Captured by the Warrior (12 page)

Richard took a long sip from the pewter goblet, placed it back on a small table beside his chair. ‘It sounds like the King is in a severe state of mental decline. No response at all, you say?’

Bastien leaned forwards, the coppery streaks in his blond head shining like darts of flame. The front edges of his cote-hardie fell open, revealing mud-spattered braies, boots. He had driven his horse hard on the way back. ‘Nothing. I spoke to him, clicked my fingers in front of his face, even shook him a little. His eyes were open, but he merely stared straight ahead, blank.’

‘And the girl helped you gain access to the King’s quarters? She was amenable?’

Bastien’s chest squeezed tight, catching him unawares. Amenable? Christ, she had been more than amenable when they had kissed! Even now, his lips
tingled with the memory of the passion and desire he had seen in her eyes. He sprang up from his seat once more, moved to stand at the fireplace. ‘Aye, she was amenable.’ His words were clipped, sharp. He ran one finger around the inside edge of his fustian gypon; suddenly it seemed too tight around his neck.

The Duke threw him a crooked half-smile, saw the muscle twitch in his lean, ruddy cheek. ‘Do I detect a certain attachment between yourself and the young lady?’

‘You do not.’ He had no inclination to discuss Alice; every word stuck needles of guilt into him, reminded him that he should not have left her alone in Abberley. Yet she was not his responsibility, not like Katherine, his betrothed, had been. And he hadn’t been able to protect her, had he?

‘I’ll call a meeting of all those nobles that support me,’ Richard was saying, ‘and then arrange a meeting with the Queen; Henry is in no fit state to run the country. You’ll come with me?’

Bastien pushed a fist against the high mantelpiece above the fire, levering himself away. ‘I’ll be at Abberley when you arrive there,’ he said. ‘I’m going to take the physician back, now he’s free to go.’

The Duke looked up in surprise. ‘I have several hundreds of soldiers who would do that job for me—why you?’

The image of Alice’s sweet heart-shaped face swung into his mind. Lord, but the girl was making him soft in the head. He told himself he didn’t have anything better to do, that he had no wish to return to his estates and lands. But the whispered conversation he had unwittingly overhead returned again and again to him; he
smelled a plot with an instinct born of years dealing with unsavoury people, of tricksters and hoodwinkers. Men like Edmund needed to be dealt with. And he was the man to do it.

‘It’s just something that I need to do.’

The sun flared valiantly through the straggles of grey cloud, but there was no heat in the rays on this cold autumn day. In the walled garden to the south-west of Abberley Castle, smoke from the gardeners’ fires rose listlessly into the still, damp air. The dead twigs and gnarled prunings crackled as they burned, filling the air with a sweet, woody scent. Under a heavy dew, the plants drooped, their leaves blackened and shrivelled from an overnight frost.

Walking along the stone-flagged path at Edmund’s side, Alice stared glumly ahead, failing to notice the neat borders of dug-over earth, the line of clipped yews towards which they were headed. All she saw, in a wave of inexplicable misery, was Bastien’s face as she had last seen him, deep in the shadow of the stables. Despair crushed her heart; she should have been rejoicing at his departure, yet all she wanted to do was lock herself in her chamber and weep. She would never see him again.

As the slick wetness from the flagstones seeped through the thin soles of her slippers, Edmund coughed in the damp air, muttering about his lungs, flicking a speck of lint from the voluminous gathered sleeve of his tunic. When she had come down for breakfast that morning, he had been desperate to talk with her, alone, and, heart sinking, she had suggested the gardens. She had to forget Bastien, had to concentrate on building a secure future for herself and her parents. Marriage to
Edmund was the only solution, however unappealing the prospect. At least he was young, and they were friends; but he would never make her heart sing, like… Nay, she must forget him!

Edmund tucked her hand companionably into his side; they squeezed together as the path narrowed and entered an avenue of pleached hawthorns, the shapes of the trees tied down, their growth contorted and controlled from an early age into an arch. Alice’s skin glowed, fresh and rosy from the frosty air, her breath emerging in short misty puffs.

