The Rose at Twilight (36 page)

He awakened her early with kisses, and when she responded with a passion to match his own, he seemed to forget he had meant to be gone before lauds, and lingered with her, teasing and stimulating her until she feared her moans of pleasure would be heard in the cloister. When he entered her at last, her body leapt to meet his, and when it was over, she lay trembling in his arms, waiting for the last tremors to pass.

She sighed. “I am limp, sir. I shall never stir again.”

He chuckled. “I will miss you, lass.”

“Meistr?”
It was Tom, and Alys was profoundly grateful that Nicholas’s body prevented her from seeing the squire’s face. “Will ye dress now, sir?”

She murmured, “Send him away,” but Nicholas had already begun to sit up, and a moment later he was out of the bed, the bed curtains had been drawn for her privacy, and she heard the familiar sounds of his morning ritual with Tom.

An hour later in the courtyard, her husband’s disposition had changed yet again, and he made it a point to command her in full hearing of his men and the abbot to obey Gwilym’s orders as though they had been his own. His attitude was stern, his demeanor inflexible, just as though he had not been kissing and caressing her from the moment he awoke.

His command aroused instant resentment in her, but she hid it, gritting her teeth and behaving so well that the abbot nodded his head in approval. At last, with a final command to Gwilym to follow side roads and byways rather than the Great North Road to Doncaster, Nicholas signed to his men to proceed. When Alys saw him pass through the gates, looking magnificent on Black Wyvern, she felt suddenly bereft. He had said he would miss her, and she had not even had a chance to respond. But she knew she would miss him, too, dreadfully. It took every ounce of control she could exert to keep from calling him back to her.

Beside her, Jonet sighed, and Alys looked at her. Her perception sharpened by her own feelings, she said quietly, “You ought to be kinder to Hugh Gower. He cares for you.”

“That whimling?” Jonet snorted. “Talks with a silver tongue, but the niggish dogbolt’s not got an ounce of spirit.”

She would say no more, and their own little company departed soon afterward, their way proving to be so roundabout that it was a full four days before they neared Wolveston. Tempers were taut by then, or at least Alys’s and Madeline’s were; the other women merely did as they were told, and the men were as stoic as their leader. But neither young lady appreciated Gwilym’s high hand.

When it came to his telling them brusquely not to chatter as they rode, for fear their voices would draw unwanted attention, it was Madeline who said sharply to him, “I warrant, you think the woods are crawling with enemies, sir. Let me remind you that no Yorkist knight will harm either of us, or our people.”

“Perchance you are right, mistress,” he growled, “but I have no right to take that chance. And you might recall that men, being men first and Yorkists second, might not pause to consider your politics before taking your purse or your maidenhead.”

“Fine talk,” she said scornfully. “To try to frighten us is behavior one has come to expect of you, Master Merion, but we do not frighten so easily, as you ought to know by now.”

“’Twould be better for us all if you did, mistress. Now hush before I lose my temper.”

Tossing her head, Madeline said sweetly, “I am sure ’tis an awesome sight, sir, fit to set the leaves on the trees trembling with dread, but we cannot fear what we have never seen.”

Alys, hiding a smile at the flush on Gwilym’s cheeks, said quickly, “Look, Madeline, there is the castle yonder on the hill. Is it not a beautiful sight?”

Wolveston Hazard, crowning the hilltop with sunlight shining down on its gray bulk, looked clean and inviting after the rains. The hillside was green with new grass, and patches of spring wildflowers made splashes of vivid color. From their present vantage point they could see the river Trent winding at the foot of the hill, with green fields, marshland, and fens beyond. It was a peaceful scene, and one that caused Alys to draw a breath of pleasure. Certainly, the castle looked a good deal more inviting now than when she last had seen it.

The sight stirred them to haste, assured of warm fires and a proper meal, and the safety of solid stone walls and sturdy iron gates. Less than half an hour later, they rode in through the main gates, which had been, rather surprisingly, left open.

Alys said to Ian, “I thought you told me there were people here. Were these gates open like this when you came before?”

