Page 51 of The Rose at Twilight

“I am glad you did not,” she whispered. “You are so big, sir, that when you are angry, you frighten me witless. I have tried to be a good wife to you, but I have never learned to control my temper as I should, and when I lose it, I seem to lose my senses altogether. I did not mean to be a bad wife.”

He shifted his weight to lie on his side with one hand propping up his head, the other resting idly on her hip.

“You are not such a bad wife,” he said, “but you do arouse all the furies of hell in a man when you behave as you did tonight. Methinks your foster parents would have done us both good service had they thrashed you soundly once a sennight.”

“At Drufield they nearly did so, but my Lady Anne did train me to manage a large household,” she said quietly. “You gave my home into your brother’s charge, sir, ignoring the fact that I am better trained to manage it than he can be. That made me angry.”

His expression hardened, and for a moment she feared she had stirred the coals of his anger again. He said, “It is enough that I decided to put Gwilym in charge at Wolveston. I need not explain my actions to you or to anyone. Do you understand that?”

“Aye,” she muttered, “but ’tis most unfair.”

“Mayhap.” He was silent, but the hand on her hip began to move slowly down her thigh and back again, almost as though he did it unknowingly while his thoughts were elsewhere.

Then, just as she had begun to give herself up to the sensations he was stirring, he said, “’Tis one thing to have training, mi calon, another to have experience.

And just now, with the world in turmoil around us, and rebellions sprouting up hither and yon, while the country adjusts itself to Henry’s rule, Wolveston is not safe under a woman’s command.

The place was ravaged by the sweat. I have no knowledge even of how many men are left there, how many tenants.

I have seen only one village, the one time, and it was no concern of mine when I did so.

The villages may have been overrun, or they may be deserted.

It is also possible, in view of the fact that your father’s sympathies were with the Yorkists, that his people now support Lovell and the Staffords. ”

“The Staffords?”

“Aye, we have heard rumors since we passed through Worcester that Sir Thomas Stafford and his brother Humphrey are trying to raise the Midlands against Harry, just as Lovell is raising the North. I forbade the men to say anything in your hearing because I did not want you or the other women made uneasy. ’Tis safe enough, I think, for you to travel betwixt here and Wolveston, but with the whole of England unsettled, it is no time to leave an estate the size of Wolveston Hazard in the hands of a woman. ”

She was silent. His hand trailed now to her waist and upward to her breasts, toying with her, still idly but with tenderness, and the feelings coursing through her body were impossible to ignore.

Turning more toward him and putting a hand to his cheek, she said, “Perhaps you are right, sir, I had not thought of that. Our people will accept a man’s hand on the reins more easily than mine at such a time as this, but I should prefer that the hand be yours, Nicholas, not Gwilym’s. ”

“I, too, but that is not possible.” Catching hold of her hand, he silenced her with kisses, forgetting their arguments as his need to quench his passions grew. But when he slept, she lay beside him, sated but wide awake, thinking for a long while.

She thought she was beginning to understand him better.

Men were difficult to know. Women were easier.

She knew she had enraged him and was surprised that her tactics to mollify him had worked so well.

At best, she had hoped only that her woman’s weapons would get her off with a whole skin.

But then, having spared her, Nicholas had grown distant again, almost angrier than before.

She began to suspect that his pride had been touched, that his anger had turned inward, toward himself.

She was nearly certain that he still thought he had been weak not to punish her.

He awakened her early with kisses, and when she responded with a passion to match his own, he seemed to forget he had meant to be gone before lauds, and lingered with her, teasing and stimulating her until she feared her moans of pleasure would be heard in the cloister.

When he entered her at last, her body leapt to meet his, and when it was over, she lay trembling in his arms, waiting for the last tremors to pass.

She sighed. “I am limp, sir. I shall never stir again.”

He chuckled. “I will miss you, lass.”

“Meistr?” It was Tom, and Alys was profoundly grateful that Nicholas’s body prevented her from seeing the squire’s face. “Will ye dress now, sir?”

She murmured, “Send him away,” but Nicholas had already begun to sit up, and a moment later he was out of the bed, the bed curtains had been drawn for her privacy, and she heard the familiar sounds of his morning ritual with Tom.

An hour later in the courtyard, her husband’s disposition had changed yet again, and he made it a point to command her in full hearing of his men and the abbot to obey Gwilym’s orders as though they had been his own.

His attitude was stern, his demeanor inflexible, just as though he had not been kissing and caressing her from the moment he awoke.

His command aroused instant resentment in her, but she hid it, gritting her teeth and behaving so well that the abbot nodded his head in approval.

At last, with a final command to Gwilym to follow side roads and byways rather than the Great North Road to Doncaster, Nicholas signed to his men to proceed.

When Alys saw him pass through the gates, looking magnificent on Black Wyvern, she felt suddenly bereft.

He had said he would miss her, and she had not even had a chance to respond.

But she knew she would miss him, too, dreadfully.

It took every ounce of control she could exert to keep from calling him back to her.

Beside her, Jonet sighed, and Alys looked at her. Her perception sharpened by her own feelings, she said quietly, “You ought to be kinder to Hugh Gower. He cares for you.”

“That whimling?” Jonet snorted. “Talks with a silver tongue, but the niggish dogbolt’s not got an ounce of spirit.”

