The White Lord of Wellesbourne (33 page)

Richard looked at Matthew with
something of fear and resignation. “Where do our forces stand against him?”

Matthew lifted his eyebrows as he
shifted on his big legs. “Warwick moves south to Gloucester, Norfolk moves west
from his holdings, and de Russe and I move northwest. There are other armies
poised to join us, but those are the main body of your forces at this time. We
will converge on him and destroy him.”

“Just like that?”

“In theory, Your Grace.”

Richard folded his hands, his
long, thin fingers wringing against each other. Then he stood up; he was short,
rather pale and thin, making him appear older than his years. He liked to think
that he was a great military tactician, when in fact, he depended on others to
feed him ideas that he could claim as his own.  He’d never seen a true battle,
but insisted he controlled military engagements by virtue of his wishes. His
military career was, at best, lackluster, which is why he depended heavily on
men like Matthew Wellesbourne and Gaston de Russe.  They were the heart of his
forces.

“London is crawling with Tudor
loyalists,” the king muttered. “My glorious tournament is full of them. ‘Twould
seem they wish to make a statement against me and my allies by competing on the
tournament field.”

“Victory shall be yours, Your
Grace,” Gaston said, his voice low and reassuring. “I am competing, as is
Matthew. There is not a man in London who believes any of Tudor’s fools can
outshine us. If a statement is what they want, a statement is what they shall
have. We shall crush them.”

Richard knew he had the strongest
knights in the realm at his side. But he also knew that Henry Tudor had many
powerful men in his favor also.

“Robert Montgomery is in London,
champion of Somerset,” he said. “So is one of Neville’s men, Artur de Soulis.
And Dennis la Londe has entered.”

Matthew and Gaston exchanged
surprised glances. They had not yet heard this. 

“He serves Tudor directly,”
Matthew said. “That is a fairly audacious statement to have him compete.”

“I saw him earlier today, here at
the Tower,” the king moved across the carpeted floor, his fine slippers making
soft noises across the threads.  He stopped at the window, glancing down to the
courtyard below and watching the ravens feed. “He is big and he is dangerous. I
am extremely uncomfortable with him residing within these walls.”

“Do you wish for us to remove
him, Your Grace?” Gaston asked.

Richard nodded without
hesitation. “He stays here as a guest of Lord Grey of Northumberland. I want
him removed.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Gaston
replied. “I will see to it personally.”

Richard felt better immediately.
He turned away from the window, facing the room full of powerful men. Seeing
their confident faces gave him courage.  “Then it is settled,” he said. “I will
see you all at the feast tonight.  I have a new cook all the way from the Holy
Land and am anxious to show off his talents. Matthew, I understand that your
have brought your new wife to London.”

Matthew nodded. “I have, Your
Grace. She is eager to meet you.”

“As I am eager to meet her,”
Richard’s gaze lingered on him. “I saw her from my window earlier when you
arrived.”

“I am sure you will approve of
her, Your Grace.”

Richard simply nodded.  “Gaston’s
wife is also here,” he said casually. “I am looking forward to more fair
companionship then your own this eve.”

Matthew looked strangely at
Gaston, who refused to meet his eye. Only when they were out in the corridor
with no one else around them did he speak.

“I thought Mari-Elle was in
France,” Matthew said.

Gaston watched his boots as they
moved along the ground. “She was. She returned a few weeks ago. I have only
made contact with her so that I could see my son.”

“And how is Trenton?”

Gaston actually smiled. “Growing
large. He is seven years old now.”

“And Mari-Elle?”

Gaston’s smile left him. “Still
the same cold bitch she has always been.”

Matthew did not want to get on to
the subject of Gaston’s wife. They had been pledged as children, married at a
very young age, and completely resented each other.

Mari-Elle was high bred,
cultivated, vain and cold. When Gaston married her, he had inherited her
fortune, but it had been a price too high.  It had taken almost ten years to
produce their son, a boy in the image of his father. Considering the lovers
Mari-Elle kept, Gaston had wondered if the boy was even his until he grew older
and there was little doubt. He clearly adored the child. But Mari-Elle kept a
separate life from her husband and kept the boy with her.  The moments Gaston
actually spent with him were precious and few.  Gaston’s marriage had been one
of the main factors in Matthew’s reluctance to marry Alixandrea; he had seen
what a contract marriage could do. He never wanted to find himself in the same
position.

“Well,” Matthew continued after a
moment’s pause. “I look forward to seeing the lad. Will he be at the feast tonight?”

“Probably not,” Gaston replied.
“Mari-Elle keeps him locked away from me whenever she can.”

“Then perhaps Alixandrea and I
can visit him another time,” Matthew tried to stay positive. “As it is, I
suppose we shall be seeing Mari-Elle tonight.”

“Unfortunately.”

Matthew had nothing more to say
on the matter. He felt deeply sorry for his friend; he always had, but such was
the way of things.  They came to a fork in the corridor; Gaston was to the
right and Matthew to the left. They paused a moment to face each other.

 “Until tonight, then,” Matthew
said. “I am looking forward to scoping out the room.”

Gaston grinned. “No doubt.
Speaking of such, I do believe I shall go find La Londe and throw him out into
the streets.”

“Need help?”

“I think I can take on La Londe
by myself.”

Matthew spread out his arms
tauntingly. “But it would be so much more entertaining if we both did it.”

Gaston laughed. “That may be, but
I think I can do this without you. Go back to your wife and I will see you
tonight.”  His smile suddenly faded, as if something had just occurred to him.
“Matt, I hope that I am not speaking out of turn, but I would say something
that has been concerning me for some time.”

“What is it?”

“Mark does not seem too fond of
your new wife.”

