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Three Dog Knight

Page 6

by Tori Phillips


  Isabel kicked off her slippers, then stretched out her toes to the warmth of the fire. Tomorrow, she would send a message to the Archbishop of York for a dispensation. Better to start the proceedings now. Ecclesiastical matters took a such long time. She sighed. I must plant an heir. She licked her lips as she thought of Launce, a groom whom she had seduced several months ago. Tall, sturdy and blond—like his Cavendish master, he swived well. The begetting would be fun in the bargain.

  Isabel would lie with Launce on the morrow. She wiggled her toes at the pleasurable prospect.

  The late-summer sun lingered in the western sky as Thomas led Alicia into the high-walled garden in the lee of the castle. She breathed in the familiar aromas of new-turned earth, roses in full bloom, and sun-warmed mint. Gillyflowers in pinks and whites, purple-headed irises, nodding, golden-eyed daisies and the ordered rows of the herb garden caught her by surprise.

  “Your garden is lovely, and very well cared for, my lord. Isabel did not strike me as a gardener.”

  “She is not,” he replied in a brusque manner. “‘Tis Mary’s.”

  Alicia’s eyes widened. “Your little sister? I am amazed. She is so young, yet she has a skillful hand.”

  Thomas sighed. “Mary is young and old at the same time. She—” He stopped, looked at Alicia, then said nothing. Instead, he stared at his polished boots.

  He can speak wisely, yet he chooses not to. Alicia thanked assorted saints in heaven for her conversation with Mary this afternoon. The girl had a good eye for the people around her.

  Thomas withdrew his fingertips from her elbow, and clasped his hands behind his back. Alicia tried not to show her disappointment. She had been heartened by his undivided, though silent, attention during supper, and by his surprising rebuke of his sister-in-law. She hoped that this walk would initiate a discussion of their marriage. Yet Thomas acted as if her presence displeased him. She swallowed down her fear. At least, he had not sent her away. Pray God, he would honor his betrothal contract.

  Alicia forced a smile to her lips. “The evening is my favorite time of day,” she said by way of making small talk. “Everything is at peace with itself.”

  Thomas merely rumbled in his throat.

  She ran her tongue across her dry lips, and continued the one-sided conversation in a bright manner. “Your sister must have a rare gift with growing things. The flowers are much larger than the ones my moth…my mother grew in her garden in York.” She must not think of her abandoned home. The pain of parting hurt too much.

  “Aye,” Thomas muttered.

  Alicia wondered what his deep voice would sound like when he whispered sweet words of love into a maiden’s ear. Her cheeks grew warm at the thought. Please, sweet Saint Anne, let him fall in love with me—or, at least, let him like me, just a little bit. She could not bear the thought of living the rest of her life without the comfort of love. The Bramptons had given her their fullest measure of affection during her childhood.

  Just then Georgie brushed past them. He sniffed along the path of crushed oyster shells until he came to a spot under a thickly flowering pink rosebush. He began to dig; the flying dirt just missed Alicia’s skirts.

  Thomas snapped his fingers twice. Georgie stopped his frantic activity, and gave them a look of reproach.

  “Your pardon, Mistress Alicia. Did he foul your clothing?” Thomas reached out as if to brush away an offending clod of mud. Then he balled his fist, and jammed his hand behind his back again. He rocked back and forth on his heels, while he stared at a spot over her head.

  He is afraid to touch me. Alicia found herself inordinately pleased with that possibility. He must respect me, even a little bit. Aloud, she remarked, “Nay, Georgie’s aim was off the mark. Pray, what is he digging for? A badger or a hare?”

  Thomas chuckled. The sound sung in her ears.

  “Nay, Georgie’s hunting days are past, I fear, though he does not know it yet. He buries his bones from the table scraps in the garden. Mary is at sixes and sevens over this little habit.”

  “Mayhap, Georgie hopes to grow a bone tree, and so never have to beg for scraps again,” Alicia ventured.

  Thomas laughed deep in his throat The unexpected sound caught Alicia by surprise. She must try to get him to laugh again, and often. She suspected he was not used to expressing his mirth in such an open fashion, thanks to his older brother’s torments during his childhood.

