Chapter Twelve #4
John nodded. “There are many prominent people here,” he pointed off to the right. “There is Lord Grey. He’s from Northumbria, a kin to the Percys. He’s a very powerful man. And there’s Arundel off to his right.”
Alixandrea’s head bobbed and weaved as she attempted to get a good look at the small, fat Lord Grey and subsequently the short and red-haired Earl of Arundel. John suddenly jabbed his finger in front of him, across the table.
“There’s Sir John Tomalyn,” he said. “He’s a ferocious supporter of the crown. He spends most of his time with Robin of Riddesdale, but I do not see him yet.”
Alixandrea had heard these names for most of her life.
But fostering at Pickering and then sequestered at Whitewell had not given her the opportunity to experience anything other than short stories and tales of valor of these men.
To her, they were faceless individuals. Now, the reality was materializing right in front of her and it was exciting.
“My lady,” John’s voice was suddenly low. “Don’t look now, but I think we have a visitor.”
She had no idea what he meant until she caught him rolling his eyes, directing her to look behind her.
Slowly, she turned, wondering what on earth he could mean.
She soon found herself gazing down at a skinny gray dog, sitting against the wall behind her.
The moment she looked at the beast, its tail began thumping timidly against the floor.
Big dog eyes glistened pitifully at her.
“God’s Bones,” she breathed, as if just suffering a great relief. “I thought it was something awful.”
“It is awful. It is a dog and, as I recall, you do not like them.”
She pursed her lips, passing the mutt another glance. “That may be true, but they certainly seem to like me. I could not seem to be rid of them at Wellesbourne. And now, with all of the people in the hall as targets, this dog picks me to harass.”
John was grinning. “The dogs at Wellesbourne must be missing you horribly.”
She simply shook her head, turned away from the dog, and reclaimed her chalice. She was about to take a sip when a voice from across the table caught her attention.
“Your garment is lovely, Lady Wellesbourne,” it was a low female tone that addressed her. “Wherever did you get it?”
Alixandrea looked up into the tight face of Lady de Russe. “Thank you for your kind question, my lady,” she replied steadily. “The fabric was purchased in Leeds and my maid sewed the gown.”
Lady de Russe’s dark eyes roved the surcoat appraisingly. There was a haughty manner about the woman. “Leeds, you say?”
“Indeed.”
“I would have thought Paris.”
“Nay, my lady.”
With one last look, she turned her head as she spoke. “Stunning.”
Alixandrea bobbed her head. “Your approval is most flattering.”
That was apparently all Lady de Russe intended to discuss.
She turned back to her wine, her dark eyes finding interest in everything other than the table she sat at.
Alixandrea watched her profile for a moment, wondering how such a beautiful woman could be so frosty.
It was clear that she had no use for anyone at the table, especially her husband, which Alixandrea found strange considering Gaston was extraordinarily attractive.
She, too, turned back to her wine only to notice that the skinny gray dog was now seated at her elbow.
She looked down at the beast and shook her head.
“See there,” Luke suddenly hissed, leaning into John and practically shoving him over onto Alixandrea. Luke was pointing at something he very much wanted the others to see. “Dennis la Londe. Do you see him over there?”
Alixandrea had no idea who Luke was speaking of, but she obediently turned in the direction he was indicating.
There were several people standing around, lords in their fine silks and a few fighting men who had not bothered to change from their armor as Matthew had done.
In the midst of the group, she spied a large blond man whom she recognized.
“Which one is he?” she asked Luke.
Luke was not being very discreet as he pointed. “The big brute in armor. Blond hair. See him? He is a French mercenary with a bloodlust for English knights and a want to become powerfully rich. Rumor has it that he serves Henry Tudor directly.”
Alixandrea realized they were speaking of the man that she recognized. “I know that man,” she said. “His name is Phillip of Ypres. He has visited my uncle on occasion.”
Luke and John looked at her as if she had lost her mind. John actually looked frightened. “Are you certain?” Luke asked.
“Of course.”
“And he called himself Phillip?”
“Aye. Who is Dennis la Londe?”
