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William shouted across the hall. “How now, father? Is this one my new bride? By the stars, mistress, you are a lofty creature! I like my women small. They are easier to subdue.”
John clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You are frightening the child,” he admonished mildly. To Alicia, he added, “Welcome to Wolf Hall.”
“Ah,” she replied with a pert smile. “Is this one of the dreadful wolves?” She held up the puppy.
“He is mine.” Stepping out of the shadows, the third son took the dog from her hands.
God’s teeth! The boy was a handsome brute, Sir Edward thought. Blonder than either of his brothers, with well-defined features yet unblessed by a whisker, Thomas Cavendish reminded Brampton of an avenging angel chiseled in marble. At fourteen, the third son stood as tall as the other two. His wide shoulders and loose-hung arms and legs gave promise of the powerful man he would become when fully grown. Sir Edward searched the boy’s face for some sign of mental incapacity. Surprised, he saw none. Instead of retreating with his pup, Thomas stood before Alicia as if rooted to the spot.
“You see what I mean?” the earl muttered to his guest. “Says nothing.” He motioned for his sons to join him. The older two obeyed. Thomas either did not see his father beckon to him, or he chose to ignore it. Instead, he allowed Alicia to pet the dog.
“John, William, this is…ah…”
“Master Roger Broom, goldsmith, my lords.” Sir Edward slipped into his daily guise. He bowed with the deference of a merchant before nobility. “I am honored.”
“Just so,” the earl rumbled under his breath. “And the child is Alicia Broom.”
“My daughter,” Sir Edward added smoothly.
“A pretty wench,” William remarked, appraising her over his shoulder.
Sir Edward did not like the roving gleam in William’s eye. Thank all the saints Alicia was too young yet for bedding, or that young man might attempt to do her mischief. Silently he applauded Sir Giles’s prudence to contract his second son as quickly as possible. He was glad that the earl had not offered William for Alicia. The rogue would make life a merry hell for any poor woman.
John elbowed his brother in the stomach. “Forgive William’s manners, master goldsmith. Methinks he forgot to put them on with his hat this morning.”
The earl growled an oath under his breath.
Sir Edward flourished another bow. “Youth must be served, my lord.”
“Avaunt, you two! Begone!” Sir Giles snapped his fingers several times. “We desire some conference with Thomas—in private.”
William brayed a laugh. “What ho! You plan to apprentice old Tom to a goldsmith? What a jest!”
“Out!” roared Sir Giles. “Thomas! A word with you—and put that damnable dog down!”
“Or better yet, marry him to the goldsmith’s daughter!” William jibed as John hauled him up the broad stairs at the near end of the hall. “When you need instruction in the arts of swiving, Tom, call me and—”
John’s audible blow between William’s shoulder blades put a quick end to the young man’s lewd suggestion. Flinging oaths at each other, the two brothers disappeared into the gallery above.
Sir Giles poured himself a third tankard of ale. “The devil take all offspring. I fear that my family makes hawks look as tame as robins. Thomas! Come here!” To Brampton, he murmured, “Now you will see what I mean. A good boy—but he does not know the letter B from battledore.”
Alicia stepped closer to the tall lad. “If it please you, my lord, I could hold your dog while you speak with your father.” She held out her hands. “Come, let us all go together.”
Thomas handed the puppy back to Alicia. “His name is Georgie.”
Georgie greeted her with another long slurp of his tongue. She giggled, then tucked the pup under one arm. She slipped her free hand into Thomas’s. Startled by the contact, the boy looked as if he might pull away. Alicia merely cast him a beatific smile. Without a word, they presented themselves to Sir Giles.
They look well together, Brampton thought. A sunblessed giant and a golden princess. Then he noticed a fresh bruise on the boy’s left cheekbone. He must have tripped over his large feet.
Sir Edward cleared his throat. “My daughter, Alicia Broom, my lords.”
Once again, Alicia dropped a perfect curtsy while keeping a firm hold on the excited puppy. “I am most honored, my lord earl,” she said in bright, sunlit tones. Then she added in a whisper, “Prithee, my lord, will you be serving us supper?”
Sir Edward coughed in warning. He should never have mentioned that possibility to the child. He prayed the earl would forgive her indiscretion. Being a simple merchant’s daughter, she had never met anyone from the upper levels of the nobility.
Before Sir Giles could recover his surprise, Thomas turned to her. “Do you like apple tarts?”
She closed her eyes in rapture. Her little pink tongue darted between her lips. “Aye, I do so adore them!”
“And I, as well,” the young man confided. “Let us visit the kitchens now. I am famished.”
Alicia giggled, and held up the puppy. “And so is Georgie, methinks.”
Turning back to his father, Thomas inclined his head. “Father?” he asked.
Sir Edward detected a flicker of fear in the boy’s remarkable blue eyes before he looked down to the stone floor. Brampton considered the bruise again, and wondered if Sir Giles beat his sons, Thomas in particular.
