by Ana Seymour
Alyce pulled the wimple from her head and scowled. “I do not consider it polite to batter down the door of a sick, mayhap dying, woman.”
“But ye’re not sick.”
“Nay, but he didn’t know that.”
“I feel bad, just the same. And now we’ve sent him off to poor old Maeve. Who knows what he’ll find there.”
Alyce gave a sniff of indifference. She was not going to admit to Lettie that she was sharing her servant’s guilt. The knight had been polite, aye, and more than pleasant to look upon. And it was not the man’s fault that he had been chosen to execute the unscrupulous business of Philip Dunstan and Prince John. “If Maeve’s having a good day, she’ll help him,” she said.
“Aye, and if she’s having a bad day, he’ll probably begin to think us all mad.”
“He can add that to his report to Dunstan, then. With luck, he’ll become so disgusted that he’ll ride back to his master and report that the lady of Sherborne is a sickly hag, that her household is wretched and her people are all lunatics.”
“In truth, Kenton, I don’t know whether the powders will help or finish the job that their spoiled stew started.”
Thomas and his lieutenant sat with their backs up against the cold stone wall of the great room. It was nearly dawn. Thomas had slept little after his return from the village. As the servant had warned, he’d found Maeve to be a frail old woman who drifted in and out of reality. But she’d given him feverfew and some ground hops, and had promised that together the two powders would purge the fiercest of poisons.
“Most of the men are still sleeping, Thomas,” Kenton answered, gesturing to the bodies strewn around them. “They seem to have rid themselves of the problem naturally. Myself, I feel fine this morning.”
There was a groan from a dark corner of the room. “Harry?” Thomas asked.
“Aye. He was the worst struck. Mayhap the medicine would be of some benefit to him.”
Thomas pulled a pouch from inside his surcoat. “The witch told me to mix it with hot ale.”
Kenton began to boost himself wearily to his feet. “I’ll see if I can find a serving wench in this place who might know where I can get some.”
Thomas pushed his friend back to the floor. “I’ll do it, Kent. I’m the healthy one. I’ll look for some breakfast for us, as well.”
Kenton gave a wobbly shake of his head. “Just the ale for me, Thomas. I’ve had enough of Sherborne Castle fare for one visit.”
Thomas gave him a sympathetic grin and went in search of some sign of life in the strange household.
Alyce lay awake for hours after Lettie left. It had become a pattern since her father’s death. During the day she could be cheerful and optimistic about her future, but at night she’d lie awake wondering how she could save herself from what seemed an inevitable fate.
It had been less than a month after her father’s death, when she was still numb with grief, that the first messenger had arrived from Prince John, informing her that the prince, acting as her liege lord in the absence of King Richard, had bestowed her hand upon his loyal servant, Philip of Dunstan.
When she’d heard the tales of the man who’d been chosen as her bridegroom, the nightmares had begun. But this night it was guilt that kept her tossing restlessly on her small bed. When she finally fell asleep, she dreamed that a number of tall knights, all looking like Dunstan’s messenger, were forcing her to eat a wretched pottage of rotten entrails. Then they were dragging her down a long hall toward a dais, where her bridegroom awaited. She awoke with her skin cold and clammy.
It was shortly before dawn. She sat up, staring into the dark, suddenly beset with worry. What if one of the men she had so callously sickened were to die? She rose from her bed and fumbled around in the dark, putting on her clothes. She’d not bother Lettie, nor any of the other servants, but she would quietly slip down to the great hall and make sure that none of the visitors was in dire condition.
If any of them were truly sick, she’d have no choice but to reveal herself and care for them. She had her mother’s herb chest, and she’d learned how to use it these past years since her mother had died, when Alyce was only ten.
She had no need of a tallow reed to light her way down to the great hall. She knew Sherborne Castle like the palm of her hand. Quietly, she stepped into the big chamber and paused to listen. All around her she heard the low rumbles of sleeping men, but, she noted with a sigh of relief, there were no sounds of distress.
Surely if anyone was very ill, there would be some sign. The fire would have been built up and men would be awake, caring for the patient.
