Chapter Seven
Wellesbourne Castle
Warwickshire
Wellesbourne Castle looked like a castle of legend.
Sitting on a plain and surrounded by not only a moat, but great earthworks rising up all around it in an outer ring, the white-stoned structure looked as if it were simply rising out of the ground, dominating everything within its realm.
It was quite large and could be seen for miles.
As soon as Trenton spied the bastion in the distance as the sun rapidly set to the west, he sent a messenger riding for Wellesbourne so they knew of their approach.
In truth, he was surprised they’d made such good time considering what had gone on that day with Brencis and Cynethryn and their ponies.
It had been quite the circus.
It all started before dawn when both girls were awake and dressed, ready and waiting for him when he was prepared to head to the livery.
Lysabel was awake, too, appearing tired, clearly not having gotten much sleep with the continued snoring and kicking throughout the night.
But Trenton took all three of them over to the livery where the horses were already being prepared, including the two ponies.
In truth, Trenton had expected the girls to want to ride their new ponies and he was prepared.
Markus had been informed of the addition to their party and he was assigned to watch over Cynethryn while Trenton took Brencis.
It wasn’t ideal for the only two knights in the party to be distracted with girls on ponies, but there was no way to keep them off the animals and he didn’t want to trust their safety to anyone else, so he shared the duty with Markus.
They set out on the road north on a warm summer dawn, and both ponies kept up with the escort rather well until about an hour later, when they both started showing distinct signs of fatigue.
Given that the ponies hadn’t been ridden much, their tolerance hadn’t been built up, and two hours into the ride, Trenton and Lysabel had to convince the girls to stop riding the ponies.
Trenton wasn’t honestly sure that Honey, Cynethryn’s pony, wasn’t going to drop dead of exhaustion.
In fact, Trenton ordered both of the ponies heaved up into the wagon, where they both quickly laid down as Brencis and Cynethryn tended to their new pets.
But the addition of almost nine hundred pounds of animal greatly fatigued not only the wagon itself, but the wheels and the horses pulling it.
That slowed their travel down considerably until midday, when Trenton had both ponies removed and simply tied them up to the rear of the wagon so they could walk.
Rested, the ponies did well after that, and laying on their bellies and facing the rear of the wagon, Brencis and Cynethryn watched their prized possessions the entire trip to Wellesbourne.
And that had been the fuss and trouble that constituted their second and final day of travel.
The sun was nearly set when the party approached the outer ring of earthworks surrounding Wellesbourne Castle and men with torches were riding out to meet them.
Trenton had been away from Wellesbourne for several years, but not long enough that he didn’t recognize Matthew Wellesbourne when he saw the man.
Astride a muscular dappled warhorse, Matthew looked ageless and strong.
But he didn’t see Trenton as he headed straight for the wagon carrying his daughter and granddaughters.
There was a good deal of squealing and hugging going on back in the wagon.
Trenton could hear Lysabel’s voice and he could also hear Matthew’s surprised tone.
There was much joy in their reunion. As they approached the moat with the gatehouse beyond, Trenton heard his name from Lysabel and, suddenly, Matthew was riding in his direction.
“Trenton!” he gasped, reaching out to nudge his arm. “God’s Bones, is it really you?”
Trenton had his visor up, smiling wearily at his father’s best friend, a man he’d known his entire life.
Matthew Wellesbourne, Earl of Hereford and Baron Ettington, was something of a legend.
He was a ruggedly handsome man with curly blond hair, now almost completely white, that he kept shorn close to his scalp.
He had enormous blue eyes, a square jaw, and an expression that suggested there was an inherent gentleness inside of him.
Given the fierceness of his reputation, that gentle expression was a ruse.
The man was positively deadly, as decades of warfare had proved.
“It is me, my lord,” Trenton said, a smile playing on his lips. “It has been a very long time. I hope you have been well.”
Matthew nodded. “Well enough,” he said. “And you?”
“Very well, my lord.”
Matthew smiled at him. He had an easy smile and an easy manner about him, something that made him very endearing to his men and allies alike, hence the “White Lord” moniker.