Luke reached around her and tapped Matthew on the shoulder. Annoyed that his conversation with Gaston should be interrupted, Matthew gave his brothers an impatient glare.
“In a moment,” he told them.
“Nay, brother, now,” Luke said, firmly enough that Gaston’s attention was upon them too. He pointed over at the group with Dennis in it. “The big knight in the middle of that group. Who is that?”
Matthew looked over, as did Gaston. When Matthew spied the object of their attention, his eyes narrowed dramatically. “You know who that is.”
“I do indeed. But your wife seems to think it is someone else.”
Matthew’s attention riveted to her. “Do you know him?”
Alixandrea was actually intimidated by his tone. She had no idea what could possibly be wrong. “That is a knight who has visited my uncle on occasion. His name is Phillip of Ypres.”
Matthew stared at her. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. I have dined with him once.”
Matthew did not reply for a moment. He looked at his brothers, then finally at Gaston. “I thought you got rid of him,” Matthew said to him.
Gaston’s smoky eyes were steady, deadly. “I could not locate him. This is the first I have seen him.”
Studying the expressions around the table, it was not difficult to discern what they were all thinking. If there had ever been any lingering doubt about Lord Ryesdale’s change in loyalties, then it had just been irrevocably proven.
Dennis la Londe was Henry’s loyalist to the core. Even so, Matthew could tell that Alixandrea truly had no idea about the man; she gazed up at her husband, wide-eyed, waiting. Under the table, he took her hand.
“That man,” he began,” is Sir Dennis la Londe. He is a mercenary knight, one of the most vicious men I have ever come across. He serves Henry Tudor, presumably because of the rewards Henry has promised him should he ever assume the throne. He is powerful, skilled, and extremely deadly.”
Alixandrea looked back over at Dennis; the man was speaking seriously with a short man in ruby silks. She shrugged weakly. “If that is true, then I am at a loss for words,” she said after a moment. “I truly had no idea.”
“Did you have much contact with him?” Matthew asked, more gently.
She shook her head. “Nay. I have really only seen him twice and spoke to him briefly on both occasions. He seemed typical enough. He certainly never came across as a deadly mercenary.”
“Because he is brilliant that way,” Matthew said. “I will be honest when I say that I respect the man’s abilities as a warrior and knight almost as much as I respect Gaston’s. There are few peers at our level of expertise and Dennis is one of them.”
Alixandrea looked away from Dennis, gazing up at her husband with an expression that caused him to feel inherent pity for her.
“I feel so foolish,” she said quietly. “You have pointed out many men that are loyal to Henry Tudor whom I have seen within the walls of Whitewell. Had I only been more aware, more worldly, perhaps I would have known what my uncle was planning before I came to Wellesbourne and unknowingly attempted to bring ruin upon you. I swear, Matthew, I would have never come had I known.”
He smiled at her, his blue eyes glimmering. “And I would have never had the joy of knowing you. Thank God you were not more aware.”
She returned his smile, though there was little joy in it. “I am serious,” she murmured, squeezing his fingers under the table. “I feel terrible about this.”
He brought her hand up and kissed it, his gaze moving back to the room. “No need, love. ’Tis not your fault.”
He continued to hold her hand as he resumed his conversation with Gaston.
Meanwhile, King Richard made his grand entrance and worked the room as the pope would have worked an adoring congregation.
Though Richard tended to be a suspicious and reclusive monarch, apparently this night he felt comfortable enough with the legions of armed men surrounding him to welcome his guests.
Both Matthew and Gaston noted that he seemed to be in a particularly good mood.
They rose when the king approached the dais and went over to him as he took his seat.
There was no mistaking the message that The White Lord of Wellesbourne and The Dark Knight were sending to the rest of the room; the king’s greatest warriors were indeed present and they would tolerate nothing out of the ordinary this night. It was a show of force.
As the food was brought forth, it occurred to Alixandrea that Mark and Caroline were apparently not going to join them for the feast. She was lonely in that she did not have Caroline to talk to, for the only other female at the table, Lady de Russe, had left the table and disappeared into the crowd.
John and Luke were playing some sort of game beside her and punching one another intermittently, and Matthew was busy with Gaston. There was no one for her to talk to.