Chapter Seven #4
Alixandrea had been sitting quietly, listening to all that was said.
She was trying to be as detached as possible, knowing that Strode and Jezebel had been in some sort of plot against her and Matthew, but the fact remained that she had known these people for many years.
She had trusted them without question and her affections were still attached.
She must have sighed and not realized it, for Matthew suddenly spoke to her. “Did you have something to say, my lady?” he asked.
She looked up from where she had been fidgeting with her hands in her lap, only to see that everyone was looking at her.
She shook her head. Then, she nodded. “I know what Sir John heard and I know what you explained to me, and I further was witness to Jezebel’s actions in the gallery, but I must say that I am having a difficult time understanding that my servants would plot against me. ”
“It is not against you,” Matthew said quietly. “It is against me and against Wellesbourne.”
“Even so, I cannot truly believe they would do this,” she said, more insistently. “I want so badly to talk to Strode to have him explain what John heard. Perhaps it wasn’t what he thought at all. Perhaps there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this.”
“Then send for him.”
De Russe’s voice was a growl. They all looked at him. When he noticed their attention, he recollected his wine cup and poured himself another drink. “Send for the man. Let us question him here, in front of everyone, and make sense out of this.”
Matthew’s gaze lingered on Gaston a moment before casting a nod in John’s direction. “Go tell Strode that my lady wishes to speak to him. He’s probably out in the stables with the lame horse.”
John quit the solar. Alixandrea sat there, looking at the faces in the room, wondering if some of them did not distrust her, too. The situation looked so suspicious that she could not blame them.
“What do you know about this, my lady?”
Gaston must have been reading her mind. She gazed steadily at him, strangely no longer afraid of him.
“Only what Matthew has told me, my lord,” she said. “My servants have been loyal and dedicated to me, never indicative of something dark and sinister behind them. Perhaps that is why I am having such a difficult time grasping this.”
“So you knew nothing about your uncle’s shift in loyalties?”
“Politics has never been of interest to me. But to answer your question, I knew nothing. Perhaps because I am not the suspicious type, but upon reflection, there are things that I now question.”
“Like what?”
“His unexplained trips,” she searched her memory carefully.
“Visitors in and out of Whitewell at strange hours, people I did not know. He would simply tell me they were travelers, but when they stayed at Whitewell, I never saw them and they always seemed to leave in the dead of night. I suppose if I was the mistrustful kind, those things would lead me to believe that my uncle was up to something.”
Gaston gazed at her a moment longer as if his mere attention would force her into confessing.
Out of respect for Matthew, however, he would not push the subject.
It was obvious that Wellesbourne was smitten with her.
Perhaps he would believe whatever she told him, but not de Russe.
He was different. He had never trusted women and had never gotten along with them, so feminine wiles did not work with him.
Alixandrea met his gaze until he looked away to refill his cup.
He did not believe her; that much was clear.
She would have been deeply insulted had she not had the prudence to realize that these men’s lives depended upon whom they could trust and whom they could not.
These men in the room were closer to the king than most, the core of Richard’s defenses against Henry Tudor.
And she had brought the rebellion right into their midst.
Before she could wallow in guilt, John reappeared with Strode. The young manservant from Whitewell appeared unruffled as he entered the solar, even after he saw all of the knights in the room. He focused curiously on Alixandrea.
“My lady,” he said. “You have sent for me?”
Before she could answer, Matthew put a hand on her shoulder to silence her and to indicate that he would do the talking. He took a step forward, placing himself between the lady and the servant. It was a protective gesture, one not missed by de Russe.
“Tell me of your orders from Terrington,” Matthew said with a hint of hazard in his tone. “I understand that he instructed you to do something once the lady and I were married.”
Strode’s blue eyes flickered. His gaze moved between Alixandrea and Matthew. “My orders were to deliver the lady to Wellesbourne, my lord.”
“And then what?”
“I do not understand, my lord.”
From the corner, silent John suddenly found his mouth. “I heard you say that you were to kill my brother when he wed the lady. I heard you say that you would give the order and the men from Whitewell would attack!”
Strode’s expression morphed queerly. He had been initially startled by the outburst, just as quickly put on guard by the contents.
“Who told you such thing?” he said. “I would not.…”
“Your accomplice, the maid, is in the vault and has admitted all,” Matthew told him.
“We know what your orders are. She told us of your directive to kill me and to unleash your army within my ranks. My brother also heard you tell the maid of your plans. You may as well confess and I may be merciful.”
The veins on Strode’s temples bulged as he struggled for composure. “I do not know what that simple minded woman has told you, but I am not a traitor. I would never.…”
He never got the chance to finish. Matthew’s massive hand shot out, grabbing him around the throat. Strode struggled against him, but it was of no use. Matthew was twice his size, twice as strong, and many times more deadly.
Alixandrea could not bear to watch; she lowered her head, closing her eyes from the vision of Strode’s purple face.
“Lies will not be tolerated,” Matthew growled. “Confess the truth and we will show mercy. Continue along this path of fabrication and your death with be a slow and painful one.”
