The White Lord of Wellesbourne (25 page)

Adam was lying in an upstairs
bedroom with Mark and Matthew to staunch the bleeding from his mouth, ears, and
tend what they presumed to be several broken ribs.  The broken bone sticking
out of his lower right leg had already been semi cleaned and splinted by
Caroline and Aunt Livia’s majordomo.

With all of the chaos going on
around them, no one could explain how Adam had ended up under the wheels of a
coach.  The more Matthew worked to stabilize his father, the more he realized
that he knew the answer to that question.  Adam had finally done it. Though
Matthew did not want to believe it, there seemed no other explanation.  Guilt
such as he had never known seeped into every pore of his body.  He could not
believe he’d finally made good on his threats.

Alixandrea stood outside of the
chamber door, watching her husband gently feel his father’s torso for damage
and fighting off the sick feeling that she had caused all of this. She’d tried
to help Adam when Matthew had warned her he was fragile. For all of her good
intentions, it seemed that she must have triggered a stronger desire for death
within the man. He’d run out and thrown himself under the wheels of the
Whitewell carriage that she and Caroline had been brought to Rosehill in.  The
coachman had been taking it around the side of the manor to the livery when it
had happened and, eager to be done with his duties, had been going at full speed
at the time. He’d never had time to stop.

The coachman was down in the
hall, weeping quietly in a corner. Alixandrea remained outside of Adam’s
chamber while family members worked feverishly to aid him. Distraught from
watching Matthew work on his father, she wandered down the corridor until she
came across an open window. It was still raining outside.  There was a wide
enough sill to sit on, and she sank heavily.

Rain whipped in, dampening her
neck and arm.  Gazing out over the gray and green landscape, she had never felt
so awful in all her life. She wondered what Matthew as going to think of her
now, the woman who had goaded his father into attempting suicide.  The past few
days had been better than she had ever hoped for. Now, because of her arrogance,
her stupidity, it would all come to a crashing halt. Matthew had been right to
not to want to marry her. Perhaps he had always known best.  Now she’d done
this.

Tears filled her eyes as she
listened to the sounds of commotion a few doors down the hall.  Something was
happening inside that room and Matthew was in a state; something about Adam not
being able to breathe. Mark was in the corridor, bellowing for a knife and she
resisted the urge to go see if she could help. Mark’s eyes found her, bitter
black things, and she averted her gaze in shame. She wasn’t any good with blood
or pain. It would be better if she stayed out of the way.

Alixandrea stood up and began to
walk, unaware that Mark was following her from a distance. She passed through
the corridors of Rosehill and somehow ended up outside. It was still raining,
beastly weather that wrought havoc over the land. The rain pummeled her as she
walked without her cloak, sloshing across the wet drive and into the green
lawns beyond. Mark, having stopped short of following her out into the foul
weather, watched her from an upstairs window until she disappeared into a grove
of trees. Then he went back to his father.

Alixandrea wandered desolately.
Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes turned into hours. The rain finally
stopped and the sun peeped out from behind the dark clouds, weak though it
might be. Alixandrea’s mind lingered on the room she’d left behind, where a man
lay dying because of her. 

Why did she have to interfere? 
Why could not she have listened to Matthew when he told her that his father was
fragile?  She had always been headstrong but it had never gotten her into
trouble. Until now. Matthew would probably never speak to her again, of that
she was certain. She was coming to feel the grief that Adam had felt on the
passing of his wife, maybe not so severely, but certainly it was there. Matthew
would undoubtedly banish her. Now she would have to live without him.

At some point, the sun started to
set. Alixandrea was freezing in her wet garments, her lips blue and teeth
chattering, but she did not notice. The pain in her heart was too heavy to
notice anything else. The Thames was off to her right; she could see glimpses
of the blue-gray waters in the distance. Had she possessed any courage, she would
have gone and drowned herself in penance for her sin.  But she could not muster
the strength or courage to walk in that direction.

She continued on her present
course, stumbling through the unkempt fields, far away from any roads that she
could see.  Like a drunkard, her head was swimming and it was increasingly
difficult to move her feet. But she did not care what happened to her; she
would be grateful of God would allow her to drop dead at this moment.

It was too much to take. She
could no longer keep her wits or her strength. Stumbling to her knees, she
pitched forward into the wet green grass. Her last coherent thought before
darkness claimed her was wishing that God would be merciful and this was the
end of it.

***

“He is in a bad way, but I think
he shall live.”

The surgeon was a large man with
a bad smell about him, but Aunt Livia affirmed that he was the best physic in
the area.  Matthew did not much care for the man, but he seemed to have done a
well enough job with Adam.  The old man’s leg was neatly cleaned and
re-splinted, his ribs bound, and he was breathing easier thanks to the incision
Matthew had made near his ribcage. A broken rib had punctured a lung and
Matthew had known enough how to ease the condition.

At the moment, he seemed to be
resting comfortably.  The sun was setting outside and a bright fire burned in
the hearth, creating something of a hopeful mood in the chamber.

“What about his leg?” Matthew
asked. “It was a bad break.”

“It was. Providing the poison
stays away, he should keep it and walk again.”

Matthew was satisfied. Giving the
physic a few gold coins for his troubles, he turned back to his father as Luke
escorted the surgeon from the room.  Matthew checked his father’s pulse, lifted
an eyelid and, content with what he saw, allowed himself to breathe a sigh of
relief.  Whatever foolish attempt his father had made was not going to claim
him, at least not at the moment.

Mark and John were in the room,
seated in various corners. Caroline had come in and out, bringing water and
bandages and drink to those involved in Adam’s care.  Aunt Livia, unable to
stomach the sight of her brother, had taken to her bed, leaving the house
somewhat quiet. It was always quite when she was still, always bordering on
happy chaos when she was about.

