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.
“I have moments of madness, my lady,” he said with quiet humiliation. “Matthew does this to prevent me from harming myself. My son does it to protect a foolish old man.”
He began to weep, softly. It took Alixandrea a moment to realize that the situation was not as it had appeared, though there was no way she could have known differently given her initial impression. Slowly, she lowered the shovel. As she watched Adam sob, she suddenly felt very foolish.
“My God,” she whispered, setting the shovel down. She looked at Matthew helplessly. “I did not know, my lord. I came in and found him tied up and assumed.…”
She could not finish. It sounded stupid, even to her. Matthew came into the room when he was sure she was not going to whack him with the shovel and gently took her hand, kissing the palm sweetly. From shame to thrill all in a brief moment, Alixandrea’s cheeks flushed warm at his touch. He simply smiled at her, dropped her hand, and went over to his father.
“Come, Father,” he put his big arm across his father’s shoulders. “Let us escort Lady Alixandrea down to the hall and break our fast. You will feel better when you have some food in your belly.”
Alixandrea watched the interaction, sensing that there was a good amount of compassion from son to father. She suddenly felt doubly foolish that she had believed the worst out of the situation. As Matthew walked past her with his father, he reached out and took her arm.
“Come along, lady,” he said. “Let us all become better acquainted.”
Meekly, she followed them down to the hall. It was still strewn with bodies, men sleeping off the overindulgence of ale from the night before. The dogs snoring in the corner suddenly awoke with the introduction of new people and they rose stiffly, wandering over to the group as they entered the room. Not particularly fond of dogs, Alixandrea shoved one of the beasts away when it came too close. The others closed in on her, wagging their tails furiously.
They took a seat at the corner of the dais. A kitchen servant brought out a warm loaf of bread, dark brown on the outside and a soft, creamy color on the inside. Matthew took his knife and cut off a piece for Alixandrea and his father, and one for himself. More kitchen servants emerged a few moments later with drink, cheese, cold beef, and little cakes made from flour, raisins, eggs, and seasoning known asblaunchpoudre, a mixture of ginger, valuable sugar and other ingredients that gave it a bright yellow color. Alixandrea could taste the ginger in the cakes; it was her favorite.
“I must say, you eat very well at Wellesbourne,” she said, anxious to change the subject from the events up in the chamber. “The meal last night was also exquisite.”
“We spend a lot of time on campaign or out on the road one way or the other, eating only what we can carry with us or hunt,” Matthew replied. “When we are home, we like excellent food. It has become a vice.”
“I wish I’d learned the finer arts of cooking,” Alixandrea said. “Our cook at Whitewell was nothing more than an expert on mutton. She could cook it twenty different ways, but it was always still the same– mutton.”
“So you do not know the culinary arts,” Matthew shrugged. “I am sure that you have other talents. Sewing, perhaps?”
“Nay, not sewing.” She finished the last of her cake and bit into another. “I can draw a little. And I had the best garden in all of Yorkshire. It was a lovely place with an acre of beautiful flowers. I was very sad to leave it.”
Matthew’s warm expression faded and Alixandrea had no idea why. His blue eyes moved to his father; the man’s face was buried in a knuckle of beef. Matthew watched, waited a few seconds more, and finally closed his eyes tightly when Adam’s head came up. It was as if he’d been hoping the old man hadn’t heard what she’d said. But he had.
“My wife had a garden,” Adam said. “A very fine one. But it died when she did. It… died….”
His head went back into his food, but there were no tears. Simply the lethargic movements of a despondent man. Alixandrea looked at Matthew, her eyes wide with puzzlement. After a moment, Matthew stood up from the table.
“A moment, lady,” he said quietly.
She allowed him to lead her to a semi-private alcove just off of the hall. Two enormous lancet windows soared above their heads, the cool air from the fresh new day blowing away the smell of dog feces. He stood very close to her so that his words would not be overheard.
“What did I do, my lord?” she asked before he could speak. “Whatever it was, I did not mean it.”
He shook his head, putting a finger over her lips to silence her. They were very soft lips and he let his finger loiter, for just a moment. “I know you did not,” his finger came away. “But you must understand something. My father still grieves for the wife he lost twelve years ago. My brothers and I have spent years dealing with his fits of madness, when he will drink himself into oblivion and spend the rest of the night trying to kill himself. That is what you saw this morning; I had to tie him up to prevent him from hurting himself. Believe me, if there was another choice, I would surely take it. But restraining him is the only thing that keeps him in check until the madness subsides.”
She gazed up at him, her eyes wide with dismay. “But… he seemed fine yesterday. He seemed quite pleasant.”
“He was until last night.”
There was something in his tone; an alarm bell went off in her head. “Did I somehow contribute to his turn of madness last night?”
He smiled faintly. “The song you sang… it belonged to them. It brought back memories he was unable to cope with. And thegarden issue is nearly as bad as the song. My mother loved her garden.”
“I am so sorry,” she whispered miserably. “Had I only known.”
