Читать книгу Three Dog Knight - Tori Phillips - Страница 12

Thomas heard Isabel’s nasal whine before he saw her. She seemed to be particularly prickly tonight.

“Must be my new guest who has set her mind a-whirl,” he muttered to Vixen, who hugged his side as usual. Thomas allowed his fingertips to run along the top of the greyhound’s narrow head. “Not that my Lady Tart-Tongue has much of a mind to disorder. God shield me.”

Vixen licked his fingers in answer. Thomas cast a quick look at her thickening middle. Unfortunately, Vixen was a little too generous with her favors.

“Where is my cushion?” Isabel screeched as Thomas entered the hall. “Why isn’t it at my place? Creamfaced loon!” She delivered a sharp blow to poor Stokes’s nearest ear.

“Hold!” Thomas roared. How dare the little shrew raise her hand to his steward.

Isabel’s sharp fox face smoothed into an expression of pleasure. She swept him a curtsy. He wondered what piece of mischief she brewed now.

“Thomas!” she cooed. “‘Tis a joy to see you looking so fit and fine this evening. I have ordered everything in readiness for your supper. All is prepared—”

His tongue curled with disgust. “Peace, woman!”

In the nine years she had lived at Wolf Hall, Isabel had never lifted a finger or voice to order anything from the kitchen, unless it was a plate of pastries or sweetmeats for her own private enjoyment.

“Tom! Tom!” Mary called from the wide staircase as she half ran, half tumbled down the steps.

Her big brother smiled as he caught her. “What is amiss now? Mistress Vive?” He didn’t know whom he pitied more, his little minx of a sister or her tiresome governess.

“Nay!” Mary laughed as she wriggled out of his grasp. She dropped a fleeting kiss between Vixen’s ears. “You will never guess in two months of Sundays! Alicia knows all sorts of wonderful new games, and she is going to teach me one this very evening after supper.”

Barely hearing the rest of Mary’s excited prattle, Thomas looked up the stairway. Alicia stepped out of the shadow cast by a pillar. He caught his breath. Great Jove! The maid looked even more beautiful than he recalled from their brief afternoon’s meeting. Lifting her skirts a little above her ankles, she descended the stairs in a single fluid motion, like honey rolling down a knife blade. Georgie followed behind her. Her skin glowed in the torchlight, and her hair seemed to have a golden sheen of its own. Thomas realized that he was holding his breath.

When Alicia reached the bottom of the staircase, she dropped a graceful curtsy to him. She shouldn’t do that to me, he thought.

“Oh, there you are!” Isabel’s voice jarred the moment. “The kitchen is through that far door. Tell the cook that I said you may have some bread—and whatever else might be lying about.”

Thomas brushed past his sister-in-law. Anger ignited in his soul. He pressed his lips tighter, lest a harsh word escape them. He offered his arm to the vision of beauty who shimmered before him. He could not think of a thing to say to Alicia that would be appropriate for such a goddess’s ears.

“Thomas!” screeched Isabel. “That woman is not fit for the head table. She’s only a common merchant’s daughter.”

Grinding his teeth, he ignored the wasp in her expensive widow’s weeds.

“Good evening, Sir Thomas,” Alicia murmured as he seated her on his right. “I trust you had a good walk this afternoon?”

Thomas looked into her eyes to see if she mocked him. Instead he felt himself drowning in their sparkling blue depths. Her smile warmed him to his toes.

“Middling.” Without looking directly at her, he pushed their shared trencher a little closer to her.

“Thomas! You have not heard a word I have said!” Isabel plunked herself down on the seat at his left hand.

“Nay, sweet sister-in-law, and he will not hear you until you get the wet cat out of your craw,” Mary retorted across the table.

Isabel seemed to swell in size. Her hands shook. “Children should be silent when in company!”

Mary stuck out her tongue in reply. Several of the castle inhabitants at the lower table tittered at the exchange. Thomas groaned inwardly at this very poor introduction to his family.