‘I feel like I’ve hardly seen you since you returned from Ludlow,’ Edmund grumbled lightly. He nibbled delicately at a nail, reliving the humiliation he had felt when Lord Dunstan had insisted on taking Alice to her chamber.

Alice ducked her head, flushed, knowing to whom he referred. ‘I couldn’t ignore the man,’ she protested. ‘He did rescue me, after all! I had to be polite.’

Edmund pulled her closer to his side, a reassuring gesture. ‘Alice! I was only teasing!’ She looked quite pretty in this dappled morning light, if a little untidy. Why didn’t her mother force her to arrange her hair in the correct manner? Even so, he couldn’t help thinking it was a shame he wasn’t to have her after all. But the lure of the riches he would gain in his part of the plan was too great to ignore. With that sort of money, he could procure a much higher class of bride than this humble daughter of the Queen’s lady-in-waiting.

The gravel beneath his feet crunched as he stopped in the centre of the four paths that divided the garden into equal quadrants. A stone urn, intricately carved, marked this centre, its pitted surface frothy with pale
blue lichen. Edmund disengaged his arm to hold both of Alice’s hands in his, turning to face her.

‘I think we should marry as soon as possible,’ he announced solemnly.

Shock resonated through her slender frame; she clutched at the stone urn for support. She had the overwhelming urge to wrench her hands away, to run. It was all happening too fast; her toes curled inwards in her slippers, as if trying to slow the headlong rush of time. Her wide-blue eyes, set with incomprehension, roved over Edmund’s placid features. ‘But…but we were going to wait for a year, at least! You don’t receive your inheritance for a year.’ Desperation threaded her voice.

‘Circumstances have changed,’ Edmund replied slowly. ‘My father is ill; he would see us wed before he…before he…’ He choked on the final words, silently congratulating himself on his acting ability as he spotted the wave of sympathy in Alice’s expression.

‘Oh, Edmund, I’m so sorry. I had no idea he was ill.’

Neither has he, thought Edmund. He’s probably tucking into a large breakfast at this very moment, in the peak of health. But he would do anything, say anything, to lure Alice away from Abberley; the reward was simply too great.

‘It came on very suddenly.’ Edmund’s expression was grave. ‘I think we should leave on the morrow…travel to my father’s castle.’

‘My father might be able to help him.’

‘Nay,’ Edmund replied vociferously, ‘he has the services of one of the best physicians in the country.’

Alice frowned. ‘Who?’

Edmund shuffled uncomfortably, running one finger around the inside of his high embroidered collar. What
was the matter with her? Why so many questions? He thought she would jump at the chance of marrying him earlier, yet her whole manner seemed to be one of reluctance, hesitation. ‘Er…I’m not certain of his name,’ he replied lamely. ‘But rest assured he is receiving the best possible care.’

Alice nodded, appearing to accept his explanation. ‘My parents may need more time to pack for the journey,’ she continued.

Edmund placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘I think it would be better if we kept it as a small ceremony,’ he said carefully. ‘Just us, with the priest and my father. He wouldn’t care for a crowd of strangers standing around his bed. He is extremely ill, you know.’

‘But…my parents would expect to be there!’ A look of astonishment crossed Alice’s face. ‘They’ll be so hurt.’

‘I’ve talked to your mother already,’ Edmund reassured her. ‘I’ve explained the situation and promised her we would hold a larger ceremony back at Abberley on a later date. She is happy with that, and thinks your father will be in agreement.’

‘If you’re certain…?’ Alice responded doubtfully.

Edmund nodded, a cunning glitter in his eyes. ‘Your mother is in full agreement.’ Little did the girl know that her mother was fully aware of his true plan, and stood to gain from it.

‘I see.’ But in truth she didn’t understand at all. Since when had Edmund taken to going behind her back and speaking to her mother? Bastien’s last words shot into her head, unbidden, warning against Edmund, his words
corroding her thought processes. But she couldn’t think of that now, or start to believe them; she had to think of the future.

