The White Lord of Wellesbourne (4 page)

Wait they did, for a small
eternity. The sounds of battle moved closer. It was difficult to tell the size
of the enemy, but the men seemed to be fanning out because there was fighting
in all directions.

 The soldiers she had brought
from Whitewell were some of her uncle’s finest, extremely well trained.  She
knew they would fend off the enemy.  However, as the fighting drew nearer, she
began to grow concerned. She and her servants had no weapons should they be
attacked.  Her thoughts were lingering on perhaps finding a stick or rock or
stone to protect herself with when a dirty, fighting body suddenly rounded the
side of the carriage.

It was a foot soldier, but not
one she recognized.  It was a man with murder on his mind. As a scream left her
lips, the soldier smacked Strode on the head and effectively neutralized him. 
He was on top of Alixandrea before she could take another breath. 

His disgusting body, ripe with
stench and dirty chain mail, writhed on top of her. Horrified and in a panic,
she thrust her fist into his throat. Off guard, the man wretched horribly and
released his grip long enough for her to break free. But she stumbled and he
grabbed her surcoat before she could get away completely. He yanked her to the
ground and began to overtake her once again.

Alixandrea was terrified. She
struck the man, wrestled with him, even bit him on the wrist. She was rewarded
by a sharp slap to her face.  Suddenly, a body landed on top of her attacker
and she realized that Jezebel had crawled from the carriage to help. But the
soldier grabbed Jezebel by the hair and flipped her onto her back, knocking the
wind from her. Alixandrea could hear her maid gasping for breath.

Renewed in her fight, she flipped
over onto her stomach and struggled to get away from him. All he did was rip
her kirtle and pull her hair. It was apparent what he wished to do. Alixandrea
began to succumb to despair, knowing the man was far stronger than she and
wishing she had a weapon.  As he turned her over again, she noticed the arrow
she had removed from Luke laying in the grass a few feet away. It was her only
hope. She managed to throw herself in the direction of the projectile and grab
it just as the lecherous soldier turned her over completely. She rammed the
arrowhead straight into his eye.

Blood spurted everywhere. The man
howled as he fell off of her, suffering through his death throes. There was
blood all over Alixandrea’s neck, chest, and in her luscious hair.

Blood was all that Matthew saw as
he rounded the corner of the carriage. He, too, was covered in blood and he had
a substantial wound on his thigh, but none of that seemed to matter. He
practically fell off of the charger, ripping his helm off and tossing it to the
ground as he went to her. He thought the blood was hers and horror filled him.

From the road heading south, they
could hear what sounded like thunder. As Matthew fell to his knees beside her,
Alixandrea did not realize that the roll of thunder signaled reinforcements
arriving from Wellesbourne.

“My lady,” Matthew demanded
hoarsely. “Where are you hurt?”

She shook her head, sobs bubbling
up until they spilled out all over. “He..,” she gasped. “He did not hurt me. He
tried, but I… I killed him. My God, I
killed
him.”

Matthew let out a sigh so heavy
that it was as if his entire body suddenly deflated.  He put his hands on her
shoulders to steady her; she was quivering violently.

“Let me see,” he lifted her hair
and checked her neck, shoulders and arms for damage.  When he was convinced the
blood wasn’t hers, he met her still-terrified gaze. “Forgive me for leaving you
unprotected. I did not realize Luke had left until I saw that his horse was
gone.”

She did not know what to say. 
All she knew was that she had killed a man and she could not shake the horror
of it.

“He is dead,” she whispered. “I
killed him.”

Matthew could see how shaken she was.
Not knowing what else to do, he pulled her into his arms.

“You were brave, my lady,” his
lips were against her forehead. “Had you not killed him, he would have surely
killed you. There is no shame in defending yourself.”

She sobbed uncontrollable and he
pulled her closer, perhaps just because he wanted to. “I did not want to do
it,” she wept. “He forced me to. I did not want to.”

