Lady of Lyonsbridge

by Ana Seymour

  She embraced him as she had Fredrick. They were her servants, but they were also her family. Everyone at Sherborne was, and they had all worked together to prove it. “I did nothing but bring the powder, Alfred. ’Twas the rest of your staff who made this happen.” She gestured to the sleeping men.

  His wrinkled face stretched into a broad smile. “Aye, they did,” he agreed proudly.

  But there was no time to gloat over their triumph. It was past midnight, and she had to get to the front gates, where she fervently hoped Kenton and his men would be waiting.

  Leaving Alfred to watch over the sleeping men, she and Fredrick made their way across the bailey. The usual torches along the castle walls had not been lit, but the moon lent plenty of light to their path.

  They skirted the small building where Thomas had taken her on his first visit to show her the chests of ransom money. That day seemed years ago, she thought. So much had transpired.

  As they came to the end of the stone structure, a shadow stepped out from behind it.

  “You’re going to pay for this, you witch.” The deep, sinister voice was unmistakable. She could see his black eyes in the moonlight. It was Dunstan.

  Chapter Seventeen

  He lunged at her, and before she could make a move, he’d seized her. Fredrick cried out and drew a dagger from his belt, but by then Dunstan had whirled her around and was holding her with a knife pressed against her neck.

  “Drop your knife, villein,” he told Fredrick.

  The younger man stood, hesitating. Dunstan squeezed his arm more tightly around Alyce, eliciting a groan. Fredrick’s knife clattered to the ground.

  Dunstan was much bigger than she and his arms were strong. She didn’t even attempt to struggle against them. “I would have married you, you piece of baggage,” he growled in her ear.

  His voice sounded demented, and the brief glimpse she’d had of his eyes had shown her that they looked crazed. She felt a wave of despair. Victory was so close! But now, if Dunstan could succeed in rousing some of his men before she had a chance to admit Kenton and the others, there could still be more bloodshed.

  Fredrick was standing in front of them, uncertain. Giving a sudden push backward with all her might, Alyce yelled, “Run, Fredrick! Open the gates!”

  Taken off guard, Dunstan momentarily lost his hold on her, but as Fredrick raced away toward the front of the bailey, he grabbed her again with a vicious yank to her hair. “Let them come,” he said. “The cause is lost, but, by God, I’ll deliver you back to Brand in pieces.”

  He dragged her to the stables, where a huge black stallion was already saddled and waiting. Lifting her easily, he threw her upside down over the horse’s neck, then boosted his tall frame into the saddle behind her.

  He must have already learned about the small rear gate, because he steered his horse directly toward it. The door had been closed since Alyce’s childhood because it led directly to a precipitous drop into the old castle moat. Looking up from her uncomfortable position over the saddle horn, she was surprised to find the gate standing open. Dunstan had evidently already prepared his getaway.

  She held on tightly as Dunstan spurred the stallion forward, heedless of the treacherous terrain on the other side. As soon as the animal passed through the gate, it skidded on the dirt incline and began to stumble. Dunstan pulled firmly on the reins and kept its head upright. Alyce held her position by clinging to the stallion’s neck. Horse, rider and passenger slid down the bank into the mostly dried up moat.

  When they reached the bottom, the horse lurched, trying to regain its balance, while Dunstan fought to keep from toppling off. Alyce took advantage of the opportunity to push herself away and slide to the ground. She landed on her back with a jarring thud, then rolled quickly away to keep the stallion’s hooves from trampling her.

  “Come back here!” Dunstan roared, but Alyce was already scrambling back up the bank toward the rear castle door. He tried to rein the horse around in the other direction, but the animal was too frightened from its plunge to follow its master’s lead.

  A rider thundered around the corner of the wall. Dunstan saw him and, abandoning his pursuit of Alyce, kicked his mount and urged it to climb the opposite bank of the moat. The horse balked for a moment, then, after receiving another vicious kick, started up the incline.

  “Hold, Dunstan!” the horseman cried, and Alyce recognized Thomas’s voice. She reached the top of the bank and sagged against the open gate, breathing hard.

