The White Lord of Wellesbourne (29 page)

“Of course, angel,” Gaston said
calmly. “But send for a priest and his prayers just the same.”

When she quit the room, she left
behind a mood of sorrow. No one wanted to think the worst. After a moment of
reflection, the physic motioned to Gaston.

 “She’s no longer struggling, my
lord,” he said. “You may get up and leave her to the bed.”

He was sorry to have to let her
go, but he did as he was told.  Laying the lady gently down to the feathered
mattress, he took a moment to gaze at her lovely face, praying that Matthew
would make it back soon. He did not want to be the one to tell Matthew that he
had found his wife, only to have her die before he returned.  No, he did not
relish that thought in the least.

The sun continued to rise in what
was a beautiful morning. No hint of the rain and clouds of the past few days
remained.  Caroline came back into the room and resumed her duties, as did a
few servants, collecting soiled linens and generally cleaning up. Gaston stood
by the window, watching the landscape, listening to the bustle of the chamber
as people came and went. Someone stoked the fire. A glance at the lady every
now and then showed her to be gray, sweating, and still.  Even gravely ill, she
was still a lusciously beautiful woman.  Gaston found himself wishing fervently
that Matthew would hurry.

By late morning, his prayers were
answered.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Exhausted from hours in the
saddle and days without sleep, Matthew’s first look at Alixandrea had him
falling to his knees beside the bed. 

He could hardly believe what he
was witnessing. Lying upon the damp sheets, her delicious bronze hair stuck to
her moist forehead, he knew just by looking at her that she was on death’s
door. No one had to tell him anything specific; he just knew. 

But in spite of everything, he
was so glad to see her, so overcome with emotion, that he gathered her into his
arms and buried his face deep in her neck. He’d only meant to hug her. But
something unexpected happened. The next sounds that filled the musty chamber
were those of his profoundly pitiful sobs and he was unable to stop them.

Gaston hadn’t seen the break down
coming, but he wasn’t surprised. He chased everyone out of the chamber except
for Caroline and the physic. Caroline stood next to Matthew, weeping with him.
Because he was crying, she was crying. His display had weakened her
already-taxed emotions. 

Gaston stood by the door, never
more deeply sorry for someone in his entire life. He and Matthew had seen so
much life and death together, but never when it was this close.  If Richard and
Henry and the allied forces throughout England could only realize that The Dark
Knight and The White Lord were men of flesh and blood and feeling, all might be
lost. To the world, these were men with steel where their hearts should have
been. If it was known that they did, indeed, feel pity or pain, then the land
would be set upon its ear. Only within the confines of this small chamber were
they allowed to show any emotion.

Hesitantly, Gaston went to his
friend. The man was sobbing deeply into his wife’s pale neck.  He put a hand on
Matthew’s shoulder.

“Matt,” he whispered. “Put her
down, man. Let the physic have her.”

Matthew was having a difficult
time controlling himself. The dam had burst and his feelings were flooding out
all over the place, his shock and exhaustion and anguish finding an outlet. 

“What happened to her?” he wept.
“Where did you find her?”

“At the church in Oakley,” Gaston
gently pulled him back as the physic pried the lady loose and laid her back
upon the bed. “She was ill when I found her. I do not know how long she had
been that way.”

Matthew wiped furiously at his
eyes, his nose. “But I do not understand any of this,” he said. “What was she
doing there? How did she get there?”

“The priest said she had come to
the door, telling him that she was in trouble,” Gaston replied steadily. “Other
than that, I cannot tell you any more.  The only person who can supply all of
the answers is your wife. But she did say something strange to me.”

Matthew looked at Gaston with his
red-rimmed eyes. “She spoke to you?”

“Aye. Long enough to tell me that
she could not come home.”

Matthew’s pale brows drew
together. “She could not come
home?
What nonsense is that?”

Gaston shrugged. “Perhaps only
the ramblings of a sick woman,” he said. Then he peered more closely at
Matthew. “The two of you did not have a row, did you?”

“Never.”

Gaston had no reason to doubt
him. He looked back at the lady on the bed. “Then it must have been her sick
mind talking.”

Matthew was still in his armor.
He began removing pieces, tossing them against the wall with clatter and
bangs.  He was fatigued and drawn, but the sight of Alixandrea brought renewed
vigor to him.

There was an odd sense of urgency
to his movements and Caroline had to jump aside at one point or risk being
struck by a flying piece of armor. It smacked against the wall, leaving a gouge
in Aunt Livia’s wall covering that she had ordered from Paris.  French artisans
had carefully plastered the painted linen to the walls.  It was the first of
its kind in the area, now with a black mark on it.

But Matthew hardly cared. He
ripped off his mail and let his weapons fall where they may. He ended up in his
soiled linen tunic and leather breeches. He could not get his greaves off
without removing his boots, and he had no mind to do that yet.  He simply
wanted to be near is wife without all of the fortified protection.  He kicked
aside a piece of shoulder armor that was in his way, an unusual action from a
man who normally took great care of his expensive protection. 

“Perhaps you should sit and eat
something,” Caroline had been watching his sharp movements and it concerned
her. “You look as if you could use a bit of sustenance.”

Matthew shook his head. “I am not
hungry.”

“Please, Matt.”

He picked up his mail hauberk
from where it had fallen and tossed it back against the wall with the rest of
his armor. “Perhaps later.”

Caroline looked at Gaston, who
merely shook his head.  They both watched as Matthew went back over to the bed
and sat his bulk upon a small stool that the physic had been using. Taking one
of Alixandrea’s hands into his great palm, he brought it to his lips and sat,
staring at her, as if afraid she was going to disappear.  Caroline went back to
her task of placing cooling rags on Alixandrea. Gaston stood there a moment,
knowing there was nothing further he could do.

