wasn’t particularly strong
willed, and she definitely was not a leader. She was rather meek, a little
flighty, and a sweet simpleton as Alixandrea had observed earlier. There was no
way this woman could stand up against five grown men and a castle full of
soldiers.

They had parted ways about a
couple of hours before Vespers so that each could dress for the ceremony. 
Jezebel had been nowhere to be found when Alixandrea arrived in her chamber,
but the maid made her appearance shortly thereafter with a big copper tub and
servants bearing hot water. After her mistress was bathed, she brought her
mistress honeyed wine in an effort to calm any nerves she might be feeling for
the evening’s events.

The wine was very sweet.  Cup in
hand, Alixandrea stood in front of a large bronze mirror that she had brought
with her from Whitewell.  The reflection gazing back at her was confident,
relaxed.  She was rather pleased with the way she looked and hoped Matthew was
pleased also.

“I wish my mother could see me,”
she murmured, smoothing at the skirt. “She would have been blissfully happy.
This was her gown, you know. She married my father in it.”

“I know,” Jezebel watched her as
she twirled and posed. “Ye look lovely, m’lady.“

“Do you think so?” Alixandrea put
the goblet down to fix a ribbon in her hair. “What do you think of the hall? I
had them clean it up. Does it look much better?”

“It does, mlady.”

“I hope Sir Matthew thinks so. I
hope he…”

She was interrupted by pounding
on the chamber door. It was loud, almost angry. Jezebel flew to the door and
opened it. Mathew stepped into the room, with Mark standing in the doorway
behind him. Alixandrea noticed right away that both men were still dressed in
the clothes they had worn earlier, certainly not clean or ceremonial garments
that one would expect for a wedding. By the expression on Matthew’s face, she could
sense his ominous mood from where she stood. She was about to ask him if
anything was amiss when he spoke.

“Something has come up, Lady
Alixandrea,” he said, his voice deep and cold. “I am afraid that our nuptials
planned for this evening will be indefinitely postponed.”

Alixandrea felt as if she had
been hit in the stomach.
Indefinitely postponed
? She could feel the
blood draining from her face and it was a struggle to maintain her composure.

“Is there a problem, my lord?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

She did not believe him. “My
lord, if I have done something offensive.…”

“I did not say that you did.”

“Even so, your attitude clearly
demonstrates that I must have done something. Why else would you cancel our
ceremony?”

He cut her off. “I will repeat my
statement that it is not your concern. And you will ask no more questions on
this matter until such time as I decide it is a subject worthy of further
discussion.”

Alixandrea did not say another
word. She stared at him, her sultry bronze eyes asking a thousands questions
that her lips could not.  He was absolutely final in his manner, a brutality
and harshness emanating from him that she could never have imagined he was
capable of.  She simply lowered her head in submission.  Before she could lift
it again, the door slammed and he was gone.

She stood a moment, shocked and
sickened.  She could not imagine what she might have done to offend him so. 
Everything had been so pleasant between them, up until just a few hours ago.
Then she remembered the hall, now devoid of dogs and feces, now cleaned as she
had insisted. Perhaps he did not want it cleaned even though he told her that
she could do as she pleased. Perhaps he was really hoping she would leave it
alone, but like a meddling female, she had not. She had insisted the hall have
her signature upon it as the new chatelaine.  Aye, that must be her mistake.
There could be no other.

Slowly, she turned from the door,
the dress swishing as she moved to the nearest chair. Jezebel still stood near
the entry, her brown eyes wide with astonishment at what she had just
witnessed. It took her a moment to find her tongue. 

“M’lady,” she began hesitantly.
“I would not be too upset. Perhaps there are more important things happening
right now and he cannot think on a wedding.”

Alixandrea waved her off weakly.
“’Tis all right, Jez,” she said quietly. “He did not want to marry at all.
Perhaps… perhaps he has come to fully realize that. Perhaps I have done
something so horrible that he can never forgive me.”

