The White Lord of Wellesbourne (19 page)

“My lord Wellesbourne,” he
greeted; his accent was heavy and Nordic. “We came as fast as we could.”

Matthew put out a hand and
clapped him on the shoulder. “’Tis good to see you , Arik.” He indicated
Alixandrea, standing next to him. “Meet my betrothed, the Lady Alixandrea
Terrington St. Ave.  My lady, this is Sir Arik Magnesson, de Russe’s right
hand.”

Arik’s gaze was an appraising
one. The man missed nothing. He bowed elegantly. “My lady. Sir Matthew is
indeed fortunate.”

She smiled, somewhat timidly. “A
pleasure, my lord.”

Patrick was still nearby on his
roan. Hearing the introductions, he dismounted swiftly and approached
Alixandrea.

“I am Patrick de Russe,” he took
her hand boldly and oh-so-gallantly kissed it. “If I can be of any service,
lovely lady, do not hesitate to call upon me.”

Matthew lifted an eyebrow at him.
“Hands off, whelp. The lady is spoken for.”

Patrick dropped her hand and
grinned. He was excruciatingly handsome when he smiled. “Of course, my lord
Wellesbourne. I meant no disrespect.”

Matthew simply grunted at him, a
manner or mood that Alixandrea had only seen from him once before.  He’d
displayed the same behavior when she had been introduced to his men on the first
day of her arrival. He had made clear his territory, and he was doing it again
now with Patrick.  The thought made her take a step closer to Matthew, just to
put some distance between herself and the brash young knight. Perhaps Matthew
knew something sinister of him that she did not.

The man on the coal black charger
was suddenly before them. Like a shadow, he had just appeared and now he
hovered before him on the dancing destrier. He dismounted his beast and passed
him to a waiting groom, removing one of the heavy mail gloves he wore and, like
Arik had done, unlatching his three-point visor.

Alixandrea watched him approach,
somewhat taken aback at the sheer size of the man.  She’d never seen a human so
massive in her entire life.  The sword sheathed against his mammoth saddle was
almost as long as she was tall and probably weighed nearly as much.

“Where is the danger, Matt?” he
asked as his visor swung open. “I rode at full speed because I expected to see
this place swarming with Henry’s allies.”

Matthew wasn’t intimidated by de
Russe in the least; that much was abundantly clear. His easy smile creased his
lips.

“You do not read your missives
very carefully, do you?” He met the huge mitt that was extended to him in
greeting. “I think all you do is hear the name ‘Henry’ and all else fades into
hateful madness.”

Gaston’s expression did not
change and when he spoke, it was in a voice that bubbled up from the bowels of
Hell. “No truer words were spoken,” he agreed. “Nonetheless, I was under the
impression that you needed assistance.”

“I think you were looking for an
excuse to leave Kidlington. I further more think that you have not seen battle
in a few months and were hoping for some action here for I know, quite clearly,
that I did not ask for aid.”

Gaston gazed steadily at Matthew,
who was shorter than him by nearly half a head. As tall as Matthew was, it was
truly a statement of de Russe’s size.  After what seemed like an eternally
tense pause, during which Alixandrea was understandably terrified, the corner
of the knight’s mouth twitched.

“How well you know me,” he
growled. “If there’s no fight here, then I say we make one.”

Matthew laughed. Alixandrea stood
next to her husband, fighting the natural instinct to back away from the
enormous knight that growled and grunted before her. De Russe fought off a grin
as Matthew snorted, giving Alixandrea an opportunity to study him.

Though she could only see his
face, he was clearly an attractive man, something of a surprise giving his
giant size. He had eyes that were the color of smoke, hidden beneath heavy dark
brows, a straight nose and a firmly square jaw. She could see a scar running
from the corner of his left nostril, all the way back along his cheek and
disappearing underneath the mail hauberk.  When he finally did break out in a
smile, however brief, his teeth were straight and white. Her initial
observation of The Dark Knight gave him something of a human quality, not the
horrifying phantom she had heard tale of.

