Thomas could not erase the memory of Alicia’s stunned expression when he announced his intention to go hunting instead of spending the day with her. His breath caught in his throat when he recalled how he had caressed her long, supple fingers in his mouth when she fed him the sugar rose. If they had been alone, he would have taken her to his bed then and there.
Behind him, he could hear his male guests preparing themselves for an unexpected day of excellent hunting. Good-humored shouts rang across the courtyard as grooms and stable lads hurried to saddle several dozen horses at once. Thomas knew that his neighbors thought him to be mad—especially to leave his beautiful bride alone while he rode off to the forest He didn’t care. There was a higher purpose to this expedition than mere entertainment Only Alicia mattered. When he returned, he hoped he could make her understand his motive, and win her forgiveness.
Stuffing his leather riding gloves under his wide belt, he stepped into his library. He would write his new wife another letter to ease her mind until they met again. Andrew found him just as he finished his note. He started to sign his name, then paused. Surely she knew who her mystery correspondent was by now, even though she had never once mentioned his other letters. He folded the paper, then sealed it with a dab of wax.
Andrew gave him a jerky bow. “Your horse awaits you, my lord,” he said in a cold tone. He did not look at Thomas.
The knight glanced at his ruffled squire. “How now, Andrew? You do not approve of the noble sport of hunting?”
The boy’s face hardened. “‘Tis not my place to give an opinion. I am only your lordship’s humble squire.”
Thomas blew on the waxen blob. “Aye, yet you look like the angel of doom. Speak!”
Andrew glanced at his master out of the corner of his eye. “If the fair Alicia was my wife, I would not stir from her side on my wedding day.”
He nodded. “I agree.”
The squire’s flinty expression dissolved into one of surprise. “Then why—if I am permitted to inquire?”
Thomas regarded his young companion. He suddenly felt much older than his four-and-twenty years and very world-weary. “Because I have forgotten to give the lady a gift for our wedding,” he replied in a soft tone.
Andrew crossed his arms over his chest, and attempted to look cynical. “Oh? So you think running away to your forest is exactly what she wants?”
He shook his head with a little smile. “I am not running away at all, but running for something. Pray that I find it.”
“I will, for if you do not, methinks Lady Alicia will flay you alive upon your return—and I will gladly hand her the knife.”
Thomas whistled through his teeth. “I will engrave your threat upon my memory, Master Avenger. In the meantime, please leave this where my wounded lady will find it.” He gave Andrew the note. “Then attend me. Georgie will go with us. He has grown too slothful and needs a good run. Put Tavie in my saddlebag as usual, for he will be underfoot, and in danger of trampling if he remains here among the ladies.”
The squire took the letter, and stuffed it inside his jerkin. “And Vixen?” He still did not unbend his self-righteous stance.
Thomas sighed. “Let her choose what she will. Methinks she will want to stay close to home, but would resent it if I chained her.”
Andrew sniffed. “You seem to give more thought to your dogs than to your wife.” He stuck out his chin.
Thomas curled his lip. The boy sometimes pushed his limits. “I think of Lady Alicia every moment of the day—particularly this one!” He turned on his heel, and went out the door. “Come, young Lancelot. We burn daylight!”
Muttering under his breath, Andrew hurried past him on his errand. Thomas locked the door behind them. His squire would understand when Thomas found what he sought—if he found them. For the sake of his new, fragile marriage, he prayed that hunter’s luck rode with him.
Alicia discovered that the abandoned wives did not miss their husbands’ company at all, but instead took the unexpected opportunity to exchange news and gossip with each other. She led everyone outside to the gardens. Enjoying perfect weather, the ladies divided into little groups of twos and threes, then settled themselves like so many colorful butterflies on the stone benches that dotted the garden’s paths. Alicia instructed the castle minstrel to wander among them, and play sweet ballads upon his lute. She instructed other servants to pass around cups of watered wine, and platters of the sugared almonds and gingerbreads. Since Thomas had ordered the delicacies for the wedding, they may as well be eaten before they turned stale.
The bride spoke to each of her guests, taking care to memorize their names and titles. To every lady, Alicia gave a warm smile and words of greeting. She laughed in a carefree manner when one or another of the finely dressed women questioned Thomas’s sudden idea of a hunt. She knew they considered her husband an idiot, and perhaps they pitied her. No matter. Thomas had asked her to trust him, and she would try her best to do so.
