Lady Of Lyonsbridge

Thomas had not tried to kiss her again. He’d greeted her that morning with a courtly bow, and when she’d suggested a ride, he had been the one to ask if she would be more comfortable in the company of others from the castle. When she’d declared recklessly that she preferred to have him to herself, there had been a brief flare of eagerness in his eyes, but in seconds the expression was carefully banked.

“I don’t think the lady Alyce is prone to shrieking,” she answered him. “And you can believe me when I tell you that she rides every bit as well as I do.”

“Then I’m maligning her, and I must make amends when I finally meet her. Will she join us for supper this evening?”

“Oh, I’m afraid not. This morning she was still quite ill.”

Thomas looked around the meadow they’d just crossed. The hardiest of the late fall wildflowers still dotted it with purple and yellow splotches. “What a shame to lie abed on such a day. Shall we gather some flowers to take to her? It seems the least I can do, since the stew that poisoned her was prepared for our benefit.”

Alyce shifted uneasily in her saddle. “She’d not want you to fret over it, Sir Thomas. My lady has such a…” she paused a moment to swallow hard “…such a sweet nature that she would be unhappy to think you worried.”

“Ah, she sounds like an angel. All the more reason to try to brighten her sickroom.” Thomas swung off his horse and held his arms up toward Alyce. “Come, we’ll pick some together.”

Alyce slid down into them, her sudden, renewed wave of guilt banishing all embarrassment. It had been exhilarating to play the lady’s maid, and the disguise had given her a delicious sense of freedom, but she knew it was wicked of her to continue deceiving Thomas.

His hands lingered at her waist for a few moments before he released her and stepped back, saying, “We really should have a basket. Then we could fill your mistress’s sickroom with color.”

Alyce gave a rueful shake of her head and watched as the big knight began carefully plucking the delicate blossoms. “I thought knights spent their time thrashing each other and slaying dragons,” she said. “Your hands are strong and battle scarred, yet last night I watched them playing the lute, and now they pick flowers. You surprise me.”

He looked up at her, smiling as he continued his chore. “A true knight must be a man of many talents, Rose. He’ll relish a good battle, but should have equal love of art and music. As well as a keen eye for a beautiful maid,” he added with a wink.

“And you consider yourself a true knight, Sir Thomas?”

He grinned. “One of the truest.”

“I gather modesty is not one of the knightly virtues.”

“Aye, but ’tis a minor one. The part about the ladies is much more important.”

Alyce laughed. She had never before enjoyed banter such as this with a man. It was fun and oddly stimulating. It made her want to go up on tiptoe and break into a little dance.

Thomas straightened and walked over to her, holding out a number of blossoms. “If you’ll not pick, you can at least hold these while I gather more.”

“I’m sure you already have enough, Sir Thomas. Lady Alyce’s bedchamber is not very big.”

Thomas looked at the bunch in his hands for a long moment. Then he said, “You’ll still have to hold these.”

“Why?” she asked, but took the flowers from him.

“Because I need my hands free to hold you,” he said. Then he encircled her with his arms and pulled her close up against him. The blossoms crumpled between them. They both laughed as he looked down at them ruefully and observed, “Oh, bother. This won’t work, either.”

Alyce was embarrassed to admit to herself that she’d been waiting for this moment all day. She’d been unable to get Thomas’s brief kiss out of her mind, and, though she knew it was a scandalous desire for a well-bred maiden, she wanted another sample. And she wasn’t about to let some fast-wilting flowers stand in her way. “Never mind,” she said, bending down to deposit the bouquet on the ground. “They’ll be fine right here until we’re ready to leave.”

Thomas’s smile of satisfaction was confirmation that she was acting like a village hussy, but she didn’t care as he put his arms around her again and lowered his lips to hers. Unlike the brief kiss of the previous evening, this one was slow and deep. His mouth gently melded with hers, warm and moist, then opened to urge a more ardent joining. For several moments, Alyce lost track of everything that surrounded them. She could no longer smell the dry grass of the meadow or hear the horses’ impatient huffing. Her entire world was centered in Thomas’s kiss.

He gave a little groan of pleasure as he drew away. Closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers, he murmured, “By the rood, Rose, I’ve never in my life tasted anything so sweet.”

