The White Lord of Wellesbourne (47 page)

His left arm was stumped at the
wrist. A soft linen sock fit over the top of it, like a glove, extending up to
his mid-arm. It simply covered the nub.  Her sobs lessened as she inspected it,
carefully and silently.

Matthew closed her eyes as she
did so; it was a strong moment, and a defining one. He had been dreading it for
weeks but now he thought himself an idiot. Alixandrea responded exactly as he
had expected her to; not with revulsion, but with interest and tenderness. He
did not say a word as she ran her hand over the cleaved edge of his wrist,
becoming acquainted with it. Then she kissed it.

“I would see your flesh,” she
sniffed as she went to remove the glove.

He shook his head. “Not now,” he
murmured as he pulled his arm away. “It has not healed completely and knowing
your weak stomach when it comes to wounds, I would rather you wait.”

She grinned, knowing he was more
than likely correct. He knew her well. But it did not stop her curiosity. “Did
you… did you find your hand?”

“Aye.”  He held up his right hand
and she could see the silver wedding band flashing on the third finger. “Gaston
retrieved it for me. I would not leave the field until he found it.”

“Your hand?”

“My ring.”

The man had just lost a hand in a
horrendous battle and all he was worried about was retrieving his wedding ring.
It was the only thing he carried on his person that his wife had given to him
and Alixandrea was touched beyond words by his respect for that little silver
band.

“I would have bought you
another,” she said softly.

“It would not have been the
same.”

She gazed up at him, her eyes
wet. The frenzy of their reunion began to settle as she reached up to touch his
face once again. She could not stop touching him, as if repeatedly convincing
herself that he was real.

“You do not seem surprised that I
already knew about your hand,” she murmured.

He lifted an eyebrow. “I did not
doubt that Mark would tell you no matter how much I told him not to. The man
cannot keep a secret to save his life.” The hand that was on her arm moved to
her belly. “Speaking of secrets, how are you feeling?”

Her mouth flew open. “He told
you!”

“I told you that he could not
keep a secret.” His eyes twinkled as his hand drifted over the gently rounded
mound. “He blurted it the moment I entered the gates. I ran all the way from
the ward just to see you.”

She smiled, seeing the obvious
joy in his expression. “Then you are pleased.”

He leaned down, kissing her so
sweetly that the tears returned. She put her hands on his face, sobbing softly,
relishing the feel of his lips over her cheeks.

“I have not the words to describe
the joy in my heart or my love for you,” he murmured. “I am humbled, Lady
Wellesbourne. Truly, deeply humbled. And Aunt Livia will be pleased.”

She laughed, a joyous sound in
the midst of her tears. Her arms were wrapped around him as if to never let him
go and she squeezed tight. They lay there for a small eternity, his lips
against hers, his hand moving up her belly, reacquainting himself with her
delicious body. It had been far too long. But more than her touch or the
physicality of their relationship, he had missed her wit and charm and
companionship. There was so much he wanted to tell her.

“Much has happened since we saw
each other last, husband,” she said as if she could read his mind. “There is
much to say.”

“Indeed.” He shifted so that they
lay side by side on the pillow, their faces an inch apart. His blue eyes were
soft on her. “Much that you may already know, I was told.”

“Did Mark tell you about Lovell’s
missive?”

“He did. But I had already heard
about it through my sources in London.”

Her bronze eyes grew intense.
“Why did you not send word yourself? You promised that you would. Why did I
have to hear these things from Lovell?”

He sighed, touching her cheek.
“Because I was incapacitated with this wound after the battle.  I lay
unconscious from blood loss for several days. Mark did not tell you that
detail, did he?”

She looked horrified. “He did
not. Oh, Matthew, I….”

He put his fingers on her lips to
quiet her. “It is of little matter. But it took nearly two weeks for me to feel
well enough to move about.”

“You still could have sent word.”

He was remorseful. “You are
correct. I could have. And I would beg your forgiveness for not contacting you
as soon as I was able.  Believe me, many a time I had a scribe begin a missive,
every day in fact, but I was unsure what to say or how to tell you what had
happened. I wanted to tell you personally, but I was not well enough to travel.
I just did not feel as if I could tell you all that I needed to in a missive. I
had to tell you face to face.”

“But you sent Mark.”

“Just as I was preparing to
return home, the king summoned me. I knew that I could not delay any longer and
sent Mark ahead to tell you that I was alive and would soon return.”

Her gaze was steady, without the
earlier tears. “Then what Lovell told us is true.”

“It is.”

“But why, Matt? The White Lord of
Wellesbourne is sworn to Richard and the bitter enemy of Henry Tudor. Why did
you turn?”

He could not explain to her all
of the reasons. It was too complicated, too twisted, and perhaps too
frightening for someone like her who was unused to the dealings of politics.
She would never know that it was Richard’s lust for her that set off the chain
of events that would eventually claim his throne and his life. He had to tell
her in terms she would understand, and in a way that would bring her comfort.

“You said once that you did not
care who sat upon the throne so long as you and I could live in peace,” he said
quietly. “Perhaps I saw that chance with Henry more than Richard. Perhaps I
finally realized that my family was more important than my fealty to a king.”