  Dunstan got to the top of the moat just as Thomas, his sword drawn, reached him. “You’re not going anywhere, Dunstan,” he shouted. “You’ll face the king’s justice for the murder of Henri Fantierre.”

  Dunstan raised the hand that held the dagger he’d used against Alyce. Thomas was out of range of his arm, so the baron threw the knife toward his opponent. It hit Thomas a glancing blow on the shoulder, then fell to the ground.

  “Surrender, Dunstan,” Thomas told him. “I have no problem with killing you, but I’d rather not do it in front of my bride.”

  Dunstan gave a roar of rage and dug his spurs into the stallion’s side. The big animal, already unsettled, staggered, then seemed to teeter on the lip of the moat for an endless moment before it crashed sideways and fell back into the ditch, with Dunstan flailing helplessly on its back. Alyce watched in horror as the big animal smashed to the ground, pinning the baron beneath him.

  The night suddenly seemed abnormally quiet for a long moment, then the big stallion gave three sharp snorts and struggled to its feet. Thomas dismounted and slid down the bank to try to pull Dunstan from underneath its big hooves. The panicked stallion took off along the bed of the moat.

  Thomas knelt down beside Dunstan, who lay still in the mud. Alyce slipped back down the bank, partly on her feet and partly on her bottom. “Is he hurt?” she asked.

  Thomas stood and shielded Dunstan’s body from view. “Don’t look. He’s dead. Are you all right?”

  She nodded, then, ignoring his attempt to protect her sensibilities, stepped around him to look at what was left of Philip of Dunstan.

  His body lay partly submerged in a depression in the moat bed that had filled with water from recent rains. She stood looking at it for a long moment. Then she felt Thomas’s arms around her shoulders. “It’s over,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  She shook her head and said, “Thomas, look.”

  The puddle of water in the moat bed cast back a wavy reflection of the full moon. They watched while the image of the moon turned scarlet as the puddle filled with Dunstan’s blood.

  “The blood moon,” Thomas said.

  “Aye.”

  “He probably wants nothing more to do with me, Lettie,” Alyce told her nurse as they sat together polishing silver in the great hall, “and that’s fine with me. I’m just happy that everything’s back to normal at Sherborne. Thomas can ride off with the king to Normandy for all I care.”

  It had been a fortnight since Dunstan’s death. Lettie had arrived from Nottingham a few days before, her face lined with concern until she saw that her charge was healthy and had come to no harm.

  Thomas and his men had stayed only long enough to be sure that all of Dunstan’s troops vacated the premises.

  When he rode away with his men, Thomas had been on speaking terms with practically no one. He was still furious with his brother for letting Alyce ride to Sherborne by herself. Kenton was angry with Thomas for refusing to settle things with his brother and Alyce. And Alyce, riddled with guilt about the death of Fantierre, had tried to stay as much as possible out of his way. He hadn’t sought her out for a private moment. Their goodbyes had been said in front of all his men and the Sherborne servants.

  Once again, she had put his men in danger, and this time it had resulted in the death of a good man and loyal friend. It didn’t surprise her that Thomas had left Sherborne as soon as he could, and it wouldn’t surprise her if she never saw him again, though the thought seemed intolerable.

>   “He’ll be back,” Lettie said.

  “I don’t think so. Not this time. I think he’s washed his hands of me.”

  Lettie bent over the tray she was polishing, rubbing furiously at a spot of tarnish. “Men are stubborn sometimes, Allie. It’s that troublesome pride of theirs. But love usually overcomes it. Love or lust,” she added.

  “I’ll just take Father’s advice and live without them.”

  Lettie set down the tray with a clank. “Alyce Rose, if I hear that from ye one more time I’m going to take ye over my knee. It would be the first time I’ve ever done it, but I’m thinking it’s not too late.”

  Alyce was surprised at her vehemence. “You heard my father express those sentiments a hundred times, Lettie. You never seemed to object.”

  Lettie reached over and took her charge’s hand. “Lass, ye were too young to understand, but yer father was a changed man after yer mother died. He never got over her death. They had a true love match, those two.”