Lady Margaret Palmerson flashed Alicia a patronizing smile. “Husbands! What does one do with them?”
I do not know, but I suspect I shall soon find out. Alicia dimpled in her most charming manner—an expression she had often used in the past to win over the customers in Edward’s gold shop. “La, my lady! Thomas is a great one for the hunt. Methinks he will die in the saddle someday.” If I do not kill him first.
Lady Katherine Francis fluffed out her red-and-cream silken skirts. “Do you not think it strange for your new husband to abandon you on your wedding day, my dear?”
Before Alicia could reply, Lady Martha Bolton answered for her. “How can the poor girl possibly know what is strange or not strange about Thomas Cavendish? She has only been married to him for three hours.” She smiled at Alicia like a cat in the sun. “What we really want to know is, where did Thomas find such a beautiful brooch? By my troth, I have never set eyes on anything so fine.” She inspected the jewel like a connoisseur.
Alicia fumbled for an answer. How could she say it was her father’s? The next question would be how could a mere goldsmith have afforded such a costly ornament? Instead, she shrugged. “I know not, my lady. Thomas continually amazes me. Do you think it might be an heirloom of his family’s?” She crossed her fingers behind her back.
“A king’s token, I would wager,” Lady Margaret judged.
Alicia’s heart almost stopped. Despite the warm sunshine, she felt icy cold.
Lady Katherine nodded her head in agreement. “No doubt some Cavendish ancestor rendered a service for one of the Plantagenets, and was well rewarded for his trouble.”
As the day wore on, Alicia looked around for Mary. At least the girl’s company would be more wholesome. Following the sounds of squeals and laughter, she found her new sister-in-law in the courtyard. Mary had engaged a number of the village girls in a game of hoodman-blind. Alicia was tempted to join them, but then she remembered she was now the Countess of Thornbury and should conduct herself with dignity—especially with all of the shire’s gentry watching. Someone touched her shoulder. When she whirled around, she saw Stokes gazing down at her with a wise look in his gentle brown eyes.
“Methinks you are tired, my lady.”
She nodded. “‘Tis been a long day.”
The steward squinted at the sun. “Aye, but there are a few hours yet until evening.”
She sighed, and wondered how long Thomas intended to go roaming around the woods.
As if he read her thoughts, Stokes continued, “‘Twill be neigh suppertime afore my lord will return. He often hunts ten or twelve hours.”
She felt her courage dissolving. “Oh.”
The steward lowered his voice. “I mean you no insult, my lady, but you need to rest. Tonight will be…that is…” He reddened to the roots of his dark hair.
“Tonight I must please my husband in all things,” she finished for him. “Aye, my mother instructed me well in this matter.”
He looked relieved. “No one will think ill if you retired for an hour or two. Audrey has turned down the master’s bed for you. I will attend these ladies, and see that they stuff themselves with ample sweetmeats.”
She flashed him a grateful smile. “You are a good man,” she said. “I hope Thomas pays you well.”
The steward bowed. “Aye, my lady, he does.”
With another word of thanks, Alicia stole away from the merrymakers. As Stokes had observed, none of her guests noticed her leave-taking. As she mounted the entranceway stairs, Vixen emerged from the shadows. The dog looked up at her.
Alicia dropped to her knees, and caressed the pregnant greyhound. “Did he leave you, too, girl?” She stroked the dog’s smooth flanks. “Does he think we females are a bother? Come, Vixen. You look as if you could do with a nap.”
Together they walked in silence through the nowempty hall. She noticed with satisfaction that all the trestle tables had been taken down and put away. Not a scrap of the wedding feast remained on the sideboards. She blessed Stokes for his efficiency.
Together, they climbed the wide staircase. Each step seemed higher than the one before it. Alicia covered a yawn with her hand. She waited while Vixen negotiated the last stair. The dog’s limp appeared more pronounced as they continued down the gallery toward Thomas’s bedroom.
“Methinks the load you bear has become too troublesome for you,” she observed. “Tomorrow I will make an ointment, and rub it on your leg. Perchance ‘twill ease some of the stiffness.”
