Lady Katherine laid her hand on his arm. “Peace, my husband. Methinks the young lord is consumed with grief at his sudden loss. Such a misfortune is apt to muddle one’s wits.”
“His wits were none too steady ten years ago,” Sir Edward growled, staring at the empty doorway. “But I had hopes that he would grow more wise with time.” He put an arm around Alicia. “Forgive me, my precious child. I have done you and your royal father a great disservice.”
Alicia shook her head. “Nay, Papa…I mean, Edward, I think not. I recall that Sir Thomas was kind to me when I was a child. Methinks the idea of a wife on his doorstep has much to do with his current distress.” She laughed softly. “Do you remember Peter Martext, the draper’s son? He often visited our shop. When I asked him if he needed help to choose a gold chain, he merely stared at me. You remarked he did not know how to converse with women. Perchance that is the case with Sir Thomas.”
Alicia’s lighthearted tone belied the twist of fear in her heart Dear Lord in heaven, what if her betrothed was truly mad? Though he looked to possess the strength of his Viking ancestors, what would she do if he could not protect her?
Yet the shy boy had grown into a most handsome man. Alicia had never seen such a pair of broad shoulders on anyone. His tight black hose left very little to the imagination. His waist tapered to slim hips and buttocks. His stockings bulged with large thigh and calf muscles, indicating a man who lived in the saddle. The black velvet of his mourning doublet set off his bright blond hair and flashing sapphire eyes. Those eyes did not reflect madness, merely shock.
Lady Katherine squeezed her husband’s arm. “Aye, Ned. I believe Alicia has hit upon the core of the problem.” She smiled up at him, a little too brightly.
Edward slapped his riding gloves against his palm. The huge mastiff rolled over, and regarded him with interest.
“What am I to do now? We must flee the king’s vengeance, yet I fear to leave you here alone, child. You must be safe.”
Alicia swept her gaze around the hall. The wainscoting of oaken panels appeared more black than a natural brown color. The plastered walls above the wood, once whitewashed, had taken on a gray color from many years of sooty fires and neglect. The carved pillars, also blackened by smoke, rose into the darkness of the vaulted ceiling. A faded red banner, looking more like a rag than a battle flag, hung crookedly over the chimneypiece. No gentle housekeeping hand had touched Wolf Hall in many a year. What the poor new earl needed was someone to let some fresh air and sunshine into his life.
“Wolf Hall looks stout enough to withstand an army,” she remarked, trying to sound braver than she really felt. “The only enemy I see is dirt and mismanagement.”
Sir Edward gathered her into his embrace. She was tall enough to look directly into his eyes, and to read his apprehension. “You have always been the practical one, my dove, but thick walls will not save you from the Tudor’s grasp, if the heart that rules within this castle is a weak one.”
Before Alicia could frame a reply, she heard someone cough discreetly behind her.
A youth, dressed in the height of fashion, but with colors of gray and black, swept them a bow. “My Lord Brampton, Lady Brampton, Mistress Broom, welcome to Wolf Hall.”
Sir Edward released Alicia, then strode toward the young man. “Who the devil are you?”
The young fop swept him another bow. “Andrew Ford, my lord. I have the honor of being squire to the Earl of Thornbury.”
Brampton groaned under his breath. “This farce grows worse and worse. An idiotic bear is served by a preening peacock,” he noted in an aside to his wife.
Undaunted by Sir Edward’s glower, Andrew Ford approached them. The slim boy looked no more than sixteen. His sleek, nut-brown hair fell to his jawline. The boy’s hazel eyes hinted of mischief.
“I have come to beg your pardon for my master’s hasty exit, my lord.” Andrew threw him a guileless smile. “Sir Thomas is unused to company of any sort—and most particularly that of two such beautiful ladies as yourselves.” He bowed again to Lady Katherine and Alicia.
Alicia regarded the boy with hidden amusement. This one must dine and sup on honey, and keep the tailors of York in constant employment.