A
wide expanse of rough, tussocky grass to the north of Abberley Castle formed the tournament field; a piece of land where knights triumphed or slunk away, heavy with the sense of defeat. Even at this early hour, stands had been erected for the spectators on either side of the lists, with a higher box for the nobility and the newly married couple. Fluttering pennants adorned stands, each flag embroidered with a white daisy, the emblem of Queen Margaret. As the sun rose, slipping its gentle light over the land, bringing colour into the washed-out hues of the pre-dawn, knights began to practise, lances flashing deftly as their laughter punched the cool air. A considerable number of men had accompanied William of Halston, the bridegroom, himself an eminent knight, and their brightly coloured, round tents were pitched in a far corner of the field. Several late risers were emerging from the tents, faces white and flabby with sleep, eyes bloodshot from their various excesses the previous
night, as they cast weary, sideways glances at the men already dressed, already in the saddle.

Fabien Matravers saw all this as he trudged towards the castle. The soles of his feet ached; his stomach growled with hunger. Watching the flags snapping in the sharp breeze, he scoured his memory, trying to recall what the occasion might be. As he entered the castle gates, people scarcely noticed him, bustling about carrying piles of plates, and linen tablecloths hither and thither. Ah! He remembered: the marriage of Serena of Stow to young William of Halston. The lad possessed a mere five-and-twenty years, yet had already inherited the vast lands and estates of his father on his death a year ago. The Lady Serena was a close friend of the Queen, who had graciously allowed the marriage to take place at Abberley.

After some searching, he eventually found his wife in Alice’s chamber, kneeling on the floor in front of a large oak coffer, rifling through their daughter’s clothes.

‘Fabien, it’s you!’ Eyes widening, wrinkles forming in her smooth forehead, she jerked round with a start of guilt, quickly suppressed, as he came through the door. The sun, streaming through the east window, shone full in her face, and she screwed her eyes up against the brightness. Her skin, heavy with white powder, gleamed like a mask, unnatural in the radiant light.

‘Aye, returned to you, my love,’ he quipped, ‘and all in one piece!’ He stepped over to her, bent down and took her limp hands in his.

‘Why did they let you go?’ Beatrice arched one nonexistent eyebrow in query, a sulky twist to her mouth. Her abrupt question implied that she would have pre
ferred him to remain a prisoner; indeed, she had hoped Fabien wouldn’t return until Alice was safely dispatched with Edmund. ‘I wasn’t aware that the Queen paid a ransom.’

‘I fear she may have to pay a great deal more than a ransom,’ Fabien replied enigmatically, unwilling to share the details of how Alice had been involved in his release.

‘No matter, you’re back, safe and well,’ his wife replied. There was no warmth in her words. Already she was turning back to the task in hand, shaking out the gown spread over her lap, sighing with dismay. ‘Really, that girl does not possess a single decent thing to wear!’

‘For the wedding?’

‘For her wedding, Alice’s wedding,’ Beatrice corrected him. ‘Edmund’s father is ill, and he would like to see his son and Alice married before he dies. It will be a small affair.’ She fed her husband the rest of the explanation, all the while hoping that Fabien wouldn’t hear the distorted notes of fabrication in her speech. He wouldn’t approve of the real plan, not even with the promise of wealth and comfort in their old age.

‘It all seems so sudden,’ Fabien mused. ‘And she’s been through so much.’

‘Of course it’s sudden!’ Beatrice rapped back at him. ‘No one plans to be ill, do they?’

Fabien held up his big, capable hands, hoping to appease her. He was used to such agitation in his wife; rarely a day went past without some crisis or other affecting Beatrice. ‘How does Alice feel about it? I know she and Edmund have been friends, but marriage…?’

‘Alice has agreed to the marriage. It’s the least she
can do after everything she’s put us through.’ Beatrice screwed her lips together, an expression of distaste. She lowered her head, unwilling to meet her husband’s searching glance. Would he look into her eyes, pools of aquamarine, and read the lies in their blue depths? She had no intention of telling her husband exactly what she was doing; he would probably prevent it from even happening. He had always been far too sentimental over his daughter.

‘Father!’ Alice burst through the door. Beatrice winced, her shoulders lifting in tension as her daughter bounded into the chamber. Alice threw her arms around Fabien, laughing, hugging him close, burying her head in his shoulder to savour the warm, familiar smell of him. Stepping back at last, her hands still linked with his, she scoured his face for any signs of mistreatment.

