THE WHITE LORD OF WELLESBOURNE
A Medieval Romance
By Kathryn Le Veque
Dedicated to my brother– a tall, blond hero in his own right, BillBouseIII.
‘One meets his destiny often in the road he takes to avoidit.’
—Gaul Proverb
CHAPTER ONE
Early July, 1485 A.D.
England
The carriage hada bad axel and held a worse gait than that of a lame horse. For days she had put up with the rocking and lurching. Whenever the carriage came to a halt, she continued to rock and lurch long after it had stopped. Sometimes she thought her brains were about to come sloshing out of her ears.
Her patience had lasted nearly nine days. But it was eight days too many. Nearing a town nestled in the soft green landscape of Warwickshire, she could no longer stand the torture and she smacked the roof of the carriage several times until the driver pulled the horses to a stop.
The woman with the sloshing brains stuck her head out of the window. “What town is this?”
“Newbold, my lady.”
“Thank God,” she muttered. Then louder, “I will stop here. I must stretch my legs.”
“But we are almost to Wellesbourne,” the driver told her.
She ignored him. The door to the carriage was already open and the lady climbed out. Behind her, a contingent of four hundred soldiers had come to a halt, including three mounted officers. The shuffling of their feet kicked up clouds of dust from the dry road and the breeze, once so delightful, now brought the dust in the lady’s direction. She fanned a hand in front of her face to be rid of the dirt.
“Look at me,” she glanced down at her clothes, of the latest fashion. “I shall be a dirty, dusty mess by the time we reach Wellesbourne. What will my new husband think of me?”
From the carriage door, a small covered head appeared. The lady’s serving woman was an unusual shade of green as her feet gingerly found their way out of the carriage.
“He shall think ye the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on, m’lady.” She nearly fell out of the door and would have done so had her mistress not prevented it. She straightened her girdle and looked at her surroundings. “My, ’tis warm in these parts.”
The lady looked up from brushing the dust off her seamless surcoat, the ruby color peppered with brown specks. The land this far south was defined by rolling hills interspersed with flat plains now and again. Clusters of forests dotted the area. It wasn’t nearly as lush or colorful as York, but there was charm to it.
“Whatever it is, I shall have to become used to it,” she said, resignation in her voice.
Finished with the dust off, she refocused on the tavern she had seen as they had entered the outskirts of the settlement. It was a large establishment, surprising for such a small berg, and she thought it to be perfect place to refresh herself before proceeding to Wellesbourne. She did not want her future husband’s first impression of her to be road-weary and famished. She would ease herself now to be presentable later. At least it seemed like a good idea.
“In there,” she jabbed her finger towards the inn as she marched past the soldier who was her coachman. “Tell the men to rest while I am occupied. I shall not be long.”
“In there?” he repeated, chagrined. “But that’s atavern.”
“Brilliant assessment, Strode.”
He ignored her acerbic reply. “God only knows what kinds of creatures inhabit that place, my lady. ’Tis no place for you.”
“If it does not have wheels on it and I can sit peacefully for a few moments, it is indeed a place for me.”
He nearly sneered at her. “Do you have any money? They’re going to want coinage, you know. How do you expect to pay?”
She puckered her bow-shaped mouth, a snide retort coming to her lips but wisely refrained. Strode had been entrusted with the cash her uncle had given her and it would not do well to insult the man with the money.
“I will pay with the coin you so kindly give to me,” she held out her hand. “A few pences, please? I promise that I shall be wise and thrifty.”
