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Andrew grinned. In a faint way he reminded her of Dickon. “Nay, ‘twas when I came here to be Sir Thomas’s squire. Cried my eyes out that first night.”
“Oh?” Alicia wondered if she would cry all night. She had a sinking feeling that she would.
“Aye. When one of the serving men complained to Sir Thomas that my blubbering had kept him awake, my master bade me sleep on the trundle bed in his own chamber.”
She couldn’t help but be interested in the boy’s story. “And did you keep Sir Thomas awake?”
Andrew laughed. “Nay. ‘Twas he who banished sleep by telling me the most amusing stories until my eyelids fell of their own accord. When I awoke the next morning, I found that Vixen had joined me, and had warmed me all through the night.”
Alicia gasped with shock. “Fie on Sir Thomas for that! How dare he debauch so innocent a boy in his care! And just who is this vixen, pray tell?”
Andrew laughed even harder. “Vixen is a small greyhound, Mistress Alicia. You saw her earlier with my master. Methinks you will like her.”
Ah, but will Vixen like me? Alicia wondered. And what about the dog’s handsome master?
Chapter Three (#ulink_c6d01978-78e8-5016-b745-620e3eee168d)
“What?” Lady Isabel Cavendish hurled a chamber pot at the trembling maid. “You lie, you slut!” A cushion from the nearby stool followed after the smashed clay receptacle.
Meg ducked as the heavy pillow sailed past her. “Nay, ‘tis gospel true, my lady.”
Isabel snatched up one of her satin slippers from the disordered pile of her footwear on the floor. “Thomas betrothed? ‘Tis as much to say that we shall catch larks when the sky falls. How now, Meg? I am in no mood for jesting.”
The maid backed closer to the door. “I do not wag my tongue, my lady. I saw the woman with my own eyes. She has come, bag and baggage. Master Andrew has put her in the royal bedchamber, and there she stays. I came straightway to tell’ee, my lady.”
Isabel lowered the slipper. “And Thomas? What has he said?”
“Naught.” Meg hid a giggle in her apron. “In truth, he sputtered and goggled like a pike on a hook, then he bolted from the hall.”
Isabel curled her lips. This unwanted guest was as much a surprise to her brother-in-law as she was to Isabel. No doubt the great Earl of Thornbury now cowered somewhere in the home park with those filthy hounds of his. Isabel presumed that he wouldn’t return until after sunset. All the better. This bold wench could be well on her way back home by the time Thomas gave her a second thought. A tiny smile crept around the corners of Isabel’s mouth.
“Bring her to me,” she ordered. “I shall deal with this unpleasantness myself.”
Meg bobbed a curtsy. “Very good, my lady.” She turned to go.
“And, Meg?”
The maid paused. “Aye, my lady?”
“Tell no one of my conference with the woman. Do you mark me?” Isabel narrowed her eyes. Meg was such a taddle-toad. “One word, and ‘twill go very badly for you, I promise.”
The maid swallowed. “Aye, my lady.” She bobbed again, then dashed away.
Isabel picked her way around the heaps of discarded clothing that littered the floor of her chamber. She stopped before the large sheet of costly Venetian looking glass that William had imported especially for her, and wrinkled her nose at her reflection. She hated to wear black. It made her look plague-racked. Who in this godforsaken castle cared what Isabel wore? She could roam the corridors stark naked for all the interest she stirred in Thomas.
She skimmed her hands across her breasts and down to her narrow waist. William had always complimented her figure. He appreciated a beauty when he saw one. Not like his father, the old earl. All that man had ever said to Isabel was, “When are you going to do your duty, mistress? When am I going to hold my grandson?”
God knows she had tried hard enough to get pregnant. William had mounted her almost nightly—twice a day when they were first married. Isabel sighed at the memory. Though she had often complained at the time, she missed her dead husband now. Thomas couldn’t possibly hold a candle to William, yet she had little choice. She must marry Thomas, or be sent back to her father’s crowded household where she would have to fight her enormous number of sisters for every scrap of food on the table. Farewell to fine gowns, bright jewels and looking glasses with which to admire herself. Isabel shook out the folds of her black damask skirt. How could she possibly attract Thomas if she looked like a pinched crow?
Behind her, someone cleared her throat. Isabel whirled around. A tall creature, dressed in a plain green woolen gown, dropped a curtsy. Despite her height and apparent low estate, the stranger’s posture remained perfect, even when she rose. Isabel drew in her breath. This woman was a giantess. No doubt her feet were as large as shovels—nothing like Isabel’s own dainty ones. She relaxed a little. Nothing to fear from this long drink of water. Cavendish men liked their women petite.
