“I suppose I shall wait here, if you do not object.”
“I do not.”
He watched her turn away from him and move closer to the fire. For the first time, he could get a good look at her figure without the layers of clothing and cloaks to hide it. He admitted that he had been curious to inspect her with all of the interest of one inspecting a new prize mare.
But with his first inspection, he got more than he bargained for; the firelight passed through the fine linen of the robe and silhouetted her body against the sheer fabric. Matthew knew he shouldn’t look, as a gallant man would not have. But as a man who had just acquired something he had never imagined he would have, he could not stop himself; her legs were lovely and shapely, her torso slender. She put her arms up to comb her hair and in doing so turned slightly, and he could see the outline of her breasts and buttocks against the backdrop of flame.
He’d never seen anything so luscious or pleasing. To think that he would soon be claiming this woman bodily as his wife brought heat to his loins and he forced himself to turn away, fearful of his physical reaction to her. It was the most sweeping, instantaneous reaction he’d ever had in his entire life and the uncontrollability of it startled him.
“Are you going to have my servants bring up my possessions, my lord?” she interrupted his thoughts.
He was too embroiled in visions of her ripe body. “What’s that?” he caught himself. “Aye, of course. Right away.”
He left the chamber, perhaps too quickly, and descended the narrow stairs to the third floor. He did not go any further but shouted down the stairwell to the soldier on the floor below. When the soldier went to do his bidding, he remounted the steps, more slowly this time, and took a deep breath to steady himself.
He’d never known himself to be nervous, but he realized that was exactly what he was feeling. Something about the lady in the chamber upstairs unnerved him as no one else ever had. He hadnever wanted her, much less wanted to feel anything for her, but feel he did. It was something new and strange and unsettling, and he could not decide if he liked it or not.
Mounting the top step, he shook himself imperceptibly;get hold of yourself, man. She was a woman, like any other. Perhaps he was feeling this way because it had been so long since he’d found a woman attractive. It had easily been years and she was affecting him with her mere presence.
Matthew had faced battles since he had been seventeen years of age as a full-fledged knight; nothing frightened him and certainly nothing unnerved him. But the introduction of this lovely lady had quickly circumvented the personal defenses he had practiced all his life. He had no defense against a beautiful woman. And he wasn’t sure how to aptly deal with it.
He re-entered the room, mildly fortified, only to find her still standing in front of the fire with her delectable body delineated through the semi-transparent fabric.
He thought it best to wait at the top of the stairs.
CHAPTER THREE
Howard Terrington, Lord Ryesdale,had come from a long line of those who supported the White Rose of the House of York. His father and his fathers before him had battled beside Edward the Third, his son and grandson. In fact, Edward had granted William Terrington the charter at Whitewell to build a castle. Though it was more a fortified manor house, it was still formidable and anchored the main road across the Pennines from Lancaster, making it particularly strategic.
Whitewell had seen more than its share of action over the years, more skirmishes than actual battles. It wasn’t preferential to move an army over the narrow, hazardous road that crossed the Pennines and straight into a battle, so most armies tended to travel far to the north or to the south to bypass them.
Whitewell’s greatest threat came from the mighty Richmond Castle to the northwest, held by Edmund Tudor, Earl of Richmond. Since both castles were fairly isolated, they took no real part in the major battles in the war between the Roses, but Whitewell spent a good deal of time fending off raids and other forms of harassment. Here in the northern wilds, the Houses of Lancaster and York butted against each other, intertwined, and territories tended to blend like oil and water.
Howard was well aware of the rivalries, old, new, imagined and otherwise. But he considered himself far more shrewd than his ancestors in that he fully understood the power of his location. Since nearly the moment he took possession of the castle when his father died fifteen years ago, he only had his own betterment in mind. His ambition had started a few yearsago when he had first been approached by an ally of the late Sir John Grey, a Lancastrian and relation to the Woodvilles. John Sutton, Lord Dudley, had been very clear in his mission; he was to secure Whitewell at any cost and when Henry Tudor sat up on the throne, he would make it well worth Howard’s efforts. The Red Rose of Lancaster needed to secure the mountain pass, a short-cut from Lancaster to the Honour of Richmond, and they were willing to prostitute themselves in that effort.
All of this, of course, was unknown to the common man. Though Howard Terrington willingly climbed into bed with the Lancastrians at the promise of assuming some of Richmond’s territories upon Henry’s ascension to the throne, his Yorkist allies were none the wiser. No one questioned why armies of men were given passage over the Pennine road, mostly because the troops stationed at Whitewell were loyal to Terrington and simply did as they were told. If their lord ordered the road left unprotected, then they would oblige.
But there was more to Howard’s greed. He not only wanted the wealth promised him, he wanted honor and glory, too. He was not a fighting man. He was a politician. When his only sister passed away and he became guardian of his niece, one look at the nine year old Alixandrea St. Ave and he knew that he had something to broker. He could see a beneficial marriage on the horizon, something to bring him the recognition he sought. So he brokered Alixandrea’s hand like an auctioneer selling prize livestock.
Many prominent families had vied for the honor. John Sutton had made the final selection; Matthew Wellesbourne, son of Sir Adam Wellesbourne. The Wellesbournes had passed to Richard through his marriage to Anne Neville and were the prime forces in the king’s arsenal. It was all the Lancastrian camp could have ever hoped for. They had planted a seed inthe heart of Richard’s strength. And that seed was Alixandrea Terrington St. Ave.
Not that she knew anything about it. She was a female and untrustworthy as most women were. Howard spent many years trying to set a marriage date so that he could move his niece and his contingent of four hundred highly trained Lancastrian-loyal men into the heart of the Plantagenet arena, but the House of Wellesbourne had continually put him off. It had taken ten years to place Alixandrea, and the sleeper army, where they belonged. Now that the deed was done, it was time to set the plan in motion.
It was rainy this day, the first rain in quite some time, as he sat in his opulent solar at Whitewell. A fire smoked in the hearth and warmed wine ran aplenty. But he was not alone.
“She should be at Wellesbourne in a day or two,” he said. “I anticipate her travel should take nearly two weeks, probably less.”
He spoke to a man standing near the fire. He was a big man, attractive, a mercenary knight from Brittany who had served Henry Tudor for years. Sir Dennis la Londe was a feared assassin and a shrewd warrior, a volatile combination. Today, he was on an errand as a catalyst to greater things.
“I would agree,” he said in his heavy French accent. “And your man; what was his name? Strode? He is aware of our intent, is he not?”
Howard nodded, studying the red liquid in his cup. “Very much aware. He has been instructed to unleash the troops the very moment the marriage takes place.”
La Londe moved away from the fire, moving to the lancet windows. Rain dripped down on the sill, trickling down onto the floor. “Excellent,” he said. “The time is upon us, Terrington. All that we have planned and hoped for is finally coming to fruition. Your niece’s marriage could not have come at a better time.”
La Londe often knew things that Howard did not. He was far more into Henry Tudor’s inner circle than Terrington was.
“What do you mean?” Howard asked leadingly.