  “I always felt that. In fact it struck me as strange that he was so set against my finding a man when he and my mother had been so happy together.”

  “They were too happy together. When she died, he nearly went crazy with the grief, and it was worse because he blamed himself.”

  Alyce sat up straight. “He blamed himself?”

  “Aye. She had a lot of trouble birthing ye, and she probably should never have tried to have that second child.”

  “But my father wanted a son.”

  “The truth is, he argued against it, but she was always able to talk him into her way of thinking. That’s another thing ye inherited from her,” Lettie added with a sad smile.

  “If she wanted the baby, it was her decision to take the risk of having it,” Alyce said, feeling in that moment a perfect kinship with the mother she sometimes could hardly remember.

  “That’s the logical way to look at it,” Lettie agreed, “but yer father never saw it that way. He blamed himself the rest of his life.”

  “And when anyone asked to court his daughter, he turned them away because it reminded him of his own lost love?”

  Lettie was still holding her hand, and gave it a squeeze before letting go. “’Twas more than that. I think he was afraid of losing ye, just like he lost her. Ye’re slender like yer mother.”

  “He was afraid I’d die in childbirth?” The idea seemed ridiculous to Alyce. She’d always been as healthy as a horse.

  “I believe he was. If he could convince ye to be happy living out yer life unwed here at Sherborne, ye’d never have to face the risk of having children of yer own. It was wrong of him and selfish.”

  Alyce sat staring into the shiny silver surface of the bowl she still held. “He thought it was for my good,” she said softly.

  Lettie sighed. “Aye, I know he did. He was a good man, but he was wrong. For one thing, ye’re nothing at all like yer mother. Ye’re much stronger than she ever was.”

  A distorted version of Alyce’s face looked back at her from the curved surface of the bowl. Oddly, she looked all at once like the dim memories of her mother that sometimes came to her as she was dozing off to sleep. Her beautiful young mother who had risked everything to bring another child into the world.

  Alyce set down the dish and gave herself a little shake. Perhaps her father had been right. She had no fear of childbirth. She was strong, as Lettie had said. But he may have been right that a peaceful life at Sherborne would be for the best. She already had her family here. She could live without children of her own, and she could live without a man who rode in and out of her life as swiftly as a thundercloud.

  “I tell you, Thomas, the old woman was a true witch. Never mind the drugs. What about the prophecies?” While Thomas finished writing a letter to give to the courier leaving shortly for Lyons-bridge, Ranulf sat with his feet up on the table. He leaned toward his brother and spoke in an awed voice. “What about the blood moon?”

  Thomas gave a snort. Sherborne had been buzzing with the wonder of Maeve’s predictions after the death of Dunstan. “It was a puddle of blood, Ranulf. Don’t be dramatic.”

  “And the two deaths? Just like she told Alyce. Dunstan and Fantierre.”

  Thomas winced. It still caused pain each time he thought about the intrepid Frenchman. “Ranulf, don’t you have an appointment with the armorer? I have to finish this.” He gestured to his letter.

  “We should be on our way back to Lyonsbridge rather than sending letters,” Ranulf grumbled.

  “We will be soon, if everything goes as planned.”

  “Then you’ve refused Richard’s request to accompany him to the Continent?”

  “Aye. I have other plans for my life.”

  Ranulf let his feet clunk to the ground. “I trust those plans include the lady Alyce,” he said. “Because, I swear, brother, if you don’t want her, I just may—”

  “Don’t even think it,” Thomas said firmly.

  Ranulf hid a grin. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry at me again. I reckon I’ve used up my brotherly forgiveness currency for a spell.”

  Thomas looked up and smiled. “You’re a rascal, little brother. And it’s hard to stay mad at you.”

  Ranulf grinned. “Lucky for me, since I seem to manage to get myself in the soup with some degree of regularity.”

  Still he made no move to leave, but watched quietly while Thomas’s quill scratched across the vellum. Finally Thomas looked up and said, “’Tis none of your business.”

  “Lyonsbridge is my home, too,” Ranulf said, a little indignantly. “If there’s news to be told—”

  “This has nothing to do with Lyonsbridge. I’m writing to our grandmother Ellen.”

