Chapter Two #2
Matthew did not know what to say. He’d been in so many battles and had killed so many men that the act, the sight of it, did not bother him in the least. Such were the perils of war.
But the lady was different; this was something new and horrifying and he felt tremendously remorseful for it.
He should have been here to protect her, but he had left that duty to Luke, unaware his brother had run home for help.
Then he had been caught up in his own mortal struggle.
It took him some time to realize that the lady had been left unprotected. He was an idiot.
Behind him, he heard a growl and turned in time to see another opponent bearing down on him. On his knees with a woman in his arms was not the best position to meet an adversary.
Matthew unsheathed his sword with his right hand, turned to face his attacker and shoved Alixandrea behind him all in one clean motion.
His foe was one of Dorset’s finest and dispatching him was not as simple as a three-stroke kill.
It took considerably more of Matthew’s strength to slay the man that was trying very hard to kill him.
The fight was brutal but eventually Matthew’ skill and strength won out.
When the assailant lay dying on the ground, Matthew turned his attention once again to the lady.
She stood back against the carriage, clutching Jezebel and struggling for composure.
Strode had regained consciousness by this time and sat at her feet, nursing a sore head.
As Matthew made his way back over to her, a knight suddenly roared up on a big red charger.
The horse kicked up clods of earth, spraying it in all directions.
“Matt,” the man demanded. “Are you well, man?”
Matthew paused, glancing down at his body, remembering the gash to his thigh. He nodded with some weariness.
“Well enough,” he said. “How is Luke?”
“Fine,” the knight said. “He rode back with us. Looks like Dorset’s men again.”
“I know.” Matthew continued on towards Alixandrea. He reached out a hand to her, gently pulling her away from her frightened servants. “My lady, this is my brother, Sir Mark Wellesbourne. Mark, this is the Lady Alixandrea Terrington St. Ave. Take her back to the castle and make her safe.”
Mark was in fighting mode but saw the seriousness in his brother’s expression. He could only imagine what had gone on in the past several minutes; one look at the lovely lady showed that she had not been passed over in this battle.
He was, in fact, not surprised to see her.
They should have anticipated Dorset’s men in the area, even though they had appeared to vacate a few days ago, and they should have doubly anticipated an ambush of the allied party.
Although he wanted to stay and fight, he would obey his brother’s wishes. He held out his arms.
“Give her to me,” he said. “I shall return her home. Caroline will see to her.”
Matthew swept Alixandrea into his arms, realizing the moment he touched her that he was very thankful she was in one piece. She was trembling; he could feel it through his armor. Their eyes met for a brief moment and he managed a weak smile before he handed her over.
“My brother will escort you to Wellesbourne,” he said to her. “His wife will take excellent care of you.”
Mark settled her in front of him, but she seemed reluctant to go. “But what about my servants?” she asked. “And my carriage? Who will…?”
“My men will get the carriage righted and send them on their way,” he assured her. “Have no fear that all will be taken care of. Go with Mark now.”
Having no further argument, she allowed Mark to settle her back on the saddle. He spurred his great red charger forward, galloping down the road to Wellesbourne.
Matthew stood a moment, watching them go, wondering why a thousand different thoughts and emotions were suddenly racing through his mind.
He’d faced skirmishes like this before, countless times, and he’d only been focused on being victorious.
But this battle had been different, and that the difference was currently riding to Wellesbourne with his brother.
*
Caroline Wellesbourne had made such a fuss over Alixandrea that one would have thought the Virgin Mary had walked right into their midst. Alixandrea was at a loss to understand why the woman was so thrilled to see her, but the few-minute trek from the steps of the keep, through the hall, up the spiral stairs and to the fourth floor told her why, exactly, the woman was so happy to have her.
Wellesbourne Castle was full of men, from top to bottom, and smelled like a pig sty.
There were dogs everywhere, rubbish in the corners, and the great hall smelled of vomit and urine.
The dogs freely used the corners of the room for the latrine.
It was absolutely appalling. Caroline, overwhelmed and lonely, was clearly one of the only females in the entire castle and she was desperate for something fine and sweet and noble to remind her that such things did, indeed, still exist.
