His Lady Bride (Brothers in Arms) (26 page)

The other was Henry Percy, the Earl of Northumberland—one of King Richard’s staunchest supporters.

Anxiety prickled along his skin. Aye, he’d known it would not be long before he would have to choose sides in this upcoming war. He had not known that moment would be now.

With a whispered word, he instructed a servant to keep Lady Beaufort’s page waiting in the barbican and usher Northumberland to the great hall.

Scarce minutes passed before the duke sauntered into the huge room and greeted Aric with caution.

“Belford. How does this summer see you?”

Aric choose his words with care. “Well enough. And you?”

“I cannot complain. King Richard keeps me busy, but he keeps me wealthy as well.”

With a forced smile, Aric bade the man to sit and called for ale. Northumberland said nothing until ale and bread had been put before him.

“His majesty has tried most frequently to reach you, Belford,” the man said between bites.

“I journeyed to Bedfordshire and stayed for some months.”

“You have holdings there?” Northumberland looked alarmed by that prospect, as if he feared the king had given Aric some concession he had not received himself.

“Nay.” How could he explain that he’d given up on ambition and politics—and most notably on King Richard? “I—”

To his left, Aric saw Gwenyth enter the great hall, looking more beautiful than ever in soft yellow silk. Her nearly black hair hung down her back in a truss of glossy curls.

She paused when she saw Northumberland. “My apologies, Aric. I can eat later.”

“Nonsense,” said the other man with an amiable smile. He turned back to Aric. “Who is this lovely lady?”

He hesitated. King Richard would view his marriage to Gwenyth as politically unfavorable. Hell, he had no notion if Lord Capshaw’s sympathies lay with the Yorks or if they had converted to the Lancaster cause.

Seeing no choice but the truth, Aric said, “This is my wife, Lady Gwenyth, late Penhurst Castle.”

Shock flared across Northumberland’s smooth features before he schooled it. “Was she, by chance, the reason for your journey to the southern country?”

Aric sent a quick glance to Gwenyth and prayed she would not dispute him. “Aye.”

Northumberland’s dark gaze raked Gwenyth with a familiarity that sent Aric chafing. “I see why. Does His Majesty know of your union?”

“Nay. I had planned to advise him this week,” Aric lied.

Northumberland patted him on the back as if he were a friend. Aric had never liked the man. “She is a beauty. But such a hasty union will make your loyalty to King Richard seem…questionable.”

Gritting his teeth, Aric said nothing. He also ignored Gwenyth’s gasp from the edge of the room.

Henry Percy could make trouble for Northwell and its inhabitants. Aric knew well that ambition could be a powerful motivator for greed. His neighbor possessed enough ambition for an army. And King Richard, feeling insecure upon his throne, would listen to the hearsay of one of his closest supporters.

“Of course,” Northumberland went on, “having ignored all four of his summons has cast a certain amount of suspicion upon you as well. The king is most displeased.”

“I have nothing to hide,” Aric said, knowing it would not save him from doubt. But he had nothing else to offer except a pledge of support…one he did not want to give.

“Not even Margaret Beaufort’s page?” Northumberland asked shrewdly.

Aric forced himself not to flinch. Northumberland was baiting him, wanting to unnerve him into confessing treasonous activities. If Northumberland could brand him a traitor, Richard would most likely give his sly neighbor control of Northwell for his devotion, making him the most powerful lord in the north.

“I know what the woman wants, but I have not encouraged her,” Aric answered finally.

Nodding his dark head, Northumberland appeared to consider Aric’s words. “Perhaps, but King Richard may not see it that way. You must admit, it all looks suspicious. No reply to his most urgent summons for help. A sudden bride with uncertain loyalties to the crown. And now a rival’s personal page beneath your very roof…”

“Lady Beaufort’s page is not here at my invitation, and my wife has naught to do with my loyalties.”

“Are you certain? Your uncle Warwick likely started his treason in just such a manner.”

Pushed beyond bearing by Northumberland’s intimations, Aric stood suddenly.

“Have a care. You imply something where naught exists.”

With a nod, Northumberland said, “I’m merely making certain. So I can tell King Richard he has Northwell’s support?”