‘I am well, daughter.’ His kind face twinkled down at her, immediately reaasuring. ‘They treated me well.’

‘Just look at your muddy boots! And your braies!’ Concern brushed Alice’s bright face.

‘Since when has such a thing worried you?’ Beatrice interjected. She adjusted her weight on her heels, trying to assuage the painful prickling sensation in her feet, before clasping the edge of the coffer to lever herself into a standing position. ‘I’ll leave you two now; I have other work to do.’

Fabien nodded briefly in his wife’s direction by way of acknowledgement, but already the door was closing behind her.

‘Did they make you walk the whole way?’ Alice demanded.

‘Nay, I rode most of it, and only walked for the last little bit.’

‘On your own?’ Her voice held the sting of accusation. Oh, but she wanted to blame these Yorkists for something!

‘Not on my own, daughter,’ her father answered in his measured, level tone. ‘Bastien de la Roche came with me, most of the way, to be truthful.’

‘Him!’ The name sent unwelcome ripples of arousal piping through her slim frame. The memory of his skilful lips upon hers slashed into her brain; she caught her breath, shocked by the vivid image. How could a name affect her thus? Was she really so weak-willed that she couldn’t drive him from her thoughts?

‘Alice?’ Her father touched her hand.

Disorientated, she smiled weakly at him. ‘At least they had the decency to escort you.’

‘As they escorted you,’ her father reminded her, watching her closely. ‘As he escorted you. Alice…did something happen on the journey?’

‘Nay…nothing.’ Her words rang hollow, the treacherous memory of Bastien’s fingers sifting through her hair scorching her brain. Why did everything seem different since she had met him? It was if he had altered her internal perception, her way of looking at things.

‘Did the Queen suspect anything while he was here?’

‘She didn’t. He was all charm. In fact, I think she was quite taken with him.’

‘He’s a clever fellow, and far better company on a journey than a lowly foot soldier. Despite his support for the Duke, I liked him as a man.’

Alice frowned. She didn’t want her father to like Bastien, especially when she was doing everything in her power to not like him.

‘And Bastien definitely returned to Ludlow?’

‘Aye, I watched him gallop in that direction; I suppose that was his intention. The Duke of York means to have an audience with our young Queen. I think Bastien was going to meet up with them
en route.
’

‘How much time have we before they arrive here?’ Alice chewed at her bottom lip until it reddened.

Fabien shrugged his shoulders, rubbed a distracted hand through his shaggy blond hair. ‘I’d say at the earliest, tomorrow.’

‘Then Edmund and I must leave before they arrive.’ Alice smiled wanly. ‘I suppose Mother has told you?’

‘Aye…but, are you sure this is what you want?’

Alice stuck her chin into the air, pulled her spine straight. ‘Of course, Father. Edmund and I will suit each other very well.’ But inside, her stomach crawled with doubt.

Bastien folded his arms across the broad expanse of his chest, and leaned back against the stone wall of a cottage, looking up towards the gatehouse of Abberley Castle. All around him, people streamed towards the castle, the dun-coloured rags of the peasants contrasting strongly with the brighter colours of the nobles and soldiers on horseback. The wedding would make it easier for him to slip back into the castle. No one gave him a second glance. For a few gold coins he had managed to secure some rough working clothes in a nearby village; he carried his own garments in a cloth bag slung over his shoulder. A low wide-brimmed hat shadowed his face, and a voluminous tunic with its frayed hems effectively hid his muscle-bound frame, though did nothing to disguise his height.

He needed to check Alice was safe; she wouldn’t
even have to know he was there. As he had ridden further and further away from Abberley after bidding adieu to her father, an uneasy feeling began to grow, hard and unwieldy, in his gut. He had tried to tell himself it was better not to become involved, that he was a fool for interfering, but every time he did, his mind bounced back to Edmund’s shifting brown eyes and Alice’s bright open features. With a bolt of amazement he realised that he was involved already. Involved with
her.
Levering the bulk of one shoulder against the wall, he joined the busy throng of people trailing their way up to the castle.