He shook his head, glancing at Gwilym, then around the open, deserted courtyard. His attitude was curious, nothing more. But Gwilym, overhearing Alys’s question and Ian’s response, laid his hand on his sword hilt and held up a hand for silence. Not a sound could be heard but the whistling of the breeze across the ramparts until finally, in the distance, a bird chirped and was answered by another.

“I did think someone would be here to welcome us,” Gwilym said in a low tone. “Nick said the sweat ravaged this place but that a few soldiers were here, so unless the king sent for them to come to his aid, this is not right. Even in such a case as that, some men ought to have remained to look after the place.”

Ian nodded. “There was men aplenty here afore, master, when I coom from Bawtry tae learn the fate o’ Mistress Hawkins for m’lady. The gates did be closed then, wi’ men tae guard them.”

Madeline said impatiently, “What matter where they are? We are here, and I for one am nigh to dropping with fatigue and hunger. Do let us go inside and light the fires so that a proper meal may be prepared. After that, at our leisure, we can discuss finding more men to guard the place and set it to rights.”

Alys agreed. “Once it is known that I am come home, men will come to pledge their fealty, sir. I have been told that my father’s estates are vast, so even if many have died hereabouts, there will be a sufficient number to serve us. Let us go in.”

Gwilym hesitated only for a moment. Then, dismounting, he drew his sword and motioned to the other two soldiers to do likewise. “Ian, can you close the gates alone, lad?”

“Aye.” Ian turned his horse toward the gatehouse, and a few moments later the great gates, controlled by counterweights, began to swing shut.

Once they were closed, Gwilym seemed to breathe easier. “Now, lads,” he said, “follow me and keep your eyes skinned. Stay behind us, you women. I do not like this, but ’twould be the gravest folly to leave you here in this courtyard.”

The little party crossed the cobblestone court and, avoiding the main entrance with its tall iron-barred doors, made their way to the postern door, the same by which Alys had made her previous visit to the castle. When it opened to Gwilym’s touch on the latch, he hesitated again, but only for a moment. Taking the spiral stair to the main floor, then checking side chambers as they went, they passed without incident along the stone gallery to the arched entrance into the two-story great hall. Pausing on the threshold to assure himself that the chamber was empty, Gwilym strode inside, followed by the others.

At that moment, in a sudden flash of premonition, Alys remembered there was a musicians’ gallery and another, similar alcove, opposite it, but it was too late for warning.

Soldiers appeared, swords drawn and poleaxes at the ready, as if the very walls had spewed them forth. There were a dozen or more of them, and the sight of them froze Gwilym, Ian, and the other two men in their tracks. Before they could react, a loud voice commanded them to hold where they were.

“You are outnumbered two to one, and there are more of my men outside the castle, so if you have no yearning to be spitted where you stand, put down your arms and surrender.”

Alys, recognizing the voice with astonishment, turned toward it and exclaimed, “Sir Lionel Everingham! What on earth, sir, do you think to accomplish here?”

“Why, mistress, I have come to claim you and yours for mine own, as by rights you should have been from the outset! Now, man,” he added, his sword at rest, his fists on his hips as he glared at Gwilym, “do you yield or do you die where you stand?”

“We yield, sir.”

Beside Alys, Madeline sighed with relief.

“T
AKE THE MEN BELOW
with those others,” Sir Lionel ordered, adding to Gwilym, “We have a number of the Tudor’s men in the dungeons already. You can bear them company for a time until it has been made clear who is the master here.”

“Wait!” Alys cried. The men were being disarmed.

“What is it?” Sir Lionel said impatiently. “You do yourself no good by attempting to set your will against mine, Lady Alys.”

“I do no such thing, Sir Lionel,” she replied, thinking quickly. “In faith, to set my will against a man so brave as to take on both the Tudor and his strongest knight in arms would be most foolhardy. But you are about to send my manservant with the others. Ian is only a lad, sir, and is loyal to none save myself. He serves me right well, however, for he has learned my ways. I pray you, allow him to remain with me.”

“He looks stout enough,” Sir Lionel said doubtfully, “and he bears a sword and dagger like any other soldier.”

“Only because our party was so small,” Alys insisted. “He does not wear proper armor, sir, as you see, but only a leather brigandine and chausses.” She hoped he had not been privileged to see the rest of Sir Nicholas’s men, for most wore no more than that, trusting to speed rather than to heavy armor to protect them. Gwilym and one other who had accompanied them wore metal breastplates, and it was to that fact that she pinned her hopes.