Sir Edward assumed his most dignified demeanor. His ward had rarely seen that side of him in all her years of living under his roof. She still found it difficult to accept that he was a noble lord, while she, herself was…
Alicia pushed away the thought of her true identity. She must try to forget it completely. The sooner she cast off the name of Broom and became a Cavendish, the safer it would be for her. After that, she hoped she could bury the dangerous secret of her existence deep within the heart of Wolf Hall. She prayed that Sir Thomas would honor his father’s bond and marry her.
She did not want to be locked away in a nunnery for the rest of her life. She craved the love and companionship of a husband, and children to bear and nurture. Sunshine. Flowers. And especially animals. She glanced down at Georgie, who returned her look with a hopeful one of his own. Alicia leaned over, and rubbed his tawny ears. Georgie closed his eyes with a sigh of satisfaction.
Sir Edward towered over the boy. “When next you speak, Master Ford, pray do so with some firm purpose. Your lord has treated us in a most shabby manner, and has dishonored his bride. He is an ass.”
Though Andrew shook his head at this insult, his smile never left his face. “Hear me, my good lord, and so find understanding in your heart. My master is a good man, strong and true. He means no disrespect, and certainly not to so fair a maiden as Mistress Broom.” He turned his smile up a notch at Alicia.
She continued to rub Georgie’s ears. Best not to give the boy too much encouragement. He looked like the sort who fell madly in love every day of the week and twice on Sundays.
Sir Edward snapped his fingers several times. “Speak to me, squire. How can I be sure that my ward will be safe if I leave her in this…” He glared at Georgie. “In this kennel. Does your master often bolt from his chambers? Can he speak in more than a growl? Does he have the wit to be married? Can he care for my precious girl?”
“Aye, my lord, the earl can do all this and more. Mistress Broom will be safe at Wolf Hall. You have my word upon it.”
“Ha!” Sir Edward bared his teeth. “The word of a strutting popinjay? Tell me, Master Ford, does a razor frighten your beard yet?”
Two red spots appeared in the boy’s smooth cheeks. His smile clouded, but did not disappear entirely. “My lord, I am sorry if my apparel and my manner offend you. I had the honor to spend my formative years in the household of the Duke of Buckingham, where I learned how a gentleman should conduct himself. Even though I serve Sir Thomas in the wilds of Northumberland, I take pleasure in maintaining my little refinements. When I am full grown, I hope to find a place at court. In the meantime, I do not intend to become a barbarian while residing in the countryside.”
Alicia hid her smile behind her hand. She suspected that Andrew Ford made gladsome company in this old, neglected castle.
Sir Edward regarded the slender lad. “Very well, Sir Motley, I will leave Alicia—at your word. If I hear that she has been ill-used by your master or anyone else at Wolf Hall, I shall personally seek you out. When I am done with you, I will stuff you, your fine manners and your princely garb into an eel-skin, and feed you to the swine. Do we understand each other, squire?”
Andrew’s Adam’s apple bobbled up and down the column of his throat He squared his thin shoulders in their thickly padded jacket. “Aye, my Lord Brampton, perfectly. ‘Twill be my honor to serve the countess as I now serve her lord.”
Alicia blinked. Of course! She would become a countess upon her marriage. How quickly the world turned upon itself! She moistened her dry lips. Only last week, she had been serving customers in the goldsmith’s shop near the Micklegate. Now everything had turned topsy-turvy. The merchant’s daughter ceased to exist Yet the new Countess of Thornbury was still a figment of her imagination. Who
was Alicia Broom now? A hunted enemy of the usurper who sat upon the throne of England. Her hand trembled as she stroked Georgie’s coarse fur.
Lady Katherine drew closer to Sir Edward. “My love, the sun begins to sink in the sky. We must hurry.”
Sir Edward grunted in his old familiar way. Alicia knew he was not happy with the decision he had to make. Her beloved foster parents must ride like the wind, or they would never reach their ship in time. If she thought she was in danger, how much more so was it for these two dearest people whom she had called Mama and Papa for so long?
Leaving Georgie to doze, she slipped her arms around their waists. “You must go. I shall be in good hands. Methinks Sir Thomas only needs a little time.”
“He needs more than that,” Brampton grumbled.
Alicia kissed his cheek. “And you have the word of Master Ford that I will be well taken care of. And I shall write to you often, and tell—”
Sir Edward gripped her, and whispered, “Nay, you must not write at all, my sweet. A letter could be intercepted, and could lead to your half brother’s death.”