It had taken a long, hot bath and three servants to remove all of the blood and dirt from the battle.
Caroline herself helped bathe her; she was sweet and overeager to help, and Alixandrea let her.
Too soon the water grew tepid in the great copper tub and Caroline went in search of suitable garments since Alixandrea’s were still in the carriage that had not yet arrived.
Caroline reappeared with a soft blue robe, many layers of finely woven linen, and helped her new charge dry off and dress.
Truth be told, Alixandrea felt better than she had in weeks as she finally sat before the warming fire, running a bone comb through her long hair and allowing the heated air to dry it.
It was good to be in something that wasn’t rolling sickeningly over the road, and good to be in a place where she felt safe.
Caroline and the three servants continued to bustle in and out of the small chamber, sweeping out the dusty corners and making sure the linens and coverlet on the bed were moderately clean.
Since they had not known in advance of her arrival, they made haste to make her comfortable.
But she was already very comfortable and she finally put a stop to Caroline’s frantic hovering when the woman decided that the mattress needed new straw.
“Truly, Lady Caroline, there is no need,” she assured her. “The bed is fine. I will be most contented.”
Caroline, a pale beauty with flaming red hair, did not look at all convinced. “But this straw is old,” she insisted. “I do not even know when last it was changed. I would feel much better if we were to provide you with fresh stuffing.”
Alixandrea shook her head, a smile on her lips. “My lady, you have been far too kind already. I would be grateful if you would simply sit and talk to me. It has been a long time since I have conversed with a lady.”
Caroline’s green eyes brightened and she did as she was asked.
She was a tiny thing, quite a bit smaller than Alixandrea, and she took a seat upon a small three-legged stool that had been upended near the hearth.
She faced Alixandrea with her hands folded neatly in her lap, waiting anxiously for her guest to begin the conversation.
Alixandrea nearly laughed at her expectant expression.
“Tell me of yourself, Lady Caroline,” Alixandrea said. “How long have you been married to Sir Mark?”
She blinked her big green eyes in thought. “We were married nearly two years ago, my lady,” she said. “We met at the marketplace in Wandsworth, outside of London. My father is the Lord Mayor of Wandsworth.”
Alixandrea tugged at the comb that had become stuck on a tangle. “Was it love at first sight?”
Caroline’s pale cheeks pinkened. “Not quite,” she said. “My father had to convince him that taking me as his wife was a good idea. Mark did not want to marry at all.”
Alixandrea lifted an eyebrow. “That seems to be a Wellesbourne trait.”
Caroline grinned. “Not with Luke. He wants to marry very badly,” she said.
“Now, tell me; did you meet with the enemy on the road and Matthew rode to save you? He is quite a knight. I know this because every time my husband starts telling stories about his valor in battle, he sends me from the room.”
Alixandrea suppressed a smile. “He will not let you hear?”
“Nay. ’Tis too horrible for a lady’s ears, he says.”
And you believe that? Alixandrea did not say what she was thinking. “I met Sir Matthew and Sir Luke in a tavern at the edge of Newbold. We ran into each other, you could say.”
“You were at the Head O’Bucket?”
“You know the place?”
“Only because the men go there when they want to get away from Wellesbourne. They have told me that it is a lively place with interesting people.”
Alixandrea looked at her, aware that this woman may be slightly na?ve, and slightly simple minded. Not that she was slow; simply that she seemed to have a rather gullible view of the world.
“It was certainly a busy place,” she did not want to shatter the woman’s illusion. “Have you never been?”
Caroline shook her head. “Mark will not allow it. He says that it is no place for a lady.”
“He is correct. You are far too noble for a place like that.”
It was a compliment that flushed her cheeks even more. Caroline wasn’t sure how to respond; it did not occur to her to ask why Lady Alixandrea was at the place when it was allegedly too harsh for ladies. For lack of a better action, she stood up and took the comb from Alixandrea.
“Allow me, my lady,” she offered.
Her small, white hands worked their way through Alixandrea’s hair, expertly combing and fluttering the tresses so that the warm air dried them quickly.
Alixandrea had an abundance of hair, wavy strands that ended just below her buttocks.
Drying the mass would take a small eternity if not handled correctly.