Sir Lionel was in a mood to be generous. “Very well,” he said at last, “the lad may stay. He can stir these hall fires to life, so that when the servants return they can get on with preparing a meal. But mind that you do not displease me, lad,” he added, looking grimly at Ian. “At the slightest offense I shall order you sliced to ribbons and fed to my dogs.”

Without so much as a glance at Alys, Ian nodded, pulling his fiery forelock and somehow looking even younger and more harmless than he had looked a moment before. He moved swiftly to kneel by the fire, taking up a few chunks of wood and casting them onto the bed of banked embers, then stirring and poking industriously until the coals glowed bright and burst into flame beneath them.

Sir Lionel watched him, then, realizing that his men were also looking on, said sharply, “Go, take those others below.”

Gwilym, his voice sounding as though he controlled it only with strong effort, said, “I give my parole, sir, not to attempt to escape or to overpower you if you will allow me to remain here. I have promised my brother to look after his wife and the other women, and am loath to leave them to face you alone.”

“Are you now? Well, you’ve little choice in the matter, sirrah, and I tell you man to man, you’re a sight more likely to keep your head attached an you go with the others now. I’ve a short temper, and the Lady Alys will be your brother’s wife only long enough for me to make her a widow, so you need not bother your head about any promises you’ve made to the man. As to the others, they’ll be safe enough till we have use for them.”

Madeline and Elva gasped, and Jonet reached out to grasp Alys’s arm, but Alys needed no such warning to keep her wits about her. A chill had knotted the pit of her stomach at Sir Lionel’s casual mention of killing Nicholas, and she saw that Gwilym had stiffened his resistance against his captors’ efforts to push him from the hall. Hoping that he and the other two still might manage to get the upper hand if she could divert Sir Lionel, she turned a calm face toward him and said, “What can you hope to gain by making me a widow, sir? You cannot believe the king will give me or my inheritance to a former Yorkist.”

He laughed. “’Tis no longer expedient to be a Yorkist of any sort, my lady. You see before you a staunch Lancastrian.”

“But you have imprisoned some of the king’s men below!”

“Aye, that too was expedient. But Harry Tudor understands these matters if you do not. These thirty years past, and more, men have won both women and property through just such tactics as these, and he will know how to reward my efforts on his behalf.”

“On his behalf!”

“Aye, for ’twill be easy enough in such uncertain times to assure him that the castle had been taken by that rascal Lovell—fool that he is in not knowing when a cause is lost—and that I have but rescued castle and lady, albeit not in sufficient time to save poor Sir Nick Merion. The king, having accepted my oath of fealty, will admire my daring and allow me to keep the spoils of my victory. Harry Tudor has said he cares only for spreading the wealth so that it does not accrue in one family. He will have no objection to my taking you and yours unto myself.”

“But why?” Alys asked. “You did not want me before. When I arrived in London you did not look at me; and, to my knowledge, you made no objection when our betrothal was set aside.”

“You were not then such an heiress,” he said, “and I was taken up with establishing myself at court. Not until I discovered the vast worth of your father’s estate did I realize my error in not pressing my claim from the outset. I soon set about putting the matter to rights, however.”

A certain intensity in his expression sent a shiver up her spine. She fought the thought forcing itself upon her, but it would not die. “Roger,” she said, her voice breaking on the name. Emotions that had not touched her at all when she had learned of his death touched her now, and there were tears in her eyes at the thought that, without knowing it, she might have provided motive for murder. “They called his death mysterious.”

“Not so mysterious,” he said casually, “if you but knew it.”

“You killed him.”

He did not deny it, nor did he say more about it. “Enough of this claptrap,” he said. “Get those men below, lads. And you send your women above, mistress. You will remain here with me.”

“No!” Madeline cried, stepping up beside Alys. “We will all remain together, Sir Lionel, or—Take your hands from me!” she shrieked when a soldier grabbed her by her arms from behind.

Gwilym bellowed a protest, struggled vehemently with his captors, and was knocked to the floor for his trouble.