Chapter Sixteen #2
It was sundown and Alixandrea was still in the garden, still tending the shrubs. She had not come inside all day. When Caroline had tried to force her, she had actually shoved the woman away. Nothing anyone could do or say could convince her to leave the garden and come inside.
The old garden of Audrey Wellesbourne had become a sanctuary, a therapeutic environment in which to exorcise her demons.
Right now, that demon was Matthew’s whereabouts.
She could focus on nothing else. She had very nearly convinced herself that he had died on the field at Bosworth and now lay buried in a common grave with his brother.
Thinking of her strong, wise, sweet husband in a pauper’s grave nearly destroyed her.
He did not belong there. If John could not find him, she would not rest until she did.
As the sun set, she began working the ground with her hands.
A servant had brought more horse manure and she used her fingers to work it into the soil that surrounded some dormant bulbs.
It was smelly, dirty work, but she did not care.
She dug until her fingers bled and still, she dug.
At some point, the tears came. She wept deeply as she continued to till the soil, her tears mingling with Wellesbourne earth.
This was the place that had bred her husband.
It was odd that she felt close to him here, her hands in the dirt of the fortress that he loved.
To her right against the garden wall sat the grave of Audrey Wellesbourne.
Though the woman should have rightfully been buried in the chapel, Adam had chosen to bury her in the garden she had loved so well.
Tears blurring her vision, Alixandrea looked over to the grave with the carved stone marker.
If she could not find Matthew’s body, it was the closest thing she would ever have to his grave, the woman who had given birth to him.
On her hands and knees she crawled to the plot and lay atop it.
The sun went down as she lay against the cold earth and cried.
She did not care that Caroline was standing near the garden gate, weeping softly at the sight.
She’d come to bring Alixandrea some warm broth but stopped when she saw what had happened.
She did not know what to do, or how she could give the woman comfort in a time like this.
Alixandrea was distraught and surely no one could bring her comfort but the appearance of Matthew himself.
Somewhere in the dark, a sentry shouted from the wall.
Caroline heard the commotion but was too consumed with Alixandrea’s grief to care.
The gates rolled open on their great chains and the activity of the soldiers picked up somewhat.
Because Caroline was tucked back behind the keep and away from the gates, she had no idea that the Wellesbourne army was finally returning.
It was the moment they had all waited for with great anticipation and, sadly, no one was aware of it.
Caroline had no idea her husband had come home until she saw him some time later, standing at the gate that led into the kitchen yards.
Mark looked worn and beaten, but he was alive.
Caroline caught sight of him, thought she was seeing a ghost, and dropped the broth in her hand.
Mark smiled weakly and walked to his wife, standing before her and gazing into her eyes for a long moment.
Caroline stared back at him, words stuck in her throat.
She wanted to throw her arms around him but dare not do so. He was not the embracing type.
“Welcome home, husband,” she said. “I am pleased to see that you are well.”
Mark’s response was to lean over and kiss her on the cheek. Shocked, Caroline put her hand to her cheek where he had kissed her. Mark chuckled softly, wearily. “It is good to see you, also.”
Dazed, Caroline struggled to retain her senses. “Did… did you just arrive? I am sorry that I did not greet.…”
He shook his head to quiet her. “I am glad to find you here.”
Caroline suddenly remembered her sister-in-law, curled up on the ground. Her heart leapt. “Is Matthew with you?”
“No,” Mark said shortly. “And I caught Johnny just down the road. He has returned with me.”
“But he has gone to find Matthew and Luke.”
“No need. I know where they both are. I have brought Luke home with me for burial.”
“Thank God. And Matthew?”
Mark avoided answering her. “Where is Alixandrea?”
Caroline could only point to the garden. Mark’s eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness and he could see a figure lying on the ground amongst the carefully clipped bushes. Puzzled, and deeply concerned, he went to her.
“My lady,” he knelt beside her. “What is the matter? Are you ill?”
Alixandrea had not heard him enter. Shocked by his sudden appearance, she sat up, her hands instinctively grabbing at him as if to convince herself that he was not a ghost.
“Mark,” she gasped. “You are alive.”
He nodded. “Indeed,” he replied, noting even in the darkness that she had a wild look about her. “What are you doing on the ground? You should be inside where it is safe and warm.”
He was trying to pick her up but it was like trying to hold on to sand; she kept slipping through his fingers.
“Where is Matthew?” she begged.
Mark stopped trying to stand her on her feet; he looked at her, wondering if she was strong enough to understand what he had to say.
He’d ridden a very long way to tell her personally.
He drew a deep breath, ignoring the cold night around them, praying she would comprehend his words and the seriousness of them.
“My lady, I must tell you something and I pray that you will listen and take heed,” he said. “For whatever I have thought of you in the past, for whatever I may have said in jealousy and anger, I would ask for your forgiveness now.”
She looked at him, not genuinely comprehending what he was saying. “What have you done?”
“It does not matter now. All that matters is that I was wrong. About everything. And I am very thankful that my brother has married you.”
“Mark, where is he?”
Mark took another deep breath. “In London.”
Her entire face went alight. “He is alive?”
