Chapter Five
The stables were dark, smelling of hay and urine. The horses shifted about restlessly as evening approached, sensing their meal was about to be delivered by the cowering stable boys who lived in fear of the massive war beasts.
They had to unmuzzle the animals in order to feed them, which could be something of an adventure. A couple of the boys had met with misfortune at the teeth of the chargers; one lad was even missing a finger. As the sounds and smells of evening descended, the stables were increasingly restless.
Strode was in the stable, tucked back in a far corner away from the entrance.
He was tending to one of the matched set of carriage horses from Whitewell that had come up lame.
The fetlock was swollen and tender and he was having a difficult time reducing the swelling.
It was an expensive horse and he did not relish the thought of putting it down should it come to that.
But a lame horse was of no service to anyone.
It would be killed to provide food for the dogs if he could not heal it.
As dusk approached, he changed out the dressing for the eighth time since sunrise.
The horse master had been kind enough to supply him with a soda mixture to include in the compresses, a blend designed to draw out the excess fluid.
It was a useful concoction, but messy. It was all over his hands as he secured the compress.
Just as he finished, a shadow behind him caught his attention.
Startled, he turned to see Jezebel standing just to the rear of the horse. Strode let out a long hiss.
“Woman,” he growled. “Do not sneak up on me like that. I am bound to cut your throat before I know ’tis you.”
Jezebel fiddled with her apron. “Sorry,” she said. “I came to tell ye about m’lady’s wedding.”
“Well?”
“Tonight at Vespers.”
His eyebrows lifted in a menacing manner. “That ’tis an hour away, at most. And you are just coming to tell me now?”
Jezebel had known Strode for a few years, having been his lover for the past two.
He was a powerful man in the House of Terrington and she would do most anything for him, including betray the confidence of a lady who had been most kind to her.
But she did not think of it that way; she could not see beyond her need to please Strode.
Whatever he asked, she would do. Whatever he wanted, she would comply.
“I have been helping m’lady.” She heard the threat in his tone and took a step back. “This is the first chance I have had to come tell ye.”
Strode was on his feet. Grabbing her by the hair, he slapped her a couple of times. It was a brutal, sharp sound that echoed off the walls of the stable, startling the horses. Jezebel whimpered.
“Stupid cow,” he rumbled. “You know what this means. You know what I have to do. I told you how important this was, but still, you fail me?”
She cowered from him, weeping. “I know,” she sobbed. “But this is the first chance I have had. M’lady needed me and I could not get away.”
He still had her by the hair, pulling the faded brown strands.
He had a wild look to his eye. “I must get to the men,” he muttered.
“Key soldiers, those in command of the rest. They must be prepared to strike at the very moment the church bells peal. It will be their signal to erupt from within. And then, we shall have such chaos…”
He let go of her hair as he trailed off. Jezebel rubbed her face where he had struck her. “What are you going to do?”
Strode’s initial sense of panic at the thought of his orders coming to fruition so quickly died into a slow burn.
He calmed himself; he was a good soldier and used to quick decision making.
That is why Lord Terrington put him in command.
He would not fail at this most important task no matter the wench’s incompetence.
It would not cost him his glorious showing.
“Go back to the lady,” he told her. “I will do what needs to be done.”
Jezebel was still rubbing her face. “Are ye going to be in the church?”
“My direct orders are to kill The White Lord; therefore, I must be in the church. As the lady’s attendant, it is my right and no one will be the wiser to my purpose unless you open your trap and levy suspicion against me.”
“I shall not say a word.”
“You’d better not.” He glared at her. “What about Lady Alixandrea? Have you spilled anything to her? The two of you do an awful lot of chattering.”
“I have never said a word. She knows nothing.”
He continued to glare at her as if trying to intimidate her into changing her story. But the woman stood firm. “Well and good for you, then. Traitors are dealt with in such ways and I’d have no hesitation in slitting your skinny throat.”
