Three Dog Knight

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She wished she could scratch out that little cat’s eyes. Thomas spoiled his sister entirely too much. No wonder the child had such atrocious manners. She patted her gray veil in place. Mary would change her tune once Isabel became the Countess of Thornbury. She gulped a deep breath of air. First, she must become the Countess, and to that end she must use her wiles against that hulking simpleton, who had not the wit to know when he was being hoodwinked.

She stalked out of the hall with its simpering horde of menials. By the time she returned to her chamber, she had hit upon a workable plan—indeed, it was her only hope.

Meg stood in the middle of the room with her arms full of colorful gowns. “Do…do ye wish me to start packing these, my lady?” she whimpered.

Isabel resisted the impulse to box the idiot’s ears. “Nay, Meg. I am not going anywhere.”

“But…I heard my lord say—”

Isabel interrupted her with a wave of her hand. “But he will change his mind very quickly, Meg. You will see anon. Soon I will be the true mistress of this heap of stones.” She sat by the low fire, and stared into its red-hot embers.

“How so, my lady? Sir Thomas sounded—”

“He is like that great worthless dog of his—all bark but no bite.” The more Isabel contemplated her plan, the more brilliant it shone in her mind.

Meg drew closer. “How now, my lady?”

Her mistress allowed a smile to curl her lips. “I shall plead my belly,” she murmured, more to herself than to Meg.

The maid’s jaw dropped. “Wh…what, my lady?”

Isabel looked directly into Meg’s bovine face. “I will tell my esteemed brother-in-law that I am carrying William’s child. Thomas cannot send me away from Wolf Hall if I am carrying the next Cavendish heir.”

Meg’s eyes grew rounder. “But ye’re not expecting, my lady. Yer last monthly flow was but a fortnight ago.”

Isabel cocked her head. Best to scotch this snake now before it grew too big to contain. “I fear you mistook the date, Meg. ‘Twas two months ago, before my husband sickened and died.” Meg shook her head. “Nay, my lady, I remember—” Like a fork of lightning, Isabel reached out and slapped the stupid girl. “Think again, Meg, if you value your place as my maid. I would hate to have to send you from Wolf Hall for telling lies. Everyone knows that liars also steal. What would happen to you if one or two of my jewels went missing? ‘Twould be the gallows for you, for certain sure.”

Meg gulped. “I do not lie, my lady,” she gibbered. “And all your jewels are safe and sound in your coffer. I swear by the cross, ‘tis true.” Two large tears rolled down her moon-calf face. “Please, my lady, do not turn me out. I have done ye no harm.” She threw her apron over her head, and began to wail in earnest.

“Peace, you fool. Leave off your tears, and listen.” When Meg’s sobs subsided, Isabel continued. “I tell you, I am pregnant by my Lord William, and none shall gainsay it. Do you mark me?”

The maid nodded. “Aye, my lady. You are with child.”

Isabel smiled her satisfaction. She nurtured her little seed of deception. “I beg you not to mention this news in the kitchen, Meg. I have not yet told Sir Thomas. I have only just discovered it myself.” “Aye, I give you my word, my lady.” Ha! A vow as strong as water. By morning, the whole castle will know of the new heir. Now to seal the falsehood. Isabel stretched, then yawned. “By my troth, I have a most marvelous craving for some sweetened cream and wafers. Do fetch me a bowlful, Meg. I feel I must have it or die.”

“Aye, my lady.” The silly maid all but flew to the chamber door. “I will bring you the sweets in a trice.”

Isabel held up her hand. “And mind you, not a word of my condition to anyone.”

“My life upon it, my lady!”

Isabel laughed softly to herself as she listened to Meg’s footsteps tripping down the passageway. She rubbed her stomach. It was true that her womb was empty. Isabel furrowed her brows. Nine years in bed with lusty William, and not even a miscarriage to show for it. Her father, the Earl of Bedford, had an army of children by Isabel’s late mother. Even now, he filled the nursery with more puling waifs by his poor second wife. With such a sire, how could Isabel possibly be barren? She pushed away the very idea. It must have been William’s fault.

