The White Lord of Wellesbourne (18 page)

“I am not the only son of
Wellesbourne,” Matthew boomed.

“But you are the only one he’ll
listen to!”

They faced off against each
other, fury in their expressions, emotions running rampant. Mark jabbed a
finger at him.

“I know what this about,” he
hissed. “Your new wife has you else occupied, so much so that you would forget
your duty as Adam Wellesbourne’s eldest son.”

A fist came flying at Mark. He
wasn’t fast enough to duck and Matthew’s crushing blow nearly took off his
head. He went spinning off balance but somehow managed to keep his feet. Blood
dripped from his nostrils as he looked up to see his brother bearing down on
him.

“Do not ever accuse me of dodging
my duty as a Wellesbourne,” he stopped short of striking his brother again; he
simply stood over him and growled. “I have given more to this family, king and
country than you can possibly imagine.”

Mark wiped the blood from his
nose.  “Your obligation is to protect your father, especially from himself.”

Matthew’s blue eyes were like
ice. “You will not tell me what my obligation is.”

Mark just shook his head and
turned away. Matthew called out to him before he got too far.

“Did I hurt you?”

Mark paused. “No. But it was a
good hit.”

Lips pursed with regret, and a
lot of disgust, Matthew went over to him and tilted his head up, peering up
both bloody nostrils.

“You usually duck faster than
that,” he grumbled.

“I did not see the fist until it
was too late.”

“You are slowing down in your old
age.”

Mark smiled in spite of himself.
“And you are growing edgy in yours.”

“I am sorry.”

“So am I.”

They parted ways as they had done
a thousand times before. Sometimes Matthew came away bloodied, but most of the
time it was Mark. It had been thus since they had been small boys. All of the
things they said and did to each other, they had made a vow never to part
angry, and they never had.  While Mark went to see to the army, Matthew made
way for the keep.

The first stop he made was at his
father’s chamber.

***

Alixandrea was fully dressed when
Matthew came for her. He had expected to wake her, for it was shortly after
dawn, but she was sitting by a brightly blazing hearth sipping warmed milk with
nutmeg.  When she saw him enter the chamber, she smiled brightly. Matthew
nearly melted.

“This morning sees you well, I hope,”
he said.

She nodded. “It does. And does it
see you well, also?”

“It does.”

He went to pull up the small
stool that sat against the hearth. He sat next to her, gazing at her beauty as
if nothing else in the world existed.  Had he been thinking with his rational
mind and not his besotted one, he would have realized he was completely
smitten. He’d known the lady four days and already, he could not imagine life
before she came to Wellesbourne. It was as great as the difference between
heaven and hell.

“I am glad you are awake,” he
said. “It would seem that we must leave for London sooner than I originally
planned. How long will it take you to be ready?”

She lifted her eyebrows. “I have
hardly unpacked since my arrival. “Twill simply be a matter of loading my cases
onto the wagon again.”

“We do not need to take
everything. Only those items which are necessary.”

“How long are we staying?”

“That is hard to say.”

“Then everything is necessary.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “We will be
traveling swiftly and lightly. I cannot spare the time or manpower to lug
around all of your worldly possessions.” When she opened her mouth to protest,
he put up a hand to silence her. “Whatever you may leave behind, we can
purchase for you in London if necessary.”

She gazed at him steadily before
a grin spread across her lips. “Then I shall leave everything behind.”

“Everything?”

“Aye. When will I have another
opportunity to purchase fine new things, in London no less?”

He could see she was teasing but
he cocked a stern eyebrow at her. “So that’s your plan, is it? Marry me and
spend my fortune?”

She laughed softly. “Fortunate
for me that you did not suspect my true motives before we were wed. Now it is
too late.”

“We’ll see about that.”

She continued to giggle. He
reached out, grabbed her behind the head, and kissed her soundly.  She tasted
so good that he kissed her again, this time long and hard.  The warmed milk in
her hand almost ended up on the floor; Matthew caught it before it could spill,
though some drops ended up on him.

“Sorry,” he set the cup aside,
wiping the liquid off his hand. “I got carried away.”

She licked her lips, tasting his
passion on her. “You have my permission to get carried away any time you wish.”

He wriggled his eyebrows at her.
It was an open invitation and he knew that he was a fool not to take it. 

“Would that I could take the time
to spend with you right now as we did yesterday,” he touched her cheek gently.
“But the duties of the day are already dictated. I would not rush through our
time together and make so little of it. Time spent with you, coming to know
you, is time that deserves all of the respect I can give it.   And I cannot do
that right now.”

She nodded in understanding.
“Then it is best that you go about your duties and leave me to mine, for I would
keep you here all morning.” She stood up, her cheeks turning a delightful shade
of pink as she fumbled for the correct words. “I cannot explain this, Matthew.
I cannot explain why I have no fear or reservation about you and why what
happened between us yesterday, which should have rightfully distressed me, did
nothing of the sort. I feel as if I have known you my whole life, as if you are
something that has always been with me and I feel you as a part of me. I want
to spend all of my time with you, whiling away the hours as if nothing else in
our world exists.  We respond to each other so easily, so readily. Can you not
sense that?”

He reached out and took her hand,
a warm, soft thing. “Of course I can,” he said huskily. “Do you think this has
been easy for me the past few days, knowing I should be focused on my duties
but finding myself unable to think of anything other than you? My brothers
think I have gone mad. Maybe I have. But if this is madness, then I happily
accept it.”

Alixandrea was coming to realize
that Matthew always knew the right thing to say.  He wasn’t like her uncle,
hard and selfish, or like most men she had come in brief contact with. There
was something beyond the surface, something deep.

