The Rose at Twilight (24 page)

“No,” she said, too caught up in her own thoughts to wonder at the change in his tone, “but I am concerned that Jonet or her sister may be terrified when those men burst into their kitchen.”

“Then Mistress Hawkins is here.” He glanced at Hugh, still kneeling over the fire, and said, “I had heard so, and am glad that the Lord did spare her.” When Alys said nothing, he added, “My men will not harm her or her sister, as you must know if you give the matter thought, and too, they will be gone the sooner for your quick obedience to my command.”

Depression settled over her at the realization that he meant simply to return her to London like a stray lamb to the fold, and that she could not fight him. If she did, she knew he would just pick her up bodily and order one of his men to collect her things. Ian, no doubt. That thought brought a gasp of dismay.

“I pray you, sir, you must not punish Ian.”

“He did only what I bade him do, mistress. He was commanded to serve you. I disagree with his interpretation of my command, but I do not fault him for obeying it. You, however …” He said no more, but his expression spoke volumes.

Alys said through clenched teeth, “I won’t marry a traitor.”

“You will do as you are bid,” he retorted, “and, pray, do not trifle with me, lass, for I am not presently in possession of my customary good humor. I had counted on service in the field to prove myself to his noble grace, hoping to be rewarded with English lands to go with my new title, but your action deprived me of that opportunity. I have worn my temper out, scouring the English countryside in search of you, so do not vex me more, but go and prepare yourself to travel, and that right swiftly.”

“How did you find me?”

“I set Hugh to search London in the unlikely event that you had got assistance from a Yorkist faction there, while I traveled north in the greater certainty that you would make for Wolveston. When there was no word of you there, I rode on, thinking you might seek sanctuary at Middleham, not realizing it is now in royal hands. I did even,” he added with a grimace, “journey to Drufield Manor. You are well out of that place, mistress.”

“Aye,” she agreed. “What then?”

“Hugh and his men, not finding you in London, followed us to Wolveston. Finding us gone north, Hugh thought to inquire after the well-being of Mistress Hawkins and learned that someone else had made a similar inquiry just before him. He sent for me and met me on the road. But you dally, lass. Collect your things.”

The door opened, and Jonet entered behind him, curtsying and saying politely, “God give you a good day, Sir Nicholas. Will you stay to sup with us? ’Tis only Lenten fare, I fear.”

“Nay, mistress,” he said, turning. “I have come to take her ladyship back to London. We will depart within the hour.”

Jonet folded her hands at her waist, looked directly at him and said, “I will pack our things at once, sir.” Then, before he could respond, she gasped, clapped a hand to her bosom, and stared beyond him at Hugh, who had finished his task at the hearth and rose now to his full height.

He regarded her with keen approval. “You look prickling pert again, lass. Tis glad we are to see you so.”

Recovering herself, Jonet nodded brusquely at him, pressed her lips tightly together, and turned to leave.

“One moment, Mistress Hawkins,” Sir Nicholas said.

“Yes, sir?”

Thinking he meant to forbid Jonet to accompany them, Alys said swiftly, “She goes with me, sir, or I will defy you every step of the way and complain of your treatment when we arrive.”

“Almost you tempt me,
mi geneth
,” he said softly, adding in a louder tone to Jonet, “Prithee, tell Ian we depart very soon.”

A
S SOON AS THEY WERE
alone in the tiny bedchamber that had been allotted to her upstairs, Alys whispered to Jonet, “His lordship? Did he get safe away?”

“Aye,” Jonet replied, “through the garden, with our Davy. The Welshman must not learn his lordship’s identity. Nor that Hugh, neither.”

“In faith, we must trust that they never do,” Alys agreed fervently. She could not imagine how Sir Nicholas or Hugh might learn such a thing now that Lovell was well away, but halfway back down the stairs she realized she had forgotten to warn Ian to say nothing about the stranger he had seen when they returned from church, a stranger who had since mysteriously disappeared.

It was too late to do anything about that now, for Sir Nicholas was in the hall below, and he had seen them. He ordered two men to collect their baggage, then invited the women to come into the parlor again. When they had done so, he said casually, “The fire burns more briskly now, does it not, mistress?”