“I am Lady Isabel Cavendish,” she announced as she seated herself upon the only chair in the room. She spread out her skirts around her. “My husband was Sir William, second son of the Earl of Thornbury.” Isabel paused, then corrected herself. “The late earl, that is.”
“May God have mercy upon his soul, and upon the soul of your dear, departed husband,” the chit replied in a low tone.
Isabel fumbled in her reticule, then drew out a fluttering snippet of white lawn and lace. She dabbed her dry eyes with a corner of the handkerchief. “Poor William!” she murmured. “It pains me to think of him.” Which was the truth. She had finished shedding her tears over his inconvenient departure a fortnight ago. Now she had other amusements to console her grief.
“You have my deepest sympathies, my Lady Cavendish.” The stranger appraised Isabel’s tender little scene.
Isabel wished she had learned to cry at will like several of her sisters could. It was an extremely effective method to get what one wanted out of a man. She prayed the woman before her did not notice the absence of tears. Best to get down to business.
“Who are you, and what do you want at Wolf Hall?” Isabel waved the handkerchief in the air before her as if the visitor was accompanied by a foul odor. “You may speak freely to me, as I am Sir Thomas’s chatelaine.”
A faint blush hovered in the woman’s cheeks. The color unfortunately made her look a little pretty.
“Mistress Alicia Broom, my lady. My…my father is…was the goldsmith by the Micklegate in the city of York.”
Isabel wanted to laugh out loud. The daughter of a merchant claimed to be Thomas’s betrothed? No wonder the man bolted for the woods. Naturally he left the distasteful task of getting rid of the strumpet to Isabel.
She pretended to yawn, barely covering her open mouth with her hand. Let the goldsmith’s gawky daughter catch sight of the colorful gems decking Isabel’s tiny fingers.
“I fear you have made a long journey to no purpose, mistress. As you can see, I am in mourning, and am not in the mood for buying new baubles. Come back to see me during Advent Mayhap I shall give you some custom in honor of the Christmas season.”
The pink in the girl’s cheeks turned to a deep crimson, though she did not change the soft tone of her voice. “I fear you have been misled, my lady. I have not come to sell my father’s wares, but to take my rightful place at Wolf Hall.” She drew herself up even taller. “I am pledged to be Sir Thomas Cavendish’s bride.”
Isabel could not contain her laughter. The mere idea of this plain stick as the Countess of Thornbury was too ludicrous. “I thank you, mistress, for providing me with a spot of mirth to gladden this sad time.”
“I do not jest, my lady,” the merchant’s daughter replied, with a hint of steel creeping into her voice. “The contract was signed, and the dowry paid ten years ago between my father and the late earl. I can understand your wonderment, but—”
“But nothing!” Isabel snarled. How dare this brazen creature invade Isabel’s domain, and claim it for her own? “Either you have been sadly misinformed, or else you deliberately pretend to a place that is not yours either by birth or by right. You are most fortunate that I have a mild disposition, or else I would bring you before the bailiff on a charge of deception, fraud, counterfeit and…and…” Surely there was something else with which Isabel could threaten Mistress Broom. Treason, perhaps? That word always inspired terror.
A blue fire leapt into the other’s eyes. “The law is on my side, my lady. I have a copy of the betrothal contract to prove my claim.”
How dare she challenge me! Isabel stood, though she barely came up to the woman’s shoulder. “What does my Lord Cavendish have to say to all this nonsense?”
Mistress Broom bit her lip, though she did not lower her eyes as Isabel had expected. This jade was a proud one, and needed a good beating to bring her down a peg or two.
Isabel tossed her dark curls. “Methinks he said nothing. Typical! Thomas hates discord of any sort. He leaves all such matters to me. Very well, goldsmith’s daughter, mark what I say to you. I am betrothed to marry Thomas once the period of our mourning is over.”
Mistress Broom’s eyes widened at this piece of perfidy. Isabel became even bolder. “Aye, already a courier has been sent to the Archbishop of York to procure a dispensation for the marriage between my brother-in-law and myself. Our wedding will be celebrated before the Advent season. Therefore, I suggest you remove yourself immediately before my darling Thomas returns, lest his anger grow hotter than mine.”
The goldsmith’s brat lifted her chin. “I will speak with my Lord Cavendish first,” she replied, snapping off her words. “If he tells me to go, I will. But if he bids me to stay, then I will take the place that was promised to me. I vow this, as God is my witness. Good day, Lady Cavendish.”