  “Your little greyhound—do you know when she will deliver?”

  “In a week’s time, or thereabouts.”

  Alicia regarded Vixen. She noted how the sleek animal kept close to Thomas. “She is a beautiful creature. Did her other puppies look like honey as well?”

  Thomas stared at Alicia, lifting his thick brows in surprise. “Very few look anything like their mother. I fear Vixen is too free with her favors. I never know who is the father until she whelps.” He chuckled again. “’Tis always a surprise.”

  “Oh.” Alicia searched frantically for something else to say. “Have you fixed her a nest for her birthing?”

  He sighed. “Every time. And every time, Vixen finds her own spot. She had one litter in the laundry, right in. the middle of newly washed linen. I had to pay the laundress two shillings to sweeten her temper. She was none too pleased at the mess.”

  “Methinks she liked your silver,” Alicia observed.

  He nodded. “Aye, she did. Silver is the way to all women’s hearts—” With a stricken look, the rest of his words died on his lips. He strode down the path.

  Alicia ran to keep up with him. “Do you think my heart is bought with silver as well, Sir Thomas?”

  He stopped so quickly that Taverstock bumped into his boot. Thomas scooped up the little dog, and scratched him behind his ears. He did not look at Alicia.

  “Your father paid my father a great sum of gold as your dowry,” he muttered. “All women are bought and sold.”

  She put her hands to her hips. “Is that the truth?” she asked, cocking her head. “And what of your sister, Mary? I presume you will dower her?”

  “She…” He chewed on his lower lip.

  Alicia continued, heedless of where her tongue might take her. “My…my father may have bartered my body, my lord, but I assure you no stack of gold, nor mound of jewels can buy my affections. I am not Isabel.”

  “Thank God!” he murmured, still rubbing Taverstock’s little brown ears. “You are…” He did not complete his thought.

  “Aye, my lord?”

  He took a deep breath. “You will be my wife. My father swore it, and I will do my duty to honor his word.”

  “Only duty?” Alicia gulped. Not even a glimmer of affection or desire?

  Thomas put the little terrier down on the path. “Aye, well. We all have our responsibilities, mistress. I am newfound to mine, and I fear…”

  Instead of finishing his sentence, Thomas turned on his heel, and practically ran back to the garden gate. Vixen and Tavie scampered after him. Georgie chose to stay with Alicia. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she watched the new earl’s receding figure in the half-moon’s feeble beams. Sweet angels! Would he run out on her at the church door on their wedding day? Just before Thomas rounded the corner of the wall, he stopped.

  “I am glad you have come to Wolf Hall, Alicia.” Then he disappeared.

  Her knees felt suddenly weak. She sank down on the path. Heavens above! Did he mean those words, or were they said for courtesy’s sake? Georgie ambled over to her side. He licked her face. She rubbed his ears in return.

  “At least, I know where your affection lies, Georgie.” Alicia ruffled his neck fur. “To bed it is, and tomorrow I shall launch a quiverful of wiles at the bashful Earl of Thornbury—beginning with his meals. By my faith, Georgie, how could you stand to eat our supper this night? No wonder Sir Thomas is out of sorts. But tomorrow—aye, there’s the challenge, Georgie. They do say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Come!”

  Rising from t
he ground, Alicia snapped her fingers as she had seen Thomas do. Georgie obediently followed her back to the castle.

  That night, Alicia could not sleep. She lay in the middle of the huge ornate four-poster, and stared at the blue velvet canopy above her. Drawing the soft silken coverlet under her chin, she all but sank into the thick down ticking that was the mattress. Last night she had been in her own narrow cot under the eaves of the goldsmith’s house. Below her gabled window, the city of York had hummed its night song: cats yowled, a dog barked in reply, and thick heels tramped on the cobblestones as a late tavern guest wended his way home. Last night Alicia’s mattress had been filled with sweet-smelling straw stuffed into a large bolster, and her cover had been a plain woolen blanket. Last night she had slept well.

