The White Lord of Wellesbourne

Book 5: De Russe Legacy

by Kathryn Le Veque

Genres: Ancient World Romance; Medieval Romance

Synopsis

1485 A.D. – Adam Wellesbourne and his four sons – Matthew, Mark, Luke and John – comprise the most feared House in the service of Richard III.

Adam’s eldest son, Matthew, has earned such an influential reputation that throughout England he is known as The White Lord of Wellesbourne. Upon the eve of the Battle of Bosworth field, Matthew finds himself forced into a contract marriage that he has been avoiding for ten years. He has no desire to wed the Lady Alixandrea Terrington St. Ave, but his father is insistent. The lady comes with a dowry of 400 fighting men, most important in these warring times.

But a strange thing happens to Matthew the moment he meets his future bride; he is actually attracted to her.

The Lady Alixandrea is beautiful, intelligent, and kind. But she is also unknowingly caught up in a deadly game of politics. Suddenly, a simple marriage becomes a deadly happenstance. As forces for both King Richard and Henry Tudor build towards the battle that will decide the future of England, Matthew is distracted by the woman he never wanted to marry. In this world where the politics of rival men vying for the throne control the fortunes of a nation, The White Lord of Wellesbourne is torn between the unexpected life he never thought to have and the warring life that he’d always known to be.

Will lovely Alixandrea win him or will King Richard?

Note: The de Russe Legacy series can be read in any order, as they are all stand-alone novels, but the chronological order (by the year the story is set in) is:

1 Lord of War: Black Angel
2 The Iron Knight
3 Beast
4 The White Lord of Wellesbourne
5 The Dark One: Dark Knight
6 Dark Moon

Release date: April 1, 2014

Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.

Print pages: 335

Sample

CHAPTER ONE

Early July, 1485 A.D.

England

The carriage had a bad axel and held a worse gait than that of a lame horse. For days she had put up with the rocking and lurching. Whenever the carriage came to a halt, she continued to rock and lurch long after it had stopped. Sometimes she thought her brains were about to come sloshing out of her ears.

Her patience had lasted nearly nine days. But it was eight days too many. Nearing a town nestled in the soft green landscape of Warwickshire, she could no longer stand the torture and she smacked the roof of the carriage several times until the driver pulled the horses to a stop.

The woman with the sloshing brains stuck her head out of the window. “What town is this?”

“Newbold, my lady.”

“Thank God,” she muttered. Then louder, “I will stop here. I must stretch my legs.”

“But we are almost to Wellesbourne,” the driver told her.

She ignored him. The door to the carriage was already open and the lady climbed out. Behind her, a contingent of four hundred soldiers had come to a halt, including three mounted officers. The shuffling of their feet kicked up clouds of dust from the dry road and the breeze, once so delightful, now brought the dust in the lady’s direction. She fanned a hand in front of her face to be rid of the dirt.

“Look at me,” she glanced down at her clothes, of the latest fashion. “I shall be a dirty, dusty mess by the time we reach Wellesbourne. What will my new husband think of me?”

From the carriage door, a small covered head appeared. The lady’s serving woman was an unusual shade of green as her feet gingerly found their way out of the carriage.

“He shall think ye the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on, m’lady.” She nearly fell out of the door and would have done so had her mistress not prevented it. She straightened her girdle and looked at her surroundings. “My, ’tis warm in these parts.”

The lady looked up from brushing the dust off her seamless surcoat, the ruby color peppered with brown specks. The land this far south was defined by rolling hills interspersed with flat plains now and again. Clusters of forests dotted the area. It wasn’t nearly as lush or colorful as York, but there was charm to it.

“Whatever it is, I shall have to become used to it,” she said, resignation in her voice.

Finished with the dust off, she refocused on the tavern she had seen as they had entered the outskirts of the settlement. It was a large establishment, surprising for such a small berg, and she thought it to be perfect place to refresh herself before proceeding to Wellesbourne. She did not want her future husband’s first impression of her to be road-weary and famished. She would ease herself now to be presentable later. At least it seemed like a good idea.