She would say no more, and their own little company departed soon afterward, their way proving to be so roundabout that it was a full four days before they neared Wolveston.

Tempers were taut by then, or at least Alys’s and Madeline’s were; the other women merely did as they were told, and the men were as stoic as their leader.

But neither young lady appreciated Gwilym’s high hand.

When it came to his telling them brusquely not to chatter as they rode, for fear their voices would draw unwanted attention, it was Madeline who said sharply to him, “I warrant, you think the woods are crawling with enemies, sir. Let me remind you that no Yorkist knight will harm either of us, or our people.”

“Perchance you are right, mistress,” he growled, “but I have no right to take that chance. And you might recall that men, being men first and Yorkists second, might not pause to consider your politics before taking your purse or your maidenhead.”

“Fine talk,” she said scornfully. “To try to frighten us is behavior one has come to expect of you, Master Merion, but we do not frighten so easily, as you ought to know by now.”

“’Twould be better for us all if you did, mistress. Now hush before I lose my temper.”

Tossing her head, Madeline said sweetly, “I am sure ’tis an awesome sight, sir, fit to set the leaves on the trees trembling with dread, but we cannot fear what we have never seen.”

Alys, hiding a smile at the flush on Gwilym’s cheeks, said quickly, “Look, Madeline, there is the castle yonder on the hill. Is it not a beautiful sight?”

Wolveston Hazard, crowning the hilltop with sunlight shining down on its gray bulk, looked clean and inviting after the rains.

The hillside was green with new grass, and patches of spring wildflowers made splashes of vivid color.

From their present vantage point they could see the river Trent winding at the foot of the hill, with green fields, marshland, and fens beyond.

It was a peaceful scene, and one that caused Alys to draw a breath of pleasure.

Certainly, the castle looked a good deal more inviting now than when she last had seen it.

The sight stirred them to haste, assured of warm fires and a proper meal, and the safety of solid stone walls and sturdy iron gates. Less than half an hour later, they rode in through the main gates, which had been, rather surprisingly, left open.

Alys said to Ian, “I thought you told me there were people here. Were these gates open like this when you came before?”

He shook his head, glancing at Gwilym, then around the open, deserted courtyard.

His attitude was curious, nothing more. But Gwilym, overhearing Alys’s question and Ian’s response, laid his hand on his sword hilt and held up a hand for silence.

Not a sound could be heard but the whistling of the breeze across the ramparts until finally, in the distance, a bird chirped and was answered by another.

“I did think someone would be here to welcome us,” Gwilym said in a low tone.

“Nick said the sweat ravaged this place but that a few soldiers were here, so unless the king sent for them to come to his aid, this is not right. Even in such a case as that, some men ought to have remained to look after the place.”

Ian nodded. “There was men aplenty here afore, master, when I coom from Bawtry tae learn the fate o’ Mistress Hawkins for m’lady. The gates did be closed then, wi’ men tae guard them.”

Madeline said impatiently, “What matter where they are? We are here, and I for one am nigh to dropping with fatigue and hunger. Do let us go inside and light the fires so that a proper meal may be prepared. After that, at our leisure, we can discuss finding more men to guard the place and set it to rights.”

Alys agreed. “Once it is known that I am come home, men will come to pledge their fealty, sir. I have been told that my father’s estates are vast, so even if many have died hereabouts, there will be a sufficient number to serve us. Let us go in.”

Gwilym hesitated only for a moment. Then, dismounting, he drew his sword and motioned to the other two soldiers to do likewise. “Ian, can you close the gates alone, lad?”

“Aye.” Ian turned his horse toward the gatehouse, and a few moments later the great gates, controlled by counterweights, began to swing shut.

Once they were closed, Gwilym seemed to breathe easier. “Now, lads,” he said, “follow me and keep your eyes skinned. Stay behind us, you women. I do not like this, but ’twould be the gravest folly to leave you here in this courtyard.”

The little party crossed the cobblestone court and, avoiding the main entrance with its tall iron-barred doors, made their way to the postern door, the same by which Alys had made her previous visit to the castle.

When it opened to Gwilym’s touch on the latch, he hesitated again, but only for a moment.

Taking the spiral stair to the main floor, then checking side chambers as they went, they passed without incident along the stone gallery to the arched entrance into the two-story great hall.

Pausing on the threshold to assure himself that the chamber was empty, Gwilym strode inside, followed by the others.

At that moment, in a sudden flash of premonition, Alys remembered there was a musicians’ gallery and another, similar alcove, opposite it, but it was too late for warning.

Soldiers appeared, swords drawn and poleaxes at the ready, as if the very walls had spewed them forth. There were a dozen or more of them, and the sight of them froze Gwilym, Ian, and the other two men in their tracks. Before they could react, a loud voice commanded them to hold where they were.

“You are outnumbered two to one, and there are more of my men outside the castle, so if you have no yearning to be spitted where you stand, put down your arms and surrender.”

Alys, recognizing the voice with astonishment, turned toward it and exclaimed, “Sir Lionel Everingham! What on earth, sir, do you think to accomplish here?”

“Why, mistress, I have come to claim you and yours for mine own, as by rights you should have been from the outset! Now, man,” he added, his sword at rest, his fists on his hips as he glared at Gwilym, “do you yield or do you die where you stand?”

“We yield, sir.”

Beside Alys, Madeline sighed with relief.