Jezebel knew he spoke the truth. She thought she was being clever in hiding her fear, but she wasn’t. He could read it in her eyes. “Ye won’t hurt m’lady, will ye?” she asked timidly. “She doesn’t deserve to be hurt. She hasn’t done anything.”
He snorted. “Foolish woman. I would sooner kill myself than harm a hair on her head. But she must stay out of my way when I move on Wellesbourne. I will not have time to pick and choose my targets.”
Jezebel’s weeping had faded. She wasn’t particularly comforted by his declaration not to hurt the lady, but then again, she was a single-focused creature.
All she knew was that she had completed her task as Strode had asked of her when he had pulled her deep into the circle of intrigue that seemed to flow throughout Whitewell like a disease.
You will tell me when this wedding is to happen so that we may confiscate Wellesbourne Castle in the name of Henry.
Everything about Whitewell stank of hatred against Richard, of the fall of the Red Rose.
Aye, she had completed her task. Her reward was marriage to Strode, an elevation of her station.
All would look more favorably upon her now. She had done what he had asked.
Hand still to her red-welted face, she slipped past him.
Strode watched her disappear into the approaching dusk, a waif of a thing that did not matter much to him.
She could die tomorrow and he would not be heartbroken.
But for the moment, she served a purpose.
And that purpose was to feed him information.
He left the stables in her wake, heading for the Whitewell troops housed in temporary quarters just inside the main gate.
The stable was left still and silent but for the snorting of a horse now and again.
They were becoming increasingly impatient for their evening meal.
In the growing darkness, a head suddenly popped up in one of the stalls that housed a big blond charger.
It was difficult to make out who it was until the shape came from behind the horse and stepped out into the fading light.
Straw stuck out from the figure’s pale blond head, the blue eyes reflecting shock in the twilight.
John Wellesbourne had heard everything.
*
Her wedding dress had been her mother’s.
It was a white confection of silk and linen, woven with strands of real silver thread.
Across her midsection was an elaborately embroidered belt of crystals and silver beads, absolutely gorgeous and glistening.
The neckline was off the shoulder, the sleeves long, emphasizing her slender neck and shapely torso.
Jezebel had pinned her hair up with silver pins and had braided strips of white ribbon into the bronze curls.
If ever Alixandrea had looked like an angel, today was the day.
As the sun set, the hour of Vespers quickly approached and she sat in taut anticipation of the evening’s events.
The arrangements were made, the hall readied, and there was naught else to do but wait.
Under her earlier supervision, and with Caroline standing silently by, the great hall had been transformed from a smelly room of dogs and dirt into a warm place with fresh rushes and a blazing fire.
Although it still smelled of dogs and probably would until the floors had been washed a few times, she was moderately satisfied with its current state.
It had taken a small army of house servants to achieve it, some of whom now had a permanent job in keeping the floors of the great hall clean.
Alixandrea wasn’t a heavy-handed chatelaine; she preferred to accomplish her needs through positive encouragement and kind directives.
At least for the moment, it seemed to be working.
The dogs who populated the hall were another problem altogether.
Seven in all and a litter of pups, and they seemed to like Alixandrea a good deal.
The moment she walked into the room, they were on her and continued to follow her around as if she held all the answers to their doggie dreams. She had resorted to tricking them to go outside into the kitchen yard; when they followed her from the hall and out into the yard, she dashed back inside the keep and slammed the heavy oak door.
She heard them whimpering outside but that was of no matter; dogs belonged outside, in her opinion, and outside they were going to stay.
It had been an interesting afternoon to say the least. She felt that she was becoming moderately acquainted with the four story keep and she also felt that she was settling comfortably into her position at Wellesbourne.
Caroline had been company all afternoon, following her around more than actually helping.
Alixandrea could see what Matthew had suggested of the woman; she wasn’t particularly strong willed, and she definitely was not a leader.
She was rather meek, a little flighty, and a sweet simpleton as Alixandrea had observed earlier.
There was no way this woman could stand up against five grown men and a castle full of soldiers.