The earl coughed, blew his nose, then waved away the children. “Take her to the kitchen. Give the lass all the tarts she can eat. Well, don’t just stand there like a hobbledehoy. Be off, Thomas!”
For the first time since he had appeared, Thomas smiled. By all the saints! Sir Edward could scarcely believe the handsome change that came over the lad’s face. The boy threw a sidelong glance at Alicia, who grinned at him in return.
“Let us away, before your papa changes his mind,” she whispered.
Thomas nodded. With hasty bows, the young couple departed.
“Do you like your tarts with cream?” he asked as they went out the far door.
“With lots and lots,” Alicia replied.
Thomas’s deeper voice echoed back into the hall. “Me, too.”
The earl stared wide-eyed after them, then drained his ale. “God’s teeth! Did you hear that, my lord? Thomas has not spoken that many words in my hearing for years. What magic does your little changeling weave?”
Love and acceptance, Sir Edward wanted to tell the amazed father. Instead, he replied, “I know not, my lord. Alicia has a way with folk—with animals, too.”
Sir Giles struck the tabletop with the flat of his hand. “If you say aye to Thomas, then ‘tis a match. We can draw up the contract—after that supper your little minx requested. God’s sooth! She has her royal father’s charm.”
Sir Edward exhaled, and found the experience a soothing one. “You have my word upon it, my lord. Come Alicia’s eighteenth birthday, I shall bring her to Wolf Hall to be wed to Thomas.”
Sir Giles rose and extended his hand. “We are agreed, Brampton.” He regarded his guest with his piercing blue eyes. “You did say the lass gets along with animals?”
“Aye, you saw as much, my lord.”
The Earl of Thornbury smiled. “Good, for she will be living with a damnable kennel.”
Chapter Two (#ulink_32238b3b-94a8-5f06-947a-66ddb95c73bf)
Wolf Hall
Early August 1497
“My lord, you have guests.” Dane Stokes pounded on the thick oaken door of the tiny library. “My lord?”
Thomas Cavendish, the new Earl of Thornbury, hunched deeper in the chamber’s only chair. He pretended to read the Latin text in his hands. Perhaps if he ignored his steward’s battering long enough, Stokes would give up, and send away the unwanted visitors. A wide black mourning band slipped down Thomas’s arm to his elbow. Scowling, he hitched it back up.
Blast the Fates! He had never wanted to be the earl. Had never even considered such a laughable idea. A little over a month ago, his father had been alive and healthy. William and his wife fought like cats, but that was not unusual for them. John’s wedding to a young, wealthy heiress was to be celebrated at the Harvest Festival in September. Meanwhile, Thomas had spent the bright sunlit days pursuing badgers.
“Caught a fair lot of them, did we not?” he asked the undersize brown-and-white terrier of mixed pedigree who nestled on his lap.
Lifting his head, Taverstock perked his ears and licked his lips in reply.
Stokes pounded on the door again. “Sir Thomas, ‘tis some high-and-mighty lord who awaits your pleasure in the hall. Him and his ladies.”
Thomas groaned softly. Not more women. He had one too many as it was. William’s ferret-faced wife, Isabel, refused to accept her widowhood with good grace. He wished that the witch would pack up her chests of clothes and return to her father.
“And leave me in peace,” he added aloud as he scratched the sleek head of the fawn-colored miniature greyhound, who reclined beside his chair.
Vixen looked up at her master with open affection in her deep brown eyes.
“Aye, Vixen, you are the only lady in my life,” Thomas continued, massaging her velvet ears.
Impatient with his master’s misdirected attention, Taverstock pushed his wet nose against the open page of Thomas’s expensive copy of The Comedies of Plautus. Clicking a reprimand with his tongue, Thomas closed the book, and placed it on the table beside him.
Stokes knocked once more. “My Lord Cavendish, do you hear me?” he persisted. “What am I to do with them?”
Send the high-and-mighty lord to the devil and dispatch the ladies after him. Thomas sighed. “Things are not the same as they were, eh, Tavie?”
The terrier licked his lips again, then sneezed wetly.
“Please, my lord. The company has come a long way to see you.”
“Who?” Thomas thundered at his persistent steward.
His loud tone woke the mastiff dozing in the nearby corner. The dog lifted his gray-flecked muzzle, then yawned, displaying two rows of large, sharp teeth.
“’Tis Sir Edward Brampton and his lady wife. Sir Edward says he requests a most urgent conference with you.”
“Never heard of him,” Thomas told his three canine companions. “What in blazes do you suppose he wants?” In a louder voice, he asked Stokes, “What for?”
“I know not, my lord, save that the younger lady has brought all her baggage with her. Sir Edward said for me to tell you…” Stokes’s voice trailed away.
“What?” Thomas bellowed.
“That he has brought your…your…” Stokes’s voice quivered.