“In there,” she jabbed her finger towards the inn as she marched past the soldier who was her coachman. “Tell the men to rest while I am occupied. I shall not be long.”

“In there?” he repeated, chagrined. “But that’s a tavern.”

“Brilliant assessment, Strode.”

He ignored her acerbic reply. “God only knows what kinds of creatures inhabit that place, my lady. ’Tis no place for you.”

“If it does not have wheels on it and I can sit peacefully for a few moments, it is indeed a place for me.”

He nearly sneered at her. “Do you have any money? They’re going to want coinage, you know. How do you expect to pay?”

She puckered her bow-shaped mouth, a snide retort coming to her lips but wisely refrained. Strode had been entrusted with the cash her uncle had given her and it would not do well to insult the man with the money.

“I will pay with the coin you so kindly give to me,” she held out her hand. “A few pences, please? I promise that I shall be wise and thrifty.”

“And if I do not give you the money?”

“I am sure there will be a man or two in that tavern who will gladly supply me with the money I need.”

It was apparent she was going whether or not there were any objections. Strode leapt from the carriage and emitted a piercing whistle to several mounted soldiers to the rear of the carriage. Then he glared at the young woman he had known since birth.

“You shall go nowhere without escort, Lady Alixandrea,” he said sternly. “Your uncle would have my hide if anything happened to you so close to your destination.”

The Lady Alixandrea Terrington St. Ave lifted a well-shaped eyebrow at him. “God forbid.”

It was a sarcastic remark, softly uttered. The mounted soldiers arrived and the coachman gave them instructions to stick close to the lady while she found rest at the inn. The men raised their eyebrows at the thought of the lady in a rough, untamed tavern, but they all knew that once Lady Alixandrea set her mind to something, there was no dissuading her. They had no choice but to follow or be left behind.

Gathering her skirt, Alixandrea set forth across the dusty road towards the timber and mortar tavern. Above her, the sky was unnaturally blue in the unseasonably dry weather and she thought perhaps that may have something to do with her unsettled stomach. Heat and travel could be an uncomfortable situation. Behind her, the maid shuffled like an old woman, kicking up more dust onto her new garment.

“Jezebel, pick up your feet,” she admonished sternly. “And when we enter, I will do the talking, is that clear?”

The dark-eyed, dark-haired maid nodded. “Do ye want a bath, too?”

“A bath? In this place?” Alixandrea looked up at the hand-hewn sign that now hung above their heads. Head O’Bucket. “Would you look at the name of this establishment? I think I shall faint.”

“Steady, m’lady.”

“Steady it is.”

The words were lightly spoken, lightly given. Alixandrea St. Ave was the last woman on the earth to give in to fits of fainting. She pushed the door open, giving it a good shove as it stuck on the hinges.

But her bravery was instantly tempered by the stench that immediately struck her; it was like walking into a garderobe. It was also quite dark, in stark contrast to the bright sunlight outside, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Between the smell and the darkness, she was coming to reconsider her desire to visit this abysmal place. But one of the soldiers escorting her pushed the door open wider, thinking it was jammed, and she was forced to move forward.

There was one great room and little more. And it was surprisingly full. Alixandrea and her maid, followed by the soldiers, looked for the least obtrusive place to sit and quickly located a table near the door that was suitable. She noticed that all eyes in the place had somehow found her in the darkness. She wondered what they were thinking and how shortly her life would be in danger. In spite of what she had told her maid, she sent the woman in search of the barkeep in a hurry. She wanted to obtain her refreshment and get out.

As she sat and waited, with her soldiers close behind for protection, a great collective mass of appreciation was forming in that stuffy little tavern. When the door had opened and she stood there, illuminated by the bright sunlight, there were a few in the room that swore Heaven itself had opened up the door and an angel now stood in their midst.

Clad in a ruby-colored cloak with her glorious bronze-colored curls spilling over one shoulder, the angel in the doorway could only be described as magnificent. Her oval-shaped face was sweet and her eyes were the most amazing color of bronze, just like her hair; somewhere between brown and gold that flowed like sultry molten liquid. When she moved, she swished, as an angel’s wings would have. And when she sat, it was with the aura of a queen.