Alicia chuckled softly. “I like your little sister very much, my lord. She explained a number of things to me this afternoon.”

He exhaled with relief. When he glanced at her, he saw that her smile had increased in its warmth. “Good,” he muttered.

The devil take me! I should tell her how glad I am that Isabel did not drive her away before my return. How can I possibly apologize for my churlish behavior toward her guardian?

Andrew proffered the first course of the cold supper. “Eels in aspic, my lord?”

Avoiding his squire’s knowing smirk, Thomas regarded the black-and-gray jellied mess on the platter in front of him. His appetite withered at the sight. Why couldn’t Isabel do a better job of the household management—especially in the kitchens?

“Serve the lady first,” he instructed the boy.

Without hesitation, Andrew turned to Alicia. “Eels, mistress? The serving wench assures me that they are fresh—somewhat. I would not swear by the creatures at all, myself, but ‘tis better than starving.”

The cheek of the stripling! How dare he flirt with my bride-to-be? Before Thomas could open his mouth or Alicia could help herself, Isabel lunged across the table and speared the choicest morsel with her silver eating knife.

“Methinks you are sand-blind, Andrew,” she reproached him with a sweetness that dripped poison, “or you have a great deal of wax in your ears. Thomas instructed you to serve the lady first.”

Andrew bestowed her a smile of angelic innocence. “Aye, and so I did, Lady Isabel.”

“Check and double check!” chortled Mary. “Yahoo!”

Infected by Mary’s good spirits, Taverstock barked under the table. Georgie added a note or two in a deep bass. Vixen chose to remain silent, though she made her presence known to Thomas by pressing against his leg. He cut off a small piece of his eel for her. He slipped the morsel under the table—and encountered Alicia’s fingers also holding a tidbit of the slippery fish. He sucked in his breath.

Her gorgeous eyes widened at the contact, though she did not move until Vixen had licked both their fingers clean of the last trace of gray aspic.

Thomas allowed a small grin to ruffle his lips. His skin burned where she had touched him.

Alicia returned his smile with one of her own that seemed to light up the furthermost corner of the gloomy hall. “Your hound must eat well, my lord, if she is to deliver healthy puppies,” she said, her gaze never wavering from his. “I pray your pardon if I have given offense by feeding her while at table.”

His heart swelled within his doublet. It hammered against his chest. “No offense,” he muttered. “On behalf of Vixen, I give you her thanks.”

“Rot!” spat out Isabel. “But what can you expect from an unlettered, common wench?”

“She can read and write,” Mary chirruped while she helped herself to a piece of cold roasted chicken. “Can you, Isabel?”

Thomas grinned behind his hand. He knew that the Earl of Bedford had not bothered to school any of his eleven daughters. Isabel’s father did not consider women’s brains capable of understanding numbers and the alphabet That Alicia could read came as a pleasant surprise.

“’Tis true?” he asked her. “You know your letters?”

“Aye, my lord,” she replied, returning his gaze. “Both Latin and English, and I can cipher accounts as well.”

“She…stretches the truth, methinks,” Isabel sputtered. “She will say or do anything to catch your interest, Thomas. No doubt she lifts her skirts for an empty compliment.”

The color drained from Alicia’s cheeks. Looking down at the trencher, she swallowed. Conversation at the lower table ceased altogether. Even Mary was shocked into silence. Thomas clenched his fist until his arm throbbed.

“You will keep that vicious tongue of yours within your mouth, madam, or I will be compelled to relieve you of it altogether,” he thundered at his sister-in-law.

“I only meant—” Isabel began, but Thomas cut her off.

“You drip poison from every pore, and have broken this evening’s good company,” he continued, his words spewing forth without control. “You will not fling mud at those who partake of my hospitality, and who are under my protection. Since you have forgotten your place in my household, methinks ‘tis time for you to return to your father’s castle.”