  Tears brimmed in her eyes as she recalled every nook and cranny of the only home she had ever known. What of her beloved guardians? Alicia said a prayer for their safe journey across the water to Flanders. She gripped the coverlet tighter as she willed herself not to give in to the sadness that gnawed within her.

  This bed is too grand. She could get lost within its rich folds, and might never see morning’s light again. Why had Andrew put her in such a sumptuous chamber? She did not feel at ease amid its silk and golden appointments. Even the maid, who had lighted the way for Alicia, knew that the goldsmith’s daughter would have been far happier in simpler surroundings. Isabel might desire the pomp of velvet hangings and delicate carving on the headboard. Alicia only felt uneasy.

  Just as the night watchman on the battlements cried the darkest hour of midnight, she heard a sound outside her door. Though she did not believe in hobgoblins or ghosties, she gripped the coverlet tighter. The closest weapon at hand was the brass candlestick on her bedside table. She scooted across the mattress to be closer to it.

  Toenails clicked on the floor in the corridor. Then something sniffed along the bottom of the door. Alicia released her pent-up breath. ‘Twas Georgie, she was sure. She knew that Taverstock’s little paws danced a faster pace, and Vixen made no sound at all. Alicia had never lived with a dog before now. She must get used to the sounds of their night wanderings—especially if she was going to be Thomas’s wife.

  A sharp snap of fingers halted the dog’s investigation. Alicia froze. She stared at the door, trying to make out in the pale moonlight if someone lifted the latch. Her breath stopped in her throat. Thomas must be standing just outside in the corridor. What if he came into her room now, and demanded a sampling of the wedding night?

  Alicia knew it was his right. She dug her fingers into the goose-down mattress. Katherine Brampton had reared her foster daughter to be a proper, modest girl. Alicia’s sole experience with the opposite sex had been a kiss stolen by Peter Martext last May Day, and then his lips had merely grazed her cheek. Only this morning during a brief rest stop, Edward had warned her about the lusty appetites of the Cavendishes. His keen eyes had narrowed when he recalled his introduction to John and William. Thomas was bound to be just like them. Biting her lips, Alicia stared at the door latch, and waited.

  Two more snaps, then she heard the sound of the dog’s toenails recede down the passageway.

  She crawled to the edge of the bed, then pulled back the covers and got out. The cold floor chilled her bare feet. She lifted the candle in its holder, then tiptoed over to the fireplace where the embers from the evening’s fire glowed in its center. She lit the candle, then crept to the door, and pressed her ear against the stout oak panels. Not a sound outside.

  Summoning all of her courage, Alicia lifted the handle, and cracked open the door. She held the candle above her head. No shadow leapt into its spilled light. With a deep sigh of relief, she closed the door and scampered back to the enormous bed. Blowing out the friendly light, she slid under the princely covers. Within a few moments she was fast asleep.

  Just before the dawn, Alicia awoke to the unaccustomed cry of a rooster. At first she could not remember where she was. Then her gaze rested on the faded shield that hung over the fireplace. A fierce wolf’s head glared back at her from a scarlet field—the Cavendish family crest. The promised morrow had come, and she was still at Wolf Hall. She rose, splashed chilly water from the pitcher on her face, then brushed the tangles out of her hair.

  She must dress quickly and get to the kitchens before the cooks were too far along in their preparations for the noonday dinner. She vowed that Thomas, and the rest of the inhabitants of this dreary castle, would eat better today. He could not send her away if she pleased his appetite. Thank all the saints, Katherine had taught Alicia how to cook and care for a home. ‘Twas a better schooling than that of a princess, she decided, as she tied the laces of her bodice together.

  In her haste, she nearly missed the folded piece of paper that lay just inside her door. Alicia could swear she had not seen it in the middle of the night. The moonlight had spilled on this very spot. After opening the mysterious missive, she carried it to the window where the early light helped her make out the letters. Written in a large, bold hand, the words took away her breath.

  To the peerless Alicia—

  I take pen in a shaking hand to write you that which I dare not speak aloud. When I laid down, I could not sleep, for your sweet likeness danced in my thoughts. I awoke this early morning with your imagined kiss still moist upon my lips. Your beauty steals me from myself, and I know not what to say—save that I am ever thine.