No matter. She would get herself with child—and soon. She could be forgiven if the babe came a little later than expected. Thomas might know to the day when his bitch would whelp, but he had no idea of human female matters. He would believe anything she told him. His honor would force him to keep her at Wolf Hall—and, with the right prodding, his honor would convince him to marry her. The Cavendish heir must have a Cavendish father.

Isabel kicked off her slippers, then stretched out her toes to the warmth of the fire. Tomorrow, she would send a message to the Archbishop of York for a dispensation. Better to start the proceedings now. Ecclesiastical matters took a such long time. She sighed. I must plant an heir. She licked her lips as she thought of Launce, a groom whom she had seduced several months ago. Tall, sturdy and blond—like his Cavendish master, he swived well. The begetting would be fun in the bargain.

Isabel would lie with Launce on the morrow. She wiggled her toes at the pleasurable prospect.

The late-summer sun lingered in the western sky as Thomas led Alicia into the high-walled garden in the lee of the castle. She breathed in the familiar aromas of new-turned earth, roses in full bloom, and sun-warmed mint. Gillyflowers in pinks and whites, purple-headed irises, nodding, golden-eyed daisies and the ordered rows of the herb garden caught her by surprise.

“Your garden is lovely, and very well cared for, my lord. Isabel did not strike me as a gardener.”

“She is not,” he replied in a brusque manner. “‘Tis Mary’s.”

Alicia’s eyes widened. “Your little sister? I am amazed. She is so young, yet she has a skillful hand.”

Thomas sighed. “Mary is young and old at the same time. She—” He stopped, looked at Alicia, then said nothing. Instead, he stared at his polished boots.

He can speak wisely, yet he chooses not to. Alicia thanked assorted saints in heaven for her conversation with Mary this afternoon. The girl had a good eye for the people around her.

Thomas withdrew his fingertips from her elbow, and clasped his hands behind his back. Alicia tried not to show her disappointment. She had been heartened by his undivided, though silent, attention during supper, and by his surprising rebuke of his sister-in-law. She hoped that this walk would initiate a discussion of their marriage. Yet Thomas acted as if her presence displeased him. She swallowed down her fear. At least, he had not sent her away. Pray God, he would honor his betrothal contract.

Alicia forced a smile to her lips. “The evening is my favorite time of day,” she said by way of making small talk. “Everything is at peace with itself.”

Thomas merely rumbled in his throat.

She ran her tongue across her dry lips, and continued the one-sided conversation in a bright manner. “Your sister must have a rare gift with growing things. The flowers are much larger than the ones my moth…my mother grew in her garden in York.” She must not think of her abandoned home. The pain of parting hurt too much.

“Aye,” Thomas muttered.

Alicia wondered what his deep voice would sound like when he whispered sweet words of love into a maiden’s ear. Her cheeks grew warm at the thought. Please, sweet Saint Anne, let him fall in love with me—or, at least, let him like me, just a little bit. She could not bear the thought of living the rest of her life without the comfort of love. The Bramptons had given her their fullest measure of affection during her childhood.

Just then Georgie brushed past them. He sniffed along the path of crushed oyster shells until he came to a spot under a thickly flowering pink rosebush. He began to dig; the flying dirt just missed Alicia’s skirts.

Thomas snapped his fingers twice. Georgie stopped his frantic activity, and gave them a look of reproach.

“Your pardon, Mistress Alicia. Did he foul your clothing?” Thomas reached out as if to brush away an offending clod of mud. Then he balled his fist, and jammed his hand behind his back again. He rocked back and forth on his heels, while he stared at a spot over her head.

He is afraid to touch me. Alicia found herself inordinately pleased with that possibility. He must respect me, even a little bit. Aloud, she remarked, “Nay, Georgie’s aim was off the mark. Pray, what is he digging for? A badger or a hare?”

Thomas chuckled. The sound sung in her ears.

“Nay, Georgie’s hunting days are past, I fear, though he does not know it yet. He buries his bones from the table scraps in the garden. Mary is at sixes and sevens over this little habit.”

“Mayhap, Georgie hopes to grow a bone tree, and so never have to beg for scraps again,” Alicia ventured.

Thomas laughed deep in his throat The unexpected sound caught Alicia by surprise. She must try to get him to laugh again, and often. She suspected he was not used to expressing his mirth in such an open fashion, thanks to his older brother’s torments during his childhood.

