The White Lord of Wellesbourne (2 page)

“And this is a bad event, I take
it?”

“Aye,” Luke took another drink.
“Well, she is not exactly his wife. She is his betrothed. They were promised to
each other years ago but he had been putting her off until her uncle laid his
claim and told my father that if Matthew put off the marriage again, there
would be serious consequences. So now, he is forced. He has come here to drown
his sorrows in ale and wenches.”

Alixandrea lifted an eyebrow,
nodding her head slowly as if in complete sympathy. “My goodness,” she said.
“How utterly awful. Is his betrothed so terrible, then?”

Luke shrugged. “We do not know.
But, then again, most noble women are some manner of terrible. But she comes
with a large dowry and four hundred soldiers, so she must be worth something,
eh?”

He laughed at his statement.
Alixandrea smiled thinly. “Aye, she must be worth something,” she agreed.

Luke licked the ale from his
lips, his gaze steady upon her. “I am sure that if my brother had a wife like
you, there would be nothing horrible about it. I would take you without four
hundred fighting men and a sizable dowry.”

He meant it as a compliment but
it only served to further insult her.  “How fortunate for me,” she said,
grossly tired of his company. The rolling carriage was starting to look
inviting and she was suddenly desperate to leave. “If you will excuse me, Sir
Luke, I will take my leave and continue my journey. Thank you for your company
and fine conversation.”

Luke put a hand on her arm,
preventing her from rising. “You cannot leave so soon,” he begged. “I do not
even know your name.”

Now it was her turn to smile, an
ironic gesture. “I believe you already know it.”

He blinked at her. “I do? Pray,
lady, if thy name is Angel, then I do.”

She stared at him, unwavering. “I
have four hundred soldiers outside waiting for me as well as a sizable dowry. I
am on my way to Wellesbourne Castle to marry my betrothed. Now, can you still
say that you do not know my name?”

Luke’s intoxicated blue eyes met
her gaze for a long moment before gradually dissolving into an expression of
horror.

 “You…?” He pushed back in his
chair and ended up toppling it onto its side. Luke was on his feet, babbling as
he struggled to overcome his drunkenness. “My lady, I did not know. Forgive me,
please. I had no idea.”

She stood up, a small lady
compared to the sizable knight.  But her expression was the most powerful thing
in that room at the moment.

“Either you are a complete fool
or your brother truly had no sense of propriety that he would allow you to
speak so,” she snarled. “How many other people have you told that ridiculous
story to? How many people will travel from this place spreading the tale of the
heir of Wellesbourne’s hideous betrothed?”

“No one, my lady, I swear it.” He
bellowed in the general direction of his brother. “Matt! A little help,
please?”

By this time, Matthew heard the
raised voices and glanced up to see Luke on his feet with the lady advancing on
him.  He’d seen her when she’d entered the inn, just like everyone else and,
like everyone else, had been momentarily entranced by her ethereal beauty.

But he had no inclination to
pursue her further and allowed Luke to behave as Luke was so capable of behaving. 
Now he was wondering what his brother had said to make the lady turn on him.

Matthew was far enough away that
he had not heard their conversation although he had heard his brother’s loud
pleas for help. But he shook his head in response, turning back to his fourth
cup of ale. Luke saw that his brother did not understand the severity of the
situation and he made haste over to his table.

“Matt,” he hissed. “Did you not
hear me? We have… trouble!”

He was pointing at the lady.
Matthew looked over at her again, a delicious goddess with porcelain skin.
“What trouble could that be? Let me guess; she is a Tudor wench and you have
seriously insulted both her loyalties and her parentage.”

Alixandrea heard the ‘wench’
portion and came to a halt.  Luke shook his head, sickened at the course the
conversation had taken. 

“Nay,” he whispered, hoping his
brother would not take his head off for his stupidity. “She is your betrothed.”

