Alixandrea stood there for an eternal span of moments, her mind filled with nothing in particular. There was so much happening that it was difficult to grasp only one thought. But she knew her most predominant thought, at the moment, was happiness. It wasn’t something she had oft felt, certainly nothing she had expected at this place. It was a peculiar, embracing sensation, one she could easily become accustomed to.
CHAPTER FIVE
The stables weredark, smelling of hay and urine. The horses shifted about restlessly as evening approached, sensing their meal was about to be delivered by the cowering stable boys who lived in fear of the massive war beasts.
They had to unmuzzle the animals in order to feed them, which could be something of an adventure. A couple of the boys had met with misfortune at the teeth of the chargers; one lad was even missing a finger. As the sounds and smells of evening descended, the stables were increasingly restless.
Strode was in the stable, tucked back in a far corner away from the entrance. He was tending to one of the matched set of carriage horses from Whitewell that had come up lame. The fetlock was swollen and tender and he was having a difficult time reducing the swelling. It was an expensive horse and he did not relish the thought of putting it down should it come to that. But a lame horse was of no service to anyone. It would be killed to provide food for the dogs if he could not heal it.
As dusk approached, he changed out the dressing for the eighth time since sunrise. The horse master had been kind enough to supply him with a soda mixture to include in the compresses, a blend designed to draw out the excess fluid. It was a useful concoction, but messy. It was all over his hands as he secured the compress. Just as he finished, a shadow behind him caught his attention.
Startled, he turned to see Jezebel standing just to the rear of the horse. Strode let out a long hiss.
“Woman,” he growled. “Do not sneak up on me like that. I am bound to cut your throat before I know ’tis you.”
Jezebel fiddled with her apron. “Sorry,” she said. “I came to tell ye about m’lady’s wedding.”
“Well?”
“Tonight at Vespers.”
His eyebrows lifted in a menacing manner. “That ’tis an hour away, at most. And you are just coming to tell me now?”
Jezebel had known Strode for a few years, having been his lover for the past two. He was a powerful man in the House of Terrington and she would do most anything for him, including betray the confidence of a lady who had been most kind to her. But she did not think of it that way; she could not see beyond her need to please Strode. Whatever he asked, she would do. Whatever he wanted, she would comply.
“I have been helping m’lady.” She heard the threat in his tone and took a step back. “This is the first chance I have had to come tell ye.”
Strode was on his feet. Grabbing her by the hair, he slapped her a couple of times. It was a brutal, sharp sound that echoed off the walls of the stable, startling the horses. Jezebel whimpered.
“Stupid cow,” he rumbled. “You know what this means. You know what I have to do. I told you how important this was, but still, you fail me?”
She cowered from him, weeping. “I know,” she sobbed. “But this is the first chance I have had. M’lady needed me and I could not get away.”
He still had her by the hair, pulling the faded brown strands. He had a wild look to his eye. “I must get to the men,” he muttered. “Key soldiers, those in command of the rest. They must be prepared to strike at the very moment the church bellspeal. It will be their signal to erupt from within. And then, we shall have such chaos…”
He let go of her hair as he trailed off. Jezebel rubbed her face where he had struck her. “What are you going to do?”
Strode’s initial sense of panic at the thought of his orders coming to fruition so quickly died into a slow burn. He calmed himself; he was a good soldier and used to quick decision making. That is why Lord Terrington put him in command. He would not fail at this most important task no matter the wench’s incompetence. It would not cost him his glorious showing.
“Go back to the lady,” he told her. “I will do what needs to be done.”
Jezebel was still rubbing her face. “Are ye going to be in the church?”
“My direct orders are to kill The White Lord; therefore, I must be in the church. As the lady’s attendant, it is my right and no one will be the wiser to my purpose unless you open your trap and levy suspicion against me.”
“I shall not say a word.”
“You’d better not.” He glared at her. “What about Lady Alixandrea? Have you spilled anything to her? The two of you do an awful lot of chattering.”
“I have never said a word. She knows nothing.”
He continued to glare at her as if trying to intimidate her into changing her story. But the woman stood firm. “Well and good for you, then. Traitors are dealt with in such ways and I’d have no hesitation in slitting your skinny throat.”
Jezebel knew he spoke the truth. She thought she was being clever in hiding her fear, but she wasn’t. He could read it in her eyes. “Ye won’t hurt m’lady, will ye?” she asked timidly. “She doesn’t deserve to be hurt. She hasn’t done anything.”
He snorted. “Foolish woman. I would sooner kill myself than harm a hair on her head. But she must stay out of my way whenI move on Wellesbourne. I will not have time to pick and choose my targets.”
Jezebel’s weeping had faded. She wasn’t particularly comforted by his declaration not to hurt the lady, but then again, she was a single-focused creature. All she knew was that she had completed her task as Strode had asked of her when he had pulled her deep into the circle of intrigue that seemed to flow throughout Whitewell like a disease.You will tell me when this wedding is to happen so that we may confiscate Wellesbourne Castle in the name of Henry. Everything about Whitewell stank of hatred against Richard, of the fall of the Red Rose. Aye, she had completed her task. Her reward was marriage to Strode, an elevation of her station. All would look more favorably upon her now. She had done what he had asked.