“As do I,” she said. “Let us be
mad together.”

They stood there a moment,
grinning at each other. It was silly and completely wonderful.  Matthew knew he
had to get back to his duties and did not relish the thought of leaving her,
even if only for a few moments. He was in dangerously close to forgetting his
duties completely, just as Mark had accused him.

Maybe his brother had been right.
Frankly, he did not care if Mark was right or not, but he did know what was
expected of him.  It was a struggle to focus.

“As much as I would like to stay
here and gaze at your beauty for the rest of my life, I am afraid I have more
pressing tasks elsewhere,” he said. “I will send Caroline and a few servants to
help you organize your cases.”

“Caroline was already here,” she
said. “She helped me dress this morning. Which reminds me.…”

“What?”

“Jezebel,” her smile faded. “Have
you… what have you done with her?”

His smile faded also, his
professional persona taking over. “She is still in the vault under orders that
no one but Wellesbourne guards be assigned to her. Strode is not allowed near
her.”

“Have you seen him since
yesterday?”

“In the stables. One of your
carriage horses is lame and he has been tending the animal.”

“I have not seen him since I
arrived here, but that’s not unusual. He is not a house servant.”

“He will be going with us to
London.”

Her eyes widened. “He will? But…
but won’t that be risky? If he discovers that we’ve been married…”

“I would rather have my enemy
close than leave him here at Wellesbourne to usurp my soldiers and open the
gates for an invasion force.” He could see how worried she was and he took her
in his arms, gently. “Have no fear; your manservant will not last long against
me. He will trip himself eventually and I will be there to pounce.”

She gazed up at him, her body
warm and fluid as she delighted in his embrace. “But what of Jezebel?”

“She stays in the vault, accused
of making an attempt on your life. There she is, and there she will remain
until I decide otherwise.”

“And then what?”

His eyebrows lifted. “And then I
send her back to Whitewell. She’ll not stay here.”

Alixandrea was about to ask
another question when shouting from the ward caught Matthew’s attention. Her
window faced the main gate of the castle and the sounds easily traveled, even
four stories up. He released her and went to the window, peering into the void
below.

“What is it?” she asked.

His blue eyes were focused, like
ice. In fact, his entire body seemed frozen as he viewed the scene below. Then,
he suddenly shifted on his big legs and made haste for the chamber door.

“Visitors,” he held out a hand to
her. “Come along, love.”

She jumped to do his bidding.
“Who is it?”

The corner of his lips flickered.
“An old friend.”

He did not say any more and she
did not ask.

Gaston de Russe was known as The
Dark Knight. Along with Matthew as his ‘white’ counterpart, he was the most
legendary knight in the realm during these ominous times of royal turmoil.

Whereas Matthew had been given
his name in reference to his widely known benevolent character, The Dark Knight
was aptly named for a demeanor that sparked nothing short of blind terror. The
man wasn’t cruel; he had never crossed that line into such darkness that men
feared him for his brutality and vile conduct. But he had been known to rip a
man apart with his bare hands on the battlefield and other horrific tales that
were fit only for the heartiest of soldiers. The name Gaston de Russe struck
fear into the hearts of all men, Lancastrian or York.

Alixandrea knew of him only by
reputation. As she’d heard tales of The White Lord all her life, so had she
heard tales of his dark counterpart. Matthew had mentioned Gaston’s name as
they had quit the keep and entered the bailey, but she truly had no idea of
what to expect. When the mighty gates of Wellesbourne swung wide to receive her
guests, the first thing that caught Alixandrea’s attention was a knight astride
a coal black charger.

But it wasn’t just any knight; as
large as Matthew was, and he was enormously large, the knight astride the black
beast was even larger. He wore well-made, horrendously heavy plate armor and a
helm that sported massive spikes jutting from the sides of it to not only
intimidate the enemy, but to prevent them from grasping him about the head. He
had hands that were easily twice the size as a normal man’s, wrestling the
fire-breathing charger with one hand while directing his men into the keep with
the other. 

She watched him with something of
morbid fascination, this extraordinarily massive man who spoke no words yet
ordered his troops about more efficiently than most.  All he did was point and
his men leapt to do his bidding.

There were two more knights
accompanying him, one man astride a large gray charger and the other aboard a
roan.  They were knights of the highest caliber, their weapons expensive and
their armor well used.  The knight on the roan headed straight for Matthew,
flipping his visor up at his approached.  Alixandrea could see that the very
handsome young man was smiling at her husband.

“Wellesbourne,” the knight
boomed. “Tis good to see your ugly face again.”

Matthew grinned. “Your cousin
should have drowned you at birth,” he growled. “Who let you out of your cage?”

The young knight snorted. “We
received your urgent missive.  Gaston thought it was important enough to ride
at full speed from Kidlington.”

“That is a forty mile trek since
last night. Your men must be exhausted.”

Sir Patrick de Russe, the young
and dashing cousin of Gaston, passed a glance over the troop of men that was
pouring into the bailey. “You forget that these are de Russe men,” he said.
“They have been driven harder than most. Forty miles over several hours is not
unusual for them.”

The knight on the gray charger
rode up, dismounting. He was tall and slender, with an indefinable elegance in
the way he moved. He unsheathed a gauntlet, used the free hand to unlatch his
visor, and then pulled the helm off. His blond hair was flowing to his
shoulders, his hawk-like face bordering on unhandsome, though not unkind. He
looked right at Alixandrea; she swore the man’s eyes were so blue that they
were white. But his gaze just as swiftly moved to Matthew.