“Your little greyhound—do you know when she will deliver?”

“In a week’s time, or thereabouts.”

Alicia regarded Vixen. She noted how the sleek animal kept close to Thomas. “She is a beautiful creature. Did her other puppies look like honey as well?”

Thomas stared at Alicia, lifting his thick brows in surprise. “Very few look anything like their mother. I fear Vixen is too free with her favors. I never know who is the father until she whelps.” He chuckled again. “’Tis always a surprise.”

“Oh.” Alicia searched frantically for something else to say. “Have you fixed her a nest for her birthing?”

He sighed. “Every time. And every time, Vixen finds her own spot. She had one litter in the laundry, right in. the middle of newly washed linen. I had to pay the laundress two shillings to sweeten her temper. She was none too pleased at the mess.”

“Methinks she liked your silver,” Alicia observed.

He nodded. “Aye, she did. Silver is the way to all women’s hearts—” With a stricken look, the rest of his words died on his lips. He strode down the path.

Alicia ran to keep up with him. “Do you think my heart is bought with silver as well, Sir Thomas?”

He stopped so quickly that Taverstock bumped into his boot. Thomas scooped up the little dog, and scratched him behind his ears. He did not look at Alicia.

“Your father paid my father a great sum of gold as your dowry,” he muttered. “All women are bought and sold.”

She put her hands to her hips. “Is that the truth?” she asked, cocking her head. “And what of your sister, Mary? I presume you will dower her?”

“She…” He chewed on his lower lip.

Alicia continued, heedless of where her tongue might take her. “My…my father may have bartered my body, my lord, but I assure you no stack of gold, nor mound of jewels can buy my affections. I am not Isabel.”

“Thank God!” he murmured, still rubbing Taverstock’s little brown ears. “You are…” He did not complete his thought.

“Aye, my lord?”

He took a deep breath. “You will be my wife. My father swore it, and I will do my duty to honor his word.”

“Only duty?” Alicia gulped. Not even a glimmer of affection or desire?

Thomas put the little terrier down on the path. “Aye, well. We all have our responsibilities, mistress. I am newfound to mine, and I fear…”

Instead of finishing his sentence, Thomas turned on his heel, and practically ran back to the garden gate. Vixen and Tavie scampered after him. Georgie chose to stay with Alicia. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she watched the new earl’s receding figure in the half-moon’s feeble beams. Sweet angels! Would he run out on her at the church door on their wedding day? Just before Thomas rounded the corner of the wall, he stopped.

“I am glad you have come to Wolf Hall, Alicia.” Then he disappeared.

Her knees felt suddenly weak. She sank down on the path. Heavens above! Did he mean those words, or were they said for courtesy’s sake? Georgie ambled over to her side. He licked her face. She rubbed his ears in return.

“At least, I know where your affection lies, Georgie.” Alicia ruffled his neck fur. “To bed it is, and tomorrow I shall launch a quiverful of wiles at the bashful Earl of Thornbury—beginning with his meals. By my faith, Georgie, how could you stand to eat our supper this night? No wonder Sir Thomas is out of sorts. But tomorrow—aye, there’s the challenge, Georgie. They do say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Come!”

Rising from the ground, Alicia snapped her fingers as she had seen Thomas do. Georgie obediently followed her back to the castle.

That night, Alicia could not sleep. She lay in the middle of the huge ornate four-poster, and stared at the blue velvet canopy above her. Drawing the soft silken coverlet under her chin, she all but sank into the thick down ticking that was the mattress. Last night she had been in her own narrow cot under the eaves of the goldsmith’s house. Below her gabled window, the city of York had hummed its night song: cats yowled, a dog barked in reply, and thick heels tramped on the cobblestones as a late tavern guest wended his way home. Last night Alicia’s mattress had been filled with sweet-smelling straw stuffed into a large bolster, and her cover had been a plain woolen blanket. Last night she had slept well.

Tears brimmed in her eyes as she recalled every nook and cranny of the only home she had ever known. What of her beloved guardians? Alicia said a prayer for their safe journey across the water to Flanders. She gripped the coverlet tighter as she willed herself not to give in to the sadness that gnawed within her.