“He has to marry ye,” Jezebel
insisted. “He has a contract with yer uncle. To break that contract would be to
bring about your uncle’s wrath.”

“I understand that. But he does
not want to marry right now.”

“Demand yer rights, m’lady. Don’t
let him put you off like this.”

“I will not force him.”

Jezebel watched her lady slump in
her chair, like a silken dove whose wings had just been clipped. It was only a
matter of moments before the tears came. The mood of the room was heavy with
sorrow and disappointment, so thick that it was palpable. It was suffocating.
The little maid turned to the door.

“I shall go get ye a good draught
of ale,” she said firmly. “Ye need something stronger than wine.”

Alixandrea did not even have the
strength to respond. She continued to sit in the chair, wiping the tears that
streamed down her cheeks, wondering if she would ever be able to right what she
had apparently wronged.

***

Matthew and Mark were in their
father’s chamber, just off the third floor landing. Adam sat in the corner,
silently, watching his two sons as they peered from the cracked door. It was
like watching two cats lie in wait for a mouse. 

After several long minutes of
watching and waiting, Matthew apparently saw something. He sank back against
the wall nearest the door, his massive frame hidden by the shadows of the dark
room.  Mark was peering through the crack between the doorframe and the joints
that held the door.  They all heard shuffling on the third floor landing, a
wisp of a shadow that passed through the light and was just as quickly gone.
After what seemed like an eternity, Matthew finally moved out of the shadows.

“There she goes,” he whispered to
Mark. “Luke and John will catch her downstairs and follow her to see where she
goes.”

“She’s going right for that
manservant to tell him that the wedding is off,” Mark said quietly. “You can
bet on it.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“What do we do in the interim?”

“We wait. Our commanders know
what is going on. They’ll keep an eye on the Whitewell troops. The next few
hours should be very confusing for them when the church bells don’t peal.”
Matthew pushed the door open wider, eyeing the stairwell to make sure the maid
was gone. “I want you out on the wall to keep an eye on what is going on in the
ward. I will join you shortly. But right now, I do believe I have some
explaining to do.”

They both knew what he meant.
Mark wriggled his eyebrows. “Best of luck.”

“I may need it.”

Matthew mounted the stairs to the
fourth floor two at a time until he reached the top floor. Softly, he rapped on
Alixandrea’s door. He waited a nominal amount of time for her to answer and
when she did not, he carefully pushed the door open.

The small room was warm and cozy.
His blue eyes found Alixandrea seated in front of the hearth, her head in her
hand. Gazing at her, he felt extremely guilty for what he had done. But it had
been necessary.  There was a spy in their midst, something he did not quite
understand yet but soon would, and he had to deal with it on a moment-by-moment
basis. Until he had a better grasp, there was no other choice.  He only hoped
that the lady could forgive him.

“My lady,” he said softly.

Alixandrea nearly jumped from her
seat. The sight of her red-rimmed eyes nearly drove a knife through his heart.
She was on edge, her bronze eyes eager, anxious, and sad.

“My lord,” she said quickly. “I
thought it was the maid. I apologize for not answering the door.”

He put up his hands. “No
apologizes, please,” he said. “For ‘tis I who must apologize to you. What I
said earlier… I am very sorry if I upset you. But if you will allow me to
explain, you will see that it was necessary.”

He could read the emotions
rolling across her face. Shock, surprise, relief… and finally curiosity. She
shook her head, puzzled.

“I… I do not understand, my
lord.”

“Matthew.”

Her expression folded into one of
extreme confusion and a little frustration. “Matthew?”

His easy smile sparked. “Aye,” he
said softly. “Would you sit down? I should like to speak with you.”

Woodenly, she obeyed.  He pulled
up the small three legged stool that lay propped against the hearth, settling
his massive body atop it.  As he looked at her, they were eye level and he
could read the distress in her face. With regret for having caused it, he
reached out and took her soft, warm hand in his great palm.  Alixandrea watched
him warily.