The White Lord of Wellesbourne (5 page)

“It was certainly a busy place,”
she did not want to shatter the woman’s illusion. “Have you never been?”

Caroline shook her head. “Mark
will not allow it. He says that it is no place for a lady.”

“He is correct. You are far too
noble for a place like that.”

It was a compliment that flushed
her cheeks even more. Caroline wasn’t sure how to respond; it did not occur to
her to ask why Lady Alixandrea was at the place when it was allegedly too harsh
for ladies. For lack of a better action, she stood up and took the comb from
Alixandrea.

 “Allow me, my lady,” she
offered.

Her small, white hands worked
their way through Alixandrea’s hair, expertly combing and fluttering the
tresses so that the warm air dried them quickly. Alixandrea had an abundance of
hair, wavy strands that ended just below her buttocks.  Drying the mass would
take a small eternity if not handled correctly.

“I used to do this to my sister
all of the time,” Caroline said after several moments of combing. “She had hair
much like yours.  I miss doing this for her.”

“It has been a long time since
You have seen her?”

“She died a few years ago in
childbirth. She was sixteen years old.”

“Oh,” Alixandrea remarked softly.
“I am sorry for you. I have never had a sister, but I can only imagine your
grief.”

Caroline forced a smile, but it
was evident that the pain was still there. “I have the most beautiful
five-year-old niece. Her name is Elinor.”

“A lovely name,” Alixandrea said.
“It was my grandmother’s name.”

“Then we have something more in
common.”

Caroline had Alixandrea shift her
chair so that the damp side of her head was facing the fire. She combed and
fluttered furiously, drying out the heavy hair.  Alixandrea was seated with her
head slung back, staring up the ceiling, when the door to her chamber opened
again. She thought it was the servants because they had been coming in and out
with blankets and clothing and warmed mead.  But then a voice spoke that
sounded like the roll of thunder.

“I would speak with my lady,
Caroline.”

It was Matthew. Alixandrea sat up
so fast that she nearly toppled from the chair, her bronze eyes focused on the
huge man standing just inside the doorway.

He was still covered with blood,
now dried black, and his face was lined with dirt where his helm had not
protected his face from the elements.  He met her gaze as if no one else in the
room existed. 

“Greetings, Matthew,” Caroline
said pleasantly. “’Tis good to see that you are not injured from the battle.”

“Not overly,” he said, forcing
his attention away from Alixandrea to look at his sister-in-law. “If you would
excuse us, please?”

It took Caroline a moment to
realize that he wanted to speak with the lady alone.  Her brow furrowed.

“I would not leave Lady
Alixandrea unchaperoned, Matthew,” she sounded as if she was scolding him.
“’Tis not proper.”

He had little patience for her
propriety and struggled not to snap at her.  Caroline was a delicate creature
and he was unused to dealing with delicate creatures, especially since he was
still in battle mode. He had been killing all afternoon and to snap a neck or
bellow at a woman would have all been the same to him.  He forced himself to
calm.

“I promise that I will not harm
or ravish the lady in any fashion,” he said. “Will that suffice?”

Caroline was obviously torn. “It
simply isn’t proper, Matthew.”

“I know, love. But if you could
just give us a moment, I would be grateful.”

Caroline acted as if she was the
last line of defense between her brother-in-law and the lady. She looked at
Alixandrea, then back at Matthew again, before finally nodding her head.

“Very well,” she said. “But I
shall be right outside the door with my ear to the wood. And do not think for
one moment that I will not come charging back in here if I hear anything
questionable.”

Matthew allowed the woman the
illusion of power over this situation. So much of her life was beyond her
control that he was content to let her believe she had the last word something
as simple as this.  When the door to the chamber shut softly behind her, his
attention refocused on Alixandrea.

Seated in the chair, her
magnificent hair nearly dry and clad in a soft blue dressing gown, he was aware
that his first impression of her had not been wrong. A door to heaven had
opened somewhere and this woman had stepped onto the earth. He’d never seen
anything so lovely and he paused a moment simply to stare at her. He could not
help himself.

“I wanted to make sure that you
did not suffer any ill effects from your adventure this afternoon,” he said
quietly. “It was, I would imagine, a harrowing experience to a refined lady
such as you.”

She smiled at him, vaguely aware
that she was glad to see him. “Harrowing is an excellent term to describe it, my
lord,” she replied.  “I see that you have made it out in one piece.”

“Not for their lack of trying.”

She laughed softly. “From what my
uncle has told me, men have been trying to hack you to pieces for years.”

“It feels like forever.”
God,
she is gorgeous when she smiles
, he thought giddily. “What else has your
uncle told you about me?”

She shrugged lightly. “Only what
everyone else knows; that you are a magnificent knight known throughout the
realm as The White Lord of Wellesbourne. Even when I fostered at Pickering
Castle, I heard tales of your heroism. The young squires were raised on them.”

“Surely you heard tale of
others,” he said modestly. “The empire is full of brave and cunning knights
fulfilling their duty for the king.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “That may
be, but the more popular tales being fed to the men were of two particular
knights.  It was either The Dark Knight, who is said to rip men apart with his
bare hands, or you, The White Lord, who is said to fight the enemy with all of
the power of an avenging angel.  You sweep through the land, smite all who
oppose you, and vanish as swiftly as you came.”

Matthew could not help it. The
corners of his lips twitched with a smile at her dramatic reprisal of the
stories that permeated the land. They got more dramatic with each mouth they
passed through. Someday he might even come to believe them. 