  Ranulf’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “So what’s the great secret?”

  Thomas smiled calmly. “I’m asking Grandmother to help me with a financial proposition. As I said before, Ranulf, it’s none of your affair.”

  “I don’t know the lady of Lyonsbridge, Fredrick. I’m certain of it,” Alyce told her young servant, puzzled. “Where’s your grandfather? He would know if my father ever had dealings with Lyonsbridge. It’s in the south, isn’t it?”

  “About halfway between here and London, the lady said.”

  “And she didn’t say what she’s doing this far north?”

  “All she would say is that her business is with Lady Sherborne and none other. And, milady, she looks to be older than Grandfather.” He looked as if such a thing was unthinkable.

  “I trust you made no comment in that regard, Fredrick.”

  “Nay, I wouldn’t do that. And, to tell the truth, she’s still beautiful in a way. She has these kind of golden eyes and snow-white hair. She looks…regal, I guess ye would say.”

  Obviously the visitor, whoever she was, had made quite an impression on Fredrick, who usually was far more interested in farming methods than he was in how a person looked.

  “You say she’s waiting in the solar?” Alyce asked him.

  “Aye, milady. Her manservant brought along a trunk. I don’t know if they’re planning to stay here.”

  “Of course, we shall offer them hospitality for as long as they wish,” Alyce said, but she continued to be mystified. It was so rare that visitors came as far off the main roads as Sherborne, yet in the past year many certainly had.

  The woman waiting for her in the sunny room that was Alyce’s favorite in the castle was, as Fredrick had said, regal. That was the only way to describe her. Yet for some reason Alyce didn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable with her. In fact, she liked the lady Lyonsbridge immediately.

  “How kind of you to visit, milady,” she told her, making a little curtsy. She was unsure of the woman’s rank, but she had the impression Lyons-bridge was a far larger estate than Sherborne, and, in any event, the woman’s age merited the deference.

  The visitor sat straight on the little bench, the only signs of her age the fine wrinkles of her face and the snow-white hair that Fredrick had noted, whi
ch she wore plaited into a kind of crown around her head.

  “You must call me Ellen,” she said. “And I will call you Alyce, if I may.” Her voice, too, sounded surprisingly young.

  “I’d be honored,” Alyce answered, taking a seat across from the older woman. But the invitation just heightened the mystery. Why had this noblewoman come to Sherborne, and why was she treating Alyce as if they were close friends?

  She decided it would be rude to ask the question directly, but she said, “You’ve had a long day’s journey from Lyonsbridge. Are you en route somewhere?”

  “Nay, child. I’ve come just to see you.”

  Eyes widened, Alyce waited a moment for the woman to continue. When she didn’t, Alyce murmured, “Forgive me, Lady…Ellen. I’m afraid if you had business with my father, he never told me anything about it.”

  “I never had the privilege of knowing your father, Alyce. This is my first visit to Sherborne.”

  The woman seemed to be studying her, waiting for her to speak, but Alyce was at a loss to explain the strange visit. “Well…we’re happy to have you here,” she said. “’Tis a modest estate, but I’m very proud of it, and I’d be happy to show you around.”

  “Another time, perhaps,” the older woman said with a gentle smile. “I’m sure you’d rather hear why it is I’ve suddenly shown up on your doorstep.”

  With a little sigh of relief, Alyce admitted, “Aye, it has aroused my curiosity.”

  “I’m an old lady, child,” Ellen began, putting up a hand to ward off Alyce’s protest. “I’ve seen many changes in my time, but one thing that hasn’t changed much is that the men in our world still seem to be more in control when it comes to the destiny of us women.”

  Alyce wondered how much the lady Ellen knew of her story. From her comment, it seemed that she might know quite a bit. “Aye,” she agreed mildly. “That has been my experience.”

  “You, for example, must marry the king’s choice. Am I correct?”

  Now that her betrothal to Thomas seemed to be meaningless, Alyce was not sure whether King Richard was still going to claim his right to marry her off, but she said, “Aye, by the feudal laws, the king has the right to dictate a husband for me.”