The White Lord of Wellesbourne Read Free Page A

uncle Howard Terrington, Lord Ryesdale, sends his greetings. I am
the Lady Alixandrea Terrington St. Ave and I have come with my maidservant, my
man servant 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