ALYS HAD FORGOTTEN SHE was naked, and looked down at herself with greater dismay than ever, while Lovell, still grinning but ever gallant, strode across the room, snatched up the quilt, and tossed it to her. “Cover yourself, madam, and then perhaps you will tell me how you managed to get hold of that poker.” Bending to wipe his blade on Sir Lionel’s sleeve, he returned the sword to its scabbard and shot a last look at his victim. “They told me below that the covetous snudge had you here alone with him,” he said, “so I expected to find you ravished and needing comfort. I discover instead that my assistance was scarcely required.”
“Oh no, sir,” she replied, drawing the quilt tight about her, welcoming its warmth but wishing for skirts and a bodice in its stead. “Your entrance was a timely one. I had put him briefly off his guard, but as you saw, I could not hold him. Though perchance,” she added, “I might have managed to snatch his sword from its scabbard and then killed the villain myself.”
“Nay, madam, for his scabbard hangs free. Even had you managed to lay hands upon the sword, it would have resisted your efforts, but it were no threat to me even had I not taken him unaware. Look at mine own weapons”—he gestured toward his sword and dagger—“lashed to my thighs, so that I can draw each with but a single hand. That scoundrel must needs have had both free to draw his. ’Tis a pity, though, that he had not the chance to do so. I should have liked to kill him in a fair fight.”
“I am glad you did not try, sir.”
“No time for it,” he said simply. “Chivalry is all very well, but I’ve men below who depend upon me to lead them. We did not think to find this castle occupied by more than a scattering of servants, whom I had hoped would prove loyal to our cause. ’Twas so once before, when we did require sanctuary.”
“Roger showed you the secret of the gate,” she guessed.
“Aye, and I learned only recently of his death,” he said quietly. “I am sorry for your loss.”
“That villain murdered him,” she said, nodding toward the corpse on the floor. “In London, they said only that his death was mysterious, but Sir Lionel gloated that it was not mysterious at all. His meaning was plain, and he meant next to murder Sir Nicholas, and take me and mine inheritance for his own.”
“Such a plan might have prospered,” Lovell said, frowning, “but look here, lass, we have little time. I had thought to escape the worthy Sir Nicholas’s notice by hiding where he would least expect to find me, but with you in residence—”
“God save us, I sent for him!” she exclaimed. “My servant left in the night to search for him, to bring him to our rescue.”
“And he will come hotfoot, I make no doubt.” His expression was wry. “Almost you put me out, lass, but needs must when the devil drives, and Sir Nicholas has been driving us hard.”
“Your insurrection did not succeed, then?”
“No, thanks to your husband. The man fights like seven demons, and that black monster he rides is nearly as dangerous as he is himself. I prefer not to mention at all the ugsome giant who rode so close beside him as to be mistaken for his shadow. God grant me strength! With such men as that, even a soldier as poor as Harry Tudor is might keep his throne.”
Pride in Nicholas vied in Alys’s breast with her disappointment that the Tudor had won yet another round. “Was it dreadful?” she asked sympathetically. “Were many killed?”
“Not so many, but we failed to capture the king, as we had hoped to do. Harry knew he was in danger, and rallied supporters to meet him at Barnsdale. Sir Nicholas was but one of many who answered the call. By the banners we saw, not only had Lincoln and Northumberland joined him but a disgusting array of Yorkshire knights, as well. ’Twas a sad sight, since many had fought for Dickon at Bosworth. The worst was Lincoln, his nephew and heir!”
“I am surprised he does fight at all,” Alys said. “He was always so cautious, so carefully gallant.”
“Aye, the man never talks straight, always with an ‘if it were so,’ or an ‘it has been credited,’ never just saying, ‘it is.’ But today he did fight, and without a single caveat.” He sighed, then went on, “The army we encountered was larger than we had anticipated, but we might have won still, for they thought we were but knights newly come to join them. We took advantage of the error by riding straight at Harry Tudor and the men nearest him, hoping to snatch the king off his horse and be away with him before anyone else had gathered his wits to think what to do. ’Twas the very devil of a ride, but if we’d taken Harry hostage, we’d have been in an excellent position to name our terms.”