Matthew was lingering over his
cup, his gaze distant. But the moment Luke spilled the words, his blue eyes
took on the most peculiar look. It was as if he had suddenly become frozen,
unable to think or move.  One could literally see his fingers stiffening with
tension and Luke was terrified that his brother was going to suddenly snap. Instead,
he blinked his eyes in a slow, reptilian motion. It was a frightening gesture.

“Do you know this for a fact?” he
asked steadily.

“I do.”

“Did she tell you?”

“She said she has four hundred
soldiers and a sizable dowry waiting for her outside, and that she is on her
way to Wellesbourne Castle to marry her betrothed.”

Matthew continued to sit
immobile.  Luke wasn’t even sure if his brother was breathing. Finally, Matthew
cast a long glance at his brother before looking to the lady.

She stood in the middle of the
room, a vision of ruby and lustrous hair. She had the most beautiful face he
had ever seen, delicate and sweet, yet with a hint of wisdom that was difficult
to describe.

A cursory examination of the lady
showed him absolutely no physical flaws as far as he could tell.  But the
expression she held was of indignant outrage, tempering his reaction to her
presence.

“What did you say to her?” he
asked his brother.

Luke was glad he was out of arm’s
range. He did not want a massive fist to come flying at him. “I… I told her
that you were terrible company because you were awaiting the arrival of your
betrothed whom you did not want to marry.”

“Is that all?”

Luke winced, closing his eyes. “I
said awful things.”

“How awful?”

”She hates us, I know it.”

Matthew did not want a fight on
his hands from the onset. In fact, gazing at the lady, he wasn’t sure he wanted
a fight at all. He was rather taken aback by what he saw. The only appropriate
thing to do was face her. 

Matthew rose from his chair
slowly, like the phoenix rising from the ashes, a massive man with equally
massive shoulders on which to bear the weight of a kingdom. Everything about
him reeked of power and command as his presence, once seated and inconspicuous,
now filled the entire room.

It was a gesture not lost on
Alixandrea. In fact, she had to suppress the urge to back away. She’d never
seen such a sizeable man, even though he was in full armor which made him
appear even larger. To her credit, she stood her ground as he approached. When
he came within a few feet of her, he stopped.

“Lady Alixandrea?” he asked.

“I am the Lady Alixandrea,” she
not too subtly corrected the pronunciation of her name,
Alix-ahn-dray-a,
so that he would know for future reference. “And you are Sir Matthew?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Aye,” his
deep voice was without force. “Forgive me, my lady. This is not how I had
planned our first meeting.”

Her lovely lips turned up at the
corners cynically. “From what I understand, were it left up to you, there would
be no first meeting at all. Just how did you plan it?”

Matthew could only imagine what
his foolish brother had told her.
Awful things
. Unless Matthew wanted
this marriage to be strained and conflicting from the beginning, he had to make
amends. He had to undo the damage that Luke had done.

“Certainly not in a tavern with
my brother drunk and me well on my way,” he said. “I had hoped to meet you at
Wellesbourne in the great hall where the appropriate introductions would take
place.”

She cocked her head slightly,
studying him; he was a handsome man, not obviously beautiful, but in a rugged,
masculine sort of way that was both powerful and intriguing. His pale blond
hair was shorn tight against his scalp, curly and coarse. He had enormous blue
eyes, a square jaw and gentle-looking features that were oddly out of place for
a man of his fierce reputation. His ears even stuck out a little, giving him an
inherently human quality.

But in that quality was something
innately calm, although she knew that he was one of the most fearsome knights
in the realm. He had been with King Richard on many campaigns against Henry
Tudor’s forces and had proven himself without question. She’d been hearing
tales of The White Lord of Wellesbourne since she had been ten years old. It
was a long time to hear of a legend.

So the man did not want to be
married. There was no great crime in that. But she was disappointed. Somehow
she had hoped that he would have longed to know her just as she had longed to
know him. Her uncle had filled her with fairy tales of the man. Matthew had
apparently been filled with horror stories of her.

