The White Lord of Wellesbourne (46 page)

To her right against the garden
wall sat the grave of Audrey Wellesbourne. Though the woman should have
rightfully been buried in the chapel, Adam had chosen to bury her in the garden
she had loved so well.  Tears blurring her vision, Alixandrea looked over to
the grave with the carved stone marker. If she could not find Matthew’s body,
it was the closest thing she would ever have to his grave, the woman who had
given birth to him.  On her hands and knees she crawled to the plot and lay
atop it.

The sun went down as she lay
against the cold earth and cried.  She did not care that Caroline was standing
near the garden gate, weeping softly at the sight. She’d come to bring
Alixandrea some warm broth but stopped when she saw what had happened.  She did
not know what to do, or how she could give the woman comfort in a time like
this. Alixandrea was distraught and surely no one could bring her comfort but
the appearance of Matthew himself.

Somewhere in the dark, a sentry
shouted from the wall. Caroline heard the commotion but was too consumed with
Alixandrea’s grief to care.  The gates rolled open on their great chains and
the activity of the soldiers picked up somewhat. Because Caroline was tucked
back behind the keep and away from the gates, she had no idea that the
Wellesbourne army was finally returning. It was the moment they had all waited
for with great anticipation and, sadly, no one was aware of it. Caroline had no
idea her husband had come home until she saw him some time later, standing at
the gate that led into the kitchen yards.

Mark looked worn and beaten, but
he was alive. Caroline caught sight of him, thought she was seeing a ghost, and
dropped the broth in her hand. Mark smiled weakly and walked to his wife,
standing before her and gazing into her eyes for a long moment. Caroline stared
back at him, words stuck in her throat. She wanted to throw her arms around him
but dare not do so. He was not the embracing type. 

“Welcome home, husband,” she
said.  “I am pleased to see that you are well.”

Mark’s response was to lean over
and kiss her on the cheek.  Shocked, Caroline put her hand to her cheek where
he had kissed her. Mark chuckled softly, wearily. “It is good to see you,
also.”

Dazed, Caroline struggled to
retain her senses. “Did… did you just arrive? I am sorry that I did not
greet.…”

He shook his head to quiet her.
“I am glad to find you here.”

Caroline suddenly remembered her
sister-in-law, curled up on the ground. Her heart leapt. “Is Matthew with you?”

“No,” Mark said shortly. “And I
caught Johnny just down the road. He has returned with me.”

“But he has gone to find Matthew
and Luke.”

“No need. I know where they both
are.  I have brought Luke home with me for burial.”

“Thank God. And Matthew?”

Mark avoided answering her.
“Where is Alixandrea?”

Caroline could only point to the
garden.  Mark’s eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness and he could see a
figure lying on the ground amongst the carefully clipped bushes. Puzzled, and
deeply concerned, he went to her.

“My lady,” he knelt beside her.
“What is the matter? Are you ill?”

Alixandrea had not heard him
enter. Shocked by his sudden appearance, she sat up, her hands instinctively
grabbing at him as if to convince herself that he was not a ghost.

“Mark,” she gasped. “You are
alive.”

He nodded. “Indeed,” he replied,
noting even in the darkness that she had a wild look about her. “What are you
doing on the ground? You should be inside where it is safe and warm.”

He was trying to pick her up but
it was like trying to hold on to sand; she kept slipping through his fingers.

“Where is Matthew?” she begged.

Mark stopped trying to stand her
on her feet; he looked at her, wondering if she was strong enough to understand
what he had to say. He’d ridden a very long way to tell her personally.  He
drew a deep breath, ignoring the cold night around them, praying she would
comprehend his words and the seriousness of them.

“My lady, I must tell you
something and I pray that you will listen and take heed,” he said. “For
whatever I have thought of you in the past, for whatever I may have said in
jealousy and anger, I would ask for your forgiveness now.”

She looked at him, not genuinely
comprehending what he was saying. “What have you done?”

“It does not matter now. All that
matters is that I was wrong.  About everything. And I am very thankful that my
brother has married you.”

“Mark, where is he?”

Mark took another deep breath.
“In London.”

Her entire face went alight. “He
is alive?”

“Indeed.”

“Then why did he not send word to
me?” she suddenly cried. “He promised that he would.”

She wasn’t particularly hysterical,
merely distraught. Mark looked her in the eye. “I need for you to be strong, my
lady. What I am about to tell you will require strength of will and character.
I do not doubt that you have either of these.  Can you do this?”

Something told her that an
ominous bit of news was coming. It was more in his manner than in his words.
She nodded, slowly. “I can. What has happened to my husband that he would not
send me word?”

Mark’s jaw flexed; she could see
it, even in the darkness. “Lovell told you what happened at the battle, did he
not?”

“How do you know about Lovell’s
missive?”

“Johnny told me.”

“Lovell said that the
Wellesbournes fought for Henry.”

“And he was correct,” Mark said.
“The reasons for our shift in fealty do not matter. Suffice it to say that it
was a matter of honor more than you can comprehend, and we all agreed. But to
Matthew, it was far more. He fought like I have never seen him fight, my lady.
It was as if Gabriel himself had come out of Heaven to vanquish Richard.
Matthew was magnificent. You would have been proud.”

She could see Matthew’s
performance through Mark’s eyes. A weak smile lit her face. “I
am
proud,” she whispered.  “Now you will tell me what has happened to him.”

She knows
. Mark gazed back at her,
wondering how he was going to tell her what he must.  He felt so guilty for
every hideous thought he’d ever had of her. The day she ran off from Rosehill,
he should have gone after her. He could only thank God that Gaston had found
her, righting his sin.