He paused as he gulped for air. He looked at the shocked faces around him. Stones and bones, damn his unruly temper! The fair beauty at his side must think she has landed in a nightmare. To keep himself from venting any more spleen, Thomas grabbed a chicken wing and stuffed most of it into his mouth.

“More wine?” Andrew asked cheerfully.

* * *

Isabel’s ears rang with Thomas’s last words. Across the table, Mary grinned at her elder’s discomfort. Plague take the little chit! What the brat needed was a good whipping. Isabel gripped her wine goblet as if she held Alicia’s long neck between her fingers.

Go back to Bedford Chase? Back to the chaos where she would be but one more face around the table? Share her bed with a quarrelsome sister—or two? Isabel gritted her teeth. Never! She choked down the bile that rose in her throat. There must be a way to remain at Wolf Hall, and to turn Thomas’s heart from ice to fire for her. The food in her mouth tasted of ashes, while her thoughts tumbled from one idea to the next. She did not taste the poached pears at the end of the meal. Her preoccupation with her troubles shattered when Thomas suddenly rose.

“Mistress,” he muttered to the thin woman on his right. “Would you like to see the garden?”

The creature laughed, then replied, “‘Twould be a great pleasure, my lord. They do say that the soul of a home is reflected in its garden.”

What drivel! Isabel curled her lips. She must win her way back into Thomas’s good graces this very night, before his threat of banishment hardened into iron resolve.

She forced a light laugh. “You have hit upon the mark, Thomas! ‘Tis a fine evening for a twilight stroll amid the…” Rot it all! What was in bloom at the moment? She hated anything that got her hands dirty, especially mucking in a garden. “Roses!” There had to be roses.

Thomas cast her the briefest of looks. “Start packing,” he snapped. Blue fire flashed in his eyes.

Isabel shivered within her mourning dress. William had often warned her about his younger brother’s temper, but she had rarely seen it in full blast. Now she realized that she should have been more careful. Damn William! Why did he have to die and leave her in such a wretched situation? Wolf Hall was her domain by right.

Before she could utter another word, Thomas and the woman swept from the hall. The pack of hounds followed behind him, as usual. Mary sniggered.

“Do you need help, Isabel?” she asked with illcontained glee. “Methinks ‘twill take you all night to fill your trunks with your finery.”

Leaning over the table, Isabel glared at the horrid child. “If you do not leave the hall this minute, I will pluck out your hairs one by one until you are bald!”

It gave her satisfaction to see the brat pale. Without another word, Mary rose, then dashed up the stairs. At the landing, she paused.

“Since I expect you to be long gone before I wake up tomorrow, sister-in-law, I wish you a pleasant journey. May your way be plagued with ruts and rain!” she yelled. As a final insult, the little wretch stuck out her tongue. The servants clearing the tables did not bother to conceal their grins.

“May your bed be filled with lice!” Isabel retorted after Mary’s fleeing figure.

She wished she could scratch out that little cat’s eyes. Thomas spoiled his sister entirely too much. No wonder the child had such atrocious manners. She patted her gray veil in place. Mary would change her tune once Isabel became the Countess of Thornbury. She gulped a deep breath of air. First, she must become the Countess, and to that end she must use her wiles against that hulking simpleton, who had not the wit to know when he was being hoodwinked.

She stalked out of the hall with its simpering horde of menials. By the time she returned to her chamber, she had hit upon a workable plan—indeed, it was her only hope.

Meg stood in the middle of the room with her arms full of colorful gowns. “Do…do ye wish me to start packing these, my lady?” she whimpered.

Isabel resisted the impulse to box the idiot’s ears. “Nay, Meg. I am not going anywhere.”

“But…I heard my lord say—”

Isabel interrupted her with a wave of her hand. “But he will change his mind very quickly, Meg. You will see anon. Soon I will be the true mistress of this heap of stones.” She sat by the low fire, and stared into its red-hot embers.