“Aye,” she agreed, “so why did you not take him?”
“Because Sir Nicholas and that giant beside him were more awake than the others. I doubt that they recognized me. How could they when they saw me only that one time, with my pretty locks hanging over my face and my motley clothing all awry? But something warned them, and we nearly lost more than our dignity. Happily, Harry himself got in Sir Nicholas’s way, slowing him sufficiently so that many of my men and I were able to scatter and disappear into the forest whilst he was diverted.”
“So you did not fight him,” Alys said, relieved.
Lovell shook his head, his expression grim. “I am thankful to say I did not, and thankful, too, that he is not a murderous man. When I looked back, they were taking captives, not simply dispatching them. Harry Tudor’s habit is to punish half his captives and pardon the other half. ’Tis a disconcerting quirk, since one cannot know in which half one will find oneself.”
“What will happen now?” Alys moved to sit on the bed, her bare feet tucked up into the quilt for warmth.
Lovell shrugged, watching her. “I make no doubt that Harry will ride on in great splendor to York, where the mayor and aldermen will welcome him with feasting and speech-making.”
“I wish they would bar the gates instead,” she said. “That would teach him. York was Richard’s city.”
“It was, but despite their grief at Dickon’s death, the city fathers have no wish to be martyrs in his cause. Their prime concern is the defense of their corporate privileges, and they want only to ingratiate themselves with the new king. But, look here, lass, we must not waste time with such chatter. Your husband will be here only too soon, and there are matters—”
“Indeed, sir, you must fly. I cannot think what keeps Gwilym so long. I had thought he would come up at once. If he discovers who you are, even the fact of your having rescued us—”
“Who is Gwilym?”
She stared at him. “But, surely, sir, you said it was the men below who told you I was here.”
“Aye, the covetous snudge’s men did tell us. But they are in the hall still, all trussed up like Shrove Tuesday birds.”
“Sir Lionel’s men sent you to protect me from him?”
“Ah now, let us say more properly that one of them was encouraged to chat with us of everything he knew.”
His eyes twinkled, but she had no wish to ask for details. Instead, she said, “Then Master Gwilym Merion—my husband’s brother—and Mistress Fenlord, and the others are still locked up in the dungeon and do not even know you are here. That is just as well, sir, but you must leave before Nicholas arrives!”
“Aye,” he agreed, “but first, lassie—”
“Hark!” She slid off the bed, hastened to the window, and opened the casement to hear more clearly the sound she had heard even over that of his voice. “A horn, sir! They come!”
“The gates are closed, lass, so they will not be immediately upon us. They will wait to see if there is resistance first. Now, before they do come, tell me if you are well acquainted with the lad in the Tower, the one called Edward of Warwick.”
Surprised by the question, she said, “You know I am. Neddie was at Sheriff Hutton with Elizabeth and me.”
“You are certain the lad in the Tower is the same as the one you knew at Sheriff Hutton?”
“Aye, sir, I saw him, walking on the green. Why?”
“Only that I should be distressed to learn that any harm had come to him,” he said. “We intend to make a little mischief.”
“With Neddie? But what about Richard of York? Oh, sir, do not tell me he has come to harm. I have feared so. You cannot know what a trial it was to me to be so near in Wales, and yet I might as well have been in Scotland for all the good I could do, for I could not get across the Brecon Beacons into Glamorgan.”
Amusement lit his eyes. “What would you have done, lass?”
“Why, I do not know, but something. Even to have discovered for myself that the prince is safe with Sir James Tyrell would have been a good thing. I cannot credit it for truth, sir, for Sir James appears to be at one with the Tudor.”