“Indeed.”
“Then why did he not send word to me?” she suddenly cried. “He promised that he would.”
She wasn’t particularly hysterical, merely distraught. Mark looked her in the eye. “I need for you to be strong, my lady. What I am about to tell you will require strength of will and character. I do not doubt that you have either of these. Can you do this?”
Something told her that an ominous bit of news was coming. It was more in his manner than in his words. She nodded, slowly. “I can. What has happened to my husband that he would not send me word?”
Mark’s jaw flexed; she could see it, even in the darkness. “Lovell told you what happened at the battle, did he not?”
“How do you know about Lovell’s missive?”
“Johnny told me.”
“Lovell said that the Wellesbournes fought for Henry.”
“And he was correct,” Mark said. “The reasons for our shift in fealty do not matter. Suffice it to say that it was a matter of honor more than you can comprehend, and we all agreed. But to Matthew, it was far more. He fought like I have never seen him fight, my lady. It was as if Gabriel himself had come out of Heaven to vanquish Richard. Matthew was magnificent. You would have been proud.”
She could see Matthew’s performance through Mark’s eyes. A weak smile lit her face. “I am proud,” she whispered. “Now you will tell me what has happened to him.”
She knows. Mark gazed back at her, wondering how he was going to tell her what he must. He felt so guilty for every hideous thought he’d ever had of her. The day she ran off from Rosehill, he should have gone after her. He could only thank God that Gaston had found her, righting his sin.
“One moment, he was fighting as if possessed,” Mark said, his voice quieting.
“He dropped several powerful knights with hardly an effort. I know this because he was near me and we were watching out for one another as we normally do. And then… then de Russe’s charger went down and de Russe with it.
Gaston was trapped beneath the wounded charger and vulnerable. Matthew saw the threat before I did.”
Her heart was thumping in her ears. “What threat?”
“La Londe heading for Gaston.”
Alixandrea’s eyes widened. “La Londe was at Bosworth?”
Mark nodded with bitter irony. “He was indeed. He was fighting for Henry amongst Richmond’s troops.
But when Gaston fell, la Londe went after him.
You are aware that there has been bad blood between them ever since Gaston emasculated him in the mêlée at Richard’s tournament.
We could see him moving towards Gaston, but I could not get to him in time.
But Matthew could; he was closer. Gaston was trying to get to his sword, hearing our shouts that la Londe was upon him.
I swear to you, my lady, it happened in the blink of an eye.
Before la Londe’s sword came down, Matthew threw his arm out to prevent la Londe’s strike from cutting off Gaston’s head.
That gift of time gave Gaston a chance to reclaim his sword.
Yet the damage had already been done. La Londe cut off Matt’s left hand before Gaston could raise his sword and cut off Dennis’ head. ”
The story abruptly ended there. Alixandrea gazed at Mark, digesting his words, coming to realize that somewhere in the middle of it, Matthew had lost a hand. For some reason, it did not have nearly the impact that it should have, that it clearly had on Mark. Her gaze grew steady.
“Is that why he did not send word to me?” she asked. “Because he lost his hand?”
Mark nodded. “He wanted to, every minute of every day. He was just unsure how to tell you. Then he decided that he must tell you in person, but the new king has kept him busy in London and he’s not had the opportunity to leave.
So he sent me to tell you that he is alive and more deeply in love with you than he has ever been.
And he said to tell you that he is sorry. ”
“Sorry for what?”
Mark shrugged. “On that, he was not clear. For perhaps not sending word sooner or for perhaps losing his hand; I do not know. But one thing is certain; Gaston would not be alive had Matthew not sacrificed his hand. It was the most selfless act of loyalty I have ever seen.”
A warm, fluid feeling swept her. It made her weak. “As I would expect nothing less from The White Lord,” she murmured. “Mark, is he somehow afraid that I will love him less without his hand?”
“He is diminished.”
“Nay, he is not. Matthew Wellesbourne is greater than he ever was.”
“Then he will need you to convince him of that. He did not want me to tell you about his hand; he will be arriving soon and would tell you himself. He merely wanted me to tell you that he was alive and well, but I knew when I arrived that I could not keep such news from you. Perhaps this way, it will be less of a shock.”
Alixandrea felt such relief, such comfort, that she very nearly collapsed. “Then if my husband will be home soon, I must make sure that Wellesbourne Castle is ready to receive The White Lord.”
Mark could only nod his concurrence. Alixandrea sat for a moment, pondering all of the news this day had brought her.
It occurred to her that it was cold and dark in Audrey’s little garden.
She rose with heavy assistance from Mark.
She was having difficulty standing, difficulty digesting the events of the day.
But one thing was certain; Matthew was alive and he was coming home.
If nothing else in her life had ever given her even a moment’s sweet joy, this one thought did.
Mark held on to her arm to steady her as they walked from the garden.
When they reached the gate, he even held out a hand for Caroline.
The petite red head took his arm, affectionately, as if the two of them had been doing it all of their lives.
He leaned over and kissed her once again, so very glad to see her.
The events of the last few weeks had made him re-think everything in life. He knew he had been wrong.
Mark had finally come home.