Aric wanted to throw the odious Northumberland out of his home. But if he did not do so carefully, he would ensure a traitor’s death not only for himself but perhaps Stephen, as well.

“My men have grown soft in my absence and look not to be fit enough to battle one another, much less Henry Tudor’s army.”

Aric had little hope that would deter Northumberland, but he had to try. Lives other than his own depended upon this. Aye, he felt aversion for King Richard’s tactics in obtaining the throne, but Stephen knew nothing of such ugliness and should not be punished for Aric’s beliefs. His brother did not deserve to be half hanged, to have his entrails cut out before his eyes, be torn into pieces by horses, and to have his head hung on a pike for all of London to see. Stephen’s only crime was in possessing a lamentable lack of foresight and responsibility.

“Soft men are better than no men,” Northumberland returned, his voice soft, deadly. “You have no hesitation in supporting your king, I hope?”

Damn! He had much hesitation but could do little to prevent lending aid. Besides Stephen, Northwell’s people would suffer if Aric were branded a traitor. Richard would seize the demesne and give it to Northumberland—or someone equally loathsome—who had naught on his mind but making more money and obtaining more power. The villagers, the hard-working men and their families, the widows and children—all would suffer if he allowed Northwell to be branded a traitor’s haven.

And then there was Gwenyth, who could easily suffer, too. At the least, Richard could annul their marriage. Or he might wait until Aric’s execution to force Gwenyth to take another husband, one who would covet Northwell for its wealth and not its people. One who might mistreat Gwenyth. One who would expect her sweet presence in his bed each night.

The possibilities were limitless and unthinkable.

Aric drew in a deep, resigned breath. “I will write to King Richard today. What does he expect?”

Northumberland smiled, as if he knew exactly how reluctantly Aric’s answer had been given. “His majesty expects you and Northwell’s army to support him. Henry Tudor has finally left France and landed in Wales, in a place called Milford Haven. But I’m sure Margaret Beaufort’s page would have been pleased to tell you such—if he has not already.”

Aric clenched his teeth at the man’s repeated inferences to treason. He could prove nothing, yet better men had been executed with less evidence. If any should wonder, they had only to ask the widow of Lord Hastings, whom King Richard had cut down as a traitor to the crown without a jury of his peers and without benefit of a last meal.

He bellowed for his squire, noticing Gwenyth still standing at the edge of the room, her eyes wide with terror. He looked away.

“My lord?” the young boy asked.

“Send Lady Beaufort’s page away with the message that we have no interest in her information.”

The squire nodded before he walked away to do as he had been bid. Aric ignored his own regret. Henry Tudor would most surely make a better king.

“I hope, for the sake of your neck, you meant that.” Northumberland sent him a tight smile.

Before he could reply, Rowena swept past a stock-still Gwenyth and into the great hall. “My lord Northumberland.”

Rowena’s smile was beauty and warmth itself, and his neighbor looked most transfixed by it. Aric smiled cynically.

“How wonderful it is to see you,” Rowena went on.

“My lady Rowena, you are a fine, fetching sight early this morn.”

She laughed like an innocent girl, as if she had not shared the bed of the late lord and both of his sons.

Northumberland looked blinded by lust.

“The morn is much brighter now you are arrived at Northwell.” Rowena smiled wider than Aric remembered. Clearly, she wanted his neighbor’s attention.

“Nay, sweet lady, ’tis you who brightens the morn. I but bask in your rays.”

Aric rolled his eyes, even as he prayed something would come of this flirtation. Although Northumberland was wed to one of Aric’s Neville cousins, Eleanor chose life in London.

Rowena cast a glance at Aric that he might have thought annoyed, had she really let it show, before she returned back to Northumberland. “Sit in the garden with me, my lord. What a fine day to be out of doors, and your company would be fair pleasing.”

Once more, she smiled in a hollow flash of small white teeth, leaning slightly forward so her bosoms were closer to the other man’s rapt gaze.

“Indeed, my lady. I should like nothing more.”

Without a word, the pair departed.

Aric saw them not for hours. He was not surprised when, at day’s end, Stephen entered the great hall with a mournful wail.

“She is leaving!” he cried.

