“That man,” he began,” is Sir Dennis la Londe. He is a mercenary knight, one of the most vicious men I have ever come across. He serves Henry Tudor, presumably because of the rewards Henry has promised him should he ever assume the throne. He is powerful, skilled, and extremely deadly.”
Alixandrea looked back over at Dennis; the man was speaking seriously with a short man in ruby silks. She shruggedweakly. “If that is true, then I am at a loss for words,” she said after a moment. “I truly had no idea.”
“Did you have much contact with him?” Matthew asked, more gently.
She shook her head. “Nay. I have really only seen him twice and spoke to him briefly on both occasions. He seemed typical enough. He certainly never came across as a deadly mercenary.”
“Because he is brilliant that way,” Matthew said. “I will be honest when I say that I respect the man’s abilities as a warrior and knight almost as much as I respect Gaston’s. There are few peers at our level of expertise and Dennis is one of them.”
Alixandrea looked away from Dennis, gazing up at her husband with an expression that caused him to feel inherent pity for her.
“I feel so foolish,” she said quietly. “You have pointed out many men that are loyal to Henry Tudor whom I have seen within the walls of Whitewell. Had I only been more aware, more worldly, perhaps I would have known what my uncle was planning before I came to Wellesbourne and unknowingly attempted to bring ruin upon you. I swear, Matthew, I would have never come had I known.”
He smiled at her, his blue eyes glimmering. “And I would have never had the joy of knowing you. Thank God you were not more aware.”
She returned his smile, though there was little joy in it. “I am serious,” she murmured, squeezing his fingers under the table. “I feel terrible about this.”
He brought her hand up and kissed it, his gaze moving back to the room. “No need, love. ’Tis not your fault.”
He continued to hold her hand as he resumed his conversation with Gaston. Meanwhile, King Richard made his grand entrance and worked the room as the pope would have worked an adoring congregation. Though Richard tended to bea suspicious and reclusive monarch, apparently this night he felt comfortable enough with the legions of armed men surrounding him to welcome his guests.
Both Matthew and Gaston noted that he seemed to be in a particularly good mood. They rose when the king approached the dais and went over to him as he took his seat. There was no mistaking the message that The White Lord of Wellesbourne and The Dark Knight were sending to the rest of the room; the king’s greatest warriors were indeed present and they would tolerate nothing out of the ordinary this night. It was a show of force.
As the food was brought forth, it occurred to Alixandrea that Mark and Caroline were apparently not going to join them for the feast. She was lonely in that she did not have Caroline to talk to, for the only other female at the table, Lady de Russe, had left the table and disappeared into the crowd. John and Luke were playing some sort of game beside her and punching one another intermittently, and Matthew was busy with Gaston. There was no one for her to talk to.
But she did not feel too sorry for herself. As she nursed her wine, servants descended on their table and adorned it with all manner of succulent food. A roast bird was the highlight, set in the middle of the table and festooned with glorious feathers to simulate that it was still a living bird. Luke and John immediately plowed into the fowl and destroyed the careful decorations before Alixandrea could get a good look at the artwork. John plopped a leg on her trencher and thought he was doing a splendid job of playing host. She smiled her thanks and took a helping of the boiled apples.
Plate full, she looked to her husband, still on the dais talking to the king, to patiently wait for his return. After several minutes, it was clear that he was not returning any time soon so she decided to eat before her food cooled. In the gallery, agroup of minstrels began to play, filling the warm, smoky hall with music. In all, it seemed to be settling down into a glorious evening. She only wished she could have enjoyed it more with Matthew.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Mark, Caroline, and an unidentified woman entering the hall. It did not matter that they were late; she was glad to see them and waved. But Mark did not see her and she elbowed John so that the young man could catch their attention.
Finally, Mark noticed them and headed in their direction. Caroline and the mystery woman followed. The closer they came, the more Mark seemed to be intently searching for someone. He ignored the Wellesbourne table completely. That wasn’t unusual in itself, but Caroline’s expression seemed to be; Alixandrea noticed that the woman hadn’t looked at her once. She and the unknown woman held each other by the arms, pacing after Mark. As the group neared the table, Mark located Matthew on the dais and apparently found who he was looking for. He went straight for the platform and the women followed.
Alixandrea watched curiously as Mark addressed Matthew, who turned from the king to face his brother. But what she wasn’t prepared for was the expression on Matthew’s face; his eyes widened, then hardened, and his entire face seemed to tense. She could not hear the words being spoken, but she could tell by his expression that he clearly was unhappy. Alixandrea put her knife down and stopped eating; she wondered what had Matthew so upset. After a few exchanges, Mark, Caroline, and the nameless woman left the hall. Matthew watched them go. Then he looked at Alixandrea.
She was gazing up at him with those great bronze eyes. Matthew suspected she had seen everything; from her expression, he could tell that she had. Struggling for composure,he went back to their table and took his seat beside her. Before she could ask questions, he picked up the wine pitcher.
“More wine, love?” he asked even as he poured into her cup.
“Where did Mark and Caroline go?” she asked the obvious. “Why did they not stay?”
Matthew set the pitcher down and reached for a side of bird. “Caroline is not feeling well.”
Alixandrea did not believe him; moreover, there was something strange in his manner. Odd suspicion crept into her veins, intangible yet unmistakable. “She looked fine,” she said slowly, watching his features for any reaction. “Did you have sharp words with Mark again?”
Matthew had a mouthful. “Nay.”
He was being evasive and it inflamed her. He had barely spoken to her all night and now he was being ambiguous. She turned back to her plate, though she did not eat. Matthew was fully into his meal before he noticed that she was not partaking.
“What’s wrong?’ he asked. “Why are you not eating?”
She looked away from him. “I am not hungry.”
He studied her, noting her body language, sensing she was miffed. He swallowed the food in his mouth.
“What is the matter?” he asked, more softly.
“Nothing.”