Without asking permission to go, Mistress Broom turned on her heel and left the room. The wench did not even bother to curtsy before her better. Isabel crossed to the table that held a jug of wine and several cups. She helped herself to a long, but unsatisfying drink.
The devil take the baggage! She is just the sort who would appeal to Thomas. And then, pray tell, what will happen to me?
Thomas squinted into the red-orange rays of the setting sun. Andrew’s dark silhouette blotted out the beauty of the sky’s palette. “Well?” he barked at his squire.
“Mistress Broom is lodged in the royal chamber as you instructed me, my lord.” The boy flopped down on the log next to his lord. Vixen pushed her needle nose under his arm, then laid her sleek head on his lap. She closed her eyes with contentment when Andrew began to stroke her flank.
Thomas drew in a deep breath. “What do you think of her?” he asked, not looking directly at the youth. Andrew was too clever for his own good, and could read his master’s face as easily as Thomas could read Greek poetry.
The squire chuckled. “She is bonny and fair, and a perfect match for you—aye, especially in bed. Hip to hip, knee to knee—”
Thomas cuffed him. The boy toppled backward off the log. Vixen bestowed a reproachful look on Thomas for interrupting Andrew’s massage.
“You will speak with a civil tongue in your head when you speak of Mistress Alicia,” Thomas growled. “Remember, she is under my protection.”
He thought of her lovely eyes looking into his very soul, and of her slim body, draped in green. His manroot tightened between his legs. By the book, what witchery had Alicia wrought upon him in so short a time?
Andrew stretched out on the leafy ground where he lay. Lacing his fingers together, he pillowed his head in his hands. Vixen curled up next to him. “Aye, my lord. Tell my Lady Isabel of your chivalrous inclinations. Methinks she has already poured some of her venom into the shell pink ear of Mistress Alicia.”
Thomas groaned. If Isabel had not claimed she was ill with grief, he would have packed her off on a posthorse to her father’s home right after the funerals were over. The woman made his skin crawl. What’s more, she hated his dogs, and the feeling was returned tenfold by the three canines.
“So Madam Spider has already stretched out her web? What happened?”
Andrew sucked air through his teeth. “I do not know. Lady Isabel trapped Alicia in her lair for a private conference. By the time I could get close enough to overhear their conversation, ‘twas finished.” He sat up. “When Mistress Broom left my lady’s chambers, I saw that she fought back tears. Nearly ran me over in her flight. And yet…” Pausing, he smiled with the look of a contented cat.
“What?” Thomas snapped. He had no desire for this young jackanapes to fall in love with his betrothed. By the rood, Alicia was his.
Andrew blinked. “She stopped, and apologized very prettily to me as if I were the lord mayor of York. Alicia may be a merchant’s daughter, but she has the manners of a noble lady.”
“Humph.” Thomas chewed on his lower lip. “Just remember, maltworm, Mistress Alicia will be the Countess of Thornbury.” That title sounded very odd on his tongue.
“Not if Isabel has her way,” the squire replied softly.
“How now?” Thomas bellowed.
“Methought I heard Lady Isabel say that she would wed you before Advent. And she called you her darling Thomas.” Andrew made a face as if the words tasted bitter. “By my troth, my lord, I would not mingle my blood with hers in a basin, much less in bed. I often wondered how your brother could stand her.”
“They were a matched pair,” Thomas muttered, scooping up Tavie with one hand.
“Aye.” Andrew dismissed the couple with a graceful gesture. “’Tis said they matched very well in amorous pursuits.” He ducked when Thomas tried to cuff him again. “Peace, my lord. I speak only the truth. If you are to marry Mistress Alicia, then ‘tis time you thought of bedsport for yourself. I have had some experience in this area, sir. ‘Tis a very pleasant occupation.”
Thomas scratched Tavie’s belly, and pretended to ignore Andrew’s last remark. Only his squire knew of Thomas’s chosen celibacy. At least, Andrew had the wit to keep his observations private. Everyone else at Wolf Hall, from the steward to the scullery maid, imagined Thomas was a stallion like his lusty brothers. In actual fact, the female of the species scared the living hell out of him.
Andrew jumped up from the ground, then brushed the clinging bits of leaves and pine needles from his expensive clothes. “’Tis suppertime, my lord.”
Recognizing one of his favorite words, Tavie yipped several times. Then he licked his master’s hand before springing to the ground. Thomas regarded his smallest dog with open fondness. “Now you have done it, Andrew. Taverstock will give me no peace until he can dance attendance under the table.”