“One moment, he was fighting as
if possessed,” Mark said, his voice quieting. “He dropped several powerful
knights with hardly an effort. I know this because he was near me and we were
watching out for one another as we normally do. And then… then de Russe’s
charger went down and de Russe with it. Gaston was trapped beneath the wounded
charger and vulnerable. Matthew saw the threat before I did.”

Her heart was thumping in her
ears. “What threat?”

“La Londe heading for Gaston.”

Alixandrea’s eyes widened. “La
Londe was at Bosworth?”

Mark nodded with bitter irony.
“He was indeed. He was fighting for Henry amongst Richmond’s troops. But when
Gaston fell, la Londe went after him. You are aware that there has been bad
blood between them ever since Gaston emasculated him in the mêlée at Richard’s
tournament. We could see him moving towards Gaston, but I could not get to him
in time. But Matthew could; he was closer. Gaston was trying to get to his
sword, hearing our shouts that la Londe was upon him. I swear to you, my lady, it
happened in the blink of an eye.  Before la Londe’s sword came down, Matthew
threw his arm out to prevent la Londe’s strike from cutting off Gaston’s head.
That gift of time gave Gaston a chance to reclaim his sword. Yet the damage had
already been done. La Londe cut off Matt’s left hand before Gaston could raise
his sword and cut off Dennis’ head.”

The story abruptly ended there.
Alixandrea gazed at Mark, digesting his words, coming to realize that somewhere
in the middle of it, Matthew had lost a hand.  For some reason, it did not have
nearly the impact that it should have, that it clearly had on Mark. Her gaze
grew steady.

“Is that why he did not send word
to me?” she asked. “Because he lost his hand?”

Mark nodded. “He wanted to, every
minute of every day. He was just unsure how to tell you. Then he decided that
he must tell you in person, but the new king has kept him busy in London and
he’s not had the opportunity to leave. So he sent me to tell you that he is
alive and more deeply in love with you than he has ever been. And he said to
tell you that he is sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

Mark shrugged. “On that, he was
not clear. For perhaps not sending word sooner or for perhaps losing his hand;
I do not know. But one thing is certain; Gaston would not be alive had Matthew
not sacrificed his hand. It was the most selfless act of loyalty I have ever
seen.”

A warm, fluid feeling swept her. 
It made her weak. “As I would expect nothing less from The White Lord,” she
murmured. “Mark, is he somehow afraid that I will love him less without his
hand?”

“He is diminished.”

“Nay, he is not. Matthew
Wellesbourne is greater that he ever was.”

“Then he will need you to
convince him of that. He did not want me to tell you about his hand; he will be
arriving soon and would tell you himself. He merely wanted me to tell you that
he was alive and well, but I knew when I arrived that I could not keep such
news from you. Perhaps this way, it will be less of a shock.”

Alixandrea felt such relief, such
comfort, that she very nearly collapsed. “Then if my husband will be home soon,
I must make sure that Wellesbourne Castle is ready to receive The White Lord.”

Mark could only nod his
concurrence. Alixandrea sat for a moment, pondering all of the news this day
had brought her.  It occurred to her that it was cold and dark in Audrey’s
little garden. She rose with heavy assistance from Mark. She was having
difficulty standing, difficulty digesting the events of the day. But one thing
was certain; Matthew was alive and he was coming home. If nothing else in her
life had ever given her even a moment’s sweet joy, this one thought did.

Mark held on to her arm to steady
her as they walked from the garden. When they reached the gate, he even held
out a hand for Caroline.  The petite red head took his arm, affectionately, as
if the two of them had been doing it all of their lives. He leaned over and
kissed her once again, so very glad to see her.  The events of the last few
weeks had made him re-think everything in life. He knew he had been wrong.

Mark had finally come home.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The dawn was shades of pink and
blue, splashing hues across night sky as the sun threatened to rise. It was a
peaceful morning.

Alixandrea was sleeping soundly
until a massive body suddenly climbed into bed next to her. Huge arms pulled
her close and there was hot breath in her ear. Startled from a deep sleep, her
momentary shock was replaced by elation.

She could smell her husband’s
distinctive musk, warm and masculine and comforting, before she ever saw his
face. She could only pray it was not a dream for she would surely die to awaken
from this bliss and find it unreal.

Rolling onto her back, she was
confronted by a very familiar, very weary face. Matthew Wellesbourne smiled
warmly at her, his blue eyes glimmering with unshed tears of joy. Alixandrea’s
first reaction was to throw her arms around his neck and squeeze him like a
vise.

“Matthew,” she gasped.

He laughed softly, his face
buried in her neck. “Good morn to you, love. Did you sleep well?”

Half-asleep and emotionally
brittle, she burst into tears. “Matthew, I do not care what has happened,” she
wept. “I love you more than anything in the world. You are my husband and I
would be lost without you. Whatever you are, whatever you may be, I will never
leave you.”

It all came out as a rambling
mess. He pulled back, gazing down at her with a serious expression.  “That was
quite a speech. Is there anything else?”

She wept in response and he
smiled gently, kissing her cheeks, her nose, her wet eyes. He could not seem to
stop kissing her.

“No more tears, sweet girl. I am
home to stay, I promise.” He gathered up tightly against him, relishing his
first feel of her in ages. It was sweeter than he had remembered. “I am so
sorry, Alix. So sorry you had to go through all of this turmoil. But I am back
now and all shall be well again, I swear it.”

She touched his face, feeling the
stubble. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world. “I love you, Matt,”
she sobbed softly. “I am so glad… so glad.…”

She could not finish. He cradled
her against his powerful body, holding her with two good arms and one good
hand.  He could feel her arms moving over him as if inspecting him to see if he
was indeed sound and whole. The sobs were like music to his ears. Then, one
hand began to move down his left arm. He knew what she was seeking and lifted
his arm to show her before she could find it.