“How so, my lady? Sir Thomas sounded—”

“He is like that great worthless dog of his—all bark but no bite.” The more Isabel contemplated her plan, the more brilliant it shone in her mind.

Meg drew closer. “How now, my lady?”

Her mistress allowed a smile to curl her lips. “I shall plead my belly,” she murmured, more to herself than to Meg.

The maid’s jaw dropped. “Wh…what, my lady?”

Isabel looked directly into Meg’s bovine face. “I will tell my esteemed brother-in-law that I am carrying William’s child. Thomas cannot send me away from Wolf Hall if I am carrying the next Cavendish heir.”

Meg’s eyes grew rounder. “But ye’re not expecting, my lady. Yer last monthly flow was but a fortnight ago.”

Isabel cocked her head. Best to scotch this snake now before it grew too big to contain. “I fear you mistook the date, Meg. ‘Twas two months ago, before my husband sickened and died.” Meg shook her head. “Nay, my lady, I remember—” Like a fork of lightning, Isabel reached out and slapped the stupid girl. “Think again, Meg, if you value your place as my maid. I would hate to have to send you from Wolf Hall for telling lies. Everyone knows that liars also steal. What would happen to you if one or two of my jewels went missing? ‘Twould be the gallows for you, for certain sure.”

Meg gulped. “I do not lie, my lady,” she gibbered. “And all your jewels are safe and sound in your coffer. I swear by the cross, ‘tis true.” Two large tears rolled down her moon-calf face. “Please, my lady, do not turn me out. I have done ye no harm.” She threw her apron over her head, and began to wail in earnest.

“Peace, you fool. Leave off your tears, and listen.” When Meg’s sobs subsided, Isabel continued. “I tell you, I am pregnant by my Lord William, and none shall gainsay it. Do you mark me?”

The maid nodded. “Aye, my lady. You are with child.”

Isabel smiled her satisfaction. She nurtured her little seed of deception. “I beg you not to mention this news in the kitchen, Meg. I have not yet told Sir Thomas. I have only just discovered it myself.” “Aye, I give you my word, my lady.” Ha! A vow as strong as water. By morning, the whole castle will know of the new heir. Now to seal the falsehood. Isabel stretched, then yawned. “By my troth, I have a most marvelous craving for some sweetened cream and wafers. Do fetch me a bowlful, Meg. I feel I must have it or die.”

“Aye, my lady.” The silly maid all but flew to the chamber door. “I will bring you the sweets in a trice.”

Isabel held up her hand. “And mind you, not a word of my condition to anyone.”

“My life upon it, my lady!”

Isabel laughed softly to herself as she listened to Meg’s footsteps tripping down the passageway. She rubbed her stomach. It was true that her womb was empty. Isabel furrowed her brows. Nine years in bed with lusty William, and not even a miscarriage to show for it. Her father, the Earl of Bedford, had an army of children by Isabel’s late mother. Even now, he filled the nursery with more puling waifs by his poor second wife. With such a sire, how could Isabel possibly be barren? She pushed away the very idea. It must have been William’s fault.

No matter. She would get herself with child—and soon. She could be forgiven if the babe came a little later than expected. Thomas might know to the day when his bitch would whelp, but he had no idea of human female matters. He would believe anything she told him. His honor would force him to keep her at Wolf Hall—and, with the right prodding, his honor would convince him to marry her. The Cavendish heir must have a Cavendish father.

Isabel kicked off her slippers, then stretched out her toes to the warmth of the fire. Tomorrow, she would send a message to the Archbishop of York for a dispensation. Better to start the proceedings now. Ecclesiastical matters took a such long time. She sighed. I must plant an heir. She licked her lips as she thought of Launce, a groom whom she had seduced several months ago. Tall, sturdy and blond—like his Cavendish master, he swived well. The begetting would be fun in the bargain.

Isabel would lie with Launce on the morrow. She wiggled her toes at the pleasurable prospect.

