“I know. But he will if I ask it of him.” He glanced up at his friend. “What of Mari-Elle and Trenton? Where will they go?”
“Back to France,” Gaston replied, trying not to think on how long it would be before he saw his son again. “They will be safe there.”
Matthew nodded in agreement. “Indeed.” He paused, seemingly prepared to say something further. He faltered twice before finally bringing forth the words. “Lady Mena is in London these days.”
Gaston wasn’t stupid; he’d known that all along although they had never spoken of it. He knew that Matthew would talk about it when he was ready. Gaston had been around those years ago when Matthew fancied himself in love with the petite auburn-haired lady.
“I have seen her,” Gaston said casually. “With a lovely blond girl child, too.”
Matthew looked at him, a thousand unspoken words between them. Although Matthew did not have to verbally acknowledge what they both knew, he did so anyway. “She looks a good deal like me, doesn’t she?” he said.
“A perfect image. Trenton is quite taken with her, by the way.”
“Keep your son away from her,” Matthew jabbed a finger at him. “I shall kill him, I swear it. And I do not care if he is only seven years old.”
Gaston just laughed. Matthew did, too, breaking the tension that had been so prevalent since Gaston’s arrival. It felt good to laugh, if only for a brief moment.
“I would like for you to arrange for Mena and Audrey’s travel back to Bath,” Matthew continued his original train of thought. “I do not want either of them in London at this time. ’Tis far safer for them at home.”
“It will be my pleasure. Anything else?”
“Have you told my brothers of Richard’s plans?”
“Nay. But we should, immediately.”
Matthew pushed himself off the windowsill and headed for the bed chamber. “Rouse my brothers and have them meet here in fifteen minutes,” he said. “For my part, I must break the news to my wife.”
“That could take longer than fifteen minutes.”
Matthew cocked an eyebrow at him, his hand on the door latch. “If you hear screaming, pay no attention,” he deadpanned.
Gaston smirked as he quit the room. Matthew took a deep breath before opening the door. It was dark inside, the oilcloths hanging heavy over the windows. He went to the bed where Alixandrea was still sleeping soundly. He was loath to wake her but he had little choice if she was going to pack and leave the Tower by noon.
He sat down on the bed next to her and began stroking the bronze head gently. After the third or fourth stroke, she inhaled deeply and her eyes opened. Rolling onto her back, her sleepy gaze found Matthew.
He smiled at her. “Good morn.”
She smiled in return, stretching. “Good morn,” she sighed. “What time is it?”
“Time for you to get up and start packing,” he said. “You have a long day ahead of you.”
She looked at him curiously. Matthew decided in that moment he was going to make this discussion as easy as possible; no heavy emotions, no serious going-to-battle last words. He would, of course, tell her everything he needed to say, but he would do it in a way that left her comforted rather than rattled. At least, it sounded good in theory.
“Why am I packing?” she asked. “Where am I going?”
He leaned over and kissed her. “The answer to both of those questions is Wellesbourne.”
“Wellesbourne?” she sat up, eyes wide. “Why are we going back home?”
He stood up and went to the wardrobe where some of her smaller capcases were stored.
“You are going back home with my father and Caroline,” he said. “As for me, it would seem that I am required to head up the welcome committee for Henry Tudor.”
Her expression darkened. “What does that mean, Matt?”
He took out a capcase and set it on the floor. “It means that Richard is moving his army to Nottingham today. Henry Tudor sailed from France two days ago and is expected in Wales in a matter of days. We must be there to greet him.”
Surprisingly, she did not break down. She sat there a moment, seemingly dumbfounded. Matthew continued to pull her cases out until there were none left.