“Gaston de Russe, or The Dark
Knight as you have called him, is truly a legend,” he said. “I am simply mixed
in with the rest of them.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Your
humility is astonishing considering I have never known a knight to be anything
other than completely full of himself.”

He stared at her a moment, as if
hardly believing she would dare insult the prodigious institution of
knighthood, before finally breaking into snorts of humor.  “I would say that is
a fair statement,” he said. Then his laughing abruptly stopped. “Just how many
knights have you known?”

She grinned, something slightly
mocking and even more evasive. “I meant the knights at Pickering and Whitewell.
My uncle’s fortress is full of knights who believe the sun would not dare rise
or set without them.”

He did not know why he suddenly
felt a stab of jealousy at the thought of Alixandrea surrounded by dozens of
brazen knights, all vying for her glorious attention. It further occurred to
him that he had been an idiot for the past ten years, resisting Lord Ryesdale’s
request for the marriage when he should have claimed her the very moment she
came of age. Had he only known. Gazing into her rosy beauty, he could hardly
believe she belonged to him.

“I see,” he said after a moment.
He took a few steps towards her. “My father has requested your presence in the
hall this eve so that he may introduce you to the castle. As the Lady of
Wellesbourne and my wife, you will be given all due respect.”

She nodded. “I would be pleased
to attend him, my lord, only… only my clothes do not seem to have arrived yet.”

“They are here, in the courtyard.
I told the servants to hold on bringing up your capcases until I called for
them.”

“My thanks,” she said. He was
standing there, looking at her with an odd expression on his face. She began to
feel the slightest bit awkward. “Was there anything else, my lord? I should
probably dress quickly if your father is expecting me.”

His brow furrowed as if something
puzzled him. Then he shook his head, turned around, and headed to the door. He
was nearly to the panel when he came to a halt again and looked at her.

“May I ask you something, my
lady?”

“Of course.”

He began to retrace his steps
towards her with deliberate thought. It was apparent he was grasping for
words.  “You and I have been betrothed for ten years.”

“Aye, we have.”

“And in all that time, did you
have any reservations about this union?”

“What do you mean?”

“That, perhaps, you did not want
to marry me?”

Her bronze eyes glittered in the
firelight. “Do you mean did I have similar thoughts to your own?”

He came to a halt. “What do
you
mean?”

“You do not want
to marry me, that much is clear. Luke was very plain. I suppose I should like
to know what that reason’s name is.”

She was not only
beautiful, she was intuitive. But it did not take a genius to sense his
reluctance. He’d never tried to hide it.

“That reason was very long ago,”
he said quietly. “It no longer exists.  And my reluctance to our union had
nothing to do with her, at least not for the past several years.”

“Then why the delay? Why the
unwillingness? Why not just break the contract and allow me to marry another
rather than wait for you?”

“
Is
there another?”

She was going to provide him with
an evasive answer, but thought better of it. Ambiguity was no way to start a
marriage she had waited long enough for. Besides, there was no point in lying.

“Nay,” she replied softly. “There
were a few who tried, but no one who caught my eye. I was, after all, promised
to the White Lord. How could anyone compete with that?’

His blue eyes moved over her
features, sensing her honesty. After a moment, his smile broke through.  “They
could not, of course,” he said. “And thank God for it.”

She met his smile but was a bit
confused by his statement. “I do not understand.”

He took a few steps until he was
directly beside her, gazing down at her magnificent bronze-colored head. He
could smell the scent of violets. It had been so long since he had smelled
anything even remote sweet or feminine that it almost made him light-headed.

“It means that we shall be
married on the morrow and be done with any further delay. I command it.”

She had to crane her neck up
sharply to look at him.  It was an uncomfortable position so she stood up,
thinking it would be easier on her neck. But he was so tall that it made little
difference.

“As you wish, my lord.”

He was so close that she could
feel the heat from his body.  She could smell him, too. The combination made
her head swim.  And the way he was staring at her made her heart thump
strangely. She tore her gaze away, not knowing what else to do, wondering why
she was feeling so strange. Her eyes inadvertently fell on his legs and she
noted the big, dirty gash along his left thigh. It had bled a good deal and now
the leg was covered with a layer of coagulated muck.

“You are injured,” she bent over
to gain a better look at the wound. “That should be tended immediately.”

He looked down at his leg. He had
very nearly forgotten about it. “I shall have it seen to.” It was an automatic
response. Then it occurred to him that she should want to tend it; as his
betrothed, it was expected of her. “But if you should like to attend me, my
lady, I would be honored.”

She looked up at him and for the
first time, he saw great uncertainty in her eyes. He’d seen nothing but
complete confidence from this woman since the moment they met; therefore, the
doubt was puzzling.  “I fear… I fear that I would not do a very good job, my lord,”
she said.

“Nonsense,” he stepped back and
began unlatching his plate armor. “You will make a fine task of it.”

She moved away from him as his
armor fell off, half-frightened, half-entranced. She had only ever seen him
with his armor on and even as he removed it, it made little difference in his
overall size. He had massive arms, muscular and tremendously powerful. His
chest was enormous, his waist slender, and his legs were the size of tree
trunks.  Stripped down to his stained undershirt and heavy linen breeches,
there was nothing about the man that did not reek of absolute strength and
power. He was magnificent.

It took her a minute to realize
she had stopped breathing. When she resumed, it came out as an odd gasp. He
looked over at her, standing several feet away.

“Where would you like me to sit?”
he asked.