The White Lord of Wellesbourne (9 page)

“Then you agree that something
major is in the development.”

“It would seem so. Dorset’s
activity against us for the past few weeks has indicated that something larger
is on the horizon. Our spies have also indicated as much. But this sunrise has
seen confirmation of that.”

Matthew looked up from the table.
“What do you mean?”

“Lord Sutton and the Earl of
Somerset are on the move,” Mark’s voice was grim. “Two of our scouts returned
this morning to tell us that Somerset has a contingent of a thousand Irish
mercenaries sailing up the Mouth of the Severn. They’ll make Gloucester in a
few days.”

Matthew listened carefully to his
brother. He looked as if he hadn’t slept all night, which he hadn’t. But the
lack of sleep had never dulled him. 

“Do we know this for certain?” he
asked.

“Certain enough,” Mark said.
“Thomas and Harl have returned with this news, and they are two of our most
trusted.”

Matthew recognized the names of
the moles. They had been in Wellesbourne service for years and were well versed
in the world of intelligence gathering.  Leaning against the massive map table,
he ran his hand over his close-shorn hair. It was a pensive, if not weary,
gesture.

“A thousand mercenaries,” he
muttered, more to himself. “Copious amounts of manpower are pouring into the
heart of England. It is like watching a man bleed to death and not knowing how
to stop the blood. It just keeps coming.”

“So what do we do?” Luke asked.

“Obviously, the king must know,”
Matthew replied. “I shall question the scouts myself to make sure there is
nothing else we should know before sending them on to Richard.”

Mark nodded. “I thought you would
want to. In fact, I tried to locate you last night when they arrived but was
unable to find you.”

“I was with Father.”

A strange, if not disappointed,
silence filled the air. It confirmed what they had all assumed, but it was Luke
who finally spoke.

“You cannot blame her, you know,”
he said quietly.

“I do not blame her,” Matthew
said evenly. “But we should have known. I tried to stop him, but not firmly
enough. I should have put a stop to it before it even started.”

Mark and Luke passed long
glances.  “He was like this when Caroline first came to us,” Mark said quietly.
“The presence of a lady seems to unnerve him that way. But he got over it.”

“Aye, he did, but at what cost?”
Matthew began to show irritation, fed by his exhaustion. “It is not either one
of you that sits with him all night, listing to him cry, holding him down when
he tries to throw himself into the blazing hearth or hang himself with any
piece of cloth he can find.  I thought we were done with all of this madness,
but that song undid what the past year of healing has accomplished. We do not
need this chaos right now; we’ve too many other things that are far more
important.”

“I repeat,” Luke said slowly,
“that it is not her fault. She did not know how that song affects him.”

“It releases suicidal depression
and grief over a woman who died twelve years ago.” Matthew looked at his
brothers. “I am not going to go through this again, do you hear? I will lock
him in the vault for the next twenty years for his own protection if he cannot
come to terms with our mother’s death
.  I will not go through this again
.”

Mark and Luke remained silent,
their eyes focused on anything other than their stressed brother. Matthew was
right; he had taken the brunt of their father’s insane grief over the past
twelve years because Matthew as the only person who brought Adam a remote
amount of comfort.  It was an unpredictable madness, set off by the most
innocuous things; a flower, a memory, a trinket… it was hard to tell what would
throw Adam into a spin of despair. But they had all known that the song would
be a major catalyst. It had been the favorite song of Adam and Audrey
Wellesbourne. And Matthew had allowed it to happen; his anger at the moment was
more at himself than anything.

“I am sorry you had to deal with
his madness yet again.” Mark wanted off the subject before Matthew became any
more enraged. “Perhaps we should go see to the two scouts.” He stood up,
motioning to Luke to do the same. “Get some sleep, Matt. You will feel better
after you have had some rest.”

Matthew was still perched on the
end of the map table.  “Better,” he snorted, savoring the irony of the word.
“My father is locked in his chamber, tied down to the bed, I have an army of
Irish mercenaries moving up the Severn, and tonight at Vespers I am to wed. 
When am I supposed to find the time to rest?”

Mark could see the haze of
self-pity coming over his brother. Not that Matthew did not have every right,
but at times it could almost be crippling. “I will see to Father,” he said.
“Luke will take care of Thomas and Harl so that all you will have to worry over
his your wedding.”

Matthew did not respond right
away, sitting in moody silence as if mulling over the chaos of his life.
Finally, he pushed himself wearily off the table.  “Nay,” he said slowly. “I
will see to Father.  Above everything that is happening here at Wellesbourne,
we need to return to London. We are needed there most of all, especially with
Somerset moving mercenaries into the middle of England. Luke and Johnny can
ready the men while the rest of us are occupied with other things.”

“I haven’t seen Johnny yet this
morning,” Mark said.

Matthew instinctively looked at
Luke; he generally had a better grasp of the youngest brother’s whereabouts
than anyone. Luke nodded his head, slowly.

“I think I know where he might
be.”

“Find him. Prepare the men to
leave.”

The brothers disbursed, each
going about his business. There was chaos at Wellesbourne and they had to do
their best to control and channel it, for greater things lay ahead.

More than they would ever dream.

***

Alixandrea was awake at sunrise.
Though the traumatic events from the previous day should have kept her in bed
until the nooning meal, she was never one to lie around. Moreover, there was an
entire castle that she was anxious to explore, a great new world she now found
herself a part of.  She tossed the covers off and leapt from bed.

She practically kicked Jezebel
from her palette by the door, demanding the woman rise. While she brushed her
teeth with a frayed, green hazel stick and a mixture of rose-flavored soda,
Jezebel stirred the embers in the hearth into a soft glow and then began to
throw open the capcases in search of suitable clothing. 