There wasn’t one man or woman in that room that wasn’t instantly enchanted with her. She was obviously well-born, well-bred, and just this side of paradise. It wasn’t long before someone approached the table.

“My lady,” a soft, deep voice addressed her. “May I buy your meal for you?”

Alixandrea looked up into the face of a young man, perhaps a little older than her, with very short, golden-red hair. He had blue eyes and a square-jaw. It was a handsome appearance. And he was a big lad, which intimidated her a bit, but he seemed mannered.

“I am not eating, good sir,” she said, avoiding eye contact with him. “I have merely come in to rest before continuing on my journey.”

“Then allow me to provide you with your refreshment.”

Before she could protest, he was whistling to the barkeep and motioning to the table. Alixandrea shook her head.

“No, good sir, I implore you,” she said, more forcefully. “It is my wish to enjoy my rest without company, if you don’t mind.”

He looked at her as if he did not comprehend a word she was saying. Was it possible that there was a woman who did not want his company? His lips broke out in an easy smile.

“It is only because you do not know me,” he said confidently. “I am Sir Luke Wellesbourne of Wellesbourne Castle. My father is lord over this fiefdom.”

She looked at him intently. It was a struggle not to give away the surprise she felt. “Wellesbourne?”

He sat heavily next to her, taking the big earthenware cup from the barkeep as the man drew near the table.

“Aye,” he jabbed his finger towards the smoking, sloppy hearth. “And that is my unsociable brother over there, brooding like a bear.”

Her bronze eyes drifted in the direction he was pointing, noticing an enormous man sitting by himself, hunched over a cup. He was partially hidden in the shadows, enough so that she could not get a good look at him. Alixandrea’s eyes lingered on the silent, hulking figure, a feeling in the pit of her stomach that she could not begin to describe. All she knew was that it disturbed her greatly.

“Who is your brother?”

Luke took a long drink from his mug. “The great and mighty Matthew Wellesbourne, favored of the king.” He leaned near her, enough so that she instinctively tilted away from him. “Have you heard of The White Lord of Wellesbourne? Well, that would be him. But if you are thinking of inviting him to our table, do not bother. He is greatly troubled today. He would be horrible company.”

The White Lord of Wellesbourne. She’d known that name for half of her life and the realization took her breath away. But how was it possible that he was here, now? He was supposed to be at Wellesbourne Castle; but then again, so was she.

Alixandrea stared at the dark figure, trying to get a better look. Although she thought she may have an inkling of the answer to her question, she asked anyway. “What is his trouble?”

“His wife is coming to Wellesbourne.”

“And this is a bad event, I take it?”

“Aye,” Luke took another drink. “Well, she is not exactly his wife. She is his betrothed. They were promised to each other years ago but he had been putting her off until her uncle laid his claim and told my father that if Matthew put off the marriage again, there would be serious consequences. So now, he is forced. He has come here to drown his sorrows in ale and wenches.”

Alixandrea lifted an eyebrow, nodding her head slowly as if in complete sympathy. “My goodness,” she said. “How utterly awful. Is his betrothed so terrible, then?”

Luke shrugged. “We do not know. But, then again, most noble women are some manner of terrible. But she comes with a large dowry and four hundred soldiers, so she must be worth something, eh?”

He laughed at his statement. Alixandrea smiled thinly. “Aye, she must be worth something,” she agreed.

Luke licked the ale from his lips, his gaze steady upon her. “I am sure that if my brother had a wife like you, there would be nothing horrible about it. I would take you without four hundred fighting men and a sizable dowry.”

He meant it as a compliment but it only served to further insult her. “How fortunate for me,” she said, grossly tired of his company. The rolling carriage was starting to look inviting and she was suddenly desperate to leave. “If you will excuse me, Sir Luke, I will take my leave and continue my journey. Thank you for your company and fine conversation.”

Luke put a hand on her arm, preventing her from rising. “You cannot leave so soon,” he begged. “I do not even know your name.”

Now it was her turn to smile, an ironic gesture. “I believe you already know it.”

