Chapter Fourteen
London in August was filled with sticky heat, day and night. Alixandrea was not sleeping well these days, miserable with humidity she was not used to. She tossed and turned so much that she kept Matthew awake, and he was miserable enough with four cracked ribs from his bout with la Londe.
Never one to be selfish, however, he was more concerned with Alixandrea’s discomfort and had taken to rubbing her back when she could not sleep in the hope that it would relax her enough to doze.
The trick usually worked, but then he was left wide-awake staring at the ceiling, his mind working over the increasing movements of Henry Tudor.
He had met with the king several times a day over the past week, going over a surfeit of information that was sometimes clear, sometimes not. Even so, it all pointed to one thing; everything that Matthew had predicted seemed to be happening and the tension within Richard’s ranks was mounting.
It was early in the morning on the fourth day of August. Alixandrea had been up most of the night and was now sleeping soundly in the cool early dawn.
Matthew, however, was awake, his hand still on her back where he had left it after massaging her skin for what seemed like hours.
She was sticky to the touch, as the humidity from the river was heavy even in the early morning and it promised to be another sultry day.
He rose slowly, partially so as not to disturb her but also because he wasn’t able to move very quickly with his healing ribs. He removed his hand from her back carefully but could not resist touching her head in an affectionate gesture. She was so beautiful when she slept.
Quietly, he found his breeches and went into the sitting room, closing the bed chamber door softly behind him.
Mary Joan was already stoking the fire to warm some water for her lady’s morning toilette.
Matthew sent the woman for fruit and cheese as he walked over to one of the massive lancet windows that faced into the courtyard of the Tower.
There was little activity outside at this time of the morning, mostly wild creatures scrounging for a meal.
He gazed up at the blue sky, cloudless, thinking of his father.
He’d not heard from him since they had left Rosehill and he wondered on his health.
He was still standing at the window, gazing into the dawn, when someone knocked softly on the chamber door and, without prompting, entered.
Matthew turned around to see Gaston. He looked as if he hadn’t slept all night and Matthew sensed immediately that something was amiss.
“What is it?” he asked.
Gaston’s smoky eyes were shadowed. “Henry Tudor sailed from Harfleur two days ago,” he said.
“We just intercepted a message he sent to one of his supporters asking to meet him at Shrewsbury. As you predicted, he’s expected to make landfall in Wales in a few days.
Richard has ordered the army to Nottingham to anticipate his arrival. ”
“When do we leave?”
“Today. And Matt… he’s riding with us.”
Matthew’s eyebrows lifted. “The king is going Nottingham?”
“Indeed. It seems that he has determined that he will take command of the forces to repel Henry. He even intends to go into battle with us.”
Matthew looked at him a long moment before letting out an agitated hiss. “This only complicates matters, Gaston. The man is not a warrior.”
“But he is the king and by rights has command of his army.” The last exchange was strongly spoken between the two of them. Gaston finally shook his head. “We cannot stop him. He rides with us whether or not we like it.”
So it had come. The hammer had finally sounded. Matthew wasn’t surprised, but he must have looked in the direction of the bed chamber because Gaston’s next words to him were swift and quiet.
“Send her back to Wellesbourne immediately,” he said. “She must not stay here. ’Tis not safe. Norfolk was set upon this morning in the Deveraux Tower and barely escaped with his life. His wife was injured.”
Matthew cast him a long look. “Wellesbourne is not far from Nottingham. ’Twill be in the line of fire between Richard’s base and Henry’s army.”
“You have no choice. You cannot leave her here. Besides, Wellesbourne is well fortified and should not be of particular interest to Henry. Warwick to the north would be of more interest to him.”
Matthew sighed heavily, calming now that the reality of the day’s expectations were settling. Moreover, he knew that Gaston was correct, about most things. He was able to think more clearly.
“I knew this time would come,” he said softly. “My wife will be on her way to Rosehill before the morning is out. I will have my father and John take her home and stay there should the castle need defending.”
“Johnny will not want to go.”
“I know. But he will if I ask it of him.” He glanced up at his friend. “What of Mari-Elle and Trenton? Where will they go?”
“Back to France,” Gaston replied, trying not to think on how long it would be before he saw his son again. “They will be safe there.”