Matthew had her by the elbow,
startling her from her train of thought. “My lord, allow me to introduce you to
my betrothed.” There was pride in his voice as he spoke. “This is the Lady
Alixandrea Terrington St. Ave.  My lady, be pleased to meet the mighty Gaston
de Russe, my dearest friend and ally.”

Alixandrea dropped into a
graceful curtsy, aware that her knees were shaking and hoping it wasn’t
obvious. “My lord, ‘tis a pleasure to meet you.”

When she straightened, Gaston was
gazing at her in the same appraising manner that his man Arik had possessed.
His smile was gone.

“My lady,” he said shortly before
looking back at Matthew. “I am famished. Show me Wellesbourne hospitality
before I faint from starvation.”

Matthew led the way inside
Wellesbourne, his hand gently gripping Alixandrea’s elbow. He apparently saw
nothing wrong with the way de Russe had greeted her, but she felt very
insignificant. The man obviously did not like his first impression of her.

When they reached the entrance,
Matthew took them all inside the small solar off the entry. He held on to
Alixandrea so that she could not leave. In fact, he seated her next to the
well-used map table. The Wellesbourne brothers had been in the great hall and
had seen the party come in from the yard; Mark greeted de Russe and his men
warmly. Luke was given a slap on the head by Arik and John was given such a
greeting that he blushed furiously.  The redder his cheeks became, the more
Patrick teased him.  It was obvious that there was great camaraderie between
all of them.

At Mark’s bellow, servants appeared
with wine, bread, and a half a wheel of white, tart cheese. Alixandrea watched
de Russe pour himself a full goblet, downing the contents in two swallows, and
the pour himself another. Somewhere in the drinking he removed his helm,
revealing dark hair that had been shorn up the back of his skull and left long
to fall over his eyes in the front. He raked his hair back along his scalp as
he drank the second cup.  She thought it was a rather exhausted gesture.

As the others tossed around light
conversation, Alixandrea continued to watch Gaston. For some reason, she found
him fascinating. He remained fairly aloof from the others, content with his
wine, observing rather than participating. His smoky gray eyes were piercing,
all-consuming, all-seeing. She was unnerved by them and clearly curious why
Matthew had brought her into this room full of knights. He was still standing
next to her, speaking to Arik on the new Belgian charger he had purchased last
year.  Gently, she tugged on his arm until he finished his conversation and
looked at her.

“Perhaps I should go,” she
whispered. “You will surely want to speak to these men of things that would not
interest me.”

He shook his head. “You will
stay.” He raised his voice. “My friends, I would thank you for coming in spite
of the fact that You have not fallen into an immediate pit of war and blood.
Given time, however, you may get your wish.”

“Speak plainly, Matt,” Gaston
said over the rim of his cup. “What goes on here that you would send for me?”

Matthew lifted a pale eyebrow at
him. “I asked you to rendezvous with my army upon the road to London. ‘Twas you
who so brashly rode to Wellesbourne to save me from myself, apparently.” As the
others snickered, Matthew grinned at de Russe and continued. “In truth, we have
something of a volatile situation on our hands and your presence is not
unwelcome. I would have you understand the situation.”

He launched into the tale of
Strode, Jezebel, Howard Terrington and the possible marriage broker of John
Sutton. Though Matthew delivered the story with neutrality, still, it was a
treacherous and shocking account. Alixandrea could not help but feel
responsible, as she had brought this all down upon them, unknowingly as it
was.  Matthew even told them of their secret marriage and the reasons for it.
By the end of the story, the de Russe men were sober, serious. Gaston set his
cup down.

“So You have a sleeper army
within your men,” he said. “At a specific command, they are to erupt from
within and wreak havoc.”

“Exactly.”

De Russe’s smoky eyes were cloudy
with thought. “Who would have thought Howard Terrington capable of this?” he
muttered, with some disbelief. “The man is a rabid supporter of Richard. He has
given more money and men to the cause than most and Whitewell has held the road
to Richmond for more years than I have been alive.  Are you sure of this, Matt?
Not that I doubt you, but it is an amazing turn in loyalties, I must say.”