Matthew did not know what to say.
He’d been in so many battled and had killed so many men that the act, the sight
of it, did not bother him in the least. Such were the perils of war.  But the
lady was different; this was something new and horrifying and he felt
tremendously remorseful for it. He should have been here to protect her, but he
had left that duty to Luke, unaware his brother had run home for help.  Then he
had been caught up in his own mortal struggle. It took him some time to realize
that the lady had been left unprotected. He was an idiot.

Behind him, he heard a growl and
turned in time to see another opponent bearing down on him. On his knees with a
woman in his arms was not the best position to meet an adversary.

Matthew unsheathed his sword with
his right hand, turned to face his attacker and shoved Alixandrea behind him
all in one clean motion.  His foe was one of Dorset’s finest and dispatching
him was not as simple as a three-stroke kill.  It took considerably more of
Matthew’s strength to slay the man that was trying very hard to kill him.  The
fight was brutal but eventually Matthew’ skill and strength won out.

When the assailant lay dying on
the ground, Matthew turned his attention once again to the lady. She stood back
against the carriage, clutching Jezebel and struggling for composure. Strode
had regained consciousness by this time and sat at her feet, nursing a sore
head.  As Matthew made his way back over to her, a knight suddenly roared up on
a big red charger.  The horse kicked up clods of earth, spraying it in all
directions.

“Matt,” the man demanded. “Are
you well, man?”

Matthew paused, glancing down at
his body, remembering the gash to his thigh. He nodded with some weariness.

“Well enough,” he said. “How is
Luke?”

“Fine,” the knight said. “He rode
back with us. Looks like Dorset’s men again.”

“I know.” Matthew continued on
towards Alixandrea. He reached out a hand to her, gently pulling her away from
her frightened servants. “My lady, this is my brother, Sir Mark Wellesbourne.
Mark, this is the Lady Alixandrea Terrington St. Ave. Take her back to the
castle and make her safe.”

Mark was in fighting mode but saw
the seriousness in his brother’s expression. He could only imagine what had
gone on in the past several minutes; one look at the lovely lady showed that
she had not been passed over in this battle.

He was, in fact, not surprised to
see her. They should have anticipated Dorset’s men in the area, even though
they had appeared to vacate a few days ago, and they should have doubly
anticipated an ambush of the allied party. Although he wanted to stay and
fight, he would obey his brother’s wishes. He held out his arms.

“Give her to me,” he said. “I
shall return her home. Caroline will see to her.”

Matthew swept Alixandrea into his
arms, realizing the moment he touched her that he was very thankful she was in
one piece.  She was trembling; he could feel it through his armor. Their eyes
met for a brief moment and he managed a weak smile before he handed her over.

“My brother will escort you to
Wellesbourne,” he said to her. “His wife will take excellent care of you.”

Mark settled her in front of him,
but she seemed reluctant to go. “But what about my servants?” she asked. “And
my carriage? Who will…?

“My men will get the carriage
righted and send them on their way,” he assured her. “Have no fear that all
will be taken care of. Go with Mark now.”

Having no further argument, she
allowed Mark to settle her back on the saddle. He spurred his great red charger
forward, galloping down the road to Wellesbourne.

Matthew stood a moment, watching
them go, wondering why a thousand different thoughts and emotions were suddenly
racing through his mind. He’d faced skirmishes like this before, countless
times, and he’d only been focused on being victorious.  But this battle had
been different, and that the difference was currently riding to Wellesbourne
with his brother.

***

Caroline Wellesbourne had made
such a fuss over Alixandrea that one would have thought the Virgin Mary had
walked right into their midst.  Alixandrea was at a loss to understand why the
woman was so thrilled to see her, but the few-minute trek from the steps of the
keep, through the hall, up the spiral stairs and to the fourth floor told her
why, exactly, the woman was so happy to have her.

