Free The White Lord of Wellesbourne by Kathryn Le Veque

the way back to
the table where Adam sat with tears in his eyes. Alixandrea was flattered and
concerned all at the same time.
    “My lord?” she asked hesitantly.
“Was the song not to your liking?”
    Adam sniffled and wiped his eyes.
He was drunk, that was true, but the song would have brought tears to his eyes
even if he had not been.  He put a big warm hand over her fingers.
    “I have heard that song many
times, my lady,” he said. “I have never heard it sung quite so beautifully.”
    She smiled her thanks, turning to
Matthew to see if she could yet gain a reaction from him. Wine in hand, he was
gazing into his chalice.
    “My lord?” she said softly. “Did
you not like the song?”
    He swirled the dregs and took a
long drink. Then he looked at her. “I was wrong.”
    “About what?”
    “You. You are perfect.”
    “I do not understand.”
    He sighed and set the cup down.
“My mother used to sing that song to me,” he said quietly. “I always thought it
was the most beautiful thing in the world the way she sang it. But you… you
sing it better than she ever could.”
    She sensed sorrow from him and
wasn’t sure why. “I am truly sorry if I have upset you,” she did not know what
to say. “Your father asked me to sing the song and I did not know that…”
    He looked at her, the warmth back
in his eyes. “You did nothing but sing that song more sweetly than anything on
this earth. It simply reminded me of my mother and how much I miss her.  You
will sing many more times for me in the years to come.”
    “If you wish it.”
    “I do.”
    “Then I did not offend you?”
    “Of course not.”
    Adam could not seem to stop
weeping. He put his hand on her arm. “Will you sing the song again, just for
me?”
    Alixandrea looked to Matthew for
guidance. His father was shedding tears and she did not want to aggravate it.
Matthew sighed heavily; there was still displeasure in his voice in spite of
his words to the contrary. “Sing it. It has been a long time since he has heard
it.”
    She sang the song thirteen times
that evening.

 
     
     
    CHAPTER FOUR
     
    “They are up to something; I can
feel it,” Matthew said ominously. “The Earl of Wiltshire has moved his men
north to Nottingham.  And there’s word of more nobility moving their troops to
the north, including the Earl of Pembroke, though that is no small surprise.
Can you not see that all of this military movement signals a gathering,
something great and powerful?”
    It was dawn.  The Wellesbourne
brothers were gathered in the stale, smoky solar, huddled around a table
covered with a massive, overly-used map.  There were ink stains upon the
vellum, which had also seen a dagger or two thrown into it for good measure.
Pock marks littered the yellowed leather.
    “Your instincts, as always, are
without question,” Mark said. “With Jasper Tudor moving his troops from
Pembroke Castle, there could only be larger things on the horizon.”
    “Then you agree that something
major is in the development.”
    “It would seem so. Dorset’s
activity against us for the past few weeks has indicated that something larger
is on the horizon. Our spies have also indicated as much. But this sunrise has
seen confirmation of that.”
    Matthew looked up from the table.
“What do you mean?”
    “Lord Sutton and the Earl of
Somerset are on the move,” Mark’s voice was grim. “Two of our scouts returned
this morning to tell us that Somerset has a contingent of a thousand Irish
mercenaries sailing up the Mouth of the Severn. They’ll make Gloucester in a
few days.”
    Matthew listened carefully to his
brother. He looked as if he hadn’t slept all night, which he hadn’t. But the
lack of sleep had never dulled him. 
    “Do we know this for certain?” he
asked.
    “Certain enough,” Mark said.
“Thomas and Harl have returned with this news, and they are two of our most
trusted.”
    Matthew recognized the names of
the moles. They had been in Wellesbourne