The White Lord of Wellesbourne (45 page)

Gaston almost collapsed in
relief. He closed his eyes, lowering his head in small prayer of thanks.

“Then you shall join us?” he
asked softly.

Matthew sucked in a long breath.
“This is not about Herefordshire and the southern marches. This is not about
believing in Henry over Richard. This is not even about England. This is about
you, a man who would destroy his life and reputation to save mine.  This is all
about my wife and the lengths I will go to for her protection.  What I do,
Gaston, I do for you, and no one else. You have saved her, in more ways than
one. Let me repay the debt.”

“What will you tell your
brothers?”

“The truth. And that they shall
gain holdings in Herefordshire and the Southern Marches when this is over.”

It was done. Without another
word, Matthew re-latched his helm, mounted his charger, and rode off towards
the battle in the distant field.  The sun was rising steadily now, casting pale
golden light on the green fields. Gaston watched Matthew for a moment before
motioning to one of his men, hovering a good distance away. Patrick’s familiar
shape came riding upon him.

“Did he understand?”

“He did.”

“Did he accept?”

“He did. Spread the word; as soon
as we see Henry’s standard approach, we move.”

Patrick was gone. Gaston lingered
a moment longer on the turn of events before mounting his charger and
following.

It would prove to be the longest,
bloodiest day of his life.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Early September

The bushes were trying to come
back. Little buds had begun to form and Alixandrea inspected them yet again
before she watered that particular hedgerow.  The entire length of shrubs that
Audrey had planted against the western wall of the garden were showing signs of
life after the weeding and pruning and cutting that she, Caroline and John had
done.   Finally, the garden was emerging from his dormant stage with water and
attention. Every day, Alixandrea could see a marked improvement.

This day was no different from
any of the others, except perhaps it was a little cooler. The seasons were
beginning to change and she hoped to keep the garden flourishing through the
colder months to come.  Caroline joined her shortly, dressed in her heavy linen
garments and having come to do battle with the prickly garden.  She saw
Alixandrea stooped over a bush, pouring a bucket of water onto the roots.

“Alix,” she came over to her, her
manner wrought with exasperation. “You should not be carrying that heavy
bucket. Let me have it.”

Alixandrea shook her head even as
Caroline wrestled her for the pail. “Caroline, I am fine, truly,” she let
Caroline win the tussle. “I am perfectly capable of watering the garden.”

Caroline frowned. “You should be
resting.”

“I feel fine.”

“But you must take care of that
baby.”

Alixandrea grinned. She had done
an awful lot of grinning lately, most noticeably, since the day she realized
that she was pregnant. That had been almost three weeks ago.  No menses, tender
breasts, a strong aversion to meat and a strange firmness of her lower belly
told Alixandrea all she needed to know. Caroline, much more knowledgeable about
such things, confirmed it. From that point on, there had been much joy within
the walls of Wellesbourne at a time when there was little to be joyful about.

“Go tend the camellias,” Caroline
instructed her. “That bush near the gate needs some pruning.”

Since Caroline had taken
Matthew’s word literally and was seeing to nearly every aspect of Alixandrea’s
life, she simply shrugged and went over to the camellia bush that was beginning
to sprout deep green leaves.  Sitting on the padded leather cushion that John
had fashioned for her, she was in the process of trimming a dead branch when
John entered the small garden.  Head down, she could still see his feet.

“Ah, Johnny,” she said. “Just in
time. Could you perhaps have the stable boys provide more horse droppings
today? Just look what it has done for these camellia bushes. The flowers are
thriving.”

John did not reply immediately.
Alixandrea lifted her head and turned around. “John?”

He just stood there, looking at
her. It was an odd stance. For some reason, it unsettled her. Unsettlement
turned very quickly into fear.

“John, what is the matter? Why do
you look so?”

John sighed heavily and took
another few steps into the enclosure. By now, he had both ladies undivided
attention.

“We… we just received a missive,”
he said.

Alixandrea leapt to her feet and
rushed towards him. “What did Matthew say?”

“It was not from Matthew.”

In her state, emotions were more
prevalent than normal. Tears sprang to Alixandrea’s eyes.

“John, for the love of God, tell
me what has happened,” she was trying not to weep. Caroline grabbed hold of her
and they huddled together in fear. “Who sent the missive and what did it say?”

There was a carved wooden bench
against the wall, put there by Adam for his wife those many years ago.  John
directed the ladies to sit. When they did, he knelt before them, taking
Alixandrea’s hands tightly.

“Alix,” he said softly, firmly.
“I need your calm attention, not your hysterics. Please do this. It is
important.”

She nodded, though she was
struggling. “Please tell me.”

John passed a glance at Caroline
before continuing.  “The missive was written by Viscount Lovell. Henry met
Richard south of Leicester almost three weeks ago in a massive battle.”

“What happened?”

John did not know where to begin.
He was still reeling from the news, making it difficult to relay. “Richard was
defeated,” he said, hardly believing it as he said it. “We have a new king.”

“What about Matthew?”Alixandrea
practically shouted. “Where is he?”

John patted her hands to calm
her. “As near as Lovell can tell, he survived the battle.”

“What do you mean as near as he
can tell?”

John sighed heavily again,
grasping for words. “He saw him towards the end of the battle and he was still
alive, as was Mark. But Luke…,” John abruptly faltered, wiping at the tears
that suddenly sprang to his eyes. “Luke fell towards the beginning of the
battle. Struck down by archers.”

Caroline sucked in a sharp breath
and closed her eyes. Alixandrea, strangely, seemed to calm though there were
tears on her face.