Lovell’s countenance grew unusually stern. “Do not meddle, Lady Alys, for you may do harm. We trust the prince is safe. In the next few months, the whole truth may well be revealed.”
“How?”
“I am for Flanders, to seek sanctuary with Margaret, the Duchess of Burgundy.”
“Richard’s sister.” Alys nodded. “Aye, she will help.”
“She has done so already. I was with her on your wedding day, lass, on Simnel Sunday.” He grinned, adding with a knowing look, “’Twas but a brief visit to set certain matters in train, to see what manner of real support we can muster here, but her sympathies are certainly with us, and with her nephews.”
“There have been rumors that both princes are dead,” Alys said with a sad sigh, wondering how he could be so cheerful.
“Rumors set about by Harry himself, I do not doubt. He cannot shout them from the rooftops, for he does not know the truth and cannot chance a reappearance of either lad to make him a liar. He put off marrying Elizabeth, after all, whilst his men searched high and low for them, for he could scarcely declare her legitimate, or declare that his marriage would bind him to the throne, if they lived. Had he discovered them then, they would have disappeared forever, or he would have imprisoned them and abandoned the marriage. Neither course suited us then.”
“And now?”
“Now Harry hopes, with these vague rumors, to flush the boys from cover. But we’ve learned to ignore rumors. I once heard the Duke of Clarence had searched for a babe to exchange for his newborn son, so that he might send Neddie to Ireland, to protect him. Then it was rumored that Dickon had murdered his nephews, a rumor set about by men who, had they found them, would have used them to draw others to rebel against Dickon. But such ruses did not succeed when Dickon was alive, and they will not now. Not till we want Harry to know that a Plantagenet prince lives will we tell him so. Perhaps, however, we can have a game with him in the meantime to learn more about how the Tudor mind does work.”
Alys glanced nervously toward the window, her curiosity about what he meant to do warring with her rising trepidation. “Sir, you must go, but I do not know how you can get away now.”
“We go nowhere, lass. I confess, I’d like to look into a certain grave to see what its resident wears around his neck—Do not swoon! I know I cannot. Not only Mother Church but the sweat that killed him does forbid it. We’ll be safe until our way is clear, for I know places in this castle that I am certain your husband does not. We cannot leave with his men outside the gates, and no doubt Sir Nicholas knows the secret of the bolt.”
“Aye, perhaps,” she said with a sigh, knowing Ian might have told him, “but will those men below not tell him you are here?”
“They have no cause to know me, and my lads will not speak my name. Moreover, we will make them believe we have gone away. Or, we could kill them,” he added a little absently.
Alys did not care about Sir Lionel’s men. Her concern, with Nicholas so near, was the corpse of Sir Lionel on the floor, for how she would explain its presence in her bedchamber she did not know. A sound from the courtyard sent every other thought from her head. “They are inside! Quick, sir, take the privy stair at the other end, for he will come up the tower steps.”
“I know. You will not tell him I have been here.”
“No, of course I will not. I am loyal to York, sir.”
“Aye, but husbands demand loyalty, too, lassie.”
“Of a different sort, sir. This is politics!”
He chuckled and turned to leave, then looked again at the corpse. “How will you explain that?”
She thought swiftly. “Give me your sword, and I will tell him I killed the knave myself, and that servants, or mayhap tenants, overcame the men below.”
“Never my sword, lass, but take my dagger and welcome, and may the falsehoods rise easily to your tongue. Oh, and, lassie,” he added with a delighted grin, “I recommend you put on something more becoming than that quilt to greet your lord and master.”
Not even waiting for the door to shut, she flew to search her coffers for something to wear, and without bothering with smock or petticoats, dragged on a wool skirt and bodice, lacing the latter with trembling fingers while she strained her ears for sounds from the gallery. Remembering the dagger, she snatched it up and knelt by the body to smear blood on the blade.