“Then let us make the
introductions now, however inappropriate,” she said, trying not to sound too
bitter.  “My uncle Howard Terrington, Lord Ryesdale, sends his greetings. I am
the Lady Alixandrea Terrington St. Ave and I have come with my maidservant, my
man servant outside, and four hundred soldiers to be placed under your command.
Such were the terms of the contract, my lord. We are fulfilling our pledge.”

Matthew found himself watching
her mouth as she spoke. Her lips were sweet and pillowy and lush. He suddenly
felt very self-conscious, dirty and minimally drunk as he was, to be greeting
this intriguing creature.

It was occurring to him that she
was not at all what he had expected. The reluctance and bitterness that he had
associated with this betrothal for so many years was quickly turning into
something different. He did not know what yet, but it was different.

“And I am Sir Matthew
Wellesbourne, Lord Ettington, heir to Wellesbourne Castle and sworn servant to
our king, the illustrious Richard,” he took another step towards her, keenly
aware of their size difference; he was easily twice her width and more than a
foot taller. “I welcome you to Wellesbourne and would ask the honor of
escorting you to the castle, my lady.”

She lifted an eyebrow.  “Are you
sure that doing so would not take you away from your ale and wenches, my lord?”

Now he knew what Luke had been
telling her. He resisted the urge to grab his brother by the neck and squeeze.

“I think the ale and wenches can
spare me.” He extended a trencher-sized hand, clad in a heavy leather glove. “I
would ask that you accept my apologies for a harsh beginning. Given the choice,
it would have certainly not been my intent. May I guide you?”

She eyed him, her bronze eyes a
maelstrom of fire, emotion and mystery.  But she silently put her hand over
his, a tiny mitt against his size.  In doing so, it was perhaps a reluctant
acceptance of his apology.  Matthew tried not to stare at her as he led her
from the tavern.

The sunlight outside was
blinding. Matthew’s eyes scanned the area, hawk-like, until they came to rest
on a cluster of armed men a few hundred yards away from the inn. From a
two-second perusal, he could see that they appeared to be seasoned, seemingly
well fed and outfitted. That would translate into a strong contingent, he
hoped. He led the lady in their general direction.

“I hope you had a pleasant
journey from the north,” he tried to make conversation, sensing that perhaps all
was not forgiven yet.

“It was long, my lord,” she said.
“Long and bumpy at times.”

He nodded. “Lack of rain has made
the roads miserable.”

“Indeed, my lord.”

The small talk quickly died.
Glancing behind, he saw that Luke had retrieved their chargers from the
livery.  The two soldiers and the skittish maid also followed in a suspicious
group. Shortly, they reached the fighting men clustered in a grove of trees who
now stood up from their various positions of rest as their lady appeared with a
colossal knight on her arm. Strode, half-asleep inside the carriage where he
was not supposed to be, shot out of the cab like a scalded cat.

“My lady,” he rushed upon her,
fully prepared to save her from the massive warrior even to his own death. “Are
you well? Was there trouble?”

“No trouble,” she told him. “In
fact, the stop at this tavern seems to have been fortuitous. I would present
you to Sir Matthew Wellesbourne, your new liege, and his brother, Sir Luke.”

The foot soldiers, shocked from
their momentary confusion, scurried to form a line for their new lord.  Strode,
his mouth gaping with surprise, bowed deeply.

“My lord,” he said. “We were not
told that you would meet us on the road. Forgive me if we did not rendezvous at
the appropriate place or time. I had no…”

Matthew put up a hand. “Your
orders were to take the lady to Wellesbourne, which is what you were doing. I
just happened to be here and we met inside.”

Strode stood up from his
prostrate position, his eyes still full of confusion and, Alixandrea thought,
fear. “I sent two men to look after her, my lord,” he said. “She was not
without protection. I have known the lady her entire life and would not dream
of allowing her in such a place without proper escort.”