When they arrived at the master’s chamber, Alicia hesitated before crossing over the threshold. She had never seen the inside of Thomas’s lair. She discovered that his room and its appointments were less lavish than those in the chamber she had been given, yet she liked this one better. It looked more comfortable with its simple furnishings and unadorned coverings. With only the dog for company, she felt like a child sneaking into a forbidden place.
On the other hand, Vixen appeared quite at home. Giving a little run then a graceful leap, she landed in the middle of the huge, canopied bed. She circled several times before she plopped down next to one of the bolsters. She yawned, then looked at Alicia with an expectant air.
“Are you inviting me to join you?” She crossed the floor, then sat down on the edge of the bed, and gave a tentative bounce on the thick mattress. Thomas must like his bed ropes pulled tight. So do I.
She kicked off her new kid slippers, and wriggled her toes. The shoes had not been broken in yet, and they pinched. She lifted her flower wreath from her brow with care. She already had a number of thorn pricks from her bouquet. She found that she couldn’t unlace the back of her gown by herself. Praying that the rich material of her skirts would not wrinkle too badly, she lay down next to Vixen.
Alicia rubbed her companion’s velvet-soft ears. “My thanks, Vixen. I am very grateful for your company.”
The greyhound closed her eyes, and appeared to fall instantly asleep. Alicia relaxed against the bolster. She caught sight of a piece of paper lying on the small nightstand Its red wax seal looked all too familiar.
She reached for it, then hesitated. Perhaps it was a note for Thomas instead. A horrible thought flashed through her mind. Maybe he had a mistress who had sent him a letter on his wedding day. Alicia had never considered that possibility, though she realized that many men took a mistress. Thomas had been a bachelor for a long time, and he was not unattractive to women.
Alicia chewed her lower lip. Who was she hoodwinking? Thomas was more than handsome. He looked like the golden god of the dawn. He probably had no end of women vying for his attentions. She touched her lips to the fingers that he had caressed so intimately at the feast. Her skin tingled at the delicious memory. No doubt, Thomas was a master in the art of lovemaking. She hoped she would not disappoint him tonight. She thanked the sweet angels that Katherine had taught her so much about pleasing a man.
Alicia stared at the note. Her curiosity ate away at her reluctance. She picked it up. If Thomas had a mistress in the village, the wench probably couldn’t read or write, she told herself. Her heart almost stopped. In the familiar bold penmanship, she read her name on the flap. With trembling fingers, she broke open the seal.
Mere words cannot tell you of the joy you have given to me this day. For the past two nights, I have asked myself if my happiness is not an idle dream. The feelings that I have do not belong on this earth, but in heaven. My heart overflows with such emotion that I do not know where I am. A hundred thousand kisses I give to thee, my sweetest joy. I look forward to being with you soon again.
Trust me.
Alicia started to rip up the note when the last sentence, written at the bottom as an afterthought, stopped her.
She collapsed against the thick bolster, and stared at the blue velvet canopy above the bed. Those were the very words that he had whispered before he left her. Could it be? Alicia refused to be gulled again. Thomas was too spare of words, especially sweet ones. This was Andrew’s idea of a wedding prank—to plague her with endearments of love.
She read the letter again and tried to think of what she should do. A heavy drowsiness crept over her. Her eyes fluttered in mild protest against the invasion of sleep. Just before she drifted into that sweet cloud of oblivion, she pushed the note down between the headboard and the mattress. She did not want any curious servant to stumble upon it while she slept.
The lamplighter had already begun his rounds when Isabel and her travel-stained retinue lumbered into the stable yard of the Black Dog Inn at Ainsty, just outside the walls of York. She glared at the creaking sign that hung over the doorway. Would she never be rid of those flea-infested creatures?
Though her servants dripped with weariness after the bone-shaking trip over rough roads, Isabel herself felt wide-awake and anxious to set her plan into motion. While her bodyguard made lodging arrangements with the greasy-faced landlord, Isabel sought out the stable boy.
“You look like an intelligent lad,” she remarked to the hulking oaf. She held her scented handkerchief to her nose to ward off the boy’s foul odor.
The costernoggin grinned, displaying a lack of front teeth. He tugged his forelock until Isabel expected his dirty hair to come away in his hand.
“Aye, lady. I am, so please ye.”
She stepped into a darker patch of shadow. She did not want the boy to get a good look at her face. “I fear I am in distress.”
The dullard’s expression changed to concern. “Can I help ye, lady?”