They came silently, and when the door crashed back on its hinges, she looked up with a start to see her husband, his sword drawn, his face rigid with fear at what he might find, and Hugh close behind him on the threshold. All other matters vanished from her mind. Casting the dagger aside, she leapt up and ran to Nicholas, crying out his name. She saw his face relax, and when he put his free arm around her, she could feel his relief. Not till that moment did she realize how desperately she had yearned for his coming.
His soldier’s instincts swiftly reasserted themselves, and his gaze swiftly scanned the room. Hugging her close, he said crisply, “Hugh, search about. I cannot believe the whole place is empty. Alys, where is Gwilym? Where are the soldiers Ian warned us of? And who the devil killed that bastard Everingham?”
“Please, sir, one question at a time,” she begged, trying to gather her wits. Snuggling closer to him, taking comfort from the warmth of his body, she said, “I do not know what happened to his men.” That was the truth. She had thought they were trussed up in the hall. “There were servants. They might have overcome his men while he was here with me. As for him, why, he … Oh, Nicholas, he killed Roger, and he was going to kill you! And he … he tried to force me … to … to ravish me!”
“Ah, sweetheart, no!” He looked grimly at the corpse, and she knew from his grim expression that if Sir Lionel were somehow to rise from the dead he would be struck down again and right swiftly. Then she saw Hugh’s face.
“Mistress Hawkins,” he said with dangerous calm. “Where is she, my lady? Did that villain dare to harm a hair of her head? Or any of the others?” he added as an obvious afterthought.
“I do not know, sir, but I think not. He ordered them all taken below and locked in with Gwilym and the other men when he discovered that I had dared to send Ian for help.”
Nicholas released her and went to the corpse, examining it perfunctorily before stooping to pick up the dagger. Alys held her breath and watched him closely when he examined it.
“This is no lady’s weapon,” he said, looking over its twenty-four-inch length. “How came you by this, mi calon?”
“It … it was his,” she said hastily, without thinking, gesturing toward the corpse. Then, wildly, she looked at Sir Lionel, unable to recall if he carried a dagger of his own. His right side was uppermost. There was no sheath. She sighed with relief and shifted her gaze more confidently to Nicholas.
He was frowning, looking at the dagger’s gilded hilt, then back at the dead man. “Odd,” he said. “I thought Everingham’s device was a bear. This engraving looks more like a wolf.”
Alys stiffened. Lovell’s device was a dog. How like the viscount, she thought, to have the stupid thing engraved on his weapons. Giving thanks that he had not decided to have his arms engraved there as well, she kept silent, unable to trust her tongue, and was glad when Hugh’s voice broke the silence.
“I will go below,” he said, “and see to freeing the others.”
“Take men with you,” Nicholas said, “and send a pair to get that corpse out of here. He did not lay siege to this place alone, Hugh. Where the devil are his men?”
Hugh shrugged and left, but Alys realized with shock that Lovell’s men must have taken their trussed Shrove Tuesday birds to their secret refuge. She prayed that if they had done so the action would not prove their own undoing. Nicholas, in searching for the men, might well flush out Lovell.
Fighting to keep silent, not wanting to lie to him again, or stir suspicions that might otherwise lie dormant, knowing there was no way she could keep him from searching the castle if he chose to do so, she still prayed he would not. Her relationship with him had grown stronger, but she knew the discovery of Lovell at Wolveston could only weaken the fragile bond between them.
He was thinking, turning the dagger over idly in his hands. She hoped he would not cut himself, and the thought reminded her that she had not been the only one recently in danger.
“I am glad you came home safely,” she said. “Must you return soon to the king, or can you linger here for a time?” Her emotions in the brief moment before he replied were in a tangle. She wanted him there, beside her, sleeping in her bed. But the danger to Lovell with Nicholas at Wolveston was unbearable to contemplate. For the viscount to get away would be nearly impossible while Nicholas and his men remained.