This bed is too grand. She could get lost within its rich folds, and might never see morning’s light again. Why had Andrew put her in such a sumptuous chamber? She did not feel at ease amid its silk and golden appointments. Even the maid, who had lighted the way for Alicia, knew that the goldsmith’s daughter would have been far happier in simpler surroundings. Isabel might desire the pomp of velvet hangings and delicate carving on the headboard. Alicia only felt uneasy.

Just as the night watchman on the battlements cried the darkest hour of midnight, she heard a sound outside her door. Though she did not believe in hobgoblins or ghosties, she gripped the coverlet tighter. The closest weapon at hand was the brass candlestick on her bedside table. She scooted across the mattress to be closer to it.

Toenails clicked on the floor in the corridor. Then something sniffed along the bottom of the door. Alicia released her pent-up breath. ‘Twas Georgie, she was sure. She knew that Taverstock’s little paws danced a faster pace, and Vixen made no sound at all. Alicia had never lived with a dog before now. She must get used to the sounds of their night wanderings—especially if she was going to be Thomas’s wife.

A sharp snap of fingers halted the dog’s investigation. Alicia froze. She stared at the door, trying to make out in the pale moonlight if someone lifted the latch. Her breath stopped in her throat. Thomas must be standing just outside in the corridor. What if he came into her room now, and demanded a sampling of the wedding night?

Alicia knew it was his right. She dug her fingers into the goose-down mattress. Katherine Brampton had reared her foster daughter to be a proper, modest girl. Alicia’s sole experience with the opposite sex had been a kiss stolen by Peter Martext last May Day, and then his lips had merely grazed her cheek. Only this morning during a brief rest stop, Edward had warned her about the lusty appetites of the Cavendishes. His keen eyes had narrowed when he recalled his introduction to John and William. Thomas was bound to be just like them. Biting her lips, Alicia stared at the door latch, and waited.

Two more snaps, then she heard the sound of the dog’s toenails recede down the passageway.

She crawled to the edge of the bed, then pulled back the covers and got out. The cold floor chilled her bare feet. She lifted the candle in its holder, then tiptoed over to the fireplace where the embers from the evening’s fire glowed in its center. She lit the candle, then crept to the door, and pressed her ear against the stout oak panels. Not a sound outside.

Summoning all of her courage, Alicia lifted the handle, and cracked open the door. She held the candle above her head. No shadow leapt into its spilled light. With a deep sigh of relief, she closed the door and scampered back to the enormous bed. Blowing out the friendly light, she slid under the princely covers. Within a few moments she was fast asleep.

Just before the dawn, Alicia awoke to the unaccustomed cry of a rooster. At first she could not remember where she was. Then her gaze rested on the faded shield that hung over the fireplace. A fierce wolf’s head glared back at her from a scarlet field—the Cavendish family crest. The promised morrow had come, and she was still at Wolf Hall. She rose, splashed chilly water from the pitcher on her face, then brushed the tangles out of her hair.

She must dress quickly and get to the kitchens before the cooks were too far along in their preparations for the noonday dinner. She vowed that Thomas, and the rest of the inhabitants of this dreary castle, would eat better today. He could not send her away if she pleased his appetite. Thank all the saints, Katherine had taught Alicia how to cook and care for a home. ‘Twas a better schooling than that of a princess, she decided, as she tied the laces of her bodice together.

In her haste, she nearly missed the folded piece of paper that lay just inside her door. Alicia could swear she had not seen it in the middle of the night. The moonlight had spilled on this very spot. After opening the mysterious missive, she carried it to the window where the early light helped her make out the letters. Written in a large, bold hand, the words took away her breath.

To the peerless Alicia—

I take pen in a shaking hand to write you that which I dare not speak aloud. When I laid down, I could not sleep, for your sweet likeness danced in my thoughts. I awoke this early morning with your imagined kiss still moist upon my lips. Your beauty steals me from myself, and I know not what to say—save that I am ever thine.

No signature graced the bottom of the letter.

Chapter Five (#ulink_5298e4d1-b9a9-528c-bd6d-35b3081bc9a2)

Alicia reread the note. Its sweet words burned into her memory. She had never received a letter before now—and this one swept her away with its poetry. She furrowed her brows as she read the sugared words for a third time. An uneasy feeling stole through her—“I am ever thine.” Whose desire had she awakened?