The White Lord of Wellesbourne (8 page)

The introduction of Alixandrea
was short and to the point. There wasn’t much Adam could say that wasn’t
already obvious.  Every man in the room was gazing hungrily at her. Matthew
felt like a dog guarding his bone; he could see that this situation could
potentially become deadly if he did not establish the rules from the
beginning.  “I would add one thing to my father’s introduction of the Lady
Alixandrea,” his voice boomed when Adam was finished. “As you love and respect
me, love and respect my wife. Know that she is mine and, as such, will be given
all due reverence. Any transgression against her, no matter how small, will be
forcefully dealt with. That is my word.”

The men knew Matthew well enough
to know exactly what he meant.  He was quite fair and, on occasion, congenial
with his men. He would interact with them where other knights of his stature
would never dream of it.  He had been known to roll the dice with them while on
campaign and inquire on the health of even the lowliest soldier when warranted.
For that, he was unique and for that, he was very much loved. He inspired a
loyalty that most men could only dream of.

On that note, the meal was
brought forth without further delay.  Matthew offered to share his trencher
with her before his father could make the suggestion and the old man glared at
him. Matthew glared back. The dogs, having been relatively quite in the corner
of the hall, suddenly came to life as the food came out. Alixandrea watched the
great platters being set forth across the table as Matthew reached out and
grabbed the nearest knuckle of beef.

He laid it upon the trencher and
handed her a knife. “My lady?”

She turned to look at him, seeing
that he was offering her the first of the food.  With a smile, she took the
knife and cut at the well-browned meat.

“I hope this is to your liking,”
Matthew said.

“It looks wonderful,” she pulled off
a succulent piece and popped it into her mouth. “It is very good.”

He smiled at her and ripped off
his own hunk of beef. But there were more dishes being set down and Alixandrea
studied each one with great interest until Matthew took the hint and began
pulling all of the dishes across the table.

“This is peacock,” he ripped a
browned bird leg off of the body and put it on their plate. “And this,” he
tugged at a smaller bird leg, “is waterfowl. Swan.”

She nibbled at the peacock. “Do
you always eat this well?”

The corners of his blue eyes
crinkled. “Only when we have very special guests.”

Chewing, she watched him with a
smile on her lips until he turned to look at her. “I am a guest, am I? I
thought I was to be a resident. Was I wrong?”

He lifted his eyebrows as he
reached for the wine. “Nay,” he poured some sweet red liquid into her cup. “But
your arrival is certainly an occasion.”

“A happy one?” she teased.

“Aye.”

She swallowed her food.  Leaning
in his direction, she put on her best serious expression. “Are you sure? We are
not married yet, after all. I suppose you could still delay the marriage if you
had a mind to.”

Thoughts of her supple body
silhouetted through the sheer robe by the firelight crossed his mind.  “I have
no inclination to.”

“Surely?”

He sighed heavily and leaned into
her just as she was leaning into him. Their faces were mere inches from each
other. As she held a mock serious expression, he matched it.

“You are never going to forgive
me for delaying our marriage, are you?”

“Eventually. But not today.”

He could see humor playing in her
eyes.  “Are you always this vindictive?”

Her eyes narrowed, though it was
in good fun. “This is nothing, my lord. You should see me when I am rightly
angry.”

“I do not ever wish to see you
rightly angry,” he assured her. “And in private conversation, you will call me
Matthew. Or Matt.  I will answer to whatever you choose.”

A moment of jest had turned into
a genuine moment of warmth.  “As I will answer to Alixandrea,” she said
quietly. “Or wife. I will answer to whatever you feel is appropriate and
worthy.”

“Alixandrea is a very long name,”
his voice was low; he was enjoying her closeness. “Were you never called
anything else? A nickname, perhaps?”

She thought a moment. “My mother
used to call me Ali when I was a child. But that was long ago.”

He smiled. She smiled. He could
not help himself from reaching up and stroking a finger across her soft cheek.
“Ali is for a child,” he murmured. “Alixandrea is for a woman, and a beautiful
one at that.”

He might as well have scorched
her face, for that was the same effect his finger had upon her flesh. She could
still feel the heat from it and it set her heart to racing.  Their eyes held
one another for an eternity of small moments until someone shouted
encouragement to Matthew of a personal nature and he broke away, looking out
over the room. To his right a table of his men were shouting at him to kiss his
bride.  He waved them off. He did not want their first kiss to be a spectacle.

Alixandrea returned to her fowl.
A servant had set a marzipan subtlety in the shape of a little castle near her
left hand and she commandeered a slice of it. Off to her right was an almond
milk pudding with raspberries and sugared rose petals; she took some of that,
too.

 Matthew watched her as they ate,
smiling when their eyes met.  The wine was particularly good and she downed two
cups of it in short order.  With the music and festivities, she forgot about
her harrowing day, only thinking of the wonderful life she was sure to have in
this place. Matthew no longer seemed resistant to their union and she was
doubly pleased. The White Lord she had dreamt of for ten years would soon be
hers.

“Do you sing, my lady?”

The soft male voice came from her
left. She turned to see that Adam was speaking to her.

“Somewhat, my lord,” she replied.

“Excellent,” he said happily.
“Will you honor us with a song?”

She visibly blanched. “Now?”

“Please,” Adam begged gently. “It
has been too long since I have heard a fine lady sing. Caroline has many
talents, but singing is not one of them.”

