Lady Of Lyonsbridge

Alyce was nearly giddy with excitement. Her mother had always been one to make a festive occasion with the slightest excuse. After her death, Sherborne parties were more subdued, and usually attended only by the castle residents themselves, since her father had wanted little contact with the outside world. Nevertheless, Alyce had many fond memories of warm evenings in the great hall. It was almost like having both her parents back to see the room filled with happy people enjoying merry company and good food.

Thomas sat by her side at the head table. His gaze was often on her, warm and admiring, but his manner was much more formal than it had been when he’d thought her a servant. Though it was what she should have expected, it made her a little sad. The smile she’d been wearing all evening dimmed briefly.

He seemed to notice the change at once. Leaning toward her, he observed in a conspiratorial whisper, “Was the stew left over from St. Swithin’s Day or were you able to obtain an even older vintage?”

His teasing voice and wink took the sting from the words. She gave a rueful laugh. “These rabbits were hopping around the meadow this very morning.”

Thomas looked at the trencher with a look of mock sorrow. “Ah, noble creatures. They sacrificed themselves to fill the bellies of a band of wandering knights.”

“I doubt they were given a choice in the matter,” Alyce replied. As she said the words, her smile faded.

Thomas lowered his head to peer into her eyes. “We all must eat, milady. ’Tis the lot of animals to be sacrificed.”

“Of animals, aye, and of some females as well.” She was silent a long moment, her thoughts suddenly sober. A night of merriment did not change her situation. Soon the real emissaries from Prince John would appear at her gates, and from then on she would have no more control over her life than the rabbits that Thomas’s men were devouring.

“Forgive me if I seem to be meddling in your affairs, milady,” Thomas said. “But Prince John should have no authority over you. Your liege lord is King Richard.”

“Most say that Richard will die of his wounds before the ransom is raised to free him. Then John will be king in his own right.”

“There are good people hard at work trying to avoid that calamity, milady,” Thomas told her.

The vehemence of his words made her curious. “You sound as if King Richard’s welfare is important to you, Sir Thomas. Is it because of your dislike for Prince John?”

She could tell at once that he did not want to discuss the matter. “’Tis you who concerns me, not John. Your father should have seen to it before his death that you were affianced to someone acceptable. Even the king could not have overturned a legal betrothal.”

Alyce laid down her knife, her appetite gone. She had no reason to tell this stranger her story, but the words tumbled out. “My mother died ten years ago trying to give my father a son, who died with her. After that, Father seemed to lose interest in everything but taking care of Sherborne Castle. He never looked at another woman, and he had no desire to talk about any kind of a match for me, either.”

There was a flicker of sympathy in Thomas’s eyes. “If he wanted to devote his life to mourning, that was his choice, but he should not have inflicted his grief on his daughter.”

“I think he had convinced himself he was doing what was best for me. He felt that any man who came to sue for my hand was only interested in Sherborne.”

Thomas’s mouth dropped open in amazement. “Was your father a blind man?”

His remark elicited a small smile. “’Twas not my attractiveness he was doubting, it was the nature of his fellow men.”

“I’m sorry. He was wrong to be so cynical. There are many honorable men who would make his daughter a good husband.”

Alyce sighed. “I don’t believe he was always so bitter. As I say, he never really recovered from my mother’s death.”

“’Twas a true love match, then, and he is now where he no doubt wishes to be, which is with your mother.”

“Aye, and their daughter is alone.”

He smiled gently. “From what I hear, milady, you are hardly alone. You appear to have a castle full of people who love you. I’ve heard that your retainers will do anything to protect you, even poison your visitors.”

Alyce glanced around the table to be sure his remark hadn’t been overheard. “I take the blame for that misadventure, Sir Thomas. Please put no fault on my household.”

“You gave the orders, but your people carried them out with a vengeance. That Alfred of yours did not so much as twitch a hair on his face as he served us the fatal dinner. And the old woman who was in your chamber the other night appeared capable of bashing me in the head if I tried to come closer to you in your supposed sickbed.”

Alyce chuckled. “Alfred and Lettie are true friends. You’re right, I have many here.”

Thomas looked around the full hall. Unlike the people in some parts of England, the residents of Sherborne looked happy. Happy and prosperous. “Might your tenants be able to help you raise the tax to pay off Prince John?” he asked.

She shook her head. “They’ve already paid too much. First there were the exorbitant taxes for King Richard to mount his Crusade, then for John to line his pockets.”

Thomas frowned. “Those are dangerous words in today’s England, milady. I trust you don’t speak so freely to all your visitors.”

Alyce shrugged, unconcerned. “You made no secret about your lack of love for Prince John. I doubt you’ll head to Westminster to denounce me as a traitor.”

“But I may be Richard’s man and take offense at your words.”

“I care little for politics. Like war, ’tis another male invention designed to convince women that we need men to handle our lives.”

“When in reality the fairer sex could do just fine without us?” Thomas asked, amused.

“Without war and without politics? Aye, I trow the world would be a better place. And we women would be free to run our households and raise our families in peace.”

He leaned close again to whisper, “Just how would you have those families, milady, without the, er, cooperation of men?”

Embarrassed, she blurted out, “I do know where babies come from, Sir Thomas. But I’ve never heard that a man needs to be a warrior to produce one, nor a politician.”

He leaned back with a hearty laugh. The sound of it made Kenton, who was sitting at a table just below them, turn his head and ask, “Will you not share the joke, Thomas?”

“Please,” Alyce begged in a low voice. “’Twas a foolish and brazen remark.”

Thomas grinned at her, then answered his lieutenant, “We were talking of rabbits, Kent, and how easily their futures can go awry.”