  No signature graced the bottom of the letter.

  Chapter Five

  Alicia reread the note. Its sweet words burned into her memory. She had never received a letter before now—and this one swept her away with its poetry. She furrowed her brows as she read the sugared words for a third time. An uneasy feeling stole through her—“I am ever thine.” Whose desire had she awakened?

  Certainly not Thomas. He had barely spoken to her, and their conversation had chiefly revolved around his dogs. Furthermore, he did not show the slightest interest in her as a person, let alone as a lover. “Duty,” he had called their marriage. By now, Alicia knew enough of him to realize that duty and honor were everything to Thomas.

  The door creaked open. One of the chambermaids poked her head inside.

  “Good morrow, mistress,” she began. “I came to help dress you—but I see you already have.” A small frown of disapproval flitted across her expression.

  Alicia stuffed the paper up her sleeve. The last thing she wanted was to become the object of gossip in the kitchen. “Good morrow. Your pardon, but I do not know your name.”

  “‘Tis Audrey, mistress.” She wiped her runny nose with the back of her hand.

  Alicia made a mental note to introduce the use of handkerchiefs to the household as soon as she was married, and had become the lady of Wolf Hall. If that happy day ever came to pass.

  She smiled at the girl. “I see you have a quick eye, Audrey,” she praised her in a gentle tone.

  “Aye, mistress.” The maid shifted her feet. “My Lady Isabel says that I spy on her betimes—but I swear by the good book that I never done it.”

  Alicia smiled inwardly. No doubt Audrey observed Lady Cavendish a great deal, as well as the rest of the castle folk. The girl probably called eavesdropping “taking an interest.” Spying was such an unpleasant word.

  She studied the maid’s pert expression. I must watch out for Audrey and others of her ilk. If Audrey knew that Alicia had a secret admirer, she would babble the news to all and sundry. Alicia would be banished from Wolf Hall in a trice. Sir Thomas Cavendish did not strike her as a particularly forgiving man. She could easily imagine him as a jealous husband if he suspected cause. I must never give him reason to doubt my honesty. She swallowed hard.

  Audrey came a little closer. “Mistress, are you well? You look a bit on the pale side.”

  Alicia squared her shoulders. “‘Tis a moment of sad fancy. See? ‘Tis past now.”

  Audrey’s smile returned. “Mayhap some morning ale will do you a particle of good. Aye, and a bit o
f bread to hold you until dinner. I will fetch some for you.” She looked poised for instant flight.

  Alicia held up her hand. “Nay, good Audrey. I was going to the kitchen myself.”

  The maid rubbed her nose. “Oh, aye? Wherefore, mistress?”

  Alicia smiled in earnest. “To see to the dinner. I have a number of goodly recipes that my mother taught me. I would love to surprise Sir Thomas with some of them. What do you say?”

  The young maid looked surprised at the question. Alicia surmised that she probably had never been asked to express her opinion.

  “The cook may be willing, mistress. He is lazy and much given to drinking his ale. Methinks he would not mind a helping hand or two.” She winked at Alicia.

  “Good! Run along. I shall follow directly.”

  Audrey nodded. “Very good, mistress. ‘Twill be a right pleasure to have you with us.” With another wink, she skipped out the door, closing it behind her.

  Perchance she thinks I am here as a housekeeper for Thomas and not as his betrothed. Mayhap that is all I will become in the end.

  With a start, Alicia realized that she did not like that idea at all. Her sudden longing to become Thomas’s wife caught her by surprise. Surely it was not for the protection of his name and title, though she desperately needed both. As a faceless member of his household, she would be safe enough from the upstart Tudor king amid the iron pots and straw brooms.

  Alicia allowed her idle fancy to frolic in her thoughts. She recalled how fine Thomas had looked in the garden last night. He seemed to glow in the moonlight. His touch had been so gentle when they had chanced to encounter each other’s hand under the table. She decided that his face was very handsome, and when he smiled, one could almost hear the angels sing for joy. Thomas should smile more often. He was made for life’s enjoyments. Like a good dinner for a start, she reminded herself.

 

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