The Rose at Twilight (38 page)

She stepped back, fully aware of her nakedness beneath the quilt, aware that he was moving aside to let the others pass him, that in too short a time she would be completely alone with him. They were gone. Glancing around nastily, she noted the poker near the fireplace and wondered if she could get near it without his discerning her intent. But his gaze followed hers.

He chuckled. “So you would crack my skull, would you?”

“Aye, if I could,” she retorted.

“Well, you cannot, but I’ve a notion to strip you of that quilt you clutch so tightly, just to teach you the consequences of such defiant talk. What think you of that?”

She longed to tell him what she thought of him, but she remembered her own words to Madeline and forced herself to reply calmly, “I hope you will not, sir. I am at your mercy, as I know full well. I did speak hastily, but if you can find it in your heart to be merciful now, I will guard my tongue in future.”

“Prettily spoken, my dear, but I should be a fool to believe you, and I am no man’s fool, nor any woman’s.”

“What will you do?” He had come no nearer, but the way he looked at her made her cringe inside and she had all she could do to conceal her revulsion.

“You are a choice piece of goods, madam, even without your inheritance. Little did I realize it, but when Richard fell, he did me a greater disservice than I knew. Even after I’d arranged for you to come into your own, I thought only of the chattel, not the bedchamber benefits that would accompany our union. God refuse me, all I remembered was a wee chit of a girl, all teeth and hair, with a body little more than skin and bone—not even a good armful for a man. But seeing you now, grown—” He broke off, staring at her, sweat breaking out on his brow. “Just look at me! Not more than ten of a morning, and already my body is craving yours. Tell me why I should not indulge the craving.”

She took another step back, but the mattress they had pulled from the bed was behind her and she nearly tripped. Steadying herself, she said, “You would not dare.”

“Don’t be a fool. God refuse me, but I should be a greater one to delay. The lad went to fetch Sir Nick, did he not? He’ll not best me, I vow, but a taste of your charms can only spur me on to win them for mine own!” Grinning, he stepped toward her. He was between her and the door now with less than a dozen feet separating them. “That mattress will accommodate us nicely where it lies. Drop the quilt, lass. Show me what I would fight for.”

Terrified, she watched him approach, one slow step at a time, as though he understood her terror and would draw it out, as though her very fear aroused him. He was tall, nearly as tall as Nicholas, and she knew that fighting him would be futile, for he would overcome her most strenuous attempt with ease. He would take her, possess her, and he would demean her, too. She could see the last in the way he looked at her.

In the few seconds it took him to take three steps toward her, her mind seemed to have frozen, but with the fourth step it snapped to life again. Straightening her shoulders, she looked him in the eye and said, “You wish to see me, sir? By heaven then, since I cannot fight you, I have no choice but to obey.”

He stopped where he was when she spoke the first words, and when, with the last, she opened the quilt wide, his eyes nearly popped from his head. Seeing his mouth drop open as well, she cast the quilt hard away to the left, and when his startled gaze followed it, she leapt to her right, snatching up the poker and whirling to face him with it held out menacingly before her.

His right hand flew instantly, automatically, to his sword hilt, but it halted there, and his countenance hardened. “Drop that, wench, or by the bones of Christ, I will thrash you till your buttocks are afire before I take you.”

“I will not,” she said. “Use your sword if you will. Kill me if you must! I will never submit to you, Sir Lionel.”

“Oh, you will submit,” he said. “And afterward, in the hall tonight, you will kneel to me before them all and swear an oath of fealty to me as if I were your king.”

“I will not!”

“You will, and by Christ’s bones, you’ll kiss my feet after, or I’ll strip you naked before them all and thrash you again till you beg to serve me.”

He grinned then, lewdly, and she felt her courage fleeing, but she forced her thoughts away from the spectacle she must be making for him, and the one he was creating for himself in his lurid imagination, and fixed her attention on his eyes, watching for him to leap at her, wondering if he was so certain he could best her that he would come at her barehanded. If he did, there was a chance she might step out of his way long enough to bring the poker crashing down upon his head. He was tall for such a maneuver, but if he lunged it might be possible. As the last thought crossed her mind, she saw, just at the edge of her vision, a movement of the chamber door.