Matthew’s good humor fled.  “I
know,” he said evenly. “I suspect he is upset with me because I have actually
found happiness in my marriage where he has not.”

Gaston shrugged in a gesture
suggesting it was indeed possible. “Back at Rosehill he seemed very upset
because you were not tending Adam every minute of every day.  He further seemed
to think that Adam’s accident was your wife’s fault.  I would watch him if I
were you.”

“Mark?” he repeated doubtfully.
“That is madness. He would never harm her.”

“Maybe so. But I can promise you
that he knows more about her disappearance from Rosehill than he told you.”

Matthew’s face clouded with
confusion. “Why would you say that?”

“Because when I questioned him
about her disappearance, a slip of his tongue gave him away. He told me that,
although he knew nothing of her disappearance, she could keep running as far as
he was concerned.  It wasn’t so much what he said, but how he said it. He saw
something, Matt. I am not sure what it was, but he saw her leave Rosehill and I
believe that he made a conscious choice not to tell you.”

Matthew could only stand there
and shake his head, slowly, as if reluctant to believe the worst. “You must be
mistaken.”

“Ask him. Oh, and Matt?”

“What?”

“Nice ring.”

With that, The Dark Knight turned
on his heel and moved down the dim corridor, heading for his chamber. Matthew
stood there a moment, watching the massive figure disappear from sight. Only
then did he turn on his own path, his mind full of their conversation.

 He knew that Mark had no
particular liking for Alixandrea and he furthermore knew why. But Mark was his
brother, and they had seen much life and death together over the years. He
loved his brother, and he knew him well.  He simply could not believe that Mark
would deliberately allow her to come to harm.

Or could he?

***

Alixandrea was dressed and
waiting for Matthew when he arrived back at their chamber. It was warm and cozy
inside, the fire blazing brightly in the hearth now that the sun had gone down.
Glad in a soft white shift with a heavy and elaborate gold brocade surcoat,
Alixandrea looked absolutely magnificent.  The sight literally took Matthew’s
breath away when he walked in the door and saw her.

“My God,” he breathed. “You are a
glorious creature.”

Standing by the cluster of fancy
chairs, she grinned humbly.  Mary Joan had curled her hair with a heated iron
and cascades of spiral curls tumbled down her back while the front of her hair
was secured off her face with a shell comb.  Her face was scrubbed clean and
rosy and her lips were saturated with the lip ointment she always used.  She
could see by the look on Matthew’s face that her efforts had been worth the
results.

“I hope you like it,” she said.
“I wanted to give a proper appearance our first night here.”

“Have no doubt, lady, that you
do,” he moved towards her, drinking in the sight. “I will be the envy of every
man in the room.”

“Will you not dress?”

“I am,” he held out his arms; in
full armor, he looked every inch the fearsome warrior, not the elegant diner.

She frowned. “You intend to go
like this?”

“Of course. How else would I go?”

She thought a moment and realized
she really did not know. She had never been to a feast at the Tower and the
knights she had known over the years had practically lived in their armor.  It
was common for them to dine in pieces of mail and protection.

“I suspect not all men will be
dressed for doing battle with their beef knuckle,” she said. “Or do you expect
a military offensive tonight in the great hall?”

He laughed at her. “One never
knows in this place. The Tower is known for its turmoil and treachery and I
would rather be prepared.”  He took a step towards her, towering over her
petite size. Taking her hands, he held them tightly in his own, bringing them
to his lips for a kiss. “But for this night, I can guarantee that every eye in
the hall will be trained on you. I have never seen such beauty.”

She blushed delightfully. “You
flatter me, my lord.”

He moved down to kiss her but she
turned her head and he ended up kissing her cheek instead. “I have ointment on
my lips,” she smacked her lips together. “Can you not see it?”

He lifted his eyebrow at her,
disappointed. “I see it.”

“I do not want to rub it off.”

“You mean that you do not want
for me to kiss you.”

She smiled, putting her soft hand
against his bristly cheek. “I always want for you to kiss me,” she murmured.
“But if you do, you shall come away with red lips. That would not do.”

“I shall take my chances.”

She giggled as he swooped down
and kissed her deeply, tasting her sweetness with his unrelenting tongue.  When
he came away, it was to wipe his lips with his fingers and look at them.

“You still retain your red lips,
madam, for I seem to have escaped them.” As she laughed softly, he collected
her wrap from the nearby chair. “If you are ready, Lady Wellesbourne, we should
depart. A plethora of gluttony and extravagance awaits.”

She allowed him to place her
matching wrap over her shoulders and escort her from the room. The corridor
outside was dim, lit only by occasional iron sconces spaced in intervals along
the wall. She also noticed that there were several Wellesbourne soldiers lining
the hall.  As they drew near one end, John and Luke were waiting. 

The youngest Wellesbournes rushed
forward, pushing each other aside until Luke gave the final hard shove and
managed to take his place on Alixandrea’s free side. Dejected, John
straightened his askew armor and his backbone and followed.

“My lady looks beautiful
tonight,” Luke said smoothly.

Before Alixandrea could reply,
Matthew growled. “What did I tell you about flattering my wife?”

To everyone’s surprise, Luke
actually held his ground. “You had better become used to it, brother. Men will
be salivating over her all evening.”

Matthew glared at him menacingly
but refrained from replying. Luke was, after all, correct.  With a few
Wellesbourne men-at-arms in tow, the four of them descended the steps in the
Wakefield tower and entered out into the cool evening of the courtyard.

The moon was nearly full,
creating a ghostly glow across the landscape as they made their way to the
White Tower.  Mounting the wooden steps, they entered the second floor of the
keep and into the great dining hall at the end of the short corridor.