Matthew nodded in agreement. “Indeed.” He paused, seemingly prepared to say something further. He faltered twice before finally bringing forth the words. “Lady Mena is in London these days.”
Gaston wasn’t stupid; he’d known that all along although they had never spoken of it. He knew that Matthew would talk about it when he was ready. Gaston had been around those years ago when Matthew fancied himself in love with the petite auburn-haired lady.
“I have seen her,” Gaston said casually. “With a lovely blond girl child, too.”
Matthew looked at him, a thousand unspoken words between them. Although Matthew did not have to verbally acknowledge what they both knew, he did so anyway. “She looks a good deal like me, doesn’t she?” he said.
“A perfect image. Trenton is quite taken with her, by the way.”
“Keep your son away from her,” Matthew jabbed a finger at him. “I shall kill him, I swear it. And I do not care if he is only seven years old.”
Gaston just laughed. Matthew did, too, breaking the tension that had been so prevalent since Gaston’s arrival. It felt good to laugh, if only for a brief moment.
“I would like for you to arrange for Mena and Audrey’s travel back to Bath,” Matthew continued his original train of thought. “I do not want either of them in London at this time. ’Tis far safer for them at home.”
“It will be my pleasure. Anything else?”
“Have you told my brothers of Richard’s plans?”
“Nay. But we should, immediately.”
Matthew pushed himself off the windowsill and headed for the bed chamber. “Rouse my brothers and have them meet here in fifteen minutes,” he said. “For my part, I must break the news to my wife.”
“That could take longer than fifteen minutes.”
Matthew cocked an eyebrow at him, his hand on the door latch. “If you hear screaming, pay no attention,” he deadpanned.
Gaston smirked as he quit the room. Matthew took a deep breath before opening the door.
It was dark inside, the oilcloths hanging heavy over the windows.
He went to the bed where Alixandrea was still sleeping soundly.
He was loath to wake her but he had little choice if she was going to pack and leave the Tower by noon.
He sat down on the bed next to her and began stroking the bronze head gently. After the third or fourth stroke, she inhaled deeply and her eyes opened. Rolling onto her back, her sleepy gaze found Matthew.
He smiled at her. “Good morn.”
She smiled in return, stretching. “Good morn,” she sighed. “What time is it?”
“Time for you to get up and start packing,” he said. “You have a long day ahead of you.”
She looked at him curiously. Matthew decided in that moment he was going to make this discussion as easy as possible; no heavy emotions, no serious going-to-battle last words.
He would, of course, tell her everything he needed to say, but he would do it in a way that left her comforted rather than rattled. At least, it sounded good in theory.
“Why am I packing?” she asked. “Where am I going?”
He leaned over and kissed her. “The answer to both of those questions is Wellesbourne.”
“Wellesbourne?” she sat up, eyes wide. “Why are we going back home?”
He stood up and went to the wardrobe where some of her smaller capcases were stored.
“You are going back home with my father and Caroline,” he said. “As for me, it would seem that I am required to head up the welcome committee for Henry Tudor.”
Her expression darkened. “What does that mean, Matt?”
He took out a capcase and set it on the floor. “It means that Richard is moving his army to Nottingham today. Henry Tudor sailed from France two days ago and is expected in Wales in a matter of days. We must be there to greet him.”
Surprisingly, she did not break down. She sat there a moment, seemingly dumbfounded. Matthew continued to pull her cases out until there were none left.
“I will have the servants bring your larger cases out of storage,” he said as casually as if they were packing for a holiday. “Mary Joan and Ann can start packing immediately. I must have you out of the Tower before the army moves out.”
Instead of weeping, she simply seemed depressed.
Rising from bed with the linen sheet still wrapped around her, she padded over to where he stood and pressed herself against him.
Matthew wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight and fast. She was warm and sweet and soft, and the pangs of separation were already starting to bite at him.
Cupping her face, he kissed her hair, her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, and finally her mouth.
It was a long, sweet, tender kiss that rocked him to the core.
He began to wonder if he would be strong enough to see the day through.
Although war was his life, as he was born and bred to it, he’d never before had to leave behind someone he deeply loved.
This was an entirely new experience and not one he relished.