Nicholas said, “The king enters York in two days’ time, and we have had word of trouble rising in Birmingham—the Staffords, just as the rumors we heard suggested. When I leave here, my men and I will join the royal forces there. The king will remain in York through St. George’s Day. He is skeptical of the city’s loyalty but means to accord its citizens all honor. I’d like to be there, but I doubt I can return soon enough. Harry remains in York only a few days, then retraces his path southward. I am promised to meet him at Nottingham Castle the end of the month.”
“But you will return here first!” she exclaimed. “In faith, sir, you cannot mean to abandon us here.”
His look was direct. “I do not know what I intend, madam. Originally, I had meant to take you back to London, but now I am not so sure. There is unrest throughout the kingdom, and I do not know that I can be at hand in the capital to keep my eye on you. God knows, you show a distressing talent for landing in the briars when left to your own devices. You have given me no cause to believe I can safely leave you with the court.”
“But I—”
“We won’t discuss it now,” he said, looking toward the door.
Footsteps could be heard from the gallery, and a moment later, two of his men entered and began to attend to Sir Lionel’s corpse. Alys was glad to see it removed.
“We will have a proper service for him,” she said grimly, “though I doubt if his soul has sped its way to heaven.”
Nicholas’s expression was rueful. “It must have been a terrible experience, mi calon, to have been assaulted by him as you were. How did you manage to lay hands on his dagger?”
The question was put casually, and she had opened her mouth to tell him she had taken it during the struggle when she remembered that Sir Lionel had not worn a sheath. Having said the dagger was his and then not seen another on his person had seemed providential. Now that same lack of a sheath took on new, and ominous meaning. She could think of nothing to say.
“He was not carrying it unless, perchance, he had it in hand and was threatening you with it,” Nicholas mused, shooting a quizzical look at her from beneath his brows.
She shook her head, knowing that to accept that suggestion would only take her into more perilous territory. He waited with patience, but she could offer him no acceptable alternative.
“You did not find the dagger here in your bedchamber.”
“N-no, sir.” She licked lips gone suddenly dry.
“And servants never routed his armed soldiers, did they?” he asked in a gentle tone that did not comfort her in the least.
“I do not know what happened to them,” she said, annoyed that her voice sounded weak, telling herself firmly that the words were true—for the most part.
“There have been other soldiers in the area today,” he said as if he were thinking aloud.
“H-Have there, sir?”
“I think you know there have been, madam. Mayhap you will cease this charade now and tell me what really took place here. I weary of your game. In faith, I am weary to the bone.”
“Of course you are,” she exclaimed, seizing on the diversion. “Poor Nicholas. You have been in the saddle for days and must want nothing so much as to rest now.”
“Aye,” he replied, looking at her narrowly, “it has been a tiresome business, looking after our Harry, but ’tis no more than my duty, when all is said and done.”
“But you saved him! You are a hero, sir. Why, he must have been terrified to see them riding straight at him like—” Breaking off, realizing she had let her tongue rattle too long, she said swiftly, “The king must know you would give your life for his, sir. He will no doubt be most grateful to you.”
“Will he?”
“Aye.” She took a step back, suddenly anxious to be farther away from him, and once again, just as she had earlier, she kicked against the mattress on the floor. Looking down briefly, she snapped her head up again to find him distressingly nearer.
He said, “I meant to ask you how that mattress got there.”
That was safe. “They tore it off the bed, looking for Ian.”
The answer made him smile. “They thought to find him in your bed? Everingham must have been insane.”
“He was, sir,” she said, paling again at the memory of the man’s fury, and at the horror that rose anew when she thought of what he had wanted to do to her. “He was so angry.”
“I do not doubt that,” he said gruffly. “You have a knack for angering men.” He held out his hand. “Come here.”
“What are you going to do?”
He sighed. “I suppose the very question means you deserve to feel my hand on your backside, if not more, but I have no such intention, mi calon. All I want now is to hold you and to hear no more of your falsehoods. You are not skilled enough at devising them to fool a babe in arms.”