He blinked at her. “I do? Pray, lady, if thy name is Angel, then I do.”

She stared at him, unwavering. “I have four hundred soldiers outside waiting for me as well as a sizable dowry. I am on my way to Wellesbourne Castle to marry my betrothed. Now, can you still say that you do not know my name?”

Luke’s intoxicated blue eyes met her gaze for a long moment before gradually dissolving into an expression of horror.

“You…?” He pushed back in his chair and ended up toppling it onto its side. Luke was on his feet, babbling as he struggled to overcome his drunkenness. “My lady, I did not know. Forgive me, please. I had no idea.”

She stood up, a small lady compared to the sizable knight. But her expression was the most powerful thing in that room at the moment.

“Either you are a complete fool or your brother truly has no sense of propriety that he would allow you to speak so,” she snarled. “How many other people have you told that ridiculous story to? How many people will travel from this place spreading the tale of the heir of Wellesbourne’s hideous betrothed?”

“No one, my lady, I swear it.” He bellowed in the general direction of his brother. “Matt! A little help, please?”

By this time, Matthew heard the raised voices and glanced up to see Luke on his feet with the lady advancing on him. He’d seen her when she’d entered the inn, just like everyone else and, like everyone else, had been momentarily entranced by her ethereal beauty.

But he had no inclination to pursue her further and allowed Luke to behave as Luke was so capable of behaving. Now he was wondering what his brother had said to make the lady turn on him.

Matthew was far enough away that he had not heard their conversation although he had heard his brother’s loud pleas for help. But he shook his head in response, turning back to his fourth cup of ale. Luke saw that his brother did not understand the severity of the situation and he made haste over to his table.

“Matt,” he hissed. “Did you not hear me? We have… trouble!”

He was pointing at the lady. Matthew looked over at her again, a delicious goddess with porcelain skin. “What trouble could that be? Let me guess; she is a Tudor wench and you have seriously insulted both her loyalties and her parentage.”

Alixandrea heard the “wench” portion and came to a halt. Luke shook his head, sickened at the course the conversation had taken.

“Nay,” he whispered, hoping his brother would not take his head off for his stupidity. “She is your betrothed.”

Matthew was lingering over his cup, his gaze distant. But the moment Luke spilled the words, his blue eyes took on the most peculiar look. It was as if he had suddenly become frozen, unable to think or move. One could literally see his fingers stiffening with tension and Luke was terrified that his brother was going to suddenly snap. Instead, he blinked his eyes in a slow, reptilian motion. It was a frightening gesture.

“Do you know this for a fact?” he asked steadily.

“I do.”

“Did she tell you?”

“She said she has four hundred soldiers and a sizable dowry waiting for her outside, and that she is on her way to Wellesbourne Castle to marry her betrothed.”

Matthew continued to sit immobile. Luke wasn’t even sure if his brother was breathing. Finally, Matthew cast a long glance at his brother before looking to the lady.

She stood in the middle of the room, a vision of ruby and lustrous hair. She had the most beautiful face he had ever seen, delicate and sweet, yet with a hint of wisdom that was difficult to describe.

A cursory examination of the lady showed him absolutely no physical flaws as far as he could tell. But the expression she held was of indignant outrage, tempering his reaction to her presence.

“What did you say to her?” he asked his brother.

Luke was glad he was out of arm’s range. He did not want a massive fist to come flying at him. “I… I told her that you were terrible company because you were awaiting the arrival of your betrothed whom you did not want to marry.”

“Is that all?”

Luke winced, closing his eyes. “I said awful things.”

“How awful?”

“She hates us, I know it.”

Matthew did not want a fight on his hands from the onset. In fact, gazing at the lady, he wasn’t sure he wanted a fight at all. He was rather taken aback by what he saw. The only appropriate thing to do was face her.

Matthew rose from his chair slowly, like the phoenix rising from the ashes, a massive man with equally massive shoulders on which to bear the weight of a kingdom. Everything about him reeked of power and command as his presence, once seated and inconspicuous, now filled the entire room.

