Chapter One #3
“Then let us make the introductions now, however inappropriate,” she said, trying not to sound too bitter.
“My uncle Howard Terrington, Lord Ryesdale, sends his greetings. I am the Lady Alixandrea Terrington St. Ave and I have come with my maidservant, my manservant outside, and four hundred soldiers to be placed under your command. Such were the terms of the contract, my lord. We are fulfilling our pledge.”
Matthew found himself watching her mouth as she spoke. Her lips were sweet and pillowy and lush. He suddenly felt very self-conscious, dirty and minimally drunk as he was, to be greeting this intriguing creature.
It was occurring to him that she was not at all what he had expected. The reluctance and bitterness that he had associated with this betrothal for so many years was quickly turning into something different. He did not know what yet, but it was different.
“And I am Sir Matthew Wellesbourne, Lord Ettington, heir to Wellesbourne Castle and sworn servant to our king, the illustrious Richard,” he took another step towards her, keenly aware of their size difference; he was easily twice her width and more than a foot taller.
“I welcome you to Wellesbourne and would ask the honor of escorting you to the castle, my lady.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sure that doing so would not take you away from your ale and wenches, my lord?”
Now he knew what Luke had been telling her. He resisted the urge to grab his brother by the neck and squeeze.
“I think the ale and wenches can spare me.” He extended a trencher-sized hand, clad in a heavy leather glove. “I would ask that you accept my apologies for a harsh beginning. Given the choice, it would have certainly not been my intent. May I guide you?”
She eyed him, her bronze eyes a maelstrom of fire, emotion and mystery. But she silently put her hand over his, a tiny mitt against his size. In doing so, it was perhaps a reluctant acceptance of his apology. Matthew tried not to stare at her as he led her from the tavern.
The sunlight outside was blinding. Matthew’s eyes scanned the area, hawk-like, until they came to rest on a cluster of armed men a few hundred yards away from the inn.
From a two-second perusal, he could see that they appeared to be seasoned, seemingly well fed and outfitted.
That would translate into a strong contingent, he hoped.
He led the lady in their general direction.
“I hope you had a pleasant journey from the north,” he tried to make conversation, sensing that perhaps all was not forgiven yet.
“It was long, my lord,” she said. “Long and bumpy at times.”
He nodded. “Lack of rain has made the roads miserable.”
“Indeed, my lord.”
The small talk quickly died. Glancing behind, he saw that Luke had retrieved their chargers from the livery.
The two soldiers and the skittish maid also followed in a suspicious group.
Shortly, they reached the fighting men clustered in a grove of trees who now stood up from their various positions of rest as their lady appeared with a colossal knight on her arm.
Strode, half-asleep inside the carriage where he was not supposed to be, shot out of the cab like a scalded cat.
“My lady,” he rushed upon her, fully prepared to save her from the massive warrior even to his own death. “Are you well? Was there trouble?”
“No trouble,” she told him. “In fact, the stop at this tavern seems to have been fortuitous. I would present you to Sir Matthew Wellesbourne, your new liege, and his brother, Sir Luke.”
The foot soldiers, shocked from their momentary confusion, scurried to form a line for their new lord. Strode, his mouth gaping with surprise, bowed deeply.
“My lord,” he said. “We were not told that you would meet us on the road. Forgive me if we did not rendezvous at the appropriate place or time. I had no…”
Matthew put up a hand. “Your orders were to take the lady to Wellesbourne, which is what you were doing. I just happened to be here and we met inside.”
Strode stood up from his prostrate position, his eyes still full of confusion and, Alixandrea thought, fear.
“I sent two men to look after her, my lord,” he said.
“She was not without protection. I have known the lady her entire life and would not dream of allowing her in such a place without proper escort.”
He was babbling. Alixandrea cast him a long look, silently ordering him to shut his mouth. Matthew apparently did not notice. He was looking over the troops.
“Do you still have the full contingent of four hundred?” he asked. “None have run off or fallen ill during the trip?”
“We’ve lost none, my lord,” Strode replied. “Would you inspect them?”
“Not now,” Matthew said. “Wellesbourne is a little more than a mile to the south. I shall inspect them once we’re in the fortress.”
Alixandrea listened to the conversation, noting the interest in her betrothed’s voice.
It reminded her, yet again, of the truth of this marriage contract; he was marrying her for the money and manpower, nothing more.
She was so foolish in that she had hoped he would have seen some value in her.
She was no more than the soldiers and valuables she carried; she was a commodity. She would have to accept that.
She removed her hand from his. “If there will be nothing else, my lord, perhaps we should continue to the castle. The hour grows late.”
He gazed down at her, watching the sunlight play off of her bronze hair. Gold, brown and copper glistened like a shower of light.
“A wise suggestion, my lady.” He looked at Strode. “What is your name, man?”
“Strode, my lord.”
“Very well,” he nodded shortly. “Take the lady down this road, through the village, until you come to Wellesbourne. Stop for no one and make all due haste. These parts are not safe after dark, even to me.”
Reaching over, he took Alixandrea’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. She tried not to look surprised by the bold action; it was a claiming gesture. Silently, he led her over to the carriage, opened the door, and very kindly helped her inside.