Her arms had crept around his neck and they tightened at his words. He sounded utterly sincere. Thomas Havilland was obviously a practiced gallant, but there was a note in his declaration that rang true. Of course, the notion was absurd. He had kissed many women. In his eyes, she was just a servant on whom he could practice his skill at flirtation. And he was obviously hungry for a woman after a dreary campaign.

She put the thought into words. “You say that you’ve been away from home for a long time, Sir Thomas. No doubt the slightest attention from an English maid would seem wondrous to you.”

He loosened his hold on her and answered slowly, “Nay. I’ll admit I’ve had few kisses over these past months, but this is something…” His voice trailed off.

His expression was genuinely puzzled, and Alyce was tempted to believe that he had indeed found the kisses as compelling as she had. Unconsciously, she tilted her face, and he accepted the mute offer by kissing her again. This time she didn’t know how many minutes transpired before he pulled away with a deep, ragged breath.

“You’ve bewitched me, Rose. Or have you fed me one of old Maeve’s love potions?” When she flushed, he laughed and added, “No matter. I’m not objecting. But you must know ’tis dangerous to incite a man’s passions.”

Alyce knew no such thing, but his teasing expression did not look the least dangerous, so she smiled back at him. What would a lady’s maid say at this juncture? she wondered. Daringly, she tried, “Fie on you, sir, if you think I need a potion to do the job.”

His expression changed once again, and this time she did glimpse danger in his hooded gaze and the flare of his nostrils. In one fluid motion he scooped her up into his arms and began walking toward the copse of trees at the far end of the meadow. It was some distance, but he carried her easily, without so much as breathing hard. It was Alyce’s chest that was rising and falling in short, panicked breaths.

He reached the trees and gave her a hard, quick kiss. “In truth, I judged Sherborne a modest place when we rode in, sweetheart. I never thought to find such riches here.”

Her insides were churning. Though inexperienced, she knew enough to realize that Thomas was intending to move beyond flirtatious kisses. Part of her wanted to let him continue. His kisses had been exciting, and her untutored body wanted to learn what further wizardry he could show her.

He laid her gently on a mound of soft grass at the base of an ash tree and knelt beside her, looking down. His fingers traced the line of her jaw, then his hand moved down to sculpt her breast through the thick cloth of her dress. “Shall I free you of these wrappings?” he asked.

With sudden panic, Alyce brushed aside his hand and sat straight up as if stung by a bee. What had possessed her? The knight might think her a serving wench, but she was not one. She was the lady of Sherborne Castle, in liege to the king of England. Neither her fate nor her body were her own. “I can’t do this,” she said stiffly.

At first Thomas seemed to think it all part of the game. He took her shoulders and dropped a gentle kiss on her nose. “Don’t worry, sweetling,” he murmured. “We’ll be careful.”

She had only the vaguest notion what he meant by those words, but she knew that no amount of care could make it all right for the lady Alyce of Sherborne to lie with a wandering knight. She pushed him back. “Nay, you don’t understand. I must return to the castle. Please.”

The touch of alarm in her tone seemed to reach him. He pulled his arms away and let them drop to his sides. “I’m sorry, Rose,” he said stiffly. “It seemed that you were willing.”

She bit her lip and found it still sensitive from his kisses. “Aye,” she said miserably. “That is…nay. I hold you no blame, Sir Thomas. ’Twas my fault for acting recklessly.”

If he was disappointed or angry, it did not show in his expression. He smiled. “Perhaps I went too quickly, sweetling. The fault was not in your actions but in your beauty and sweetness. I didn’t mean to press you, but you made me quite lose my head.”

She realized that after the bold way she had acted, she should be grateful for his easy acceptance of her change of heart. “Thank you,” she said.

He stood and held out his hand. “Come, let’s see if any of our flowers survived, to take back to your mistress.”

Feeling a little shaky, Alyce accepted his hand to help her up, but dropped it immediately when she was on her feet. She was quiet as they made their way back to the horses. He helped her mount, then quickly gathered the scattered blossoms and got on his own horse.