A note in his voice caused Alys to watch him warily. “In faith, it does so, sir.”

“You must scold your servant for his carelessness when he returns,” he said. “When will that be, by your reckoning?”

“I … I do not know, sir.”

“I feared you might not,” he said, nodding. Then with a sharper look, he demanded, “What is his name, mistress?”

Alys went still with fear, feeling the blood drain from her face, and hoping he would not notice her pallor. He was a man who noticed such things. Speaking the first name that came to mind, she said, “I believe his name is Peter, Peter Fairbairn.”

There was a moment’s silence before he said softly, “It is never wise to lie to me,
mi geneth.
”

She knew that, but she could not betray Lovell. Nor could she further endanger Jonet and her family, for merely by allowing Alys to meet with the viscount under their roof, they had put themselves at considerable risk. At last, unable to meet Sir Nicholas’s penetrating gaze, she said gruffly, “I do confess, sir, that I did not speak the truth, but I cannot say more.”

“The outlaw Lovell is known to be in Yorkshire,” he said in that same soft, dangerous tone.

A stillness followed, and when the parlor door opened, Alys turned with profound relief to greet the newcomer. Hugh came in, looked slowly from one to another of them, then said in his deep voice, “The lads be ready, Nick.”

When Sir Nicholas shifted his gaze from Alys at last, and nodded, she breathed a sigh of relief. He would not press for more information now. He knew she would not speak about Lovell.

Hugh said, “Will you take my arm, Mistress Hawkins?”

Jonet glared at him without moving, and Alys said, “I fear we have no palfreys to ride, Sir Nicholas.”

“Just how did you come north, mistress?”

“With the players, sir, the ones who performed for the king and the Lady Elizabeth at Westminster.”

“The Princess Elizabeth,” he said reprovingly.

“Aye, sir.”

“Are these players of yours Yorkist sympathizers?”

“No, merely players. Ian knew one of the women. We traveled with them, walking, or riding their mules or horses—even at times in their wagon, though ’twas most uncomfortable.”

“’Tis difficult for me to believe you would willingly choose such a method of travel, mistress, or such lowly companions. I must speak to Ian about his weakness for feminine wiles. ’Twas not suitable for you to travel in such a way.”

She smiled. “Verily, sir, I can adapt myself to anything if I wish strongly enough to do so. And in truth, ’twas the players who were discomforted, for I am sadly lacking in the skills necessary to live as they do. They were kind and obliging, however, although they must often have wished that the devil who had brought me would fly away with me again.”

Sir Nicholas turned quickly and moved past Hugh, through the open door, to the passageway, but Alys had seen the sudden gleam of humor in his eyes, and was grateful for it. Still, he had not said what they would do about getting a proper mount for her.

Hugh said to Jonet, “You are too silent, my little miskin. I would prefer to hear the tuneful clacking of thy pretty voice.”

“If a din would suit you, Hugh Gower,” Jonet snapped, turning from him toward the doorway, “then go put your great head into a kettle and beg the kitchen maid to beat it with a spoon.”

Following Jonet into the hall, Alys called, “Sir Nicholas!”

He turned. Any look of amusement was gone. “What now?”

“Horses, sir. I told you, we have none.”

“We have horses aplenty for you, mistress. I learned long since to leave naught to chance where you are concerned.” He turned on his heel then, leaving them to follow with Hugh.

Their journey south was not a pleasant one, for neither the bad weather nor the poor condition of the roads improved Sir Nicholas’s temper. They passed the nights at religious houses along the way, but although they received hospitality, there was little cheer to be found, and no meat, for it was Lent, and the meals were sparse. No more snow fell, but the temperature remained low, and the roads, when they were not slippery with ice, were rutted and slushy.

Jonet disliked traveling at any time, and Alys knew that only her loyalty to her mistress kept her from voicing her displeasure aloud. As it was, she resorted to her beads so often that Alys began to feel guilty every time she saw her reach for them. Hugh rode near them, keeping an eye out for difficulties, but Jonet continued to snub him, giving his impudent compliments short shrift, but more often than not, ignoring him.