Though she tried not to look—a certain furtiveness in the movement made it plain that it was not one of his own men who entered—she had all she could do to keep her eyes on him. When she caught a glimpse of an arm sleeved in familiar light chain mail over leather, and a dark leather-gloved hand pushing the door wider, she nearly cried aloud her blessings upon Ian.

Just then Sir Lionel leapt, his hand clamping like a vise around the poker, and Alys’s scream drowned all other sound in the room. One moment, Sir Lionel Everingham was leering down at her, his hand twisting hers unmercifully as he wrenched the poker from her grasp; the next moment, with a horrible bubbling cry in his throat, he collapsed at her feet. She stared down at him for a long moment, watching his life drain out of him, hating what she saw yet grateful that he was dead and could not threaten or torment any of them again. Then, wanting only for Nicholas to hold her tight, his chain mail notwithstanding, she took a quick, impulsive step toward her rescuer before she looked up and stopped in her tracks, her mouth open, her eyes wide with shock.

“’Tis always a pleasure to see you, Lady Alys,” Viscount Lovell said with his mischievous grin, “but I’ll warrant your husband would dislike my seeing quite so much of you.”

A
LYS HAD FORGOTTEN SHE
was naked, and looked down at herself with greater dismay than ever, while Lovell, still grinning but ever gallant, strode across the room, snatched up the quilt, and tossed it to her. “Cover yourself, madam, and then perhaps you will tell me how you managed to get hold of that poker.” Bending to wipe his blade on Sir Lionel’s sleeve, he returned the sword to its scabbard and shot a last look at his victim. “They told me below that the covetous snudge had you here alone with him,” he said, “so I expected to find you ravished and needing comfort. I discover instead that my assistance was scarcely required.”

“Oh no, sir,” she replied, drawing the quilt tight about her, welcoming its warmth but wishing for skirts and a bodice in its stead. “Your entrance was a timely one. I had put him briefly off his guard, but as you saw, I could not hold him. Though perchance,” she added, “I might have managed to snatch his sword from its scabbard and then killed the villain myself.”

“Nay, madam, for his scabbard hangs free. Even had you managed to lay hands upon the sword, it would have resisted your efforts, but it were no threat to me even had I not taken him unaware. Look at mine own weapons”—he gestured toward his sword and dagger—“lashed to my thighs, so that I can draw each with but a single hand. That scoundrel must needs have had both free to draw his. ’Tis a pity, though, that he had not the chance to do so. I should have liked to kill him in a fair fight.”

“I am glad you did not try, sir.”

“No time for it,” he said simply. “Chivalry is all very well, but I’ve men below who depend upon me to lead them. We did not think to find this castle occupied by more than a scattering of servants, whom I had hoped would prove loyal to our cause. ’Twas so once before, when we did require sanctuary.”

“Roger showed you the secret of the gate,” she guessed.

“Aye, and I learned only recently of his death,” he said quietly. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“That villain murdered him,” she said, nodding toward the corpse on the floor. “In London, they said only that his death was mysterious, but Sir Lionel gloated that it was not mysterious at all. His meaning was plain, and he meant next to murder Sir Nicholas, and take me and mine inheritance for his own.”

“Such a plan might have prospered,” Lovell said, frowning, “but look here, lass, we have little time. I had thought to escape the worthy Sir Nicholas’s notice by hiding where he would least expect to find me, but with you in residence—”

“God save us, I sent for him!” she exclaimed. “My servant left in the night to search for him, to bring him to our rescue.”

“And he will come hotfoot, I make no doubt.” His expression was wry. “Almost you put me out, lass, but needs must when the devil drives, and Sir Nicholas has been driving us hard.”

“Your insurrection did not succeed, then?”

“No, thanks to your husband. The man fights like seven demons, and that black monster he rides is nearly as dangerous as he is himself. I prefer not to mention at all the ugsome giant who rode so close beside him as to be mistaken for his shadow. God grant me strength! With such men as that, even a soldier as poor as Harry Tudor is might keep his throne.”

Pride in Nicholas vied in Alys’s breast with her disappointment that the Tudor had won yet another round. “Was it dreadful?” she asked sympathetically. “Were many killed?”