She remained silent on the ride back to the castle, confused at her actions and at how fast things had progressed between her and Thomas. Didn’t she have enough problems, she asked herself angrily, without losing all vestige of good sense because a handsome knight wooed her with pretty words?

As they dismounted, he asked about seeing her at dinner. He seemed a little hurt by her swift change of mood, but she didn’t trust herself enough to spend more time with him to soothe his feelings. She gave a vague answer, then handed him the reins to her mount and bolted for the security of the castle.

“Thomas, you were the one who said we shouldn’t tarry long at any place lest Dunstan get wind of our movements. If he and Prince John learn that we are collecting the ransom for Richard, they’ll have their dogs on us in an instant.”

This time Kenton had recruited assistance in arguing with his leader. Harry the Stout had joined them at the table, along with a third knight whom the men had dubbed Martin the Reaper. Unlike Harry, Martin’s nickname had nothing to do with his appearance. The phrase came from the number of Saladin’s legions Martin had mowed down in battle.

“Kenton’s right,” Martin said, sober in spite of the pitcher of ale he had single-handedly consumed. “’Tis time we leave here before word of our presence spreads. We’ve already judged this castle too poor to contribute to our cause. By all accounts the lady has not even the money to buy herself free from her marriage duty to the king’s choice.”

“To Prince John’s choice, according to her serving woman,” Thomas corrected. “Which happens to be none other than Dunstan himself. Does it seem right to you that we should leave the poor woman to that kind of fate? Haven’t we all taken an oath of chivalry to aid damsels in need?”

Harry wiped the grease from his mouth as he threw the leg bone of a rabbit down on the table. “I’ve no warm feelings toward the lady of Sherborne after our treatment at her hands. She near killed us. I say let Dunstan have her.”

“Aye,” Martin agreed. “Our duty is to Richard and none other.”

Kenton was watching Thomas with a puzzled expression. “’Tis not like you to be so reckless over a pretty face, Thomas. Let’s be about our business. When Richard is free, you can come back for this servant wench if you fancy her so.”

Thomas looked around the table at his men. He sympathized with their confusion. In fact, he shared it. He could not explain even to himself why the lady of Sherborne’s maid had so captured him. He only knew that when she had not come to join them for supper, the stab of disappointment had been every bit as sharp as the Saracen knife that had nearly taken his life in battle.

Damn Richard for getting himself into yet another muddle, he thought with uncharacteristic churlishness. Thomas knew that his loyalty was to his king, but he simply could not ride away without seeing Rose again.

He stood. “I can’t believe that one more day in this place will jeopardize our mission. The men can use the time to rest and repair their equipment. I feel an obligation to seek an audience with this Lady Alyce, to see that she is not being forced into a match that is abhorrent to her.”

“And if she is?” Kenton asked.

Thomas shrugged. “As you say, our mission is clear, but since Dunstan is Richard’s enemy, we may be of some service to the lady in the performing of it.”

“So ’tis the lady you wish to see, not her servant?” Kenton asked without hiding his skepticism.

“I’ll see them both,” Thomas answered. He looked at each of his men in turn, but none of them spoke. Thomas Brand was normally a mild-mannered fellow and a warm friend, but they’d learned from experience not to oppose him when his expression tightened and his tone turned to steel.

Kenton was brave enough to shake his head in disapproval, but even he remained silent as Thomas strode away toward the stairs to the upper floor.

He had been joking when he’d accused Rose of using one of old Maeve’s love potions, but by the time Thomas reached the door of Lady Alyce’s bedchamber, he’d begun to wonder if there might be some truth to his charge. The need to see her again was like a fire in his gut.

Light shone around the door, encouragement enough for him to knock. If the lady Alyce was still in her sickbed, perhaps Rose was attending her and would open the door to him. Then he would insist on a few moments of her time to apologize for having upset her out in the meadow that morning.

Unlike the other night, when his anger and worry over his sick men had made him pound until the rafters shook, he tapped lightly. With luck, the mistress would be asleep and Rose would be free to leave with him.

His heart leaped when Rose opened the door. “Oh!” she said, and her hand flew to her mouth. “I thought it was Lettie.”

He gave her his most charming smile. “I hope ’tis not a disappointment. I missed you at the dinner table.” When she continued to look upset, he grew more serious. “I need to talk with you, Rose. Please hear me out.”

