Howard threw up his hands. “Dennis la Londe!” he roared. Hastily, he staggered from the hall to the alcove just off the main chamber. He moved to the enormous desk that nearly filled the room, toppling a chair as he did so. He grabbed at the inkwell and quill, scrambling for a sheet of vellum. Strode watched him curiously.
“What are you doing, my lord?”
Howard began fiendishly scratching on a small piece of vellum. “I am fixing your mistake,” he hissed. “Dennis la Londe left for London four days ago. He should be arriving within the next day or so.”
Strode still did not understand. “My lord?”
Howard slopped spots of ink all over the table as he wrote. “God’s Bones, Strode, you know la Londe. We must send word to him that your attempt on Wellesbourne’s life was unsuccessful. With The White Lord in London, and la Londe in London, the possibilities are staggering.”
Strode was beginning to come clear now. “You will have Sir Dennis assassinate him?”
“That is an ugly word,” Howard scribbled. “Let us say that where you failed, la Londe will not. I do not know what we shall do about the rest of our plan, for there is no diversion now to distract Richard while Henry lands upon England’s shores. But I will let la Londe worry about that. He must know that Matthew Wellesbourne is in London and that Wellesbourne Castle remains intact. Get this message to him.”
“I shall take it myself, my lord,” Strode said, eager to be of service and reclaim his liege’s good graces. “I shall not fail.”
Strode did not fail in delivering the message. He caught up to Dennis la Londe on the northern outskirts of London and faithfully delivered the missive. What he did not know, however, was that the vellum from Terrington also contained his death warrant. Once he completed his task, la Londe was to kill him in punishment for his failure.
Strode suspected, as he lay bleeding to death on the open road, that his liege and the world had indeed turned against him.
*
Rosehill
Near Windsor, England
Livia Wellesbourne St. Jameshad never had any children of her own, which is why she nearly went into seizures at the sight of her four nephews. Though Adam was her only brother, the two had never gotten along particularly, but she loved his sons. As she squealed in delight, men in armor invaded her well-tended house and tracked dirt over her hall.
Matthew had already met his aunt, as he had told Alixandrea he would. He always had to be the first to greet her, otherwise she would throw fits. With Matthew properly kissed and embraced, he could leave his brothers to the domineering attention of their only aunt and go about his business.
While John and Luke were on the receiving end of liquor-smelling kisses, Matthew went back for Alixandrea. As Caroline wait for Mark, Matthew helped his wife from the cab so that she could get a good look at the manor house. Alixandrea could not help but be awed at the sight of it; the place was enormous, far larger than the castles she had been accustomed to. She stood for a moment just outside the door, her gaze falling upon the well-manicured grounds, lush garden, and masonry walls.
The manor house was fortified, sitting on the opposite side of the Thames and about a mile to the east of Windsor Castle. It had vast lawns behind the high walls and the house itself had a main house plus two massive wings. She studied the structure, oblivious to the dark clouds littering the sky above. As rain drops began to pelt the dirt, Matthew tried to coax her inside. But she stood for a moment as the wind whipped up, smelling the fresh air and observing the awesome surroundings.
“This place is enormous, Matthew,” she commented. “What on earth did your uncle do to acquire all of this?”
“He was a nobleman by birth and had a gift for trade,” he replied, looking up at the threatening sky. “He had a fleet of ships that sailed the known world, trading goods from all ports. It would be fair to say that he was successful at it and it would be furthermore fair to say that he was probably one of the richest men in England.”
“I take it that he has passed away?”
“Six years ago. But he left all of this,” he swept his arms out over the expanse of yard, “to my aunt, who in turn has willed it to me upon her death.”
Alixandrea realized that it meant it would be hers, too. But it was too overwhelming a thought and she had not the mind at the moment to ponder it. She was exhausted from her trip. As she turned for the entry, she noticed that the vast majority of the army was still beyond the gates.
“Are they going to camp out there?” she asked.
Matthew had her by the elbow, glad she had decided to move out of the increasingly foul weather. “London is still several miles away and de Russe is taking the army on to the city limits.”
“He is not staying here with us?”
“Nay.”
“A pity. He seems like a lonely man. I was hoping to get to know him better.”
Matthew almost smiled at the irony of the statement. “I would be surprised if he let you. He is not one to make friends easily, especially with women.”
“I sensed that. But it has not deterred me.”
Matthew did smile, then. They entered into the dark, cool entry hall, a massive two-story chamber with an enormous iron chandelier hanging above their heads. At first glance, she could see that it was a far different place from anything she had ever known. Where rushes and dogs littered the floor of the fortresses, fine carpets that had been brought all the way fromPersia covered the polished wood floor of the entry. She could see muddy boot prints on it, knowing it had to come from the messy Wellesbourne men. Crystal candle sets spread throughout the entry hall gave off an enormous amount of refractive light. Alixandrea was understandably overwhelmed.