“Not so many, but we failed to capture the king, as we had hoped to do. Harry knew he was in danger, and rallied supporters to meet him at Barnsdale. Sir Nicholas was but one of many who answered the call. By the banners we saw, not only had Lincoln and Northumberland joined him but a disgusting array of Yorkshire knights, as well. ’Twas a sad sight, since many had fought for Dickon at Bosworth. The worst was Lincoln, his nephew and heir!”

“I am surprised he does fight at all,” Alys said. “He was always so cautious, so carefully gallant.”

“Aye, the man never talks straight, always with an ‘if it were so,’ or an ‘it has been credited,’ never just saying, ‘it is.’ But today he did fight, and without a single caveat.” He sighed, then went on, “The army we encountered was larger than we had anticipated, but we might have won still, for they thought we were but knights newly come to join them. We took advantage of the error by riding straight at Harry Tudor and the men nearest him, hoping to snatch the king off his horse and be away with him before anyone else had gathered his wits to think what to do. ’Twas the very devil of a ride, but if we’d taken Harry hostage, we’d have been in an excellent position to name our terms.”

“Aye,” she agreed, “so why did you not take him?”

“Because Sir Nicholas and that giant beside him were more awake than the others. I doubt that they recognized me. How could they when they saw me only that one time, with my pretty locks hanging over my face and my motley clothing all awry? But something warned them, and we nearly lost more than our dignity. Happily, Harry himself got in Sir Nicholas’s way, slowing him sufficiently so that many of my men and I were able to scatter and disappear into the forest whilst he was diverted.”

“So you did not fight him,” Alys said, relieved.

Lovell shook his head, his expression grim. “I am thankful to say I did not, and thankful, too, that he is not a murderous man. When I looked back, they were taking captives, not simply dispatching them. Harry Tudor’s habit is to punish half his captives and pardon the other half. ’Tis a disconcerting quirk, since one cannot know in which half one will find oneself.”

“What will happen now?” Alys moved to sit on the bed, her bare feet tucked up into the quilt for warmth.

Lovell shrugged, watching her. “I make no doubt that Harry will ride on in great splendor to York, where the mayor and aldermen will welcome him with feasting and speech-making.”

“I wish they would bar the gates instead,” she said. “That would teach him. York was Richard’s city.”

“It was, but despite their grief at Dickon’s death, the city fathers have no wish to be martyrs in his cause. Their prime concern is the defense of their corporate privileges, and they want only to ingratiate themselves with the new king. But, look here, lass, we must not waste time with such chatter. Your husband will be here only too soon, and there are matters—”

“Indeed, sir, you must fly. I cannot think what keeps Gwilym so long. I had thought he would come up at once. If he discovers who you are, even the fact of your having rescued us—”

“Who is Gwilym?”

She stared at him. “But, surely, sir, you said it was the men below who told you I was here.”

“Aye, the covetous snudge’s men did tell us. But they are in the hall still, all trussed up like Shrove Tuesday birds.”

“Sir Lionel’s men sent you to protect me from him?”

“Ah now, let us say more properly that one of them was encouraged to chat with us of everything he knew.”

His eyes twinkled, but she had no wish to ask for details. Instead, she said, “Then Master Gwilym Merion—my husband’s brother—and Mistress Fenlord, and the others are still locked up in the dungeon and do not even know you are here. That is just as well, sir, but you must leave before Nicholas arrives!”

“Aye,” he agreed, “but first, lassie—”

“Hark!” She slid off the bed, hastened to the window, and opened the casement to hear more clearly the sound she had heard even over that of his voice. “A horn, sir! They come!”

“The gates are closed, lass, so they will not be immediately upon us. They will wait to see if there is resistance first. Now, before they do come, tell me if you are well acquainted with the lad in the Tower, the one called Edward of Warwick.”

Surprised by the question, she said, “You know I am. Neddie was at Sheriff Hutton with Elizabeth and me.”

“You are certain the lad in the Tower is the same as the one you knew at Sheriff Hutton?”

“Aye, sir, I saw him, walking on the green. Why?”

“Only that I should be distressed to learn that any harm had come to him,” he said. “We intend to make a little mischief.”