It was a gesture not lost on Alixandrea. In fact, she had to suppress the urge to back away. She’d never seen such a sizeable man, even though he was in full armor which made him appear even larger. To her credit, she stood her ground as he approached. When he came within a few feet of her, he stopped.

“Lady Alixandrea?” he asked.

“I am the Lady Alixandrea,” she not too subtly corrected the pronunciation of her name, Alix-ahn-dray-a, so that he would know for future reference. “And you are Sir Matthew?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Aye,” his deep voice was without force. “Forgive me, my lady. This is not how I had planned our first meeting.”

Her lovely lips turned up at the corners cynically. “From what I understand, were it left up to you, there would be no first meeting at all. Just how did you plan it?”

Matthew could only imagine what his foolish brother had told her. Awful things. Unless Matthew wanted this marriage to be strained and conflicting from the beginning, he had to make amends. He had to undo the damage that Luke had done.

“Certainly not in a tavern with my brother drunk and me well on my way,” he said. “I had hoped to meet you at Wellesbourne in the great hall where the appropriate introductions would take place.”

She cocked her head slightly, studying him; he was a handsome man, not obviously beautiful, but in a rugged, masculine sort of way that was both powerful and intriguing. His pale blond hair was shorn tight against his scalp, curly and coarse. He had enormous blue eyes, a square jaw and gentle-looking features that were oddly out of place for a man of his fierce reputation. His ears even stuck out a little, giving him an inherently human quality.

But in that quality was something innately calm, although she knew that he was one of the most fearsome knights in the realm. He had been with King Richard on many campaigns against Henry Tudor’s forces and had proven himself without question. She’d been hearing tales of The White Lord of Wellesbourne since she had been ten years old. It was a long time to hear of a legend.

So the man did not want to be married. There was no great crime in that. But she was disappointed. Somehow she had hoped that he would have longed to know her just as she had longed to know him. Her uncle had filled her with fairy tales of the man. Matthew had apparently been filled with horror stories of her.

“Then let us make the introductions now, however inappropriate,” she said, trying not to sound too bitter. “My uncle Howard Terrington, Lord Ryesdale, sends his greetings. I am the Lady Alixandrea Terrington St. Ave and I have come with my maidservant, my manservant outside, and four hundred soldiers to be placed under your command. Such were the terms of the contract, my lord. We are fulfilling our pledge.”

Matthew found himself watching her mouth as she spoke. Her lips were sweet and pillowy and lush. He suddenly felt very self-conscious, dirty and minimally drunk as he was, to be greeting this intriguing creature.

It was occurring to him that she was not at all what he had expected. The reluctance and bitterness that he had associated with this betrothal for so many years was quickly turning into something different. He did not know what yet, but it was different.

“And I am Sir Matthew Wellesbourne, Lord Ettington, heir to Wellesbourne Castle and sworn servant to our king, the illustrious Richard,” he took another step towards her, keenly aware of their size difference; he was easily twice her width and more than a foot taller. “I welcome you to Wellesbourne and would ask the honor of escorting you to the castle, my lady.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sure that doing so would not take you away from your ale and wenches, my lord?”

Now he knew what Luke had been telling her. He resisted the urge to grab his brother by the neck and squeeze.

“I think the ale and wenches can spare me.” He extended a trencher-sized hand, clad in a heavy leather glove. “I would ask that you accept my apologies for a harsh beginning. Given the choice, it would have certainly not been my intent. May I guide you?”

She eyed him, her bronze eyes a maelstrom of fire, emotion and mystery. But she silently put her hand over his, a tiny mitt against his size. In doing so, it was perhaps a reluctant acceptance of his apology. Matthew tried not to stare at her as he led her from the tavern.

The sunlight outside was blinding. Matthew’s eyes scanned the area, hawk-like, until they came to rest on a cluster of armed men a few hundred yards away from the inn. From a two-second perusal, he could see that they appeared to be seasoned, seemingly well fed and outfitted. That would translate into a strong contingent, he hoped. He led the lady in their general direction.

“I hope you had a pleasant journey from the north,” he tried to make conversation, sensing that perhaps all was not forgiven yet.

