The White Lord of Wellesbourne (22 page)

Alixandrea smiled at her, forcing
away the melancholy of the past few minutes of conversation.  “We shall find
the best dress makers and the finest stylists in all the city. We’ll make you a
ravishing creature.”

Caroline did not say anything.
She simply returned Alixandrea’s smile, unconvincing though it might be. They
sat in silence until the blue ribbon of the Thames came into view and the
brownstone and thatched roof houses of the London commons appeared as thick as
trees in the forest.  In spite of their conversation and gloomy thoughts, the
excitement of having finally reaching Windsor overshadowed everything.

They had arrived.

***

The walls of Whitewell’s keep
were wrought with tension. Not only did Lord Ryesdale have his evening meal
interrupted, but it was interrupted by the last person he expected to see.  His
gut hurt at the sight and his food, the fine venison he had hunted that day,
was pushed away. He could not believe what he was seeing and demanded an
explanation in front of the entire hall. Though it was only a few servants and
soldiers, still, it felt as if he was confessing to the entire world. Now
everyone knew of the failure of Strode Levingsworth.

But none more so that Howard. He
heard his manservant’s tale, his eyebrows lifting with each passing word. By
the time the man was finished, Howard was ready to explode.

“He sent you back to tell me
this?” he demanded. “He dares to threaten
me
?”

Strode stood before his liege,
head down, waiting for the blows that were about to befall him.  The ride north
to York had been a particularly dismal one and he thought, many times, of
abandoning his course. But he had been at Whitewell since infancy and it was
the only home he had ever known. He had no where else to go. He could only hope
that Lord Ryesdale could forgive him his failure. 

“He said to tell you that he has
taken your niece and your men and that you should count yourself fortunate that
he doesn’t burn Whitewell down around your ears.”

Howard’s eyes bulged. “More threats?”
he gasped.  Then he charged Strode, as the man had expected, striking him
across the face. As the servant fell to the floor, Howard hovered over him.
“What went wrong? How did you foul up my orders, you stupid fool?”

Strode cowered beneath him. “The
maid,” he said; it was the only thing that came to mind. “She must have told
him everything, for surely, it did not come from me. I was faithful, my lord.”

“Where is she?”

“She ran off, my lord. I have not
seen her since we were released.”

Howard was nearly beside himself
with fury. His first instinct was to take it out on Strode, the man who had
failed him, but for some reason he refrained. His anger took the form of
twitching and shaking, directed inward until his heart pulsed wildly and his
head swam.

“Ten years,” he growled, shaking
his fists. “We have waited ten years for these plans to come to fruition and at
the critical moment, you fail me. Ten years of planning wasted.”

“It was not my fault, my lord,”
Strode slowly got up from the floor. “I swear that I did everything you told
me, up until the last.  Somehow, Wellesbourne discovered our plans, but I swear
to you that I did not tell him. I never gave us away.”

Howard clenched his fists so hard
that his jagged nails cut into his palms. “Ten years,” he muttered again. “My
God, we waited so long and now…”

He went off into a corner,
muttering to himself. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the chill of the
room.  It was a large room, well appointed, fitting for Howard Terrington’s
arrogance. Strode backed himself up near the door as if preparing to run out
should Howard strike at him again. He watched his liege mumble and hiss,
frightening sounds that dribbled of madness.

“What would you have me do, my
lord?” he asked. “Please. All you need do is ask and it will be done.”

Howard acted as if he did not
hear him. He muttered a moment longer before coming to an abrupt halt. Then,
his head came up and he looked at Strode as if something fantastic had suddenly
occurred to him.

“La Londe,” he hissed. “I’d nearly
forgotten.”

Strode wasn’t following him. “My
lord?”

Howard threw up his hands.
“Dennis La Londe!” he roared. Hastily, he staggered from the hall to the alcove
just off the main chamber. He moved to the enormous desk that nearly filled the
room, toppling a chair as he did so. He grabbed at the inkwell and quill,
scrambling for a sheet of vellum. Strode watched him curiously.

“What are you doing, my lord?”

Howard began fiendishly
scratching on a small piece of vellum. “I am fixing your mistake,” he hissed.
“Dennis La Londe left for London four days ago. He should be arriving within
the next day or so.”

Strode still did not understand.
“My lord?”

Howard slopped spots of ink all
over the table as he wrote. “God’s Bones, Strode, you know La Londe. We must
send word to him that your attempt on Wellesbourne’s life was unsuccessful.
With The White Lord in London, and La Londe in London, the possibilities are
staggering.”

Strode was beginning to come
clear now. “You will have Sir Dennis assassinate him?”

“That is an ugly word,” Howard
scribbled. “Let us say that where you failed, La Londe will not. I do not know
what we shall do about the rest of our plan, for there is no diversion now to
distract Richard while Henry lands upon England’s shores.  But I will let La Londe
worry about that. He must know that Matthew Wellesbourne is in London and that
Wellesbourne Castle remains intact. Get this message to him.”

“I shall take it myself, my
lord,” Strode said, eager to be of service and reclaim his liege’s good graces.
“I shall not fail.”

Strode did not fail in delivering
the message.  He caught up to Dennis la Londe on the northern outskirts of
London and faithfully delivered the missive. What he did not know, however, was
that the vellum from Terrington also contained his death warrant. Once he
completed his task, la Londe was to kill him in punishment for his failure.

Strode suspected, as he lay
bleeding to death on the open road, that his liege and the world had indeed
turned against him.

***

Rosehill

Near Windsor, England

Livia Wellesbourne St. James had
never had any children of her own, which is why she nearly went into seizures
at the sight of her four nephews. Though Adam was her only brother, the two had
never gotten along particularly, but she loved his sons. As she squealed in
delight, men in armor invaded her well-tended house and tracked dirt over her
hall.