“But Gaston turned, too.”

“He realized the same thing.”

She pondered that for a moment.
“Do you believe that the wars are over for now?” she asked softly. “Do you
really believe we will have the opportunity to live in peace?”

“I risked my life and reputation
just for that very hope,” he said. “Nothing is more important than you and our
child, Alix. I would kill a million men and betray a thousand kings just to
provide my family with a safe world. Do not doubt that for one moment. “

“I do not,” she said, believing
him without question. Snuggling closer, she allowed herself to feel the thrill
of realizing that he was indeed home to stay. “What of Gaston? Where is he?”

“Henry has sent him to York, to a
castle called Mount Holyoak.  He has control of Yorkshire for now.”

“Will we see him again?”

“Of course. De Russe and I are
irrevocably connected, as he is now to you, too.”

“What do you mean?”

He could not tell her what he
really meant. “Suffice it to say that you did the improbable,” he touched her
cheek. “You made a friend of the man.”

It was a pleasing thought and she
was very glad, although she did not know what she’d truly done to deserve such
an honor. She was silent a moment, contemplating the new future before them.

“What will happen now?” she asked
softly.

His embrace tightened and he
inhaled deeply of her faded violet scent. He had missed it painfully. “Now, we
await the birth of my son in the spring.”

She smiled. “There must be more
than that.”

“Of course there is,” he thought
a moment on something other than the immediate future. There was so much more
ahead of them, things he found himself looking forward to. “With Henry the
Seventh upon the throne, I will send Johnny to Rosehill to bring father home. I
will also send Mark to Kington Castle on the Welsh Marches to assume the
position of garrison commander.”

“Garrison commander?” she
repeated with surprise.  “He is leaving Wellesbourne?”

“Aye,” Matthew replied. “As the
Earl of Hereford, I have appointed my brother the garrison commander of my
holdings. Three of them, in fact, all active border castles. Mark will have his
hands full but I have confidence that he can control the Welsh.”

Her eyes opened wide. “Earl of
Hereford?”

His eyes twinkled. “Did I forget
to mention that? Henry rewarded me for my exemplary service at Bosworth. A
mighty legacy to pass along to our son, don’t you think?”

Alixandrea was overwhelmed. Her
husband was home, a new earl no less, a baby was on the way, and Matthew seemed
confident that peace would hold. The War of the Roses would soon become a thing
of the past and a new era of harmony glimmered on the horizon. It was almost
too good to believe.

On that day those months ago when
she had entered the
Head o’Bucket
in Newbold and saw a mountain of a man
brooding in the corner, she could have never imagined her life to turn out as
it had. It seemed like a dream. The White Lord and Lady of Wellesbourne had
passed into a new age and she was ready, more than willing, to face it so long
as Matthew was by her side.

Her touch spoke of untold emotion
and tenderness as she gently kissed her husband’s lips. Gazing into his blue
eyes, she knew that she would never be able to fully express what was in her
heart. With all they had lived and died for, all she cared about was that the
man was safe.

“I think our son will have a
remarkable legacy,” she kissed him again, more firmly this time. “And I think
he has a remarkable father.”

Matthew could feel her warmth
burning deep inside of him. She was delicious and he tasted deeply of her. “Not
nearly as remarkable as his mother.”

“Matt?”

He did not want to talk; he only
wanted to taste her. “Aye?”

“There is something I would like
to do.”

He thought they were of the same
mindset. “I am about to do it.”

When his palm closed over her
breast, she put her hand over it, stopping him. Her eyes glittered. “Not that.”

He looked surprised. “Not that?”

“Nay.”

“Then what?”

A wonderful smile spread across
her lips. “You promised.”

Her grin was catching. He smiled
at her but did not know what she meant. “What did I promise?”

“Is this really the end of
Richard’s wars?”

“It is.”

“Then there is something we must
do for our children to signify that we have truly achieved peace.”

The following May and after two
days of labor, Lysabel-Audrey Wellesbourne was born healthy and fat. Her father
had been so relieved after the long and difficult birth that he had wept
uncontrollably for an hour when it was over. Lysabel was followed in close
succession by siblings Rosamund, James, Thomas, Emeline, Daniel and William.

 All of the Wellsbourne offspring
learned to fish before they could walk.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kathryn Le Veque has always been
a writer.  From her first ‘book’ at the age of 13, Kathryn has been writing
prolifically.  A strong interest in History and adventure has added to her
stories, most of which take place in the Plantagenet period of England.  She
also writes contemporary romance and adventure, as evidenced in the Kathlyn
Trent/Marcus Burton Archaeology Adventure/Romance Series.

The White Lord of Wellesbourne
was originally called
The Four Horsemen
, but it became apparent very
early on that the focus and strength of the novel was Matthew, the White Lord.
He is, to this day, the author’s favorite hero, and with little wonder.
Alixandrea is a very lucky woman.

When Kathryn isn’t writing, she
is volunteering her time with the local high school, where her youngest child
attends, gardening, golfing, or watching old black and white movies.  Her daughter,
currently in college, is following in her mother’s footsteps with a love of
creative writing and Medieval History.

Visit Kathryn’s website at
www.kathrynleveque.com
for more novels
and ordering information.