Once in the stands, squashed between a large lady who smelled of fish, and an old man who shouted to his companion through a couple of rotten teeth, Bastien scoured the high benches on the other side of the lists where the nobility sat. An embroidered canopy covered the stands, shading the Queen and her entourage beneath from the strong sunlight. Bastien screwed up his eyes in an effort to discern the individual features of the spectators; his perusal moving steadily along the row of nobles, the gossamer veils of the ladies fluttering like pale colourful moths in the faint breeze. Alice sat at the end of the row, the polished skin of her face shining out with a healthy glow, compared with the heavily rouged and powdered faces of the court ladies at her side. At the sight of her, the muscles in his neck and shoulders slackened, his body slumping fractionally with relief. At least she was safe, for now. And that weasel Edmund was nowhere to be seen.

A bugle sounded to the left, signalling the beginning of the tournament, swiftly followed by a rousing cheer from the spectators. The two knights on horse
back, who faced each other from opposite ends of the lists, lowered their visors and their lances, their horses pawing the ground in excitement. And then with a roar from the crowd they were off, hooves throwing up great clods of grassy mud, as they raced towards each other at breakneck speed, meeting each other with a clash of metal upon metal. No one was thrown, so the contestants carried on to the end, to turn, and have another go. In that moment, Bastien raised his head to look up towards Alice once more. The spot where she had sat was empty.

Alice had seen him. Her mind, busy with the details of her imminent departure with Edmund, refused to settle on anything, her eyes roving over the crowds, the contestants, anything, but never still. But then her gaze had hooked on to a tall peasant weaving his way through the crowded stands opposite, the big bulk gently shouldering people aside in an effort to gain a seat, and she knew, from the distinctive set of the broad shoulders, to the lean contours of the shadowed face beneath the hat—she wasn’t certain which particular detail gave him away, but she knew. Her stomach flipped, then plummeted with the knowledge. If Bastien was here, then the Duke of York would not be far behind, and once he arrived, any thought of she and Edmund leaving would be out of the question. The castle would be seized, all movements in and out halted, whilst the Duke talked to the Queen. And as Edmund’s father’s life hung in the balance, they didn’t have a moment to waste.

Her shoulders hunched forwards, as if anticipating the imaginary steel bars of a cage dropping over her. She and Edmund had to leave, and leave now! As soon
as the two contestants set off, hurtling towards each other in an impressive blur of flashing steel and vibrant colours, she slipped away, unnoticed.

Edmund was sprawling in an ornately carved oak chair in front of the fire in the great hall, enjoying a late breakfast. Chewing slowly on a bread roll, he lifted a pewter mug of mead to his mouth to wash it down, following Alice’s rapid strides across the hall towards him, her face stricken and pale.

‘What’s the matter?’ He set down the tankard on the scrubbed wooden trestle table before him.

She stopped abruptly, skirts swishing over the flagstones and leaned down to him. ‘We need to leave, now!’

He sighed. Why did she always do this? Once a plan was set, why did she always try to change it, or alter it in some way? She was going to give him indigestion at this rate! ‘But…the plan was to leave later on today.’

‘It might be too late,’ she whispered. ‘My father tells me the Duke of York is on his way; we’ll never be able to leave if he seizes the castle.’

‘You’re worrying too much.’ Edmund placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ve heard nothing about the Duke.’

Alice stepped back, chewing anxiously on a nail. Should she tell him about Bastien? ‘Edmund, please, it’s imperative that we leave today…or I don’t think it will happen.’ A pair of dragon-green eyes loomed before her.

Edmund spread his hands over his knees, studied his neat, tidy nails with admiration. Most of the plan was in place already—would it really make that much dif
ference? Alice seemed jittery, out of sorts; it would be just like her to change her mind completely and refuse to go at all. And he wasn’t about to let a chunk of money that would set him up for life slide through his fingers for the sake of a handful of hours.

‘Very well—’ he nodded ‘—we’ll leave now.’

They rode in a northerly direction for most of the day, the wind behind them, helpfully nudging at their backs. No one had seen them ride out from the stables at Abberley, horses saddled and packed with leather satchels containing a few clothes.