Dickon’s handsome face, so like her own, rose up in her memory. She had not seen the little prince since he had been sent into hiding across the North Sea over a decade ago. Four years later, disguised as a Flemish boy named Perkin Warbeck, Dickon had returned to the south of England, where he challenged Henry Tudor for the throne. For six heart-stopping years, Dickon’s fortunes had waxed and waned.
Two weeks ago, sweet Dickon had been captured by Henry’s forces. Once again, he was imprisoned in the Tower of London, where he had been confined as a child. Her brother’s only hope for his life lay in the fact that no one realized that he was the true Richard, Duke of York, and the rightful heir to the throne. Sir Edward hoped that Dickon would be released, just as another pretender named Lambert Simnel had been. Her brother played his part by claiming he had been duped by greedy men. God save him.
Alicia hung her head. “I had forgotten. Forgive me, Papa…my lord.”
Sir Edward hugged her. “I am no lord to you, poppet. Though I could never take the place of your esteemed father, I pray that you will always think of Katherine and me as your loving parents.”
Tears pricked behind Alicia’s eyelids, though she swore to herself that she would not allow them to escape. It would make the parting more difficult. The time for tears came later. “How I love you both! I shall remember you forever.”
Katherine kissed her on the forehead. “And you will always be in our thoughts and prayers, child.”
“If you must contact us, do so by messenger—one that you can trust—and send to Bruges in care of the Goldsmith’s Guild there. But do not write unless ‘tis a matter of life and death. Oh, my child!” Sir Edward kissed her on the forehead. “Know that I leave my heart with you. Take good care of it until I return.”
Alicia bit her lips to keep them from quivering. “When will that be?”
Sir Edward’s brow darkened. “If your brother can escape, and make his way back to his aunt’s court in Burgundy, then I shall see you soon. If not…” He sighed.
Alicia traced her thumb over the furrows in his brow, wishing she could wipe them away. “Let us not think of the alternative. I shall pray for you and for Dickon.”
“If God hears anyone’s prayers, he will certainly hear yours, sweetest child.” After giving her another hug and a kiss, Sir Edward retrieved his hat from the floor. Then he bellowed at the waiting squire. “And you, Sir Twig! I hold you accountable for her in every respect.”
Andrew swept him another jaunty bow. “You have placed your trust wisely, my lord.”
“In whom, I wonder?” Brampton mused under his breath.
“In my good master, Sir Thomas Cavendish, my lord,” the youth replied. “And in myself, as his obedient servant.”
With a muttered oath, Sir Edward took his wife’s arm and propelled them both toward the castle’s entranceway. Pausing under the arch, he glanced back to Alicia. She smiled and waved at him, while her heart broke within her breast.
“Jesu, you were such a tiny thing when first I held you in my arms. Who knew what an angel you would become?”
“Papa…” Alicia could not utter another word.
Then they were gone.
She bit her knuckles to keep from bursting into tears on the spot. She must not show weakness now, especially in front of her betrothed’s squire.
Andrew offered her his arm. “The first night is the worst,” he confided.
Alicia blinked back the moisture from her eyes. “Your pardon?”
“The absence of your parents.” Andrew tucked her hand within the crook of his arm. “‘Tis worst the first night, then becomes easier. I know.”
She sniffed. “How did you come by this sage knowledge? Were you homesick at the Duke of Buckingham’s?”
Andrew grinned. In a faint way he reminded her of Dickon. “Nay, ‘twas when I came here to be Sir Thomas’s squire. Cried my eyes out that first night.”
“Oh?” Alicia wondered if she would cry all night. She had a sinking feeling that she would.
“Aye. When one of the serving men complained to Sir Thomas that my blubbering had kept him awake, my master bade me sleep on the trundle bed in his own chamber.”
She couldn’t help but be interested in the boy’s story. “And did you keep Sir Thomas awake?”
Andrew laughed. “Nay. ‘Twas he who banished sleep by telling me the most amusing stories until my eyelids fell of their own accord. When I awoke the next morning, I found that Vixen had joined me, and had warmed me all through the night.”