“Luke,” she murmured. “God be
with him.  What more did Lovell say?”

John struggled to compose
himself. “He said that Matthew and Gaston sided with the Stanley brothers and
came charging in when Henry took the field. They fought for Tudor, Alix. The
Wellesbournes fought against Richard.”

Alixandrea’s eyes widened to the
point where they threatened to pop from her skull. “That is not possible.”

“Lovell would not lie.”

“But... why? I do not understand
any of this.”

John let go of her hands and
stood up, agitation in his manner. “Oh, Alix, it was a mess. I do not know why
my brothers changed their fealty on the day of battle, but the fact remains
that they did so. Together with Gaston and the Stanleys, they turned the tide
in Henry’s favor. Richard fell and Thomas Stanley took the crown off the dead
king and crowned Henry right there on the field.”

“But Matthew is alive,”
Alixandrea said as if she had not heard anything else. “We are sure that he
survived?”

John snapped at her. “Is that all
you are concerned with? Do you not understand that we now have a new king?”

She met his fury. “Of course that
is all I am concerned with. I care not who rules this country so long as my
husband is still alive and we are allowed to raise our family in peace.  To the
Devil with this battle for the throne. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t glad
it was over.”

John was clearly upset. He was
reeling over the death of Luke and the change in loyalties.

“Matthew must have made the
decision to support Henry,” his tone was almost accusing. “He always makes the
decisions; the rest of us merely following, trusting that the great White Lord
of Wellesbourne knows what is best.  Well, I do not know if I would have changed
so easily.  I do not know if I would have followed Matthew.”

“Do you not trust your brother?”

“I trust him, but I have my own
mind as well,” John was twitching with anger, bewilderment. “Matthew must have
promised Mark and Luke something great if they would change their loyalties.”

“Are you saying that he bribed
them?”

“What else could he have done?
Or… or perhaps he was bribed himself by Henry. Perhaps The White Lord was
bought.”

Alixandrea struck him across the
face, a sharp slap that echoed off of the garden walls. It was a brutal, sudden
action and completely unexpected.

“You will never again express
such doubts in my husband’s honor,” she hissed. “If he did in fact change
loyalties, then he must have had a very good reason. You will not doubt him.”

John glared at her, but in the
same breath, he knew she was correct. If Matthew sided with Henry, it must have
been a sound and wise decision as he saw it. John adored Matthew; upon
reflection, he knew there could be no other possibility.

“I must send word to my father,”
he turned away from Alixandrea, evidently not wanting to discuss it further.
“He does not know what has happened.”

Alixandrea grasped his arm before
he could get away. “Did Lovell say where my husband is?”

“He did not.  He only said he saw
him towards the end. He did not say that he saw him leave the battlefield
alive.”

John’s words struck her just as
her small hand had struck his cheek. He had only said that because he was
disturbed, too, about Luke, the conflict, about everything. All Alixandrea
seemed concerned with was Matthew and not the overall implications of the
battle. But as soon as he said it, he was sorry.

“I am sure he is well,” he said
quietly. “Matthew is stronger than you know.”

Her face was pale, her lovely features
twisted in thought and dread. “When did you say this battle took place?”

“Around the twenty-second of
August.”

“Then if that is true, Matthew
has had almost three weeks to come home. Leicester is less than fifty miles
away. It would not take him three weeks to travel fifty miles.”  Her features
suddenly tightened with fear. “John, where is he? If he survived,
where is
he
?”

She was starting to become
hysterical again.  John grasped her hands tightly. “I do not know, Alix.
Perhaps he has gone to London with the new king.”

“You must go and find him,” she
insisted. “You must find him and you must also bring Luke home to be buried
next to his mother.  Johnny, you must.”

John’s mind was muddled. He
needed to get away from the weeping women and think clearly. But as he tried to
pull away again, Caroline came at him.

  “And if Mark is also alive, why
has he not come home?” she asked. “You must find out where they are, John.  You
could be the only Wellesbourne left.”

The only Wellesbourne left
. Alixandrea could not hear
anymore. She turned away from them both and went back to her camellia bush.
Picking up her pruning knife, she resumed her steady cutting.  The battle was
over and Matthew was not home.  If he was alive, surely he would have sent
word. But word had only come from Lovell.  The more she cut at the bush, the
more brittle her mind became.

***

It was sundown and Alixandrea was
still in the garden, still tending the shrubs. She had not come inside all day.
When Caroline had tried to force her, she had actually shoved the woman away.
Nothing anyone could do or say could convince her to leave the garden and come
inside.

The old garden of Audrey
Wellesbourne had become a sanctuary, a therapeutic environment in which to
exercise her demons. Right now, that demon was of Matthew’s whereabouts.  She
could focus on nothing else. She had very nearly convinced herself that he had
died on the field at Bosworth and now lay buried in a common grave with his
brother.  Thinking of her strong, wise, sweet husband in a pauper’s grave
nearly destroyed her.  He did not belong there. If John could not find him, she
would not rest until she did.

As the sun set, she began working
the ground with her hands.  A servant had brought more horse manure and she
used her fingers to work it into the soil that surrounded some dormant bulbs. 
It was smelly, dirty work, but she did not care. She dug until her fingers bled
and still, she dug.  At some point, the tears came.  She wept deeply as she
continued to till the soil, her tears mingling with Wellesbourne earth.  This
was the place that had bred her husband. It was odd that she felt close to him
here, her hands in the dirt of the fortress that he loved.