“Matt,” he said quietly. “I shall
be outside if you need me.”

Matthew turned to look at him. 
He had an expression on his face that Gaston had never seen before.

 “I haven’t the words to thank
you,” he said quietly. “Without you… she would not be here.”

Gaston’s lips twitched into an
exhausted smile. “You would have done the same for me.”

“Without question. But I still
cannot adequately express my gratitude.”

“No need. But I will say one
thing.”

“What is that?”

“She is worth every effort.”

He quit the room, leaving Matthew
flattered and oddly jealous at the same time.

***

It was snowing. At least, that
was what Alixandrea thought. In her dream, it was freezing. There was snow on
the roof of the keep at Whitewell and snow inside as well. It was in her bed.
She dreamt that she could not find anything to wrap up in. It was so cold that
she was shaking. And when the stark reality of consciousness claimed her, she
was shaking so badly that her teeth were smacking together. 

But the chill wasn’t the reason
she had awoken. Someone was talking to her, speaking in tones that could only
be described as agonized.  Her eyes slowly opened, moving unsteadily to the
source of the sounds.

He was hobbling because one leg
was broken and he was leaning heavily on crutches that his youngest son had
fashioned for him. He shouldn’t have been out of bed much less attempting to
walk.  But Adam Wellesbourne was nonetheless standing beside Alixandrea’s bed,
one hand clutching her clammy fingers as he offered soft prayers to a God he
had forsaken long ago.

“…and I swear that if you allow
this woman to live, I promise I will never again attempt to take my life as I have
so often sworn to do,” he murmured. “She has brought life back to the House of
Wellesbourne. ‘Twould be a cruel thing to do to Matthew if you were to take her
from him. From all of us. Please, God, hear my prayers. Let this woman live.
Alixandrea,
you must live
!”

It took her a moment to realize
that she was not looking at a ghost. Shocked, she opened her mouth to speak
when something buzzed loudly in her right ear.

Groggily, she turned her head
slightly to see Matthew’s head down on the bed beside her, snoring softly.  His
big arm was thrown over her body protectively.  She could not see him very
well, but he appeared to be seated, his head and upper body resting on the
corner of her mattress.  And he was sleeping like the dead. She looked back at
Adam, the apparition she still could hardly believe.

“Sir… Adam,” she rasped. “You are
alive?”

It was most definitely a
question. Adam’s eyes flew open, the dark orbs looking at her first with
surprise and then with such joy that words could not adequately describe it. 

“My lady,” he gasped. “You are
alive!”

She blinked, slowly reorienting
herself. She had a suspicion that she was at Aunt Livia’s home, but had no idea
how she came to this bed. In fact, she remembered very little after Adam’s
accident.  Everything was a blur, seemingly weird and distant.

“Of course I am alive,” she
whispered. “But, more importantly,
you
are alive. The last I saw, you
had been badly injured.

The conversation had snapped
Matthew from a deep sleep. His head came up, sharply, his focus instantaneous.
Such were the traits of a seasoned knight. But the moment he saw that
Alixandrea was lucid, the battle-ready expression on his face washed with such
astonishment that he very nearly fell off his stool.  He grabbed her by both
shoulders as if fearful she would slip away.

“You are awake,” he breathed, his
gaze moving over every delicious feature of her face. “My God… you are actually
awake.”

“Aye,” she wasn’t quite sure why
he was so shocked.

“How do you feel?”

She blinked, becoming more oriented.
But she felt strangely weak when she tried to move. “I… I am not sure,” she
said softly. “Has something happened?”

Matthew put his hand on her
forehead; she was no longer hot. He sighed heavily with relief, with gratitude.
It was enough to bring tears to his eyes again, but he fought them. “You have
been ill, love,” he said quietly. “Don’t you remember?”

She shook her head, but glanced
down at the cold cloths still covering her body. She was reminded of how cold
she was and she gingerly picked one up to inspect it.

“You were with fever,” he told
her. “We had to do that to bring down your temperature.”

“I am freezing,” she whispered.
“Please take them off.”

He began yanking them off of her,
throwing them to the floor. The entire area around the bed was littered with
wet rags in little time.  Adam still stood beside the bed, dodging the wet
cloths as Matthew tossed them about.

“We were worried for you, my
lady,” the old man said. “We feared the worst.”

Alixandrea refocused on him,
still surprised to see him. “And what of you?” she murmured. “The last I saw,
you were lying in bed, gravely injured.”

Adam smiled. “I was. But it is
not my time yet. So here I am, recovering, and a prickly burden to my sons.”

Alixandrea’s bronze eyes fixed on
him, heavy with emotion. “Sir Adam,” she said softly. “I must say something. I
am sorry if I said anything that would cause you to… well, harm yourself.  It
was never my intent. I only thought to.…”

Adam cut her off, his brow
furrowed. “Is that what you thought?” he was mildly indignant. He looked at
Matthew, standing on the other side of the bed and listening carefully to the
conversation. His indignant stance left him. “That is what they all thought, my
sons. They thought that I had thrown myself in front of a racing carriage. But
I did not. I simply did not see the thing until it was too late.”

Alixandrea closed her eyes,
tightly. A single tear popped from her left one, trailing down her temple.
Matthew saw it.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asked
softly, wiping the tear away with his thumb. “Why do you weep?”

She burst into tears, as much as
her weakened state would allow. “I thought I’d killed him.”

Matthew was back on his knees,
his hands warm and gentle on her arms, her shoulders. “Why on earth would you
think that?”