“It was long, my lord,” she said. “Long and bumpy at times.”

He nodded. “Lack of rain has made the roads miserable.”

“Indeed, my lord.”

The small talk quickly died. Glancing behind, he saw that Luke had retrieved their chargers from the livery. The two soldiers and the skittish maid also followed in a suspicious group. Shortly, they reached the fighting men clustered in a grove of trees who now stood up from their various positions of rest as their lady appeared with a colossal knight on her arm. Strode, half-asleep inside the carriage where he was not supposed to be, shot out of the cab like a scalded cat.

“My lady,” he rushed upon her, fully prepared to save her from the massive warrior even to his own death. “Are you well? Was there trouble?”

“No trouble,” she told him. “In fact, the stop at this tavern seems to have been fortuitous. I would present you to Sir Matthew Wellesbourne, your new liege, and his brother, Sir Luke.”

The foot soldiers, shocked from their momentary confusion, scurried to form a line for their new lord. Strode, his mouth gaping with surprise, bowed deeply.

“My lord,” he said. “We were not told that you would meet us on the road. Forgive me if we did not rendezvous at the appropriate place or time. I had no…”

Matthew put up a hand. “Your orders were to take the lady to Wellesbourne, which is what you were doing. I just happened to be here and we met inside.”

Strode stood up from his prostrate position, his eyes still full of confusion and, Alixandrea thought, fear. “I sent two men to look after her, my lord,” he said. “She was not without protection. I have known the lady her entire life and would not dream of allowing her in such a place without proper escort.”

He was babbling. Alixandrea cast him a long look, silently ordering him to shut his mouth. Matthew apparently did not notice. He was looking over the troops.

“Do you still have the full contingent of four hundred?” he asked. “None have run off or fallen ill during the trip?”

“We’ve lost none, my lord,” Strode replied. “Would you inspect them?”

“Not now,” Matthew said. “Wellesbourne is a little more than a mile to the south. I shall inspect them once we’re in the fortress.”

Alixandrea listened to the conversation, noting the interest in her betrothed’s voice. It reminded her, yet again, of the truth of this marriage contract; he was marrying her for the money and manpower, nothing more. She was so foolish in that she had hoped he would have seen some value in her. She was no more than the soldiers and valuables she carried; she was a commodity. She would have to accept that.

She removed her hand from his. “If there will be nothing else, my lord, perhaps we should continue to the castle. The hour grows late.”

He gazed down at her, watching the sunlight play off of her bronze hair. Gold, brown and copper glistened like a shower of light.

“A wise suggestion, my lady.” He looked at Strode. “What is your name, man?”

“Strode, my lord.”

“Very well,” he nodded shortly. “Take the lady down this road, through the village, until you come to Wellesbourne. Stop for no one and make all due haste. These parts are not safe after dark, even to me.”

Reaching over, he took Alixandrea’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. She tried not to look surprised by the bold action; it was a claiming gesture. Silently, he led her over to the carriage, opened the door, and very kindly helped her inside.

All the while, Alixandrea kept feeling that same innate gentleness she first sensed in him. The man was fearsome by size alone, but deep down, she felt there was more. Perhaps it was something he did not like anyone to see.

Their eyes met briefly as she took her seat and the corners of his eyes crinkled, as close to a smile as she had so far seen. He’d remained stoic and emotionless to this point, and she thanked him with a dip of her head. As soon as Matthew removed himself from the doorway, Jezebel leapt into the carriage and the door slammed tightly. Outside, she heard a few barked orders and the carriage lurched, once again to reel and roll that last terrible mile to Wellesbourne.

As the carriage gained a sickening rhythm on the road, she was aware of her disappointment that he had not asked her to ride with him that last mile. Or she could have ridden her paltry in stride with his great warhorse, and all of the inhabitants of Wellesbourne would have seen that Matthew was indeed accepting this wife he had been expecting for ten years.

She could only imagine what all of Wellesbourne thought of her, the great chain of doom out to attach herself to Matthew and ruin his life. But he had not asked her, indicative of the level of enthusiasm he had for this marriage. She sank back into her seat, disenchanted and moody.