Alixandrea glanced around the
room of feasting, drinking men. They were loud and boisterous and she was
intimidated. She caught Matthew out of the corner of her eye and she looked at
him, trying to think of a way to gracefully decline the request.  He could see
her reluctance.

“Now is not a good time, Father,”
he said. “The lady has had a trying day. It is too much.”

“Nonsense,” Adam scoffed. “How
difficult is it to sing a little song? I wish it.”

Matthew did not look particularly
pleased. “I do not think it would be wise.”

“I
wish
it.”

Alixandrea could see that here
was no way out of the situation and she did not want to create a battle between
them.

“Very well, my lord,” she said.
“What would you like to hear?”

“My Own True Love,” Adam said
without hesitation. “It was a favorite of Matthew’s mother.”

She stood up to leave the table.
A glance at Matthew showed him to be still seated, his expression bordering on
displeasure. She did not understand why he seemed so unhappy with his father’s
request. But he stood up, dutifully took her hand, and led her though the maze
of drunk men to the minstrels on the other side of the room.  Leaving her with
the musicians, he took to the shadows but stayed nearby, mostly for protection
against the drunken masses. 

Alixandrea asked the minstrels to
play the song that Adam had requested and the men heartily agreed. They were
very young men, four of them, that had proven quite skilled with their
talents.  They played the vielle, citole, harp and flute. She turned to face
the crowd as Mark and Luke whistled loudly for silence. The hall quieted
somewhat as the men, and their drink, turned to the lovely vision in yellow
standing against the north wall. Even the servants in the gallery above stopped
in their duties to listen. The air quieted.

She had a captive audience.
Alixandrea tried not to think of the hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at her.
She had sung in an assembly before, many times, but this was different. She did
not know these people and she did not want to make a fool of herself. She hoped
they would like her.

The music began, the soft
introduction of the many-stringed citole.  After a few delicate bars, the words
came.

O lovely one… my lovely one..

The years will come… the years
will go…

But still you’ll be… my own true
love…

Until the day... we’ll meet
again….

Her voice was as pure as the
ringing of silver bells, sweet and lilting and high. Her tone and pitch were
perfect, in delicate combination with the haunting sound of the citole.  There
wasn’t one person in the hall that hadn’t come to a complete halt, in movement
or in conversation, within the first few notes of her song.   The second verse
continued.

O lovely one… my lovely one…

My love for you… will never die…

My heart is yours… ‘til the end
of time…

When you will be…my own true
love…

The song was over, though no one
dared move. Alixandrea stood there, horrified that they did not like her song.
But then the hall erupted in riotous cheering, so loud that she nearly had to cover
her ears. She looked around and spied Matthew back against the wall behind her.
He simply gazed at her, his face expressionless, before finally moving forward
to claim her. She looked at him for some indication of what he thought of her
talent. He gave her none.

He took her all the way back to
the table where Adam sat with tears in his eyes. Alixandrea was flattered and
concerned all at the same time.

“My lord?” she asked hesitantly.
“Was the song not to your liking?”

Adam sniffled and wiped his eyes.
He was drunk, that was true, but the song would have brought tears to his eyes
even if he had not been.  He put a big warm hand over her fingers.

“I have heard that song many
times, my lady,” he said. “I have never heard it sung quite so beautifully.”

She smiled her thanks, turning to
Matthew to see if she could yet gain a reaction from him. Wine in hand, he was
gazing into his chalice.

“My lord?” she said softly. “Did
you not like the song?”

He swirled the dregs and took a
long drink. Then he looked at her. “I was wrong.”

“About what?”

“You. You
are
perfect.”

“I do not understand.”

He sighed and set the cup down.
“My mother used to sing that song to me,” he said quietly. “I always thought it
was the most beautiful thing in the world the way she sang it. But you… you
sing it better than she ever could.”

She sensed sorrow from him and
wasn’t sure why. “I am truly sorry if I have upset you,” she did not know what
to say. “Your father asked me to sing the song and I did not know that…”

He looked at her, the warmth back
in his eyes. “You did nothing but sing that song more sweetly than anything on
this earth. It simply reminded me of my mother and how much I miss her.  You
will sing many more times for me in the years to come.”

“If you wish it.”

“I do.”

“Then I did not offend you?”

“Of course not.”

Adam could not seem to stop
weeping. He put his hand on her arm. “Will you sing the song again, just for
me?”

Alixandrea looked to Matthew for
guidance. His father was shedding tears and she did not want to aggravate it.
Matthew sighed heavily; there was still displeasure in his voice in spite of
his words to the contrary. “Sing it. It has been a long time since he has heard
it.”

She sang the song thirteen times
that evening.

CHAPTER FOUR

“They are up to something; I can
feel it,” Matthew said ominously. “The Earl of Wiltshire has moved his men
north to Nottingham.  And there’s word of more nobility moving their troops to
the north, including the Earl of Pembroke, though that is no small surprise.
Can you not see that all of this military movement signals a gathering,
something great and powerful?”

It was dawn.  The Wellesbourne
brothers were gathered in the stale, smoky solar, huddled around a table
covered with a massive, overly-used map.  There were ink stains upon the
vellum, which had also seen a dagger or two thrown into it for good measure.
Pock marks littered the yellowed leather.

“Your instincts, as always, are
without question,” Mark said. “With Jasper Tudor moving his troops from
Pembroke Castle, there could only be larger things on the horizon.”