Alys frequently found herself recalling her last trip with Sir Nicholas. By comparison, it had been pleasant. She recalled their conversations, things he had told her about himself and about Wales. He had seemed human then, not distant and irritable as he was now. From time to time, when she caught his gaze upon her, he looked pensive, and she would recall the brief flash of amusement she had seen in his eyes earlier. He was not amused now. Even the pensive look would vanish when he saw her watching him, and he would become gruff again. She reminded herself that he could be gentle, even kind, but it was more common now to hear him shouting orders and cursing those who were slow to obey them. He rarely rode anywhere near her, and since Jonet had made it clear that she did not want to ride near Hugh, they were limited to conversing with each other, and occasionally with Ian.

They found the court at Greenwich, and not much to Alys’s surprise, she was directed at once to the ladies’ side, where she and Jonet were greeted by Lady Emlyn Lacey.

With a brisk if not haughty air, that plump dame informed Alys that she was to remain in her bedchamber until such time as the king chose to send for her. “I will take you there, Lady Alys, and see that a maidservant is assigned to assist you. I am pleased to see that this time you have brought with you at least one of your personal servants.”

“This is Jonet Hawkins, Lady Emlyn,” Alys said. “Am I not to wait upon her noble highness?”

“Not until the king has spoken with you,” Lady Emlyn said. There was a note in her voice that Alys could not decipher, one that made her wonder if she was in even more serious trouble than she had imagined. She had not enough courage left to demand an explanation; however, minutes after Lady Emlyn had left them alone, when the door opened and Madeline slipped into the tiny chamber without ceremony, Alys greeted her with rueful delight.

“Madeline, I am in such disgrace! Mayhap you ought not to be seen in my company.”

“On the contrary, it will do me all manner of good,” Madeline said, grinning. When Alys looked bewildered, her expression changed quickly to concern. “You do not know!”

“Know what? What has happened?”

“’Tis your brother, Alys. He—” She broke off, peering into Alys’s face as though she would read her feelings in her expression. “Did you care very deeply for Lord Wolveston?”

“I scarcely knew him,” Alys replied. “In faith, when I left here, I had no liking for him at all. But you say ‘did I,’ as though he were … Mercy on us! Do you mean to say—”

“He is gone, Alys, dead. They know not how, but some do suspect foul play. He was hearty one hour and dead the next, as though he had the sweat, but no one has died of that in months now, and he did not display the proper symptoms.”

“What symptoms had he?”

“Scarcely any. They say he collapsed where he stood, in the hall amongst the other men, his ale mug flung aside, and that he did groan and writhe upon the floor before he was gone.”

Alys gasped. “Poison?”

“They say not, that the serpent’s tongue was passed across his mug afterward and did not alter one whit.”

Alys had more faith in a toadstone that would turn color and grow hot if it touched poison. A bit of unicorn’s horn—actually narwhal’s tusk—was even better, for it was an antidote to all poison, but she knew that present fashion favored the serpent’s tongue. One such, chased in silver, had been made part of the royal salt dish, which sat always on the king’s table.

She was silent for a long moment, searching her emotions for the sorrow she thought she ought to feel at losing her brother. The suddenness of Roger’s death stunned her, but she could not say she had cared for him. He had been much like her parents in temperament, cold and distant. She had never seen him clap a friend on the shoulder and laugh, as she had seen the Plantagenet men do often. Roger had not been merry or boisterous, nor had he been given to hugging or kissing the ladies in his family, or any other ladies for that matter. But he had been the last of her immediate family. She was alone in the world now, bereft.

“What is to become of me?” she wondered aloud. “Am I merely to dwindle into a pawn of the Stanleys now and nothing more?”

Madeline shook her head. “I know not what the king means to do,” she said, “but I do know that the Stanleys are not pleased about this turn of events. You are an heiress now, Alys.”

“An heiress?”

“Aye, to all of Wolveston Hazard and your father’s wealth, as well. The king did return all to your brother, and you are his next of kin. The title falls into abeyance, but the wealth is yours, and they do say ’tis a surprisingly vast amount.”

Alys stared at her. She had never given much thought to the material worth of her father or brother. If she had, she would have thought only of Wolveston Hazard, the rents owed to the castle by its tenants and those of its various estates. “Is Wolveston so profitable?” she asked.