Alicia gasped with shock. “Fie on Sir Thomas for that! How dare he debauch so innocent a boy in his care! And just who is this vixen, pray tell?”
Andrew laughed even harder. “Vixen is a small greyhound, Mistress Alicia. You saw her earlier with my master. Methinks you will like her.”
Ah, but will Vixen like me? Alicia wondered. And what about the dog’s handsome master?
Chapter Three
“What?” Lady Isabel Cavendish hurled a chamber pot at the trembling maid. “You lie, you slut!” A cushion from the nearby stool followed after the smashed clay receptacle.
Meg ducked as the heavy pillow sailed past her. “Nay, ‘tis gospel true, my lady.”
Isabel snatched up one of her satin slippers from the disordered pile of her footwear on the floor. “Thomas betrothed? ‘Tis as much to say that we shall catch larks when the sky falls. How now, Meg? I am in no mood for jesting.”
The maid backed closer to the door. “I do not wag my tongue, my lady. I saw the woman with my own eyes. She has come, bag and baggage. Master Andrew has put her in the royal bedchamber, and there she stays. I came straightway to tell’ee, my lady.”
Isabel lowered the slipper. “And Thomas? What has he said?”
“Naught.” Meg hid a giggle in her apron. “In truth, he sputtered and goggled like a pike on a hook, then he bolted from the hall.”
Isabel curled her lips. This unwanted guest was as much a surprise to her brother-in-law as she was to Isabel. No doubt the great Earl of Thornbury now cowered somewhere in the home park with those filthy hounds of his. Isabel presumed that he wouldn’t return until after sunset. All the better. This bold wench could be well on her way back home by the time Thomas gave her a second thought. A tiny smile crept around the corners of Isabel’s mouth.
“Bring her to me,” she ordered. “I shall deal with this unpleasantness myself.”
Meg bobbed a curtsy. “Very good, my lady.” She turned to go.
“And, Meg?”
The maid paused. “Aye, my lady?”
“Tell no one of my conference with the woman. Do you mark me?” Isabel narrowed her eyes. Meg was such a taddle-toad. “One word, and ‘twill go very badly for you, I promise.”
The maid swallowed. “Aye, my lady.” She bobbed again, then dashed away.
Isabel picked her way around the heaps of discarded clothing that
littered the floor of her chamber. She stopped before the large sheet of costly Venetian looking glass that William had imported especially for her, and wrinkled her nose at her reflection. She hated to wear black. It made her look plague-racked. Who in this godforsaken castle cared what Isabel wore? She could roam the corridors stark naked for all the interest she stirred in Thomas.
She skimmed her hands across her breasts and down to her narrow waist. William had always complimented her figure. He appreciated a beauty when he saw one. Not like his father, the old earl. All that man had ever said to Isabel was, “When are you going to do your duty, mistress? When am I going to hold my grandson?”
God knows she had tried hard enough to get pregnant. William had mounted her almost nightly—twice a day when they were first married. Isabel sighed at the memory. Though she had often complained at the time, she missed her dead husband now. Thomas couldn’t possibly hold a candle to William, yet she had little choice. She must marry Thomas, or be sent back to her father’s crowded household where she would have to fight her enormous number of sisters for every scrap of food on the table. Farewell to fine gowns, bright jewels and looking glasses with which to admire herself. Isabel shook out the folds of her black damask skirt. How could she possibly attract Thomas if she looked like a pinched crow?
Behind her, someone cleared her throat. Isabel whirled around. A tall creature, dressed in a plain green woolen gown, dropped a curtsy. Despite her height and apparent low estate, the stranger’s posture remained perfect, even when she rose. Isabel drew in her breath. This woman was a giantess. No doubt her feet were as large as shovels—nothing like Isabel’s own dainty ones. She relaxed a little. Nothing to fear from this long drink of water. Cavendish men liked their women petite.
“I am Lady Isabel Cavendish,” she announced as she seated herself upon the only chair in the room. She spread out her skirts around her. “My husband was Sir William, second son of the Earl of Thornbury.” Isabel paused, then corrected herself. “The late earl, that is.”
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