The late-summer sun lingered in the western sky as Thomas led Alicia into the high-walled garden in the lee of the castle. She breathed in the familiar aromas of new-turned earth, roses in full bloom, and sun-warmed mint. Gillyflowers in pinks and whites, purple-headed irises, nodding, golden-eyed daisies and the ordered rows of the herb garden caught her by surprise.

“Your garden is lovely, and very well cared for, my lord. Isabel did not strike me as a gardener.”

“She is not,” he replied in a brusque manner. “‘Tis Mary’s.”

Alicia’s eyes widened. “Your little sister? I am amazed. She is so young, yet she has a skillful hand.”

Thomas sighed. “Mary is young and old at the same time. She—” He stopped, looked at Alicia, then said nothing. Instead, he stared at his polished boots.

He can speak wisely, yet he chooses not to. Alicia thanked assorted saints in heaven for her conversation with Mary this afternoon. The girl had a good eye for the people around her.

Thomas withdrew his fingertips from her elbow, and clasped his hands behind his back. Alicia tried not to show her disappointment. She had been heartened by his undivided, though silent, attention during supper, and by his surprising rebuke of his sister-in-law. She hoped that this walk would initiate a discussion of their marriage. Yet Thomas acted as if her presence displeased him. She swallowed down her fear. At least, he had not sent her away. Pray God, he would honor his betrothal contract.

Alicia forced a smile to her lips. “The evening is my favorite time of day,” she said by way of making small talk. “Everything is at peace with itself.”

Thomas merely rumbled in his throat.

She ran her tongue across her dry lips, and continued the one-sided conversation in a bright manner. “Your sister must have a rare gift with growing things. The flowers are much larger than the ones my moth…my mother grew in her garden in York.” She must not think of her abandoned home. The pain of parting hurt too much.

“Aye,” Thomas muttered.

Alicia wondered what his deep voice would sound like when he whispered sweet words of love into a maiden’s ear. Her cheeks grew warm at the thought. Please, sweet Saint Anne, let him fall in love with me—or, at least, let him like me, just a little bit. She could not bear the thought of living the rest of her life without the comfort of love. The Bramptons had given her their fullest measure of affection during her childhood.

Just then Georgie brushed past them. He sniffed along the path of crushed oyster shells until he came to a spot under a thickly flowering pink rosebush. He began to dig; the flying dirt just missed Alicia’s skirts.

Thomas snapped his fingers twice. Georgie stopped his frantic activity, and gave them a look of reproach.

“Your pardon, Mistress Alicia. Did he foul your clothing?” Thomas reached out as if to brush away an offending clod of mud. Then he balled his fist, and jammed his hand behind his back again. He rocked back and forth on his heels, while he stared at a spot over her head.

He is afraid to touch me. Alicia found herself inordinately pleased with that possibility. He must respect me, even a little bit. Aloud, she remarked, “Nay, Georgie’s aim was off the mark. Pray, what is he digging for? A badger or a hare?”

Thomas chuckled. The sound sung in her ears.

“Nay, Georgie’s hunting days are past, I fear, though he does not know it yet. He buries his bones from the table scraps in the garden. Mary is at sixes and sevens over this little habit.”

“Mayhap, Georgie hopes to grow a bone tree, and so never have to beg for scraps again,” Alicia ventured.

Thomas laughed deep in his throat The unexpected sound caught Alicia by surprise. She must try to get him to laugh again, and often. She suspected he was not used to expressing his mirth in such an open fashion, thanks to his older brother’s torments during his childhood.

“Your little greyhound—do you know when she will deliver?”

“In a week’s time, or thereabouts.”

Alicia regarded Vixen. She noted how the sleek animal kept close to Thomas. “She is a beautiful creature. Did her other puppies look like honey as well?”