Isabel clasped her hand to her heart. “Oh, if you only could, good youth.”
He practically drooled with eagerness. “Tell me what you want, and I will do it!”
She grinned into her handkerchief, then affected a deep sigh mixed with a sob. “Alas, alack, I am in such trouble.” She lowered her voice. “I am being pursued by an evil man.”
The idiot looked over his shoulders. “Where?”
“Up the road apiece. I am a poor widow with only a few sticks of furniture and a few rags of clothing, yet I fear for my life.”
The boy gripped the handle of his hay rake. “I will defend ye!”
She gave another sigh. “Ah, you are too kind—a real gentleman, even though you work in a stable. But you are a little young for the dire villain who is my enemy. I need two grown men with strong arms and sharp knives. Do you happen to know of any like that around here?”
The lout nodded so vigorously that his cap slipped off his filthy head. Isabel stepped away from it lest its vermin leap onto her gown.
“Aye, lady, I do! But they are rough, and not used to gentlefolk.”
She could barely contain her glee at this news. Exactly what I need! “No matter. The brigand who endangers me requires rough handling. Can you fetch these friends of yours, and bring them to the taproom within the hour? ‘Twill be worth a…a silver penny to you.” Best not to let him know how much hard money she carried under her skirts.
His eyes widened at the mention of a fee. “Aye, lady. I will. But my friends will want to be paid for their trouble, methinks.”
“Of course,” she purred. “Tell them that if they do my work well, they will be royally paid.” She chuckled at her little jest—royally paid for royal blood.
The lad tugged his forelock again. “I will this minute!” He dropped the hay rake on the spot. Isabel jumped as it clattered at her feet.
She ground her teeth at the lackwit’s behavior. At least he could run fast enough, she mused as she watched him race down the street, then duck into an alley. She hoped the men he knew were what she wanted. She would have a devil of a time getting rid of them if they proved to be as addle-brained as the stable boy. Isabel shrugged to herself. If one was going to prosper in this world, one needed to take a few risks. Humming to herself, she joined Meg, who had been waiting by the courtyard’s pump for her mistress.
The maid yawned. “By Saint Sebastian’s arrows, I am sore, and could sleep for a week.”
Isabel shook her by the shoulders. “Do not think of it yet, Meg. We will be entertaining company anon.”
Meg screwed up her face in protest. “In this dingy place? By our larkin, my lady! What manner of folk would come a-visiting us at this hour?”
Isabel swept past her toward the inn’s back door. “An excellent question. We shall see in good time.”
An hour later, Isabel discovered just how unsavory her guests could be. She thanked her good sense that she had decided to meet with the stable lad’s friends in a corner booth in the crowded taproom. These two brigands would have slit her throat if she had entertained them alone in her chamber. Her hands grew clammy while she regarded the two villains who sat opposite her, quaffing their second jacks of ale at her expense.
The leader called himself Flash. “Handy with a knife, see?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and leered at her. Tall, though not like the Cavendishes, he had long powerful arms, and huge hands, that looked as if they could strangle her in a trice. “What be your pleasure, lady?”
His companion, introduced as Demon, merely belched and signaled for another round.
Goose bumps dotted Isabel’s bare neck and shoulders. She wished she had worn her cloak, but the room was very hot and smoky. Under the table, she clutched the small leather bag full of gold marks. She tossed her head, then looked squarely into Flash’s watery gray eyes.
“I wish to have someone abducted.”
He coughed, then spat on the floor. “Sprout told me that a man was after you. That I can understand.” He openly appraised her, his gaze lingering on the swell of her breasts.
She narrowed her eyes. This ruffian made her skin crawl. She almost wished she had not been so anxious to implement the deed. No doubt, she could have hired someone less coarse by light of day. Too late, she realized. Let us see what mettle these churls are made of.
“I seek to have a lady stolen away from Wolf Hall.”
Demon whistled under his breath. “‘Tis the Cavendish roost, or I will dance in hell.”
Flash brayed a laugh, then slapped his friend on the back. “You will dance there anyway, my friend. But he speaks the truth, lady. Wolf Hall belongs to a family of powerful lords.”
She allowed them a superior smile. “Your news is old. All the lords you fear died of a fever just two months ago. There is only one Cavendish left—Thomas. He should give you no trouble at all. He is lacking most of his wits. He prefers to wander through the woods with his dogs, than to protect his home.”