Moving noiselessly, she crossed the room toward the buttery. She was feeling none too sharp herself this morning, she thought with an ironic grin. Punishment, no doubt, for her wickedness in finishing off half a capon the previous evening while her guests ate rotten food.
The sun was beginning to send slanting rays through the castle windows, but as she entered the buttery, it took Alyce a moment to realize that the room was illuminated not by the sun but by a blazing wall torch. The torch had evidently been placed there by the knight of her restless dreams, who was this moment standing frozen in front of her, his mug of ale halfway to his lips.
Chapter Two
“My apologies, mistress,” he said after a moment. “You startled me.” He placed the mug on top of a nearby barrel and gave a slight nod. “I couldn’t seem to find anyone about this morning, so I helped myself to some ale.”
Alyce stood still for a moment, her mind racing. The knight did not appear to know who she was. She probably looked far too healthy for him to consider that she might be the same Lady Sherborne whom he had seen so ill just a few hours before.
“By all means, serve yourself, sir. ’Twould be milady’s wishes. She’d be seeing to it herself, if she was able.”
“How does your mistress fare this morning?”
His eyes were unusually dark. They were watching her intently, making her feel as if he could read her every secret. She lowered her gaze. “Milady’s much better.”
“As are my men.”
“Lady Alyce will be glad to hear it.” She glanced up at him again, but he was still looking at her with those disturbing eyes. Could he see through her deceit? she wondered.
“Forgive me for staring,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “It’s just that you’re the first lovely thing I’ve seen since I arrived here at Sherborne.” His voice softened. “Indeed, mistress, I venture to say that you’re the loveliest thing I’ve seen for a good long time.”
She felt heat rising in her cheeks. Since her mother’s death, her father had chosen to live a quiet life at Sherborne, and she’d had no exposure to the flirtations of the more sophisticated world of the court or the big cities. She wasn’t even sure if it was a flirtation that the knight was attempting.
She hesitated a moment, then murmured, “Ah…thank you,” and dropped her eyes once again.
“Does such beauty have a name?” he asked, and this time when she looked up he was regarding her with such a charming smile that there was no doubt of its nature.
She hesitated, then said, “Rose. My name is Rose.”
“How appropriate.” He took a step toward her, seized one of her hands and brought it to his lips. “I’m Thomas, Mistress Rose, most humbly at your service.”
Was it her imagination or did the pulse seem to surge through her fingers where his hand touched her? “Thomas…?” she asked.
He paused before he answered, “Thomas…Havilland.”
She slipped her fingers out of his grasp and tried to gather her wits, but she could scarcely think for the rushing in her ears. She tried to keep her voice steady, her words logical. “And you say your men have all recovered, Sir Thomas?”
“I believe so, all save Harry Streeter, who may have taken more than his share of the fatal stew last evening,” he added with a grin.
“I’m sure my mistress is mortified that Sherborne fare caused
such distress.”
“Such misadventures happen. ’Tis the fault of no one.”
She felt a quick flash of guilt, but mostly she felt unsettled and shaky. He was standing less than a yard distant. She took a step backward, willing her unruly senses to calm themselves. This was absurd, she chided herself. This knight had come to rob her of her independence, to carry her off to a cruel man who would become her husband against her will. The thought brought her strength.
“I trust you will report as much to your master,” she said coldly.
“My master?” He sounded surprised.
“Baron Dunstan.”
The dark brown eyes blinked in confusion. “I owe no allegiance to Dunstan, mistress. What would make you think such a thing?”
“Have you not been sent by Prince John to fetch the lady of Sherborne as bride for Baron Dunstan?”
The knight’s expression darkened. “I’d clean stable dung before I’d serve as errand boy to Prince John. As for Philip of Dunstan, I beg pardon, mistress, but if your lady is to marry him, then God help her.”
“His name is Thomas Havilland, Lettie, and he’s not from Prince John at all. He’s simply a knight going around…I don’t know…doing whatever knights do.” Alyce sat on her bed, resting her head on her hands.