For the first time in hours,
Matthew’s mind was able to expand beyond the immediate needs of his father. 
His thoughts moved to the evening, perhaps some food, and a warm bed with
Alixandrea beside him.  He hadn’t seen her since the onset of events, but
knowing how she felt about blood and wounds, wasn’t surprised nor offended. He
assumed she had found a warm, quiet corner in which to wait. He suddenly found
himself looking very much forward to seeing her.

“I should find my wife and tell
her he will be all right,” he muttered. “Mark, keep a vigilant eye while I am
gone. I shan’t be long.”

In the corner, Mark stirred. “By
all means, go find her,” he rumbled. He had neglected to tell his brother that
he had seen his wife wander away earlier in the day. In fact, he had been
deliberate in his withholding. “Tell her that her attempts to keep you occupied
while our father tried to destroy himself thankfully did not come to fruition.”

Matthew froze, his narrowed gaze
turning to his brother. “I can only hope that I did not hear you correctly.”

Mark’s nearly-black eyes
glittered with the twist of the flames. “You heard me.”

Matthew did not say anything for
a moment, but the expression on his face morphed into one only seen in battle. 
The hardness, the fury, was indescribable.

“You will come out into the hall
with me.”

John leapt up from his stool in
the corner. “He did not mean it, Matt. He is upset. We are all upset.”

“I meant every word,” Mark
snapped. “Had Matt not been so preoccupied with his new chit, none of this….”

Matthew was already flying across
the room. John was a big lad, but not big enough to stop his brothers from
battling. Nonetheless, he bravely threw himself between Matthew and Mark before
Matthew could get a good hold of him.

“No, Matt,” John pleaded,
struggling to hold his eldest brother at bay. “He doesn’t know what he’s
saying. He is frightened and tired.”

Matthew sandwiched John between
himself and Mark. He had hold of Mark’s shoulder, the other hand grabbing his
neck.

“Never again will you slander my
wife or accuse her of something that is not of her doing,” he hissed. “If I
ever hear another negative word out of your mouth about her, I shall kill you.”

They knew he meant every word.
Mark managed to move his head enough to get Matthew’s hand off his throat,
winding both of his hands around John to get at Matthew’s face.

“I am not saying anything other
than the truth,” he snarled. “You allowed her to speak with father when you
knew what might happen. You allowed her to provoke him into this… this madness.
And see what has happened?”

“I was there when she spoke to
him.  She said nothing that you and I have not said over the past twelve years.
He was, in fact, responding to her far better than he ever responded to us.  I
will not allow you to blame her for this.”

The punches began to fly then.
John wisely stopped trying to prevent such a thing and yanked himself out of
harm’s way.

“Stop it!” he shouted. “You’ll
hurt each other! You’ll hurt father!”

Matthew slowed his actions but he
still had a good grip on Mark. Mark, for his part, had given Matthew a lovely
bloodied lip. Rather than throwing any more punches near their father’s
convalescent bed, Matthew started pulling Mark from the room; he was so much
stronger than his brother that the battle was a little one-sided. But Mark was
a scrapper and would not surrender easily.

John saw what was happening and
once again tried to intervene. He rushed forward, attempting to remove
Matthew’s hands from Mark’s body.

“Stop it,” he pleaded. “Now is
not the time for this. Father is injured and we do not need either one of you
injured, too. Stop it, I say!”

By now, the commotion had roused
part of the house. A few Rosehill servants stood in the hall, fearfully
watching the tussle going on inside. Caroline, having been tending Aunt Livia,
had been summoned by a frightened maid. When she came to the doorway, she
shrieked in dismay.

“Matthew!” she gasped. “Mark!
Stop it this instant!”

Matthew and Mark stood just
inside the doorway, wrestling with each other more than actually fighting. 
Neither one of them was listening to reason; they seemed more intent to see who
could wrangle the other to the floor and Matthew had a substantial advantage. 
Mark finally stumbled and bumped his father’s bed; Adam’s body jolted. More
grunting and struggling between the brothers ensued until a familiar voice
drifted upon the air.

“Matthew,” Adam rasped. “Mark,
cease this folly. Have you both gone mad?”

In mid-battle, the brothers froze
and stared at their father. Struggles instantly forgotten, they went to his
bedside.

“Father,” Matthew said quietly,
wiping the blood from his lip. “You had us very concerned. How do you feel?”

Adam’s eyes were barely open, his
lips pale as he spoke. “I can see how concerned you were, fighting at my bedside.
What idiots I have raised.”

The brothers did not even bother
looking at each other, knowing he was right but neither one willing to admit
it. Mark put his hand on his father’s arm.

“Thank God you have survived,” he
said, sounding more like a frightened child than a man. “What on earth
possessed you to throw yourself in front of a carriage? How could you do that?”

Though barely lucid, Adam managed
to give a good attempt at a scowl. “Dolt, I did not throw myself in front of
the carriage. I just did not see it.”

Matthew did look at his brother,
then. For all of the awful things Mark had said, Matthew almost shouted his
relief that Alixandrea had nothing to do with it. But Mark did not look at his
brother; his attention remained focused on his father.

“Then… it was just an…?” He could
not seem to say the words. It did not make sense to him. “How could you not see
a racing carriage?”

Adam’s eyes closed. “Easy enough
when the mind is elsewhere,” he murmured. “I must have wandered into its path,
for I remember little but a strong blow. How badly am I hurt?”

“A few broken ribs, a broken
leg,” Matthew said. “What had you so distracted that you would wander into the
path of a moving carriage?”

Adam did not open his eyes. “Many
things, Matthew. You heard your wife; she had much to say to me.  Am I going to
recover?”