“I did not…!”
Matthew’s grip tightened. More struggling went on as Strode’s life began to slip away.
His face went from purple to blue. He was coming to lose consciousness.
Not one man in the room seemed uncomfortable, but Alixandrea was nearly sick.
She could hear him gasping. As the sounds of strained breathing filled the room, Matthew suddenly let go of Strode long enough to clobber him on the side of the head with a massive fist. Strode staggered against the wall.
“You have been ordered to unleash a sleeper army within these walls,” Matthew rumbled. “Confess and I may show mercy.”
Strode put up his hands to fight back, but it was like watching a lamb against a lion.
He had no chance at all. Matthew reached down, grabbed him by the shoulders, and literally tossed him to the middle of the floor.
He bore down on Strode before the man could crawl away, grabbing him around an ankle and hurling him against a wall.
“Tell me what I wish to know and I will cease your agony,” he told him as he grabbed him by the arms. “What were your orders from Terrington?”
He paused long enough to give the man the chance to reply but when it was obvious that he refused to speak, Matthew threw him into a chair.
The furniture collapsed under the force.
Mark and Luke, who happened to be standing nearby, simply took a casual step away as if there was nothing to be concerned over.
Matthew reached down, this time grabbing Strode by the hair.
Pulling his bloodied head up, he looked him in the eye.
“Next time, I shall toss you through the window.”
There was no doubt that he meant what he said, and they were two stories up. Strode struggled weakly against Matthew as the man heaved him toward the long lancet window. When he realized he was about to end up twenty feet on the ground below, he let out a cry.
“As you… say!” he croaked.
Matthew immediately dropped his hand. Strode fell to the floor, a horrible rasping coming from his throat. He rubbed his neck, looking up at Matthew, at Alixandrea. Her eyes were still tightly closed, her face turned away. Instead of fear, his expression was full of surrender.
“It does not matter now if you know or not,” he said, his voice hoarse. “My life is at an end in any case.”
“Tell me of your orders.”
He took a couple of deep breaths before answering. “To… to kill you after you wed the lady. Then, as the church bells rang in celebration of the wedding, my men were to attack Wellesbourne from within in hopes of gaining control of the castle.”
“Is that all?”
“That is everything. I was to hold the castle until reinforcements arrived.”
“Who were the reinforcements?”
“That was not made clear to me, my lord. I was only told to hold the fortress.”
It was just as John had said, plain and without misunderstanding. Meanwhile, Alixandrea had opened her eyes when she realized that he was no longer being thrashed to death.
“Why have you done this?” she asked, almost painfully. “What have I done that you would try to harm me in such a way?”
He shook his head, hand still on his swollen neck. “This has nothing to do with you. Your uncle gave me orders. It is my duty to carry them out.”
“It is your duty to kill my husband?”
Strode wiped the blood trickling out of his mouth. “It is my duty to serve your uncle.”
“And who does he serve?” Matthew asked.
Strode knew better than to lie. “Henry Tudor.”
If there had been any doubt lingering in her mind about the truth of Strode’s involvement, it was dashed in that moment. “I trusted you,” she whispered, her anguish evident. “You were like family to me. How could you do this?”
Strode did not have an answer. It was apparent that he wasn’t particularly spiteful or hostile towards her; he was simply doing as he was told.
Mark picked him up roughly, shoving him at Luke with the order to take him to the vault.
Patrick de Russe followed Luke and the prisoner from the solar, leaving a somber group behind.
De Russe was nursing his wine while the others stood around, not knowing what to say. It was clear what had happened, and even more clear what needed to happen. Matthew leaned down next to his wife, taking her hand gently.
“Perhaps you would like to go and rest now,” he said softly.
She was shaken but not senseless. She felt more anger than anything. But she appreciated his kindness, marveling that the hands that so tenderly held her could have been so brutal against Strode.
“I… I still need to collect my cases for London,” she tried to focus on something else, anything but what she had just witnessed. “Perhaps you can send a few servants to carry them down. Strode usually.…”
She trailed off, rolling her eyes as she realized that Strode would no longer help her with anything. She put her hand on his arm.
“What are you going to do with him? And with Jezebel?”
He patted her hand, leading her towards the door. “I am going to send them back to your uncle with a message.”
“What message?”
“That is for me to determine.” He pushed the door open for her, the stairs to the third floor a few feet away. “Go and rest now, love. I shall be up shortly.”
She did not argue. Her mind was rather full of things at the moment and she needed time to reflect. The moment she set foot in the foyer, the dogs in the hall came rushing towards her, encircling her with their happy, hairy wagging.
Matthew watched with a grin on his face; he’d not given much notice as to how much the dogs liked her, but he was starting to.
And she was becoming more accustomed to them; at least she wasn’t kicking them away as she’d done in the past. She even reached down to gingerly pet the giant wolfhound on the top of the head.
Tongues began licking at her and she pulled back.
As she ascended the stairs, the wriggling pack followed.
When Matthew went to her chamber an hour later to see how she was faring, he found seven dogs sleeping contentedly outside of her door.