“I…’tis late,” she said weakly.

“Aye, but I’ve little time. My men are anxious to be about their duties, and I’d not leave Sherborne without settling this thing between us.”

She was holding the door halfway shut, but he angled himself to look into the room over her shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of the reclusive lady Alyce. To his surprise, the room seemed to be empty. “Where’s your mistress?” he asked with a frown.

She relaxed her hold on the door and stepped back to reveal the empty room. “She went to the garderobe, if you must know. But she’ll return any minute, and she won’t be at all happy to find you here.”

He moved toward her, forcing her to take a step backward into the room. “I’ll explain that her maid has put a spell on me and drawn me here against my will.”

Rose smiled, but still seemed ill at ease. “Please leave, Thomas. I’m sorry, but there can be nothing more between us.”

His smile faded. “Our kisses were not one-sided, Rose. I won’t believe that you did not feel the same pull as I.”

She gave a stubborn shake of her head. “Nay, I felt nothing.”

She’d never been more beautiful. Up to now he’d seen her with a wimple or with her hair plaited. Tonight it streamed loose to the middle of her back like a river of spun gold. Almost unconsciously, he reached out a hand to stroke it. “You lie, little minx,” he said gently. “There is something between us, and you feel it as much as I.”

She pulled away from his touch and his hand brushed the cold metal circlet that held the tresses back from her face. His eyes focused on it. “’Tis gold,” he said, surprised.

Rose plucked the band off her head and threw it on the bed. “Aye, ’tis my lady’s. I shouldn’t be wearing it.”

A slight tremor in her voice betrayed her. Something was not right, Thomas realized. Was she worried that her mistress would arrive to discover that she was trying on her jewels? The explanation did not satisfy him.

He crossed the room and picked up the abandoned circlet. “Do you think she would be angry with you?”

Her eyes grew wide. “Aye. I’m not to touch her things. She might even have me beaten.”

He cocked his head. “I thought you said that the lady Alyce was sweet?”

Her words tumbled out. “I—I did. She’s sweet…sometimes. And sometimes she has a terrible temper. The temper is more common when she’s sick, and, as you know, Sir Thomas, she’s been dreadfully…”

“Sick,” he supplied.

“Aye,” she ended with a little sigh.

He passed the circlet from one hand to another as if weighing the bauble. “Then I definitely shall stay until she returns, to be sure that you don’t get into trouble.”

“There’s no need. I believe she’s ready to retire for the evening—”

“I’m staying,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “I’d not miss the chance to meet this mysterious lady who is at the same time both angel and termagant.”

She looked up at him, her eyes pleading silently.

“You look distressed,” he said gently. “Is there something you’d like to tell me, my fair Rose?” He walked over to her and lifted her chin with his finger so that her gaze could not avoid meeting his. “Or should I say, my fair Alyce,?”

Chapter Four

Alyce drew in a breath. Thomas’s hand held steady at her chin, forcing their gazes to lock.

“It is Alyce, is it not?” he asked again.

She let out the breath with a sigh. “Aye.”

He dropped his hold on her chin and stepped back. “And ’twas you I saw that first evening, swaddled in bedclothes?”

She gave a guilty nod.

“Why the masquerade?” He sounded more confused than angry, and Alyce realized that he hadn’t yet realized that she’d deceived him about the rotten meat as well.

“I thought you’d come from Prince John, remember? I wasn’t anxious to give myself up to my jailers.”

“But why didn’t you tell me who you were when I explained that I hadn’t come from the prince?”

“Well, I—I was unsure. I wanted to find out something about you.”

He looked as if he was trying to recollect that first conversation in the buttery. “You were not sick, then?” he asked.

“Only that first evening. I recovered quickly. I’ve always been one to recover quickly. My father used to say that I had the stomach of a goat. I could eat any old thing…” Her voice trailed off. She knew she’d been speaking too fast, and Thomas’s expression was becoming more skeptical.

“No doubt you, like your lovely maid Rose, decided you’d eat day-old capon while you kindly left the stew to us.”

She bit her lip and nodded. “Aye, that was it.”