He could not pretend to misunderstand. “Then I will wish her well with Northumberland.”

“How can you care so little?” Stephen’s brown eyes were wide with distress. “Her leaving will rip the very heart from my chest. How shall I go on?”

With a sigh, Aric regarded his brother, wondering when he would finally become a man. “It will pass, and another will replace her in your bed. It is the way of women.”

“You must stop her!” Stephen said, as if he had not heard Aric’s advice.

“Let her go, Stephen.” He put a comforting hand upon his brother’s shoulder. “She loves you not. ’Tis better for you to know this now.”

Agitated and infuriated, Stephen jerked away from Aric’s touch and fled the hall.

Rowena appeared moments later, dressed for travel. She looked serene, at peace in a way she had not been for some weeks.

“I go with Northumberland,” she informed him.

He nodded. “I wish you well.”

“You have cared for me for many years, though you did not have to. For that, I thank you.” Rowena stood on the tips of her toes and pressed her cool lips to his cheek.

“You did my father a service in running Northwell when he had no other. You were welcome here.”

With a soft smile, she was gone, leaving a sulking Stephen behind.

Now Aric knew what he must do next in order to keep his honor and spare his family.

But his next conversation with Stephen proved difficult. Politics clearly overwhelmed the young man, and Aric could not provide all the information Stephen might have liked about the reasons for his decisions. But the necessary was done. Now—soon—he had to find the right moment to tell Gwenyth.

* * * *

By the moon and the stars, how busy she had been these two days past! Gwenyth lay in her bed with a weary sigh, satisfied with her efforts. She had directed a thorough cleaning of the kitchen and pantry, as well as taken a complete inventory. The linens for every bed in the castle had been washed and hung to dry. Every tapestry had been taken down and beaten free of dust. Fresh rushes lay upon the floor, strewn with sprigs of lavender for a pleasant smell each time someone took a step. Eager maids had been hired, lazy ones released. Visiting the crofters would take more time but could be done soon. The dye house would be replenished by week’s end, and servants were collecting herbs from her garden.

Hectic though they had been, she had enjoyed each minute of these two days.

This was the very position she had been born to, and she had to admit grudgingly that Rowena had done a fair job here at Northwell, even if she had been a bit harsh. Still, Gwenyth knew she could do better because she wanted this so badly, had wanted this for so long, and loved her husband so well.

Finally, happiness shimmered in her sight, brushing her each day. As time passed here, Aric’s contentment with her presence and abilities would grow. Then they would know naught but joy in their surroundings, in their love, and someday in their children.

Around her, reminders of Aric abounded. His understanding, his passion coupled with great gentleness… ’Twas no wonder she loved him—and had for some while. The expression in his silvery gaze of late bespoke great tenderness. Even if he had not told her of his love, she felt certain it was but a matter of time before he realized such.

Yet he had spoken little since the morn they had last made love, and had not been back to their bed since.

Frowning, she burrowed into her pillow and drifted off to a fitful sleep.

Later, hours before dawn, she awakened to find Aric sitting beside the bed, staring out the room’s window, Dog at his side. She sat up and allowed her gaze to follow his over the vast inky-blue ocean lit by a sparkling gold moon. Gwenyth frowned. What had been troubling him so of late?

Rising, Gwenyth made her way to Aric’s side and placed gentle hands upon the back of his chair. In no way did he acknowledge her presence. Still, she knew he was aware of her just behind him.

“What troubles you, Aric?”

“Naught you must worry over, little dragon. Return to sleep.”

His voice carried an unmistakable note of weariness and resignation. Her heart ached for him, and she smoothed her hand over the golden strands of his hair.

“If you worry, I will also. Share your troubles.”

Aric hesitated, then finally looked her way. Exhaustion claimed his features, as if he had not slept in days.

“It is Rowena’s leaving that disturbs you?” she whispered.

A smile softened his features as he wrapped an arm about her waist and rested his cheek against her belly. “Nay. If anything, I wish Northumberland well with her. Perhaps he will please her as no Neville ever did.”

Shrugging, Gwenyth took Aric’s hand in hers, giving him the comfort she sensed he needed. “Then it is the war, the choosing of sides you dislike.”