He stood up from the rough bark log that had been his afternoon’s retreat, and rubbed his backside. “I suppose the ladies are expecting me to sup with them?”
Andrew’s eyes danced with merriment. “Aye, my lord. Methinks they have already drawn up their lines of battle. Their weapons will be winsome looks and sharpened wit. ‘Twill be a rare treat to watch.”
Thomas groaned. “Perchance I will take supper in my chamber.”
“Coward!” the boy whispered, dancing out of his lord’s reach.
Thomas studied the purple twilight as it crept across the sky. The evening star winked back at him. “Aye, you speak the truth. I have never run from a fight, Andrew, and I am not about to start now. Lead me on to these warring females, but, by the book, do not leave me alone with them!”
Alicia stood at the high-arched window of her chamber. Drawing in a deep breath of the cool evening air, she savored the unfamiliar scents of wet earth, fields of new-mown hay and the sharp tang of woodsmoke that curled up from the blacksmith’s forge. Everything seemed so fresh and clean in the country after a lifetime spent within the walls of York. Alicia stared at the farthest tip of the horizon, and prayed that Sir Edward and Lady Katherine had arrived in good time at their rendezvous on the North Sea coast. A thick lump rose in her throat. She might never again hear Katherine’s sweet singing while she went about her chores. Never again feel Edward’s whiskery good-night kisses on her cheeks. A tear burned her eyelids.
Do not be a goose, Alicia. What is past is past. Look to the future. You are mistress of your own fate now. Tears are not going to win Thomas. You must be strong. Everything depends upon it.
The huge mastiff at her feet looked up at her with an expectant expression.
Bending over, Alicia scratched his tawny back. “What is it, Georgie? Is your master coming?”
Georgie rose and padded over to the closed chamber door.
Alicia studied his behavior. “Is someone out there?” she asked in a low voice.
The dog gave himself a shake, as if to banish the last vestiges of his afternoon nap. He continued to stare at the door.
Has that awful Lady Isabel set one of her minions to spy upon me? Alicia tiptoed across the wide, smooth floor. Without making a sound, Alicia put her hand to the latch. With a sudden twist, she yanked open the door. A young girl with a tousled mane of flaxen hair fell across the threshold. Georgie greeted her with slobbering kisses.
“How now?” Putting her hands to her hips, Alicia regarded her surprise visitor. “And who might you be?”
The girl laughed in answer as she hugged the huge dog. “I wager that Georgie told you I was here,” she said, pulling herself into a sitting position.
Her pretty gown of dove gray silk and linen showed signs of an active day spent out-of-doors. Smudges of dried mud decorated the hems of her skirts, and deep grass stains showed where the child had propped herself up on her elbows. ‘Twill be the devil to get those marks out of the cloth. What was her governess thinking to let her frolic in so fine a dress?
“Aye, Georgie is a wise animal,” Alicia replied. She crossed her arms over her chest, and waited for an introduction.
The girl hugged the great dog again. “I thought as much. Isabel says that he is useless because he is so old. Pooh! She is the one who is useless, unless ‘tis for her own pleasure.” The golden child folded her hands in her lap, then looked up at Alicia. “They said you were tall.”
Alicia bit back a grin. Seeing that the girl intended to remain on the floor, she decided to join her. Judging from the richness of the child’s attire and her resemblance to Thomas, she presumed that her mysterious guest was a member of the family, and not a kitchen maid. Perhaps Alicia could win an ally for herself. She sank down onto the floor in front of the girl and dog.
“Not too tall now, methinks,” she remarked with a smile.
The child giggled. “Nay, just right. Too bad we have nothing to eat. We could have a feast right here, all by ourselves. I do so love feasts and merrymaking.” Wrinkling her nose, her expression grew solemn. “‘Tis been a sad house since my papa died.”
Alicia had the urge to gather the child into her arms, but restrained herself, lest she act too forward. She did not even know the winsome girl’s name.
“May God have mercy on his soul,” she murmured. “And may his sweet angels keep watch over you.”
“Amen,” the girl breathed. Then she ran her hand down Georgie’s broad back.
Alicia stroked the animal’s other side. Georgie closed his eyes with a look of pure bliss. No one spoke for several minutes.
“I heard what Isabel said to you,” the girl announced.
Alicia paused in midstroke. “And what did you hear?”
“Do not believe a thing Isabel says. She has a viper’s tongue.”
Alicia widened her eyes. “’Tis not polite to speak that way about a member of your family.”