Matthew had already met his aunt,
as he had told Alixandrea he would. He always had to be the first to greet her,
otherwise she would throw fits. With Matthew properly kissed and embraced, he
could leave his brothers to the domineering attention of their only aunt and go
about his business.

While John and Luke were on the
receiving end of liquor-smelling kisses, Matthew went back for Alixandrea.  As
Caroline wait for Mark, Matthew helped his wife from the cab so that she could
get a good look at the manor house. Alixandrea could not help but be awed at
the sight of it; the place was enormous, far larger than the castles she had
been accustomed to. She stood for a moment just outside the door, her gaze
falling upon the well manicured grounds, lush garden, and masonry walls.

The manor house was fortified,
sitting on the opposite side of the Thames and about a mile to the east of
Windsor Castle.  It had vast lawns behind the high walls and the house itself
had a main house plus two massive wings.  She studied the structure, oblivious
to the dark clouds littering the sky above. As rain drops began to pelt the
dirt, Matthew tried to coax her inside. But she stood for a moment as the wind
whipped up, smelling the fresh air and observing the awesome surroundings.

“This place is enormous,
Matthew,” she commented. “What on earth did your uncle do to acquire all of
this?”

“He was a nobleman by birth and
had a gift for trade,” he replied, looking up at the threatening sky. “He had a
fleet of ships that sailed the known world, trading goods from all ports. It
would be fair to say that he was successful at it and it would be furthermore
fair to say that he was probably one of the richest men in England.”

“I take it that he has passed
away?”

“Six years ago. But he left all
of this,” he swept his arms out over the expanse of yard, “to my aunt, who in
turn has willed it to me upon her death.”

Alixandrea realized that it meant
it would be hers, too. But it was too overwhelming a thought and she had not
the mind at the moment to ponder it. She was exhausted from her trip. As she
turned for the entry, she noticed that the vast majority of the army was still
beyond the gates. 

“Are they going to camp out
there?” she asked.

Matthew had her by the elbow,
glad she had decided to move out of the increasingly foul weather. “London is
still several miles away and de Russe is taking the army on to the city
limits.”

“He is not staying here with us?”

“Nay.”

“A pity. He seems like a lonely
man. I was hoping to get to know him better.”

Matthew almost smiled at the
irony of the statement. “I would be surprised if he let you. He is not one to
make friends easily, especially with women.”

“I sensed that. But it has not
deterred me.”

Matthew did smile, then. They
entered into the dark, cool entry hall, a massive two-story chamber with an
enormous iron chandelier hanging above their heads. At first glance, she could
see that it was a far different place from anything she had ever known.  Where
rushes and dogs littered the floor of the fortresses, fine carpets that had
been brought all the way from Persia covered the polished wood floor of the
entry. She could see muddy boot prints on it, knowing it had to come from the
messy Wellesbourne men. Crystal candle sets spread throughout the entry hall
gave off an enormous amount of refractive light.  Alixandrea was understandably
overwhelmed.

“God’s Bones,” she gasped. “I
have never seen anything like this.”

Matthew had seen it before, too
many times to count, and was immune to the wonderment. But he agreed with her.

“I doubt you ever will,” he said.
“My aunt maintains a level of living that God himself is envious of.”

She lifted an eyebrow at him.
“After the filth of Wellesbourne Castle, how is it you manage to stay here and
not ruin the place?”

He laughed softly. “My aunt would
beat me.” He pointed at the dirty rug. “Even that will not escape her wrath
once the joy of our arrival wears thin.”

A squeal suddenly filled the air.
Alixandrea looked over to see a round, rosy woman rushing towards her, arms
outstretched. Livia Wellesbourne St. James was an enormous woman with wobbling
chins and painted cheeks. She wore a garment of layers upon layers of the finest
silks, with studs and embroidery to a gaudy degree. She threw her fat arms
around Alixandrea and nearly strangled her.

“So this is your lovely bride,
Matthew?” Aunt Livia held Alixandrea at arm’s length, inspecting her closely.
“She is exquisite, darling. Absolutely exquisite!”

Matthew felt a pride he’d never
before experienced. It was strangely fulfilling. “Aye, that she is,” he agreed.
“The Lady Alixandrea Wellesbourne, this is the Lady Livia St. James.”

“Psh,” Livia hushed him. “We need
no introductions. I can see that she belongs to the House of Wellesbourne.
Welcome to Rosehill, dearest girl. What is your name again?”

Alixandrea fought off a smile;
the woman was giddy, dramatic, and scatterbrained. “Alixandrea, my lady.”

“Darling,” she hugged her again,
releasing her from her stifling embrace but not quite letting go. She put an
arm around her shoulders. “You have married the crème de la crème of
Wellesbournes, my dear. Matthew is our shining star. We will expect many strong
babies from you.”

Alixandrea smiled weakly, looking
to Matthew and silently pleading for his help. She could hardly believe the old
woman had jumped into such a delicate subject. Matthew just grinned a moment
before taking pity on her.

“Auntie, we’ve only been married
a few days,” he said. “You must give us time.”

Livia glared at him. “I would
have news of an impending child before you leave London, Matthew. I am an old
woman and haven’t time for your foolish delays. You have made me wait quite
long enough for this marriage.”

Matthew clapped his hand to his
forehead in a gesture of disbelief before removing his wife from his aunt’s
overbearing embrace. “Good God, Auntie, to the Devil with propriety and
subtlety, is it? You are going to terrify her.”

Livia was reluctant to let
Alixandrea go but had no choice as Matthew pulled her free. She was preparing a
sharp retort when Mark came through the entryway with Caroline on his arm.
Then, her attention was focused on another hapless couple.