Lettie sat beside her and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Ye’ll just have to tell him the truth, Allie. Ye say he himself called Dunstan a monster. He’ll understand that ye were trying to protect yerself. He’ll probably admire ye for it.”
“Will he admire that I poisoned his men?”
Lettie was silent for a moment. “I think they’ve mostly recovered. And he does seem to be a nice man. Ye said he was courtly, Allie.”
Alyce lifted her head. “I said he seemed to be courting me. No doubt for his own male purposes.”
Lettie’s eyebrows lifted. “What do ye know about male purposes, Alyce Rose?”
“I know that most men are without scruples.”
“Those are yer father’s words, lass. He fed ye nonsense about men that was every bit as poisonous as the meat those poor knights ate last night.”
Alyce’s tone was defensive. “Father always wanted to protect me. If he had known that I’d be sold in matrimony like a prize broodmare, he’d have moved heaven and hell to leave me enough money to pay my tribute to the king and free myself from the burden.”
“Aye, lass, that he would, but I still don’t hold with the way he soured ye on suitors.”
Alyce gave a little sniff. “I’m not interested in suitors, Lettie. I have the life I want.”
“But what are ye going to do about this Thomas Havilland, Allie? He’ll no doubt guess that he has been tricked when he learns who ye are and realizes that ye were never ill.”
Alyce rubbed her nose in frustration. “They’re just passing through he said. As soon as his men are recovered, they’ll be leaving. It will just be unfortunate that the lady of Sherborne won’t recover before they’re gone.”
“Do ye intend to keep to yer bed?”
Alyce gave a mischievous grin. “Lady Alyce will keep to her bed. However, milady’s companion, Rose, will serve as hostess to the knights in her place.”
“Ah, luv, ye’re playing with fire again. If he should find out that ye’re deceiving him…”
“I’ll be careful. ’Twill be an interesting experiment.”
Lettie shook her head. “Ye know nothing about this man, Allie. Who is this Sir Thomas? He could be a brigand. Maybe he comes from Prince John, after all. He might be one of Dunstan’s spies trying to learn more about ye. Or he could be—”
Alyce leaned over to give her nurse a hug, then jumped up. “Don’t fret so, Lettie. It matters not who they are. They’ll be gone soon. But in the meantime, I’m not about to stay cooped up in this tiny room while there are strangers downstairs to bring news of the outside world.”
“And handsome strangers at that.”
Alyce wrinkled her nose. “I don’t care what they look like, Lettie. I just want to hear their tales.”
“Still, it doesn’t hurt to have a handsome countenance to look upon while ye’re listening to the news.”
“Aye, it doesn’t hurt.”
Lettie gave a knowing smile. “Ah, lass, it’s the height of injustice that that scoundrel Prince John intends to marry ye to an old man. Ye should be falling in love with a handsome young knight like Sir Thomas.”
“I don’t intend to fall in love with anyone, Lettie. Women have a hard enough time clinging to their shreds of independence without clouding up their minds with ridiculous notions of romance.”
“I don’t believe in romantic love,” Alyce declared in a voice somewhat louder than she had intended.
Thomas looked up sharply from his lute. Several of his men had gathered around the big fireplace to listen to their leader sing one of his endless love ballads. It was a strange talent for a warrior as fierce as Thomas Brand, but it had served to keep them entertained many a miserable night on the long road to the Holy Lands and back. They leaned forward, listening for Thomas’s reply to the young beauty’s cynical declaration.
Thomas let his gaze linger for a moment on their hostess’s lovely features. “Love is not to be believed in,” he said softly, “it’s to be felt.”
Her chin went up a notch. “I’ve never felt it, then.”
“Has your mistress?”
For a moment, the young woman looked blank. “The lady Alyce?” she asked.
“Aye. Has she not felt love?”
“Nay.” The word was decisive.
Thomas shook his head and resumed idly plucking the strings of his lute. “’Tis a pity, for she’s not likely to find it with the husband they’ve chosen for her.”
