Page 48 of The Rose at Twilight

He made Alys feel as if he were doing her a great favor, and she was not optimistic about his efforts, but he surprised her.

Although the following day passed uneventfully, that evening, just before the bells began to ring compline, two lay brothers carried a tub into the ladies’ hall, and brought water to heat over the fire.

With alacrity, Jonet fetched Alys’s French soaps and herbs, and although Nicholas, Gwilym, and their servants retired to their chambers after supper, the evening was spent much more pleasurably than those that had gone before it.

Despite her bath, Alys did not sleep well, for it seemed to her that the bells rang all night long, and after lauds she did not sleep again.

Since Easter was one of the five great feasts of the church calendar, there was great ceremony attending it, and the whole house at Burton strove to do honor to the occasion.

The guests, attending early services as well as a high mass at noon, found the entire church decorated.

The finest furnishings had been placed on the altar for the occasion, the best vestments were worn, and all the seats were draped in costly fabrics.

The floor coverings had been renewed, so that each step released the tansy scent of costmary or the minty aroma of fresh balm.

There was elaborate music, constant ringing of the bells, a splendor of lights and incense, and the services were long.

After mass the guests dined in the refectory with the monks.

Festal tablecloths covered the tables, which were decorated with spring flowers, candles, and gold plate.

There were soft towels to dry their hands after washing, and the cutlery gleamed.

Sir Nicholas, Gwilym, Hugh, and the women sat at the high table with the abbot and guestmaster; and, giving heed to the splendor of the occasion, Jonet, seated beside Hugh, allowed him to serve her without snubbing him.

The general mood was festive, and when the Paschal lamb was brought to the abbot’s board to be carved, and Madeline sighed her pleasure aloud, twinkles of delight could be seen in more than one otherwise stoic face at the lower tables.

When the huge meal was over, the guests retired to the guesthouse again to rest. As Alys was moving to join the other women, a hand on her arm brought her around to face her husband.

He smiled ruefully. “I have neglected you sadly these past days, wife. Do you fetch your lute and bring it down to the hall. We can have a lesson while the others rest.”

She went gladly, delighted to have an opportunity to spend some time with him and hoping that the warmth she had seen in his eyes might later be kindled to something stronger.

When she returned, however, she discovered that they would not be alone in the hall, for the roaring fire had drawn the others.

Madeline had found a book to read, and Jonet and Elva had their baskets of mending.

Even the two lay brothers had unearthed a board upon which to play Fox and Geese, and had sat down upon the floor at a distance from the others to enjoy themselves.

Gwilym, coming into the hall a few moments later, looked speculatively at Madeline and then at the fire before he settled himself in the inglenook to doze.

Alys made herself comfortable on a cushion near the hearth, and Nicholas sat down cross-legged beside her, his lute in hand.

She began to pluck a simple tune on hers, to limber her fingers, and after listening critically for a few moments, he matched his playing to hers.

They had been playing for only a few moments when Gwilym murmured to no one in particular, “The music is well enough, but ’twould be more pleasant, withal, if someone would read aloud to us for a spell. ”

One of the lay brothers offered to fetch a Bible or a book of psalms from which to read, but Madeline, looking at Gwilym over her book, said sweetly, “You might well benefit from more prayers, sir, but I have had a surfeit of them, and ’tis but an hour before vespers when Master Guestmaster will no doubt insist once again that we join the holy brothers at their worship. ”

Alys saw muscles tighten in Gwilym’s jaw, but he replied evenly, “You would not wish to miss the reading of psalms for your relatives, mistress, nor the singing of the Easter anthems. Such flightiness on such a holy day becomes you not. You must know that I meant it would please me, and the others, if you would read aloud to us from your tale.”

Flushing visibly and giving an angry toss of her head, Madeline snapped, “When I want a sermon, Master Pope-Holy, I shall send for a priest to speak it. No one wants to hear my voice drown out the pretty music of the lutes.”