Matthew shrugged. “I have
refrained from questioning the manservant Strode for fear of causing suspicion
among the Whitewell men. I do not want them to think that anything is amiss, at
least not yet.”

De Russe looked pointedly at him.
“Now that my men are here to reinforce your lines, I would invite the
rebellion. I frankly do not want to march the entire way to London waiting for
an uprising with each step. If we get it over now, then we’ll all sleep
better.”

“True enough. But rather than
risk the lives of our soldiers, we can simply separate the Whitewell men from
the rest and give them the opportunity to swear fealty to me or meet their
fate.”

“You are too kind, Matt. You
shall be tucking them into bed with feather quilts next.”

Matthew grinned. “Hardly. I am
simply trying to protect Wellesbourne and de Russe men from any unnecessary
fighting, within the walls of Wellesbourne no less. As well planned as we might
attempt such a thing, it could still veer out of control. I do not want to risk
my men or my castle if we can reach a peaceable end instead.”

De Russe grunted, possibly in
agreement. “If it comes to a battle, I shall personally take delight in
dispatching the leader; what was his name?”

“Strode. But we should not be too
hasty about killing him. I personally would like to find out what else he
knows.”

“As always, the Peacemaker.”

“If there is a peaceful solution
to the end, I will take it.”

“As you wish.”

Alixandrea had been sitting
quietly, listening to all that was said. She was trying to be as detached as
possible, knowing that Strode and Jezebel had been in some sort of plot against
her and Matthew, but the fact remained that she had known these people for many
years. She had trusted them without question and her affections were still
attached.

She must have sighed and not
realized it, for Matthew suddenly spoke to her. “Did you have something to say,
my lady?” he asked.

She looked up from where she had
been fidgeting with her hands in her lap, only to see that everyone was looking
at her. She shook her head. Then, she nodded. “I know what Sir John heard and I
know what you explained to me, and I further was witness to Jezebel’s actions
in the gallery, but I must say that I am having a difficult time understanding
that my servants would plot against me.”

“It is not against you,” Matthew
said quietly. “It is against me and against Wellesbourne.”

“Even so, I cannot truly believe
they would do this,” she said, more insistently. “I want so badly to talk to
Strode to have him explain what John heard. Perhaps it wasn’t what he thought
at all. Perhaps there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this.”

“Then send for him.”

De Russe’s voice was a growl.
They all looked at him. When he noticed their attention, he recollected his
wine cup and poured himself another drink. “Send for the man. Let us question
him here, in front of everyone, and make sense out of this.”

Matthew’s gaze lingered on Gaston
a moment before casting a nod in John’s direction. “Go tell Strode that my lady
wishes to speak to him. He’s probably out in the stables with the lame horse.”

John quit the solar. Alixandrea
sat there, looking at the faces in the room, wondering if some of them did not
distrust her, too.  The situation looked so suspicious that she could not blame
them.

“What do
you
know about
this, my lady?”

Gaston must have been reading her
mind. She gazed steadily at him, strangely no longer afraid of him.

“Only what Matthew has told me,
my lord,” she said. “My servants have been loyal and dedicated to me, never
indicative of something dark and sinister behind them. Perhaps that is why I am
having such a difficult time grasping this.”

“So you knew nothing about your
uncle’s shift in loyalties?”

“Politics has never been of
interest to me. But to answer your question, I knew nothing. Perhaps because I
am not the suspicious type, but upon reflection, there are things that I now
question.”

“Like what?”

“His unexplained trips,” she
searched her memory carefully. “Visitors in and out of Whitewell at strange
hours, people I did not know. He would simply tell me they were travelers, but
when they stayed at Whitewell, I never saw them and they always seemed to leave
in the dead of night. I suppose if I was the mistrustful kind, those things
would lead me to believe that my uncle was up to something.”