“Which was especially generous when you believed we had come to haul you off to a marriage you dreaded.” Finally the anger she’d been waiting for flashed in his eyes.

Alyce averted her gaze. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“You might have killed someone with your childish tricks.” His cold tone masked a deeper fury. She sensed that Thomas Havilland could be a forgiving man if the injury was to himself alone, but not when his men were harmed. And suddenly it was important to her that he not think her mean-spirited.

She turned to face him. “You’re right. ’Twas foolish and wrong of me, and if your men hadn’t recovered I would never have forgiven myself.”

He seemed surprised at her forthright admission. “What possessed you to do such a thing?”

“I was trying to make the point that I’d be a terrible wife. If Dunstan had been among the delegation, I was hoping he’d decide to look for a better housekeeper.” There was a forlorn note to her final words.

Thomas gave a reluctant smile, and his voice was more gentle as he observed, “If he’d caught a glimpse of you, Alyce Rose, I venture to say that all the rotten meat in the kingdom would not have altered his course.”

His kindness was almost harder to bear than the anger. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “Your men were kind to me. I wish I could see the act undone.”

He shook his head. “I daresay they’ve eaten worse on the battlefield and lived to tell the tale. But just the same, I think we’ll keep this as our secret, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Oh, thank you, Sir Thomas. I’m in your debt.”

One dark eyebrow went up suggestively. “Ah, milady, that may not be the wisest thing to say to a battle-weary knight when he’s alone with you in your bedchamber.”

His teasing tone told her that she had no cause for alarm at his words. He made no move to touch her, and she realized with a pang of regret that he had no intention of doing so. She was not Rose any longer. She was the lady Alyce. And things could never be as relaxed between them as they had been that morning in the meadow.

“I’m never alone for very long,” she said, allowing the regret to creep into her tone. “Lettie will be here shortly to help me prepare for bed.”

“Of course,” he said, and nodded, his eyes flickering over her briefly. She wondered if he was having the same thought as she. If she were only the servant Rose instead of a nobly born lady, she might be anticipating a very different kind of bedding ritual.

“So it would be best if you left now,” she said softly.

“Aye, ’twould be best.”

Their eyes met for a long moment, mirroring regret. Then he said, “Sleep well, milady,” and turned to leave.

If any of Thomas’s men were suspicious about the tainted meat, they didn’t show it. By the time Alyce descended to the great hall for breakfast the following morning, they all seemed to know the truth about her identity. In fact, Kenton took a private moment to apologize for any of his comments that, while fine for a serving maid, might not have been appropriate for the lady of the castle.

Their graciousness only deepened Alyce’s guilt, but since Thomas appeared to have forgiven her, she vowed to put the matter out of her mind. She was determined, however, to make up for the poor hospitality the knights had received on their arrival. Though she knew that the men had tarried at Sherborne longer than intended, she insisted that they remain for an evening of festivities, now that they all had recovered from their illnesses.

“I shall be offended if you don’t agree,” she told Kenton with a smile that she was only beginning to understand could turn a fierce knight into a veritable puppy dog.

His reaction did not disappoint her. His eyes wide, he rushed to assure her. “I’d not offend you for the world, milady. The problem is—”

“Then ’tis settled,” she interrupted gaily. And so it was decided. She sent Alfred’s grandson, Fredrick, to the village for Quentin, the brewer, who was to bring some of his finest ale, as well as the tambour he often used to entertain at fairs.

“On the way back, you can pay old Maeve a visit,” she told the young villein. “If she’s in her right head today, invite her as well. She can entertain us with her fortune-telling.”

Happier than she had been since the death of her father, Alyce spent the day busy with preparations, seeing to it that fresh rushes were strewn in the great hall, and putting Lettie to oversee the cooks. “Have them fix their finest dishes,” she told her, then added, “with nothing but freshly caught game. Bring in the stable boys to help with the skinning, if you need extra help.”

“’Tis a wonder Sir Thomas did not skin ye, Allie,” Lettie answered with a shake of her head, but as usual she went along with her young mistress’s plans.

By sundown the meal was ready and the brewer had arrived from the village, with a great cask of ale. He’d brought along his cousin, a huge bear of a man adept at picking out melodies on a ridiculously tiny harp.