Wellesbourne Castle was full of
men, from top to bottom, and smelled like a pig sty. There were dogs everywhere,
rubbish in the corners, and the great hall smelled of vomit and urine. The dogs
freely used the corners of the room for the latrine.  It was absolutely
appalling. Caroline, overwhelmed and lonely, was clearly one of the only
females in the entire castle and she was desperate for something fine and sweet
and noble to remind her that such things did, indeed, still exist.

It had taken a long, hot bath and
three servants to remove all of the blood and dirt from the battle. Caroline
herself helped bathe her; she was sweet and overeager to help, and Alixandrea
let her.  Too soon the water grew tepid in the great copper tub and Caroline
went in search of suitable garments since Alixandrea’s were still in the
carriage that had not yet arrived.  Caroline reappeared with a soft blue robe,
many layers of finely woven linen, and helped her new charge dry off and dress.

Truth be told, Alixandrea felt
better than she had in weeks as she finally sat before the warming fire,
running a bone comb through her long hair and allowing the heated air to dry
it.  It was good to be in something that wasn’t rolling sickeningly over the
road, and good to be in a place where she felt safe.

 Caroline and the three servants
continued to bustle in and out of the small chamber, sweeping out the dusty
corners and making sure the linens and coverlet on the bed were moderately
clean.  Since they had not known in advance of her arrival, they made haste to
make her comfortable.  But she was already very comfortable and she finally put
a stop to Caroline’s frantic hovering when the woman decided that the mattress
needed new straw.

“Truly, Lady Caroline, there is
no need,” she assured her. “The bed is fine. I will be most contented.”

Caroline, a pale beauty with
flaming red hair, did not look at all convinced. “But this straw is old,” she
insisted. “I do not even know when last it was changed.  I would feel much
better if we were to provide you with fresh stuffing.”

Alixandrea shook her head, a
smile on her lips. “My lady, you have been far too kind already. I would be
grateful if you would simply sit and talk to me. It has been a long time since
I have conversed with a lady.”

Caroline’s green eyes brightened
and she did as she was asked.  She was a tiny thing, quite a bit smaller than
Alixandrea, and she took a seat upon a small three-legged stool that had been
upended near the hearth.  She faced Alixandrea with her hands folded neatly in
her lap, waiting anxiously for her guest to begin the conversation. Alixandrea
nearly laughed at her expectant expression.

“Tell me of yourself, Lady
Caroline,” Alixandrea said. “How long have you been married to Sir Mark?”

She blinked her big green eyes in
thought.  “We were married nearly two years ago, my lady,” she said. “We met at
the marketplace in Wandsworth, outside of London. My father is the Lord Mayor
of Wandsworth.”

Alixandrea tugged at the comb
that had become stuck on a tangle. “Was it love at first sight?”

Caroline’s pale cheeks pinkened.
“Not quite,” she said. “My father had to convince him that taking me as his
wife was a good idea. Mark did not want to marry at all.”

Alixandrea lifted an eyebrow.
“That seems to be a Wellesbourne trait.”

Caroline grinned. “Not with Luke.
He wants to marry very badly,” she said. “Now, tell me; did you meet with the
enemy on the road and Matthew rode to save you? He is quite a knight. I know
this because every time my husband starts telling stories about his valor in
battle, he sends me from the room.”

Alixandrea suppressed a smile.
“He will not let you hear?”

“Nay. ‘Tis too horrible for a
lady’s ears, he says.”

And you believe that
? Alixandrea did not say what she
was thinking. “I met Sir Matthew and Sir Luke in a tavern at the edge of
Newbold.  We ran into each other, you could say.”

“You were at the
Head o’Bucket
?”

“You know the place?”

“Only because the men go there
when they want to get away from Wellesbourne. They have told me that it is a
lively place with interesting people.”

Alixandrea looked at her, aware
that this woman may be slightly naïve, and slightly simple minded.  Not that
she was slow; simply that she seemed to have a rather gullible view of the
world.