He beckoned with the index finger of the hand he held out to her, and she went to him. “I did not want to he,” she said when his arms held her tight, “but I cannot tell you all the truth.”
“I know. I suspect the ragged lot who attacked our Harry and rode away, came here in search of a hiding place and ambushed Everingham’s little army. Mayhap, I ought to be grateful.”
“There was no army, sir. He lied about that.”
“Perchance he did, or perchance, having learned from Sir Lionel’s fine example, his army decided to turn tippet and join the king. It matters not. Who was their leader?” he asked in the same deceptively casual tone he had used before.
But she had expected the question and knew a simple claim of ignorance would not do, so she said fiercely, “I would not tell you if I knew him. I am too grateful to have been rescued.”
He nodded. “I, too, mi calon, am grateful to your rescuers, and glad that they were not captured before they reached you.”
She shivered at the thought of what would have happened to her in that instance, and Nicholas held her tighter, soothing her. Moments later, without a word, he scooped her up and held her close, then turned and, shifting her weight, bolted the door.
“I like this dress, madam,” he said, looking down at the gap in her bodice where the lacing let her breasts show through. “There is little to interfere with a man’s touch. Do you prefer the mattress where it lies, or shall we put it back on the bed?”
Smiling, she laid her head against his shoulder and said she did not care. Nor did she, even when he chose the mattress on the floor. The door was safely bolted, and though she had never made love with him outside the seclusion of the bed curtains, she was too relieved to have him safe home again, and too delighted to see his desire for her so openly expressed, to care where he took her. Giving herself up to her own passions, she attacked his clothing with even more eagerness than he did hers.
“Such wantonness becomes you, mi calon,” he said, laughing, and beginning to tease her naked body with his hands, his hot breath, and his agile tongue.
Moaning with delight, she returned his caresses until her body quivered beneath his and her thighs opened wide to receive him. The first peak was quickly reached, but they continued to make love far into the afternoon, undisturbed, until both fell fast asleep.
Alys awoke to find Nicholas smiling at her, and the glow she felt lasted through the evening, when they joined the others in the hall for supper. She decided her pleasure was contagious, for she saw Gwilym smile and Madeline blush, and Jonet was even civil to Hugh, though the giant scarcely took his eyes off her all evening, behavior to which she usually accorded short shrift.
A proper bedchamber had been prepared for Nicholas and Alys, and when they retired, he proved he had not yet slaked his thirst for her, but the next morning, mounted and preparing to lead his men to Birmingham, he seemed suddenly distant again, almost as if their intimacy had never occurred.
The change in his demeanor no longer surprised her, and she was prepared to play her own role before the men with proper dignity, but suddenly Nicholas looked down at her and said, “I shall return here before joining the king, madam, and we will decide how you are to proceed to the capital. In the meantime, I have that dagger with me. Should I chance to encounter its owner, I shall return it to him with my thanks.”
With that, he raised his hand in a signal to his men, and the courtyard was soon clear except for those men at arms who had been left behind to guard the castle. Nicholas was not a man who made the same mistake twice.
Alys watched until the last man was gone, her countenance rigid from the effort not to betray the shock Nicholas’s parting words had given her. So wrapped up had she been in their growing intimacy that she had forgotten Lovell’s presence in the castle. But now, mixed with sadness at seeing Nicholas ride off again was a strong sense of trepidation. She had hoped to return Lovell’s dagger herself. It had never occurred to her that Nicholas would keep it, let alone that he would decide to search out its owner. She was certain that he would discover only too soon whose device graced the gilded hilt, and when he did … She shuddered at the thought and it haunted her for the next fortnight.
She saw no sign of Lovell or his men, and assumed they had got away; and the days flew swiftly, for there was much to be done to set the castle to rights. But never a day passed that she did not wonder if Nicholas had learned the truth, and when he and his men rode into the courtyard fifteen days later, she saw at once that he had done so.