Thomas stared at Alicia, lifting his thick brows in surprise. “Very few look anything like their mother. I fear Vixen is too free with her favors. I never know who is the father until she whelps.” He chuckled again. “’Tis always a surprise.”

“Oh.” Alicia searched frantically for something else to say. “Have you fixed her a nest for her birthing?”

He sighed. “Every time. And every time, Vixen finds her own spot. She had one litter in the laundry, right in. the middle of newly washed linen. I had to pay the laundress two shillings to sweeten her temper. She was none too pleased at the mess.”

“Methinks she liked your silver,” Alicia observed.

He nodded. “Aye, she did. Silver is the way to all women’s hearts—” With a stricken look, the rest of his words died on his lips. He strode down the path.

Alicia ran to keep up with him. “Do you think my heart is bought with silver as well, Sir Thomas?”

He stopped so quickly that Taverstock bumped into his boot. Thomas scooped up the little dog, and scratched him behind his ears. He did not look at Alicia.

“Your father paid my father a great sum of gold as your dowry,” he muttered. “All women are bought and sold.”

She put her hands to her hips. “Is that the truth?” she asked, cocking her head. “And what of your sister, Mary? I presume you will dower her?”

“She…” He chewed on his lower lip.

Alicia continued, heedless of where her tongue might take her. “My…my father may have bartered my body, my lord, but I assure you no stack of gold, nor mound of jewels can buy my affections. I am not Isabel.”

“Thank God!” he murmured, still rubbing Taverstock’s little brown ears. “You are…” He did not complete his thought.

“Aye, my lord?”

He took a deep breath. “You will be my wife. My father swore it, and I will do my duty to honor his word.”

“Only duty?” Alicia gulped. Not even a glimmer of affection or desire?

Thomas put the little terrier down on the path. “Aye, well. We all have our responsibilities, mistress. I am newfound to mine, and I fear…”

Instead of finishing his sentence, Thomas turned on his heel, and practically ran back to the garden gate. Vixen and Tavie scampered after him. Georgie chose to stay with Alicia. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she watched the new earl’s receding figure in the half-moon’s feeble beams. Sweet angels! Would he run out on her at the church door on their wedding day? Just before Thomas rounded the corner of the wall, he stopped.

“I am glad you have come to Wolf Hall, Alicia.” Then he disappeared.

Her knees felt suddenly weak. She sank down on the path. Heavens above! Did he mean those words, or were they said for courtesy’s sake? Georgie ambled over to her side. He licked her face. She rubbed his ears in return.

“At least, I know where your affection lies, Georgie.” Alicia ruffled his neck fur. “To bed it is, and tomorrow I shall launch a quiverful of wiles at the bashful Earl of Thornbury—beginning with his meals. By my faith, Georgie, how could you stand to eat our supper this night? No wonder Sir Thomas is out of sorts. But tomorrow—aye, there’s the challenge, Georgie. They do say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Come!”

Rising from the ground, Alicia snapped her fingers as she had seen Thomas do. Georgie obediently followed her back to the castle.

That night, Alicia could not sleep. She lay in the middle of the huge ornate four-poster, and stared at the blue velvet canopy above her. Drawing the soft silken coverlet under her chin, she all but sank into the thick down ticking that was the mattress. Last night she had been in her own narrow cot under the eaves of the goldsmith’s house. Below her gabled window, the city of York had hummed its night song: cats yowled, a dog barked in reply, and thick heels tramped on the cobblestones as a late tavern guest wended his way home. Last night Alicia’s mattress had been filled with sweet-smelling straw stuffed into a large bolster, and her cover had been a plain woolen blanket. Last night she had slept well.

Tears brimmed in her eyes as she recalled every nook and cranny of the only home she had ever known. What of her beloved guardians? Alicia said a prayer for their safe journey across the water to Flanders. She gripped the coverlet tighter as she willed herself not to give in to the sadness that gnawed within her.

