The White Lord of Wellesbourne by Kathryn Le Veque

past day of her life had been the most disappointing, angering, and
thrilling that she had ever experienced. She could hardly imagine what the next
fifty years held for her.  Before she could think of a smooth reply, he took
her chin between his index finger and his thumb and tilted her head up. She
received a kiss to the cheek.
    “You have a wedding to arrange,
my lady,” he said. “Can you find your way well enough in this place?”
    “I shall manage.”
    “Good.”
    He winked at her as he quit the
entry.  She stood aside as Mark and Adam passed by her, having obviously been
waiting for Matthew to separate himself from her. She hadn’t even realized they
had been standing there, waiting.
    Alixandrea stood there for an
eternal span of moments, her mind filled with nothing in particular. There was
so much happening that it was difficult to grasp only one thought.  But she
knew her most predominant thought, at the moment, was happiness. It wasn’t
something she had oft felt, certainly nothing she had expected at this place. 
It was a peculiar, embracing sensation, one she could easily become accustomed
to.
     

 
     
     
    CHAPTER FIVE
     
    The stables were dark, smelling
of hay and urine. The horses shifted about restlessly as evening approached,
sensing their meal was about to be delivered by the cowering stable boys who
lived in fear of the massive war beasts.
    They had to unmuzzle the animals
in order to feed them, which could be something of an adventure. A couple of
the boys had met with misfortune at the teeth of the chargers; one lad was even
missing a finger. As the sounds and smells of evening descended, the stables
were increasingly restless.
    Strode was in the stable, tucked
back in a far corner away from the entrance. He was tending to one of the
matched set of carriage horses from Whitewell that had come up lame. The fetlock
was swollen and tender and he was having a difficult time reducing the
swelling. It was an expensive horse and he did not relish the thought of
putting it down should it come to that. But a lame horse was of no service to
anyone. It would be killed to provide food for the dogs if he could not heal
it.
    As dusk approached, he changed
out the dressing for the eighth time since sun rise.  The horse master had been
kind enough to supply him with a soda mixture to include in the compresses, a
blend designed to draw out the excess fluid.  It was a useful concoction, but
messy. It was all over his hands as he secured the compress. Just as he
finished, a shadow behind him caught his attention.
    Startled, he turned to see
Jezebel standing just to the rear of the horse. Strode let out a long hiss.
    “Woman,” he growled. “Do not
sneak up on me like that. I am bound to cut your throat before I know ‘tis
you.”
    Jezebel fiddled with her apron. 
“Sorry,” she said. “I came to tell ye about m’lady’s wedding.”
    “Well?”
    “Tonight at Vespers.”
    His eyebrows lifted in a menacing
manner. “That ‘tis an hour away, at most. And you are just coming to tell me
now?”
    Jezebel had known Strode for a
few years, having been his lover for the past two. He was a powerful man in the
House of Terrington and she would do most anything for him, including betray
the confidence of a lady who had been most kind to her. But she did not think
of it that way; she could not see beyond her need to please Strode.  Whatever
he asked, she would do. Whatever he wanted, she would comply.
    “I have been helping m’lady.” She
heard the threat in his tone and took a step back. “This is the first chance I
have had to come tell ye.”
    Strode was on his feet. Grabbing
her by the hair, he slapped her a couple of times.  It was a brutal, sharp
sound that echoed off the walls of the stable, startling the horses. Jezebel
whimpered.
    “Stupid cow,” he rumbled. “You
know what this means. You know what I have to do. I told you how important this
was, but still, you fail me?”
    She cowered