Demon snarled at her, baring his teeth like an animal. “I a-fear no one on this side of the grave.”
She smothered a squeal of fright. She knew she would have nightmares tonight. “I am glad to hear that. Then stealing one lone woman will not tax you at all, will it, Master Flash?”
He hooded his eyes. “Do not say ‘steal,’ lady. ’Tis a foul word, and could hang a man. Me and Demon—we convey the goods.”
Demon chortled into his ale. “Aye, that we do!”
Flash leaned across the table toward her. “Myself—I am the best of cutpurses, or cutthroats, in these parts. Who is the coney?”
She blinked. She had no idea what the ruffian had asked.
He grinned. “Your pardon. I forgot I was conversing with a lady of quality.” He crooned the last word. Then he smacked his lips.
She pressed her back against the dingy wall. If he so much as laid a finger on her, she would scream the very rafters down. She leveled her gaze at him.
“You will abduct Alicia Cavendish, Sir Thomas’s wife. You cannot mistake her, for she is as tall and thin as a stripling boy, and her hair is the color of firelight.”
Demon nudged his companion. “Sounds like a bit of fun.”
Isabel hurried with her instructions before her courage gave away completely. “You are not to kill the woman, nor Sir Thomas—but you may keep whatever jewels or money you might find on her person.”
Flash cocked an eyebrow. “I had intended to do just that with or without your permission. ‘Tis my right.”
Demon nudged Flash again. “How about this Alicia’s honey pot, eh? Can we take that, too?” He laughed amid a series of hiccups.
I do not care a groat. She shrugged. “Take whatever you will. You can deliver her in her shift if you wish. Just do not kill her, or ‘twill come down on your head, I promise you.” Two can play their nasty little game. She leaned forward, and whispered, “‘Tis king’s business, so do it well, and you will be amply rewarded.”
Demon’s dark skin turned a shade paler at the mention of the king. Flash stroked his bristly chin for a minute or two in silence.
“Why does the king want this woman?” he asked.
Isabel gripped the coin pouch tighter. “She is the sister of Perkin Warbeck, who tried to claim the throne. He pretended to be Richard of York.”
Demon scratched his filthy head. “Who?”
Flash gave him a cynical smile. “Last son of King Edward—the one who died years ago in the Tower.”
His companion crossed himself. The reverent gesture took Isabel by surprise.
She pursed her lips. “Warbeck is a traitor to our gracious king, and so is his sister.”
Flash narrowed his eyes into slits. “How much for the lady?”
Isabel plopped the leather purse on the table. The coins jingled faintly inside. “Ten marks now. Twice that when you have delivered the woman to me here at the inn. And, good masters, know that you will be watched. His Grace, King Henry, does not like to have his money ill spent” She prayed they could not hear the pounding of her heart.
Flash eyed the pouch as if it might suddenly leap up and bite him. Demon showed no such qualms, but pulled it open, and plucked out one of the golden coins.
His black eyes gleamed. “By the cross, she speaks the truth!”
Flash covered Demon’s hand with his own. “Put it away, you clodpole. Do you want to have your belly slit afore you can spend it?”
Under the table, Isabel knotted her hand into a fist. Take the money, you pigs, and leave me. Your stench sickens my stomach.
Flash swept up the pouch, then stuffed it in his filthy shirt. “We will undertake your piece of work, lady, and we will discuss further payment afterward.”
She gritted her teeth. “Bring Alicia Cavendish here as soon as you can. His Grace does not like to be kept waiting.”
Rising from the booth, Flash gave her a snake’s smile. “Nor do I like to wait, lady. Remember that.”
He pulled up Demon by the collar of his jerkin. Without a backward glance, he strode through the crowd, dragging his henchman behind him.
Isabel expelled a deep breath of relief. A wave of elation washed over her. Soon Alicia would be in her clutches. She could not wait to hear that upstart beg for her freedom. The king will reward me well when I deliver the last Plantagenet bastard to him. Why go home to my father’s madhouse when I can find a better place in court?
Buoyed by that enticing prospect, Isabel rose from the food-encrusted table, and made her way up the stairs to her chamber, where simpleminded Meg awaited with warm rose water and clean sheets.
Dream sweet dreams tonight, Alicia. ‘Twill be your last night of freedom!