To everyone’s surprise, Luke actually held his ground. “You had better become used to it, brother. Men will be salivating over her all evening.”
Matthew glared at him menacingly but refrained from replying. Luke was, after all, correct. With a few Wellesbourne men-at-arms in tow, the four of them descended the steps in the Wakefield Tower and entered out into the cool evening of the courtyard.
The moon was nearly full, creating a ghostly glow across the landscape as they made their way to the White Tower. Mounting the wooden steps, they entered the second floor of the keep and into the great dining hall at the end of the short corridor.
The corridor had been relatively quiet, making the appearance into the great hall a bright and overwhelming experience. The hall was unusually hot, lit by a massive hearth that belched heat and smoke into the room. It was also littered with people, sitting at tables, clustered in groups talking, or just milling about. Servants were everywhere, carrying trays of alcohol to keep the diners happy until the king, and the food, arrived. It was, already, a hugely busy scene.
With Luke on one arm and Matthew on the other, Alixandrea walked into the room and nearly tripped on the rushes. They were in bunches around the floor. But Matthew’s strong grip steadied her as he took her fully into the room, making sure to cross right through the center of the hall so that every man and woman there would see who had come. He continued to walk down the center of the room in full view, his hawk-like gaze sweeping the chamber, making note of who was in attendance and who was not. The White Lord of Wellesbourne had arrived and he would have no one mistake his presence. The major artillery in the arsenal of Richard had arrived.
To Alixandrea, it felt a little bit like a parade. She felt the gaze of everyone in the massive hall and she was torn between pride and the desire to hide. It was a fast introduction into the life of the Tower and ready or not, Matthew brought her full-force into it. All she could do was hold her head high and hold Matthew’s arm tightly.
They made their sweep of the room and settled at a table near the royal dais. Matthew took her wrap and helped her to sit, carefully arranging the yards of material that comprised hersurcoat. Luke was about to take a seat next to her but John, biding his time, beat him to it.
“Would you like some wine?” Matthew asked her, watching Luke rough up John’s hair.
Alixandrea could see what the two younger brothers were doing out of the corner of her eye and she shook her head at the spectacle, amusing though it was. She could hear John yelp.
“I would.”
He winked at her and motioned to a nearby servant, who introduced a rich red liquid into their chalices. He took his seat just as his cup was filled and he collected it, turning to his wife with a toast on his lips.
“To you,” he said quietly.
She held her cup aloft also, her bronze eyes glittering. “To us.”
“Even better.”
They drank deeply of the heady port. All around them, the hall was bustling and Matthew sat very close to his wife, his eyes constantly on the move. Alixandrea alternately watched her husband and watched the room, finding it interesting how much his demeanor changed the moment they had entered the hall. Matthew was perpetually friendly, easy to smile, and companionable. But the moment he penetrated the room, it was as if a lever had been lifted and a curtain descended. His manner, his expression, turned hard. He changed into something dark and different. She wasn’t sure if she liked it.
Gaston arrived a short time later. With him was a woman, very tall. She would have been beautiful had she not been so severe looking with her tight wimple and fussy clothes. Her features were fine and delicate, but there was little loveliness. Gaston introduced her as Lady de Russe. She coldly greeted Matthew, barely nodded to Alixandrea, and ignored Luke andJohn completely. From the moment she and Gaston sat at the table, they ignored each other as well.
While Gaston and Matthew settled into muted conversation, Alixandrea turned to John and Luke on her other side.
“Who are all of these people?” she asked. “Do you recognize anyone?”
John nodded. “There are many prominent people here,” he pointed off to the right. “There is Lord Grey. He’s from Northumbria, a kin to the Percys. He’s a very powerful man. And there’s Arundel off to his right.”
Alixandrea’s head bobbed and weaved as she attempted to get a good look at the small, fat Lord Grey and subsequently the short and red-haired Earl of Arundel. John suddenly jabbed his finger in front of him, across the table.
“There’s Sir John Tomalyn,” he said. “He’s a ferocious supporter of the crown. He spends most of his time with Robin of Riddesdale, but I do not see him yet.”
Alixandrea had heard these names for most of her life. But fostering at Pickering and then sequestered at Whitewell had not given her the opportunity to experience anything other than short stories and tales of valor of these men. To her, they were faceless individuals. Now, the reality was materializing right in front of her and it was exciting.
“My lady,” John’s voice was suddenly low. “Don’t look now, but I think we have a visitor.”
She had no idea what he meant until she caught him rolling his eyes, directing her to look behind her. Slowly, she turned, wondering what on earth he could mean. She soon found herself gazing down at a skinny gray dog, sitting against the wall behind her. The moment she looked at the beast, its tail began thumping timidly against the floor. Big dog eyes glistened pitifully at her.
“God’s Bones,” she breathed, as if just suffering a great relief. “I thought it was something awful.”
“Itisawful. It is a dog and, as I recall, you do not like them.”
She pursed her lips, passing the mutt another glance. “That may be true, but they certainly seem to like me. I could not seem to be rid of them at Wellesbourne. And now, with all of the people in the hall as targets, this dog picks me to harass.”
John was grinning. “The dogs at Wellesbourne must be missing you horribly.”
She simply shook her head, turned away from the dog, and reclaimed her chalice. She was about to take a sip when a voice from across the table caught her attention.
“Your garment is lovely, Lady Wellesbourne,” it was a low female tone that addressed her. “Wherever did you get it?”