“Spikes and thorns, man! What has he brought me?”
“Your betrothed!” Stokes yelled through the wooden panels. “And Sir Edward is in a great hurry to be off and away, he said.”
Thomas opened his mouth to hurl another oath at the steward, but a distant memory stopped him. A tall, thin girl-child in a plain blue woolen gown with her red-gold hair barely covered by a wide blue ribbon and a thin white veil—the goldsmith’s daughter. William had teased Thomas to distraction over his unlikely betrothal. It had been the first time Thomas had ever knocked one of his older brothers unconscious. The earl had whipped Thomas raw for it, but the punishment had been worth the pain. His brothers had never dared to provoke Thomas again. As for the girl—he presumed that she had been married off to the son of another merchant. He had heard nothing of her since their only meeting years ago. Alicia—that was her name.
“‘Tis some mistake, I’ll warrant,” Thomas told Vixen. “What would a high-and-mighty lord like this Brampton fellow be doing with the daughter of a goldsmith? Nay, the word has gotten out that the new Earl of Thornbury is a rich young bachelor.” He grinned at the terrier in his lap. “Oh, and I am somewhat scattered in my wits, as well. We must not forget that part. I wonder if my Lord Brampton is the vanguard of prospective fathers-in-law? God shield me!”
“My lord?” Stokes whined through the keyhole. “What do you want me to do?”
“Come in!” Thomas roared back at him.
The brass latch turned, then Stokes poked his head around the door. “Aye, my lord?”
“The wench. What does she look like?”
A sheepish grin spread across the steward’s face. He reminded Thomas of a lovesick swain on a May Day morn. The sight was enough to put a man off his feed.
Stokes sighed. “Sweet and young, my lord. Fair and tall. The face of an angel. The voice of a lark. The figure of a willow. The—”
“Peace with your moon song, knave!” Thomas curled his lip.
A plague upon it! The little witch had already enchanted his steward. She would have to stir up all the charms of hell to ensnare Thomas in her coils. Blasts and fogs! He did not need more woman trouble. He snapped his fingers to his three best friends.
“Up, Georgie! Let us meet this…female who claims me.”
Thomas found Lord Brampton pacing before the cold fireplace in the great hall. The heel plates of the visitor’s riding boots grated against the flagstones. Brampton had thrown one side of his thick black wool riding cape over his shoulder, revealing his brown velvet garb. Thomas noted that the clothing was well made.
A lady, presumably the impatient lord’s wife, sat in a nearby chair. Her travel cloak showed mud-stained signs of a rough journey. Her pale face held an anxious expression. When she lifted her cup of wine, her hand trembled.
Planting himself in front of his master, Taverstock bristled the fur on the back of his neck. He growled once or twice in challenge. Vixen leaned against Thomas’s left leg. Georgie halted, lifted his nose, quivered, then with a thundering bay, he bounded down the length of the hall toward the startled guests.
The lady screamed as the great dog came closer. Her husband stepped in front of her, and drew his sword.
“Georgie!” Thomas shouted, dashing after the dog. What had gotten into the old boy? Brampton’s sword looked sharp.
“Georgie?” A tall young woman stepped into the band of sunlight cast from the window. Its golden beams caught the fire in her hair. With a delighted thrill of laughter, she sank to her knees and held out her arms to the great mastiff. “After all these years, is it really little Georgie?” She buried her face in his thick furry neck.
Taverstock whined, and danced a few side steps on his short bandy legs. Vixen froze in place. Her dark expressive eyes remained fixed on her master.
At the sound of the girl’s voice, Thomas skidded to a stop. He blinked. The goldsmith’s daughter of his youthful fantasies had returned as a beautiful woman. Her voice was lower, but still held the same tone of merriment. Stokes had not exaggerated. Her figure was indeed that of a graceful, supple willow. Her laughter reminded him of a clear, sweet spring on a hot summer’s day.
“Hold very still, Alicia,” Brampton whispered as he advanced upon the pair on the floor. “I shall take—”
“Nay!” Grabbing the man’s wrist, Thomas twisted it. The naked sword clattered to the floor. Taverstock barked with approval.
“What foul knavery is this?” Brampton whirled on Thomas. “You would set your cur upon my child? Is this your idea of hospitality?”
“Edward, peace!” His wife rose from her chair and came to his side. “’Tis no harm done. See? Alicia and the dog are in perfect friendship.” Turning to Thomas, she smiled at him. “Forgive my husband, Lord Cavendish. Our journey has been in haste, and with some danger. I fear we are much agitated.”
Thomas took a deep breath to steady his nerves. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Georgie lie down, then roll over on his back while the girl cooed endearments to him, and rubbed his tummy. The great beast wriggled with pleasure. A sudden twinge of envy took Thomas by surprise. With reluctance, he returned his attention to the fuming man before him. Brampton looked familiar, yet Thomas could not place him.
“You wished to see me?” he asked brusquely.