Scarcely taking time to give orders for the housing and care of his men, he bore her off to their chamber, where he lost no time in making his feelings plain. “You are fortunate,” he said grimly, “that you were nowhere nearby when I learned that what I thought was a wolf was the head of a damned dog! Where is he?”
“I do not know,” she answered, glad she spoke the truth. “He said he would go to Flanders.” When he did not respond at once, she said quietly, “You said you were grateful to my rescuer, sir. Does it make a difference that it was he?”
“Aye, it makes a difference. The man is an outlaw, a traitor. I have no wish to be beholden to him!”
“He is no traitor,” she said stoutly. “He is loyal to his liege lord. You should admire that quality in him, for you expressed contempt when you thought Sir Lionel’s men had run off to join the king—turn-tippets, you called them. Would you have admired them more had you known they were still here? They must have been here somewhere, and might actually have been glad to see you, considering their circumstances, but—”
“By God, madam,” he roared, “do you mean to tell me that that damned outlaw was still on the premises then? Beneath my very nose? And you protected him!”
In the face of his fury, she quailed, but she answered nonetheless firmly, “I did, and would again. I could not stop Sir Lionel. I tried to hit him with the poker, but he just took it away. And when he fell dead at my feet, I thought you had come. I cannot tell you how relieved I was, but when I saw that it was Lovell, the relief did not die, sir, merely because he was not you.” Feeling her face flush at the memory, she rushed on, saying, “He saved me, Nicholas. I could not give him over for punishment! Even you must see that.”
“What makes you think I cannot understand?” he asked.
“Oh, do not turn what I say! If you do understand, then you ought not to be so angry with me.”
He took a deep breath and said, “Would you have told me the truth if Everingham had never come here, if Lovell had simply sought refuge at Wolveston after his attempt to kill the king?”
“He was not going to kill him, only to abduct him!”
Nicholas said nothing.
She glared at him. “In truth, sir, I doubt that I would have betrayed him even then. If you mean to punish me for supporting a cause in which I believe, then there is naught I can do to stop you.” But despite her brave words, she put her hands protectively behind her and watched him warily.
He did not move, but there was nothing in his expression to comfort her. He said, “I leave for Nottingham Castle at dawn. Hugh and a party of men will remain here till Monday to provide escort for Mistress Fenlord and her woman to rejoin the court, which is now at Sheen Palace.”
“Aye,” she said, “we can be ready to depart by then.”
“You are not going.” When she began to protest, he snapped, “You will remain here until I decide you deserve to rejoin the court. Not only have you shouted your support for Henry Tudor’s enemies to anyone who would listen, but you cannot even see how foolhardy you have been in giving aid and comfort to the worst among them. Add to that the fact that you find it impossible to be friends with his queen, and you make it impossible for me to allow you to join her at court. I have made up my mind, madam. Debating the matter will avail you not.”
Alys did not give up so easily, of course, but though she argued and pleaded, if not to accompany him, at least not to lose Madeline’s companionship, he was adamant that the loss should be part of her punishment. Nor did he linger to discuss the matter. He and his men were gone the following morning, and two days later, when Hugh and the others departed, Alys found herself a prisoner in her own home, with Gwilym a surly jailer.
She had noted a new rapport developing between the quiet Welshman and Madeline at Wolveston. Gwilym had begun to smile occasionally, had even voiced his approval from time to time of things Madeline had done to help set the castle to rights. And in return, Madeline had lost much of her puppylike clumsiness and seemed to have acquired more assurance in her manner. Alys thought that if Nicholas still contemplated a match between the two he had made a grave error by removing Madeline from Wolveston just when matters were improving. Once she was back in London, among gallant courtiers who were well practiced in the art of flirtation, Madeline was likely to forget all about the Welshman who was still more prone to criticize than to praise her.