Nicholas, with a glance at his brother’s rigid countenance, said quietly, “Your voice is most pleasant, mistress. I warrant that we all should enjoy your reading.”

“Certainly, sir,” Madeline said, according him a regal nod. “I would be happy to do so when you ask me so courteously.”

The emphasis in her friend’s tone made Alys look quickly down at the strings of her lute, so that her amusement would not be visible to her husband or his brother.

She was beginning to think that Madeline’s vanity, so long indulged by the men in her family, and others at court, had been pricked by Gwilym’s failure to treat her as she was accustomed to be treated.

He seemed both impervious to her charms and unimpressed by her beauty or temper.

Alys still could not imagine he had any desire to marry her friend, but she found their exchanges amusing and wanted to watch for further developments; however, when Madeline began to read aloud, Nicholas drew his wife aside to continue their lesson.

Madeline had just closed her book, declaring that her voice was failing her, when the bells began to ring for vespers.

The lutes were put away, and everyone adjourned again to the church.

Alys, walking to her place beside her husband, peeped up at him from beneath her veil, wondering if he would desire to continue her instruction later, in bed.

Then, crossing herself for such unholy thoughts, she bowed her head and knelt beside him.

The service, like the others before it that day, was longer than usual, but they emerged at last and headed with relief toward the guesthouse.

The guestmaster had told them there would be a small supper served in the hall when they returned, and although no one had believed they would be hungry again, Alys was looking forward to it, and thought the others must be, too.

She saw the black-clad monks moving like shadows to their dormitory for the night, each being sprinkled with holy water as he passed the abbot, and as she turned with the others to cross the cobbled court, there came a clatter of hooves on the stones.

A horse and rider careered into the yard and came to a plunging halt not far from the little group. The monks paused in their procession, and Sir Nicholas’s men on their way to the cellarer’s hospice paused too, to see what news had come.

“Sir Nick Merion?” the courier shouted.

“Aye!” Nicholas shouted back.

“You’re to ride to meet his sovereign grace, the king, at Barnsdale in Sherwood Forest by midweek, sir, with all your men, or to join him on the Nottingham road before then.

His grace departs Lincoln at dawn for Nottingham Castle, and goes straight on to Pontefract from there. There be wickedness afoot!”

“I knew it,” Nicholas exclaimed, glancing at Alys, who stared silently back at him. “’Tis that outlaw, Lovell!”

“Aye, sir, ’tis himself. There was rumors afore we left Lunnon, and they did be confirmed at Lincoln. His noble highness has sent for Northumberland and dunamany knights of Yorkshire. He does regret the fact that my Lord Derby, his uncle, has gone into Wales to attend to his lands there.”

Or, Alys thought to herself, to visit Sir James Tyrell. She had no liking for Jasper Tudor, an earl now and the king’s chief supporter, and was glad he was not near enough to harass Lovell.

“Get some food and find a bed, man,” Sir Nicholas said. “I will go at once. Hugh,” he shouted, “get the men mounted!”

Without thinking, Alys snapped, “And just what about us, sir? Do you leave us here at Burton, to the care of the monks?”

He replied crisply, “I did not forget. Gwilym!”

“Aye,” Gwilym said quietly, behind him.

Nicholas turned. “Take the women on to Wolveston. Ian MacDougal knows the way, and you may have two others, but they are all I can spare.”

“We do not require Gwilym,” Alys said stiffly. “Ian and the others will be sufficient, or the abbot can provide more men for a proper escort. You will want your brother with you.”

“Gwilym will escort you,” Nicholas said. “He was never meant to accompany me but came with us only because I do require someone to manage Wolveston in my absence.” He stepped away toward his men, dismissing her in his hurry to issue more orders.

Alys stood, stunned, staring after him for a long moment before her rising fury spilled over in words. “Hold there, Sir Nicholas Merion,” she cried. “You overstep yourself.”

