Chapter Thirteen #3
It was the fourth time they had made love that night. It had started just after supper and now continued well after midnight. Matthew was insatiable; she had been naked and in bed since sunset with his body over her or in her one way or another.
There was more than passion to his touch; there was wonder and excitement and an odd desperation.
Though she did not mention it to him, she could feel it.
Somehow, he was feeling pain and she thought she knew why.
When he flipped her over onto her stomach and took her a fifth time for the night, she simply surrendered.
He did not want to talk, he wanted to touch, and she would let him for as long as he needed to.
Somewhere during the night, they slept wrapped in each other’s arms. Alixandrea awoke to him making love to her again, and he took her twice as the sun rose.
By the time the dawn was upon them, she was exhausted but in a good way.
She thought to herself that she would need to sleep all day to recover from the active night.
He never let her out of his arms, his face buried in her neck. They were swathed in linens, burrowed warm and cozy in the heavy bed. She rolled over onto her left side, gazing at his dozing face. He looked so peaceful. His blue eyes finally opened and fixed on her.
“Good morning, Lady Wellesbourne,” he murmured.
“Good morning, my lord,” she smiled at him. A hand came up to touch his cheek, his brow, moving across his face. “You surely must be exhausted.”
He grinned, his eyes closing. “Not at all. I feel remarkable.”
“You have a tournament today.”
“Indeed I do. Are you planning on watching or will I have the shame of my wife in the lists with her hands over her eyes?”
She giggled. “I will watch, I promise.”
He pulled her close, kissing her until he grew hard again and his passion begged for release. He took her for an eighth and final time, listening to the birds outside the window as the day began to deepen.
Alixandrea lay in bed, spent, as he rose to relieve himself in the chamber pot.
There was a basin of cold water and a cake of soap on the vanity near the massive wardrobe; she studied his naked body as he made his way over to the water and proceeded to wash himself.
He had magnificent form; tight buttocks, muscular legs, a slender waist and wide shoulders.
Though she’d never before seen a naked man, she had very quickly learned to admire Matthew’s nude form and he wasn’t shy about parading around in it.
With a small bronze mirror and sharp edged razor, he shaved in the cold water, remarkably not cutting himself.
He did not care if the water was warm or not and did not want the interruption of a servant bearing hot water.
Properly cleaned and shaved, he faced his wife as she lay wrapped up in the linens. He smiled at her.
“Are you going to lie there all day?”
She stretched wearily. “I would if I could.”
He went over to the bed and smacked her lightly on the backside. “You cannot,” he said firmly. “The tourney is in two hours and I need you up and dressed.”
She sat up, her glorious bronze hair mussed and her delectable white shoulders revealed. He looked at her and groaned.
“God’s Bones,” he muttered. “Hurry up and get dressed before I am back in that bed with you.”
She grinned. “Are you saying that you have not had enough of me yet?”
“I will never have enough of you. Get up before I get you out of bed myself.”
She started to crawl out of bed, the linens still wrapped around her. “It is cold and I want a bath. I promise I shall make it fast.”
He found his leather breeches and pulled them on. “You’d better.” He went in search of his tunic. “I have to go over to the field but I shall return in time to escort you there. Can you be ready in an hour?”
“Hour and half.”
“Hour and fifteen minutes.”
“Very well.”
“Good girl.”
He found the tunic, pulled it on, and went for his boots.
He sat on the edge of the bed to pull them on and she crawled next to him, watching.
When he was done, he gazed at her as if beholding something more beautiful than anything man could have ever created in his mind.
He cupped her face gently, kissing her tenderly.
“I shall be back for you.”
He went to the door but she stopped him before he could leave.
“Matt?”
He paused. “Aye?”
“Please be careful today. I would have you safe and whole in my arms by evening’s end.”
He grinned. “I shall endeavor to do my best.”
“I do love you, husband.”
“And I love you.”
The door closed behind him. Alixandrea leapt out of bed, still wrapped in the linens, and rang for Mary Joan and Anne. Within fifteen minutes, she was in a hot tub and in danger of a vigorous scrub-down.
*
The day was brilliant for the tournament and the lists were jammed with nobility and peasants alike.
Banners waved in the breeze, snapping against the clear blue sky.
The southern end of the field was standing room only and it was packed with peasants that had not been able to get into the lists.
All along the outskirts of the field, people milled and vendors wandered through the crowd, selling mulled wine and other food items. It was already a busy, exciting day.
Alixandrea sat in the lists off to the left of the king’s box.
Clad in a pale blue silk surcoat with an undertone of green, she was accompanied by Audrey, Caroline and Mena.
Audrey sat between Alixandrea and her mother, chewing happily on spun sugar and pointing out all of the knights that she could see.
Some were cantering in around the field to warm up the horses, but most were stationed on the north edge of the field, preparing for their match.
Alixandrea had a clear view of Matthew and his brothers, gathered near the north entrance.
Every so often, he would look over at her and wave. She would wave back.
There would be twelve knights competing in the first round.
Since this was such a highly contested tournament, only the best of the best were competing.
Champions from Arundel, Somerset, Devon, Caernarfon, Leicester and other big houses were slated against one another.
Matthew rode for Thomas Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, while de Russe rode for Richard himself.
Even though Alixandrea hated tournaments, the excitement was catching.
Everyone seemed so happy and thrilled. This promised to be the biggest tournament of the year and the enthusiasm in the air was palpable.
But there were more houses competing that were well known Tudor loyalists.
When announcing the first rounds, Dennis la Londe was representing the Earl of Richmond, who happened to be Howard Terrington’s nearest neighbor and Tudor ally.
He was scheduled to ride against the Earl of Westmoreland’s champion, Sir Thomas de Norville.
The entire first round of matches were Tudor against Plantagenet, although Alixandrea did not know it at the time.
She would only find out later how tense those first rounds were for the participants. Everyone had something to prove.
When the horns sounded and the first match commenced, it took all of Alixandrea’s strength not to cover her eyes.
The crowd was screaming around her, thrilled at the spectacle of competition.
She could only sit there and feign interest. When the lances made contact, however, she closed her eyes so that she could not see if splinters put out an eye or severed an artery.
She hoped Matthew could not see that she was breaking her promise to watch the matches, but she suspected he knew.
After the first match ended in favor of Arundel, Lady de Russe arrived in the lists with a young, dark haired lad who was introduced as Trenton de Russe.
He seemed to be a very nice boy and paid particular interest to Audrey, who was a year older than he.
Lady de Russe was her usual snobbish self, with barely a pleasantry before she took her seat and found interest elsewhere.
As the second match took place, Alixandrea found herself interacting with Trenton and Audrey and paying little attention to the sport. She rather liked talking to the children, and anything was better than watching men trying to gore one another.
By the third round, someone got hurt. Robert Montgomery, champion of the Earl of Somerset, took a splintered lance to the shoulder and had to be carried off the field.
The fourth round was Dennis la Londe against de Norville and he hit the knight so hard on the head that his helm flew off into the crowd.
Knocked unconscious, de Norville was also carried off the field. The next round was Matthew’s.
He entered the north end of the field astride his big gray charger, adjusting the strap that stabilized the lance against his arm. His opponent was the Earl of Wrexham’s son, Andrew St. Héver, Viscount Tenbury.
The young Viscount, quite full of himself, entered onto the field with glorious banners cascading from his charger, working the crowd into a frenzy.
He believed himself quite the hero until Richard’s own herald announced Matthew.
Then, the crowd burst into a deafening roar, drowning out any illusions of popularity the young Viscount might have entertained.