Kenton looked confused at the reply, but smiled and nodded. “Just mind that you don’t monopolize all of the lady Alyce’s conversation. You’re not the only one who’s been longing for the sound of a sweet English voice.”

Under his breath, Thomas said to Alyce, “You see, I’ve not revealed your misdeed. My men still think you sweet.”

Alyce stood, grateful both for Thomas’s discretion and for the interruption in a conversation that would surely have shocked her sainted mother to the core. She smiled down at Kenton. “’Tis Sir Thomas’s voice we should be hearing now that the meal’s done. Perhaps he’d favor us with a song.”

“Your musicians are doing fine.” Kenton waved his hand toward the end of the hall, where the brewer and his cousin had been picking out stately melodies that could barely be heard over the noise of the crowd. “Our men have heard enough of Thomas’s lovesick ditties.”

The look exchanged between Thomas and his lieutenant left no one in doubt that the insult was brotherly.

Alyce hesitated, uncertain. “Well, then. Perhaps we should try a fortune or two.”

Thomas had risen to his feet beside her. “Aye. Let’s see if we’re destined to have luckier futures than the little hares we’ve just devoured.”

It was nearly half an hour before things were made ready. Servants cleared away the trenchers as some of the men wandered off to refill their flagons of ale, while others sought privacy to relieve themselves of the drink they’d already consumed.

Finally the two master chairs were carried down and placed next to the big fireplace. Old Maeve was ushered into one, while the other remained empty.

Alyce gave a little clap of excitement and asked, “Who shall be first?”

There was a moment of silence, as none of the knights appeared eager to volunteer. Then old Maeve spoke, her voice crackly like the rustle of dry leaves. “’Tis your ladyship’s future I’ve come to tell. I saw it that night in the fire.” She lifted a bony finger and pointed to Thomas. “The night he came to me.”

Alyce suppressed a sudden shiver. She’d thought the fortune-telling would be amusing for the visiting knights, but she’d forgotten that occasionally Maeve’s prophecies told of ill fortune as well as good. And the old woman did have the gift. Everyone at Sherborne knew that.

“Aye, the lady Alyce,” Kenton exclaimed, and several of the rest of the men chorused their agreement.

Thomas looked at her, questioning. “Are you willing, milady? Or are you afraid of what your seer might foretell?”

Alyce was afraid, for some unknown reason. But she was not about to let Thomas Havilland know that. Stiffening her shoulders, she marched over to the chair opposite Maeve and sat down.

“How are you tonight, Maeve?” she asked.

The old woman blinked slowly, as if trying to focus her eyes. “The wolves howl at the moon.”

Alyce sighed. Calling old Maeve to the castle had probably not been a good idea. “There are no wolves, Maeve. Perhaps you hear the castle dogs fighting over the scraps.”

“’Tis a blood moon,” Maeve continued, without appearing to have heard Alyce’s words. “It tells of treachery and perhaps even death.” She closed her eyes. “Aye, death.”

Alyce straightened in her chair as a second shiver made its way the entire length of her back. With a nervous laugh, she looked up at Thomas, whose expression had grown sober. “’Tis the fortune-teller’s business to be dramatic.”

The music from the end of the hall had ceased as more visitors crowded around the fireplace to hear the exchange between the witch and the mistress of the castle. But Maeve appeared to have fallen asleep.

Alyce leaned over and touched her knee. “Maeve!”

The fortune-teller’s eyes opened and focused on Alyce again. “Don’t worry, lass. ’Tis not your death I see. ’Tis a man. He’s bathed in the blood of the moon.”

Kenton, standing at Thomas’s side, crossed himself and went down on one knee beside Maeve. “Is it one of us, good mistress? Can you tell us if ’tis one of the knights who’ve come to visit this place?”

She turned her head and squinted at him. “’Tis the lady of Sherborne’s fortune I saw in the fire that night. The blood moon rises for her.”

Alyce had grown pale. Thomas took a step over to her chair and put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s a grim game you favor at Sherborne, Lady Alyce. Can’t you direct your woman to conjure up some pleasanter predictions?”

Several of the crowd nodded in agreement. Still on his knee, Kenton prompted, “Can you tell us of good fortune, mistress? Of love and children and—”

Maeve interrupted. “There can be no love for the lady Alyce until the blood moon claims its victim.”

Kenton frowned and turned to Alyce. “Do you know what she means, milady? Is this a local legend—this blood moon?”

“’Tis but an old woman’s ramblings,” Thomas said, his hand still on Alyce’s shoulder.

Alyce had heard no such legend, and agreed with Thomas that the idea sounded fanciful. She would rather hear from Maeve about something more real to her and more imminent. “Maeve, what more did you see in my future? Can you tell me—will I soon be married against my will?”

Maeve’s eyes had once again grown unfocused. “Aye. Within a twelvemonth you will be betrothed to the king’s choice.”

Alyce stiffened. It was the fate she’d been anticipating for this past year, but hearing Maeve confirm it was painful.

“Is it her husband, then?” Kenton asked. “Is he the one of the treachery and death?”

But Maeve seemed to have gone into some kind of trance. “The wolves will howl,” she said slowly. “The wolves will howl as the blood moon claims its victim.”

By now nearly everyone in the room had grown sober at the old woman’s eerie tone and grisly words. Maeve was rocking back and forth in her seat and had begun to mutter in some kind of language that no one could understand.

Fredrick, Alfred’s grandson, made his way through the crowd. “She’s gone into one of her spells, milady,” he told Alyce, with a little bow of respect. “She’s like to be that way for several hours. I should take her back to the village.”

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