This bed is too grand. She could get lost within its rich folds, and might never see morning’s light again. Why had Andrew put her in such a sumptuous chamber? She did not feel at ease amid its silk and golden appointments. Even the maid, who had lighted the way for Alicia, knew that the goldsmith’s daughter would have been far happier in simpler surroundings. Isabel might desire the pomp of velvet hangings and delicate carving on the headboard. Alicia only felt uneasy.

Just as the night watchman on the battlements cried the darkest hour of midnight, she heard a sound outside her door. Though she did not believe in hobgoblins or ghosties, she gripped the coverlet tighter. The closest weapon at hand was the brass candlestick on her bedside table. She scooted across the mattress to be closer to it.

Toenails clicked on the floor in the corridor. Then something sniffed along the bottom of the door. Alicia released her pent-up breath. ‘Twas Georgie, she was sure. She knew that Taverstock’s little paws danced a faster pace, and Vixen made no sound at all. Alicia had never lived with a dog before now. She must get used to the sounds of their night wanderings—especially if she was going to be Thomas’s wife.

A sharp snap of fingers halted the dog’s investigation. Alicia froze. She stared at the door, trying to make out in the pale moonlight if someone lifted the latch. Her breath stopped in her throat. Thomas must be standing just outside in the corridor. What if he came into her room now, and demanded a sampling of the wedding night?

Alicia knew it was his right. She dug her fingers into the goose-down mattress. Katherine Brampton had reared her foster daughter to be a proper, modest girl. Alicia’s sole experience with the opposite sex had been a kiss stolen by Peter Martext last May Day, and then his lips had merely grazed her cheek. Only this morning during a brief rest stop, Edward had warned her about the lusty appetites of the Cavendishes. His keen eyes had narrowed when he recalled his introduction to John and William. Thomas was bound to be just like them. Biting her lips, Alicia stared at the door latch, and waited.

Two more snaps, then she heard the sound of the dog’s toenails recede down the passageway.

She crawled to the edge of the bed, then pulled back the covers and got out. The cold floor chilled her bare feet. She lifted the candle in its holder, then tiptoed over to the fireplace where the embers from the evening’s fire glowed in its center. She lit the candle, then crept to the door, and pressed her ear against the stout oak panels. Not a sound outside.

Summoning all of her courage, Alicia lifted the handle, and cracked open the door. She held the candle above her head. No shadow leapt into its spilled light. With a deep sigh of relief, she closed the door and scampered back to the enormous bed. Blowing out the friendly light, she slid under the princely covers. Within a few moments she was fast asleep.

Just before the dawn, Alicia awoke to the unaccustomed cry of a rooster. At first she could not remember where she was. Then her gaze rested on the faded shield that hung over the fireplace. A fierce wolf’s head glared back at her from a scarlet field—the Cavendish family crest. The promised morrow had come, and she was still at Wolf Hall. She rose, splashed chilly water from the pitcher on her face, then brushed the tangles out of her hair.

She must dress quickly and get to the kitchens before the cooks were too far along in their preparations for the noonday dinner. She vowed that Thomas, and the rest of the inhabitants of this dreary castle, would eat better today. He could not send her away if she pleased his appetite. Thank all the saints, Katherine had taught Alicia how to cook and care for a home. ‘Twas a better schooling than that of a princess, she decided, as she tied the laces of her bodice together.

In her haste, she nearly missed the folded piece of paper that lay just inside her door. Alicia could swear she had not seen it in the middle of the night. The moonlight had spilled on this very spot. After opening the mysterious missive, she carried it to the window where the early light helped her make out the letters. Written in a large, bold hand, the words took away her breath.

To the peerless Alicia—

I take pen in a shaking hand to write you that which I dare not speak aloud. When I laid down, I could not sleep, for your sweet likeness danced in my thoughts. I awoke this early morning with your imagined kiss still moist upon my lips. Your beauty steals me from myself, and I know not what to say—save that I am ever thine.

No signature graced the bottom of the letter.