Unable to resist the chance to satisfy her curiosity, Alyce asked, “Have you met the baron, Sir Thomas? Can you tell me what he’s like?”
His fingers tightened on the strings, making a jarring, off-key chord. “He’s Prince John’s man, and in today’s England ’tis not wise to speak against anyone allied to John. But you may tell your mistress that a friend advises her not to go through with this marriage.”
A hint of anger flushed her cheeks. “Do you think she would be marrying such a man if she had any choice?
Kenton, who had not taken his eyes off her the entire evening, said, “She’s mistress of a sizable estate. Surely she must have some say in her own marriage.”
“Not a whit. When a peerage is left to a woman, the king has the right to marry her to whom he pleases.”
Kenton and Thomas exchanged a glance. “The king,” Kenton repeated slowly. “Not the king’s brother.”
Alyce sighed. “It appears to matter little who claims the title. My lot is the same. That is, Lady Alyce’s fate is not her own, no matter who claims sovereignty.”
Thomas laid aside his lute. “I’d like to speak with your lady, Mistress Rose. Perhaps I can give her some advice on this matter. Do you think she’s recovered enough to see me this evening?”
Alyce jumped to her feet. “Nay. Most assuredly not. She was…” She paused and looked around the room at the men who were watching her, their eyes friendly and admiring. Some were still pale from the effects of their ordeal. “My lady was desperately ill, Sir Thomas. I doubt she’ll recover for some days.”
His eyes, too, were sympathetic and kind. Once again Alyce felt the flush of guilt. “I wouldn’t have her disturbed,” he said. “But perhaps I might be permitted to talk with her in her chambers. After all, I did see her there last night. In fact, that’s another reason I should see her. I’d like to apologize for my rudeness.”
“I believe she was too ill to notice, sir. But I know she’d be mortified to have to receive a visitor in her current condition. I’m afraid ’twould be best if you just give me any message you’d like to relay to her.”
Thomas frowned, but he made no further protest.
“You can take her a message from me,” Kenton said. When she t
urned to him, he continued, “You can tell her that I think she has the prettiest waiting woman in all England.”
His lieutenant’s words deepened Thomas’s scowl. “You’ll have to forgive my men their boldness and their stares,” he told her. “We’ve been away from home too long.”
“I didn’t mean to offend, mistress,” Kenton said quickly.
Alyce smiled at the handsome young lieutenant. “It would be churlish for a lady to be offended by such a lovely compliment, Sir Kenton.”
Thomas looked from Kenton to Alyce, then cleared his throat and said loudly, “Travel abroad makes one forget what extraordinary flowers we have blooming here in our own land, Mistress Rose.” Then he shot Kenton a smile of friendly competition.
Kenton rose to the challenge. “Indeed, the East offers nothing but dry desert growth when compared to the lush garden of English beauty.”
Alyce felt as if she had drunk too much mulled ale. She was not used to the company of strange males, much less to being the center of their admiration and rivalry. In some confusion, she stood. “Gentlemen, I’ve enjoyed the evening, but I should go see if my lady needs me.”
Instantly, every one of the knights was on his feet. “I’ll escort you,” Kenton said quickly.
She looked around the group. “Nay, resume your socializing.” She gestured to Thomas’s lute. “I’d not interrupt your evening’s entertainment. Please continue.”
Thomas grinned at her. “Beg pardon, mistress, but it appears the evening’s entertainment is about to leave the room.”
Alyce couldn’t resist smiling. It was no doubt empty raillery, she told herself, but it was heady stuff. Was this what it was like to be at court? No wonder they told tales of the decadent goings-on. Such treatment was likely to make a girl’s head turn.
“My absence will not alter your lovely music, Sir Thomas. I pray you continue to play, and I bid you all good-night.” Her smile encompassed the entire group, and Kenton was not the only man who looked more than a little smitten.
She started to leave the room, heading toward the stairs to her chambers, but before she could reach the door, Thomas was beside her. He bent toward her and whispered, “Rank has its privileges, Rose. I’ll escort you to your mistress’s chambers myself.”