He stopped, stiffening, but he did not turn. The silence in the yard suddenly matched that in the cloister.

Recklessly Alys shouted, “Wolveston Hazard is my home, sir, my inheritance, and I have been raised to be its mistress. I require no manager, Nick Merion, and you do wrong to set one over me. I do not need your brother, nor do I want him, so you just take him yourself! You will need every man you can get, believe me, because you much mistake the matter if you think any great host of Yorkshire knights will answer the Tudor’s call.

They will not! They will support my Lord Lovell, to a man! ”

The silence that greeted her words lasted a full thirty seconds before Nicholas turned slowly to face her and said loudly enough for all to hear, “Ian, fetch me a good stout strap from the stable.”

Silenced, and flushed with mortification, Alys looked around, her gaze taking in the monks, their abbot, the guest-master, Hugh Gower, all the rest of Sir Nicholas’s men, Madeline, Jonet, Elva, the lay brothers, and the courier.

Every single one was staring at her as though he could not believe what he had heard.

She had not forgotten they were there, not entirely; she had just failed to consider her words before she shouted them, or the effect they would have on her husband, particularly before such an audience.

Overwhelmed by the enormity of what she had done, she looked again at Nicholas and panic seized her, rooting her to that spot on the cobblestones, and filling her with dread.

Ian had not leapt to obey the command. He said now, bravely, “I’m thinking a tawse be a fearsome weapon wi’ which tae tame a lassie, master. Will ye no consider takin’ a sturdy switch tae her backside instead?”

Alys bit her lip, not taking her eyes from Sir Nicholas.

Nor did he take his from her. He gestured impatiently at Ian. “Go, now, at once.” To Alys he said, “Seek your chamber and wait for me to come to you.”

She stood where she was, unable to obey.

Her skin felt too tight for her body. Her nerve had deserted her, and she wanted nothing so much as to run from him, to run and run until she was safe.

But she could not run. She could not seem to move.

Never had she seen a man so angry as the one who stood before her now.

He said, “Go now, madam, or as God is my witness, you will take your punishment here before them all.”

She went then, walking with as much dignity as she could manage until she was inside, then running up the stairs to the ladies’ chamber, her mind racing as fast as her feet.

When she heard running footsteps behind her, she whirled on the step, nearly losing her balance in her panic.

But it was not Nicholas. “Madeline! No, you mustn’t come! ”

“Elva and Jonet are right behind me,” Madeline said calmly. “He sent us inside. He did tell us to go into the hall, but—”

“You will only make him angrier than he is already if you try to defend me,” Alys interjected with a grimace.

“That we shall see,” Madeline said. “When we left, there were any number of persons doing their best to talk him out of what he means to do, and I saw the abbot making his way toward him from the cloister. Mayhap if Sir Nicholas finds us with you when he comes, he will calm down a bit, if nothing more.”

Jonet and Elva were behind her now, but Jonet offered no advice for once, and Alys knew she would express no sympathy.

Jonet had warned her often over the years about minding her impulsive tongue, but never had it led her into such a mess as this one.

Knowing that nothing they could do would help her, she forced herself to think, and by the time they reached the ladies’ chamber, to find a fire burning warmly on the hearth, evidently tended in their absence by one of the ubiquitous lay brothers, she had calmed a little, and her brain began to function again with its customary ease and rapidity.

She had gone too far, and she knew Nicholas meant to punish her as he never had before.

That she had defied him before his men he would view as a fundamental challenge to his authority, a challenge she knew he would never tolerate, for if he could not master his own wife, what respect would his men have for him?

He would believe he had no choice but to punish her.

Indeed, he had promised to do so, in front of them all, and she had no way to protect herself against him, not the smallest weapon of which he would take notice.

Or had she? Memories teased at her mind, planting the seeds of a plan, which began to take root at once and blossom.

Offering a brief prayer—and an apology—to God, she turned quickly to the others to request their help.