He was the benevolent lord in all things, but once crossed, he became a viper.
Trenton had always admired that about the man, how he could be so kind and generous one moment and then, as swiftly as a flame doused, could slit a man’s throat with great ease.
But it wasn’t that he was unpredictable; in fact, he was quite predictable.
He was simply a man of many talents.
And he loved Trenton to a fault. Riding alongside, Matthew reached out and placed the forearm of his left arm on Trenton’s shoulder.
It could only be his forearm because years ago at the Battle of Bosworth, where England’s history had been decided, Matthew had lost his left hand saving Gaston’s life.
It was a selfless act that had bonded the men deeper than brothers.
Therefore, whenever Trenton saw Matthew’s missing hand, he was reminded of the sacrifice.
Matthew’s hand for Gaston’s life. It was a brotherhood that Trenton could well understand because he felt the same way about Dane, who was really only his brother through marriage, but it didn’t matter.
They were blood brothers as far as he was concerned, and he would gladly sacrifice a hand or any other part of his body simply so that Dane could live.
“You are looking more and more like your father,” Matthew said, breaking Trenton from his train of thought. “How is life in London with Henry?”
That same question out of his own father’s mouth would have not sounded so pleasant or so neutral, so Trenton appreciated that.
He wasn’t sure what Matthew thought of what he did for Henry but, true to form, Matthew wouldn’t let his personal opinions cloud his tone or his judgment. He tended to be fair in all things.
Even so, it was a question with many answers, not the least of which was why Trenton was at Wellesbourne, leading Lysabel’s escort.
Given that they were going to be discussing that subject very soon, Trenton sought to get it out of the way so that Matthew could at least have some time to prepare before Lysabel brought it up.
What the man was about to hear would be devastating, no matter how tactfully it was delivered.
It was only fair he know the truth.
“Henry is why you find me here, my lord,” he said, lowering his voice and spurring Dewi forward.
In the same motion, he indicated for Matthew to follow him, and he did, swiftly.
When the two of them came alongside one another, Trenton resumed.
“There is simply no delicate way to phrase this, so I will come to the point. The first thing you must know is that Lysabel and the girls are well. They are not in any danger. But the second thing you should know is that Benoit de Wilde is dead.”
Matthew blinked rapidly a few times, the only indication of the astonishment and concern he felt. “Dead?” he repeated. “How?”
“I killed him.”
“Now,” Matthew said slowly and steadily. “Explain this to me so that there is no doubt in my mind as to what has happened, Trenton. Please.”
Trenton knew this question would come, especially after he told Matthew of his role in Benoit’s death and Matthew immediately shut his mouth and returned to the wagon bed where his daughter and granddaughters were.
All the way into Wellesbourne’s enormous bailey, and all the while as Matthew’s wife and Lysabel’s mother, Alixandrea, greeted her daughter and grandchildren, Trenton knew the question would come from Matthew and he prepared his answer.
While happiness and joy of a reunion went on around him, and Alixandrea took her girls into the castle, Matthew pulled Trenton into his private solar and shut the door.
Now, the question hung in the air between them.
Trenton was ready for it.
“In order to explain to you what happened, I must tell you something that you do not know,” he said.
“At least, Lysabel does not think you know, so if you do not, then I am sorry to be the bearer of such news. Benoit de Wilde was a vile excuse for a human being; he beat your daughter. Henry sent me to Stretford Castle to abduct Benoit and take him to London because Benoit made the unfortunate mistake of stealing a mistress from Henry. Lysabel does not know this; I have not told her. But she does know that I killed Benoit.”
Matthew was staring at him with an expression between shock and rage. But still, he held fast. He was a master at the neutral expression. But the father in him, the one who was hearing such terrible things about his child for the first time, couldn’t quite hold back.
“I had heard rumor of Benoit’s whoring,” he finally said. “I am not totally ignorant of it.”
“And you did nothing?”
For the first time, Matthew started showing some emotion. “I had only heard of the women,” he said. “But the beating… my God, Trenton. Are you certain of this?”