The horses were just gaining their stride when the carriage suddenly lurched to a halt. Unprepared, Alixandrea went skidding across the cab and hit her head on the boxy wooden headrest on the opposite seat. Stars burst in her vision and the blood began to flow.

“Oh, m’lady,” Jezebel saw what had happened and rushed to her aid. “Here, take this kerchief. Press it on the wound or ye’ll get blood all over yer dress.”

The cut was on the right side of her forehead and stung. Alixandrea tried to put the cloth over the wound and steady herself at the same time. The world was still rocking even though the carriage had come to a halt. Trying to keep the blood out of her eye, she heard a voice from the cab door.

“What happened?” It was Matthew.

“The cab stopped too quickly, m’lord,” Jezebel told him, trying to help her lady. “She hit her head.”

The cab door opened and gentle hands were on her. Between Jezebel and Matthew, they managed to turn her around so that she was seated on the floor of the cab, her legs hanging from the open door. Though the kerchief covered most of her vision, Alixandrea could see Matthew’s face looming close.

“Let me see.”

His voice was low, full of serenity and reassurance. It disarmed Alixandrea so much that she actually obeyed him, allowing him to remove the kerchief so that he could see her head. He wiped her forehead a couple of times to keep blood from running into her eye as he inspected the injury.

His ripped off one of his leather gloves, tossing it aside. His big, warm fingers danced over her forehead and scalp, inspecting, but to Alixandrea, the sensation was something else altogether. Every time he touched her, some strange occurrence happened that sent bolts of heat racing through her body. She almost pulled away from him, but something inside her could not muster the will.

“It is not so bad, my lady,” he finally assured her. “Just a little cut inside your hairline. Unfortunately, head wounds bleed heavily no matter how large or small. I am afraid you may have a bit of a bump.”

Jezebel had produced a clean handkerchief, which she handed to Matthew and he pressed it back over the wound. Their eyes finally met and his expression relaxed into something pleasant and humane. She thought she might actually detect warmth.

“This is my fault, I fear,” he said. “I ordered Strode to halt the carriage. It occurred to me to have you ride into Wellesbourne with me. Had I known my clever plan would see you come to harm, I would have never acted upon it.”

He seemed genuinely contrite and she smiled. “’Twas not your fault, my lord,” she said. “But I fear Strode is in for a beating.”

She said the last part loud enough so her manservant could hear her. He was standing beside Matthew, blocked out of her view by Matthew’s bulk.

“Forgive, my lady,” he said. “’Twas an accident.”

“Accident, my eye,” she said snappishly. “You always stop this carriage as if the Devil has just planted himself right in your path. I have many bruises to attest to this.”

Matthew glanced over at the beleaguered manservant. “Perhaps Strode requires some coaching in this area to perfect his skills.”

While the manservant cowered, Alixandrea removed the kerchief from her head. It was spotted with blood, but the oozing had stopped for the most part. Matthew examined it again, realizing he was eager for another chance to run his fingers over her face. There was nothing about her skin and hair that wasn’t soft and supple and utterly beautiful.

“Your hair should cover it adequately,” he said, then looked her in the eye. “Do you feel well enough to ride with me?”

There was something in his tone that made her believe he might actually want her to. She handed the kerchief back to Jezebel.

“I am well enough, my lord.”

He helped her from the carriage and led her over to his big dappled warhorse. The animal was muzzled to prevent it from biting everything that moved and Matthew made sure to keep his body between her and the horse. Luke stood at the animal’s head, still reluctant to speak to the lady, fearful she’d not yet forgiven him for his behavior at the tavern. Their eyes met and he quickly lowered them, too fast to see the smile that played on her lips.

His hands went about her waist, completely encircling her. There was something to his touch that made her feel strangely giddy, but she attributed that to the bump on her head. She could feel the heat of his hands through her clothes, burning her. She did not dare turn to look at him, fearful that he would read her expression. He took a good grip of her and lifted her effortlessly towards the saddle.

That was when all hell broke loose.