Stick still in her mouth as she
continued to brush, Alixandrea rummaged through the piles that her maid had
extracted from the bags and settled on a pale blue lamb’s wool sheath with a
darker blue sleeveless surcoat. They weren’t particularly impressive, but they
were comfortable, durable and appropriate.  Whilst investigating the filthy
kitchens, halls, and other corners of the male-dominated keep, she did not want
to have to worry about mussing her fine clothing. These were functional
clothes.

After her teeth, she washed her
face and hands in a basin of rosewater, hooting when the water was a bit too
cold for her liking. Jezebel dried her off quickly and stood her in front of
the warming fire to dress her.  The first garment on was the soft blue sheath,
fitting against her body like a glove and clinging softly to every delectable
curve. The whale bone corset was next; Jezebel tied her into the contraption so
tightly that she begged for release, just enough to breathe.  The surcoat went
over the top of that, secured at the back with a large sash that Jezebel fussed
with until she had the perfect tie.  The little maid then put her mistress’
hair in two braids this day, neat and pretty and unfussy.

Dressing complete, she was more
than ready to face the great mysteries of Wellesbourne. Jezebel tried to stop
her from leaving the chamber unescorted, but Alixandrea would not listen. She
did not want to be a bother when she could very well find own way around. Never
once did she question her safety, which she probably should have, but her
curiosity had the better of her. Everything was new and exciting.

Quitting the small chamber, she
entered the dark, cold stair well and descended to the third floor. She noticed
there were two additional chambers on this level; one door was closed and the
other was slightly cracked. Curious, she peeked into the barely-opened door and
caught sight of a very messy, very odorous chamber. It smelled as if something
had crawled into the room and died. The fireplace was cold and black. Nearly
out of her line of sight was the corner of a bed and she could see that
something was tied to the post. Peering closer, she noticed a foot.

Curious, not to mention slightly
concerned, she pushed the door open a few more inches and was able to gain a
clear view of the stripped bed. A man lay upon only the ropes that supported
the mattress, his arms and legs bound to each post.  It took her a moment to
realize that it was Adam Wellesbourne.

She shoved the door open and
entered the room. The old man lay with his eyes closed and she thought he was
sleeping. Greatly troubled as to why he was captive, she leaned over to make
sure he was at least uninjured. He did not seem to be, but he smelled like
vomit. That was where the horrible stench in the room was coming from. She was
about to untie one of the bindings when his eyes abruptly flew open.

“My lady,” he blinked, surprised
to see her. “What… what are you doing here?”

“I was passing by and….” She was
more concerned for him than she was interested in explaining her presence. “Are
you
all right? Have you been injured?”

“I am not injured.

“Then why are you tied like this?
Who has done this to you?”

The first binding fell away and
his right arm came down. Most of the circulation had gone out of it and he
feebly tried to move the limb around as she went for the bindings on his feet.

“Matthew,” he said. “But it is
not as it appears.”

Alixandrea froze, her eyes
widening. “Sir Matthew tied you up?”

“Aye, but he had to.”

“He
had
to?” Her distress
was turning to outrage. “What do you mean by that? He had to tie you to your
bed, with no food and no fire? What kind of cruel, barbaric man is your son
that he would do this to his own father?”

A foot came loose and he moved
his leg around to regain the blood flow. “There are things that you do not
understand,” he said as his other leg became free. “In time, things will become
clear. In time you will understand.”

It was an evasive answer.  It
only served to infuriate her, perhaps because she thought now that her
impressions of Matthew’s gallantry and benevolence were only a myth. The man
who had shown her such kindness was apparently the Devil in disguise.  It was a
sickening thought and a frightening one. She had been living on giddy dreams
for the past several hours. It was horrendously disappointing to think that
those dreams were about to turn into nightmares.

The sounds of big boots suddenly
echoed in the doorway, sounding flat and hollow against the planked floor. Her
fingers on the last binding, Alixandrea looked up to see Matthew standing in
the doorway.

He had a shocked expression on
his face.  Startled, and more than afraid, Alixandrea moved away from the bed.

“You…” she hissed at him.

Matthew’s brow furrowed. “What
are you doing here, my lady?”

Alarmed, angered, she made a dash
for the hearth and picked up the closest thing she could find, which happened
to be the shovel.  It wasn’t much of a weapon but it was the best she could do.
She rushed at him, wielding it in front of her.

“Get away,” she growled, putting
herself between Matthew and his father. “Get away from him or I swear that I
shall fight you to the death.”

Matthew wasn’t sure what was
going on and put up his hands, slowly. “I am unarmed, lady.  Why do you
threaten me?”

“Why do you tie up a defenseless
old man?”

“Ask him.”

“I did.”

“What did he say?”

“That you tied him up. Why would
you do such a thing?”

Matthew’s momentary confusion
faded and he began to understand what she must think of the situation. It still
did not explain how she got here, but that would come later. He realized the
need to diffuse the situation quickly.

“My lady, though your defense of
my father is most noble, it is unnecessary,” he lowered his hands. “What I did,
I did for my father’s own good. Ask him.”

The Devil had a smooth tongue. He
did not seem insincere or extreme, like the cruel fiend she had imagined would
do such a thing. Now it was her turn to be confused.  Keeping the shovel in
front of her, she looked at Adam. “What does he mean, my lord?”

Adam finished releasing the
bindings on his one remaining hand. He stood up, unsteadily, his gaze moving
between the lady and his son.  He almost did not answer her, but saw that he
had little choice. She was about to take off Matthew’s head if the situation
was not quickly clarified.