All the while, Alixandrea kept feeling that same innate gentleness she first sensed in him. The man was fearsome by size alone, but deep down, she felt there was more. Perhaps it was something he did not like anyone to see.
Their eyes met briefly as she took her seat and the corners of his eyes crinkled, as close to a smile as she had so far seen.
He’d remained stoic and emotionless to this point, and she thanked him with a dip of her head.
As soon as Matthew removed himself from the doorway, Jezebel leapt into the carriage and the door slammed tightly.
Outside, she heard a few barked orders and the carriage lurched, once again to reel and roll that last terrible mile to Wellesbourne.
As the carriage gained a sickening rhythm on the road, she was aware of her disappointment that he had not asked her to ride with him that last mile.
Or she could have ridden her paltry in stride with his great warhorse, and all of the inhabitants of Wellesbourne would have seen that Matthew was indeed accepting this wife he had been expecting for ten years.
She could only imagine what all of Wellesbourne thought of her, the great chain of doom out to attach herself to Matthew and ruin his life. But he had not asked her, indicative of the level of enthusiasm he had for this marriage. She sank back into her seat, disenchanted and moody.
The horses were just gaining their stride when the carriage suddenly lurched to a halt. Unprepared, Alixandrea went skidding across the cab and hit her head on the boxy wooden headrest on the opposite seat. Stars burst in her vision and the blood began to flow.
“Oh, m’lady,” Jezebel saw what had happened and rushed to her aid. “Here, take this kerchief. Press it on the wound or ye’ll get blood all over yer dress.”
The cut was on the right side of her forehead and stung. Alixandrea tried to put the cloth over the wound and steady herself at the same time. The world was still rocking even though the carriage had come to a halt. Trying to keep the blood out of her eye, she heard a voice from the cab door.
“What happened?” It was Matthew.
“The cab stopped too quickly, m’lord,” Jezebel told him, trying to help her lady. “She hit her head.”
The cab door opened and gentle hands were on her. Between Jezebel and Matthew, they managed to turn her around so that she was seated on the floor of the cab, her legs hanging from the open door. Though the kerchief covered most of her vision, Alixandrea could see Matthew’s face looming close.
“Let me see.”
His voice was low, full of serenity and reassurance. It disarmed Alixandrea so much that she actually obeyed him, allowing him to remove the kerchief so that he could see her head. He wiped her forehead a couple of times to keep blood from running into her eye as he inspected the injury.
His ripped off one of his leather gloves, tossing it aside.
His big, warm fingers danced over her forehead and scalp, inspecting, but to Alixandrea, the sensation was something else altogether.
Every time he touched her, some strange occurrence happened that sent bolts of heat racing through her body.
She almost pulled away from him, but something inside her could not muster the will.
“It is not so bad, my lady,” he finally assured her. “Just a little cut inside your hairline. Unfortunately, head wounds bleed heavily no matter how large or small. I am afraid you may have a bit of a bump.”
Jezebel had produced a clean handkerchief, which she handed to Matthew and he pressed it back over the wound. Their eyes finally met and his expression relaxed into something pleasant and humane. She thought she might actually detect warmth.
“This is my fault, I fear,” he said. “I ordered Strode to halt the carriage. It occurred to me to have you ride into Wellesbourne with me. Had I known my clever plan would see you come to harm, I would have never acted upon it.”
He seemed genuinely contrite and she smiled. “’Twas not your fault, my lord,” she said. “But I fear Strode is in for a beating.”
She said the last part loud enough so her manservant could hear her. He was standing beside Matthew, blocked out of her view by Matthew’s bulk.
“Forgive, my lady,” he said. “’Twas an accident.”
“Accident, my eye,” she said snappishly. “You always stop this carriage as if the Devil has just planted himself right in your path. I have many bruises to attest to this.”
Matthew glanced over at the beleaguered manservant. “Perhaps Strode requires some coaching in this area to perfect his skills.”
While the manservant cowered, Alixandrea removed the kerchief from her head.
It was spotted with blood, but the oozing had stopped for the most part.
Matthew examined it again, realizing he was eager for another chance to run his fingers over her face.
There was nothing about her skin and hair that wasn’t soft and supple and utterly beautiful.
“Your hair should cover it adequately,” he said, then looked her in the eye. “Do you feel well enough to ride with me?”
There was something in his tone that made her believe he might actually want her to. She handed the kerchief back to Jezebel.
“I am well enough, my lord.”
He helped her from the carriage and led her over to his big dappled warhorse.
The animal was muzzled to prevent it from biting everything that moved and Matthew made sure to keep his body between her and the horse.
Luke stood at the animal’s head, still reluctant to speak to the lady, fearful she’d not yet forgiven him for his behavior at the tavern.
Their eyes met and he quickly lowered them, too fast to see the smile that played on her lips.
His hands went about her waist, completely encircling her.
There was something to his touch that made her feel strangely giddy, but she attributed that to the bump on her head.
She could feel the heat of his hands through her clothes, burning her.
She did not dare turn to look at him, fearful that he would read her expression.
He took a good grip of her and lifted her effortlessly towards the saddle.
That was when all hell broke loose.